I’ve got three kids, so it goes without saying that large portions of my house are dedicated to toys: We’ve got bins for everyday use toys, boxes for toys that get used semi-regularly, a large toy box that exists to hold toys that are rarely used, and strategic places around the house where we store toys that are so fucking shitty that they never get used, but we can’t throw them away because the kids would lose their little minds if we did. We could have an HIV-infected hypodermic needle play set, and if one of the kids saw us trying to toss it out, they’d instantly feign interest in it. “Don’t throw that away! I love that toy!” “What? You never play with it. The last time anyone played with it, it was your brother Ben.” “I don’t have a brother Ben!” “Not anymore you don’t.” “PLEASE DON’T THROW IT AWAY!” Continue reading

My daughter just got done performing in a community production of Wizard of Oz for the second year in a row. First of all, let me say that my daughter was wonderful, as were all the other actors, and everyone did as good a job as they possibly could have given that the budget was apparently scrounged from a couch. So it is not with any of the participants in mind when I say that the Wizard of Oz is the lamest piece of shit in the known universe. I would rather pour steak sauce in my ears and let starving cockroaches crawl into my nose and eat my brains away from the inside than see that fucking play again. Fuck the Wizard of Oz sideways with a rusty axe-head. Continue reading

Why the fuck can I no longer go to the mall without feeling like I’m in Mexico? The mall used to be a relaxing place, with the entire walkway dedicated to benches, fountains, seasonal decorations, and horny teens in various stages of the rut. Now, it’s like running a fucking gauntlet of kiosks, carts, and the kind of shuckster that makes Vince, the Sham-Wow guy seem like a deep thinker. This is bullshit. I already have people to harass me while I shop: I call them my children. Continue reading

Well, it’s that time of year again: The time when I make up children, donate non-existent funds to fictional charities, and declare myself a blind, Nicaraguan orphan. This is done for “tax purposes”, which is another way of saying that I plan to defraud the IRS out of at least $72,000. Continue reading

I was stretching my legs at work the other day when a curious buzzing noise caused me to look up. There, up in the sky, was a small propellor-driven plane towing a banner reading “Geico”. Really, Geico? This is the best you have now? I picture a bunch of suit-clad assholes in a board room somewhere, frowning at a chart with nasty looking downward pointing arrows. “We’ve flooded the market with caveman ads, and for some reason that doesn’t seem to be doing the trick! Gentlemen, no one leaves this room until we come up with a fresh idea.” And then sixteen hours later, someone convinces everyone else that they can capture the coveted “outside and looking up” demographic by pulling shit behind a plane. Continue reading

The problem with being an opinionative person is that no one asks you for opinions any more. And why would they? Anyone who knows you knows that it’s only a matter of time before you tell them how you feel about, say, Grape Nuts cereal, and so they can save their breath until you look up from the breakfast table one day and declare that Grape Nuts taste like a homeless guy just shit some kitty litter into a bowl full of gravel. Continue reading

Chances are that you’ve got a killer in your household, something directly responsible for over 1.2 million deaths worldwide every year. It is so dangerous, in fact, that you have to obtain a special license to use it. It is expensive to purchase, expensive to operate, and expensive to maintain. In addition to all of that, it is poisonous, contributing to pollution so severe that it claims an additional 1.3 million lives every year. If you even turn it on in a closed room, it will kill you within minutes. I’m referring to, of course, automobiles, specifically the one I had to take in with a blown master cylinder this morning. Fucking cars. Continue reading

When my daughter was little, Hannah Montana was all the rage. She and her cousins all wanted to be Hannah Montana, and not just for Halloween. They had tramp costumes that they’d wear everywhere, makeup applied with a trowel, and you’d find pink tubes of glittery lip gloss with hearts and rainbows on them all over the fucking place. That was bad enough, but what was worse, they all started acting and talking like that horse-faced slut. When Hannah Montana hurled insults at Billy-Ray Cyrus, that was tolerable because that fucknut inflicted Achey-Breaky Heart on us, so fuck him. But when my daughter used the same line against me, the Disney channels were instantly blocked and remained so for the next six years. Continue reading

I, like many, many other Americans (and quite a few non-Americans too, I’d imagine) am sick and fucking tired of the random collection of morons, hypocrites, and self-righteous maniacs that run for the office of President of the United States every four years. What the fuck, is this the best we can come up with? I estimate that I know, at least in passing, about 150 people. Of those people, I can easily think of at least 5 that are smart, driven, have good leadership and communication skills, and probably don’t fuck underaged, undocumented migrant workers in their spare time. I’d feel relatively confident that they’d do at least a decent job if they were suddenly appointed President, and one or two would probably be very good at it. Continue reading

My birthday is on Thursday, and to celebrate the 14th anniversary of my 29th birthday, we are going to head out of town and spend a long weekend up in the mountains north of Phoenix. This will give us an opportunity to get away from our normal day-to-day lives, spend some time with each other (and some good friends who are coming with us), and do something about the fact that in a recent study, the United States came in 56th in a poll of the drunkest countries in the world. Fifty-sixth! This, quite frankly, is pathetic. I don’t know who commissioned this poll (because I was too hammered to read it), but obviously the people compiling the data completely missed my house on New Year’s Eve, Arizona State University, and Boston. Continue reading