When I first moved to Phoenix, I rented a house for two years. The landlord was an elderly lady who wrote the lease out on notebook paper with one hand as she sipped on a pint glass full of vodka with the other. In her lap was her granddaughter. This lady could drink. The only problem was, she still drove. And by drove I literally mean she weaved curb to curb until she got to where she was going to. How she managed to avoid a serious accident and arrest, I will never know. Continue reading
Ok, I have specifically mentioned this once before, but apparently not everyone took the hint. Seniors, incontinence is not only a nuisance, but a source of shame as well. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Ok, that’s bullshit. There are a couple of people who I would dearly love to see piss themselves in a crowded, public place. In general, though, I wouldn’t wish incontinence upon anyone. But let’s be very clear about this: Depend undergarments are designed to protect your dignity and allow you to adjourn to the nearest bathroom so that you may clean yourself in private. They are not a luxury to allow you to avoid basic personal hygiene. Continue reading
So you’re a new parent. Congratulations! Now I know it seems like you’re woefully unprepared, but it’s not that hard. It’s common sense, mostly, so just calm down. There you go… Take a few deep breaths… Much better. Ok, let’s take it from the top: Nutrition. You’ve got your food pyramid, right? Your fruits, your grains, dairy, meat, and whatnot. So let’s start with breakfast: A little milk and cereal, maybe topped with blueberries, some yogurt, some eggs would be nice. Maybe even some low fat sausage. Oh, and orange juice. Sounds like a nutritious breakfast, right? Wrong, asshole. That’s a baby you’ve got there, not a fucking garbage disposal. That fucker wants milk and it’s going to want milk for a long time. Then after that… what? No, not the fucking food pyramid. After being weaned your child will eat two things and two things only: Sugary crap and Mac ‘n Cheese. And you can shove those Brussels Sprouts right up your ass for all he cares.
If you pay attention to my Twitter feed (over there, to the right), you’ll know that I often use it to troll celebrities. Like the infamous Foreigner/Roast Beef imbroglio. Or the time I asked Journey if they shot the man responsible for their mind-bendingly retarded video, Separate Ways. But you’d have to be paying extra close attention to have caught the tweet in which I discussed my plan to ask Joyce DeWitt (Janet from Three’s Company) to sign a photo with the words, “Greg, Thanks for the herpes! Love, Joyce DeWitt!”. (Huh, I guess I mentioned it in the infamous Lindsay Lohan post, too.) Well, today I got a little something in the mail. Continue reading
I am currently embroiled in family drama involving my mother-in-law, and it is sapping my will to live (MIL’s will do that to you). So although I had planned a post today that was so funny that it was likely to end the world as we know it (honest!), I’ve got no time and no motivation to do so. As my way of making it up to you, I’m posting the BEST MUSIC VIDEO EVER MADE! You’re welcome.
The day after New Year’s, I went hiking on a trail here in Arizona known as the Goldfield Ovens Loop. This is a nine or so mile trail that includes an odd feature: A giant fucking oven carved out of the side of a mountain, as if God himself decided to make some hash brownies or something. Another odd feature: A large sign informing me that there are nesting bald eagles about, and that I’m keeping them from getting their groove on. Apparently, if you’re a bald eagle getting ready to do your sexy thang, a hiker walking at the base of the cliff you’re perched upon is the equivalent of a cold shower, a kick to the nuts, and a surprise visit from the mother-in-law all rolled into one. That’s fucking lame, bald eagles. Very, very lame. Continue reading
Ok, I realize that I’m treading on some shaky ground here. Let’s face it, there is nothing funny about having a stroke. In fact, the idea that you can be sitting there and all of a sudden you can’t remember your address, how to dial a phone, or whether or not you are the type of asshole who watches the Bachelor is downright terrifying. If I had to rank strokes on the list of health issues I’d like to avoid, they’d be right up there with Ebola, dick-rot, and explosive decapitation. Bleeding in the brain? No fucking thanks. Continue reading
Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while will know that I live in the Phoenix, AZ area renowned for our 350 days of sunshine a year, blistering summertime temperatures, and our annual influx of retirees cruising happily along at 35 miles per hour below the posted speed limit in the left hand lane, all the way to the grocery store where they will take one of the handicapped spots, of which there are seven million, forcing non-handicapped people to walk eight fucking miles to the store, so they can get to the meat section where they will park their cart and stand, staring at ground beef for approximately six hours. Yes, it’s happening again, seniors are inexplicably trying to prevent me from buying beef. Continue reading
Hello, I’d like a moment of your time to discuss your job performance if that’s possible. I know, I know, it must seem that everyone wants to discuss your job performance sometimes. But that’s kind of why I want to discuss it with you. I understand that you’re working a job that you’re not all that crazy about, and you’re only doing it because you knocked up your ex-girlfriend and the judge said that you have to give her money or he’ll put you in jail so you can learn what it’s like to be the mommy for a change. I get that. But if you ever want to improve your situation in life, you need to hear this: A brain damaged chimpanzee on mescaline would do a better job than you’re doing right now, even if I were to smash its kneecaps with a sledge hammer. You suck donkey balls, dude. Continue reading
My kids are fucking killing me. I got a frantic text from my wife asking me to call home because my daughter had just called her ten times in a row while she was in an important meeting. So I called home and asked what was so important. “I wanted to know if mommy was on the way home.” This is not the first time that this has happened. And what’s worse, I get that shit from my mom. A frantic message left on my voice mail: “Greg, it’s mom. I need you to call me as soon as possible. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.” And I call her back and the emergency is that (swear to God, this actually happened) she needed to know my daughter fucking sock size.
So I’m dealing with that horse-shit, and my five year old son has been kicked out of his kindergarten class again for general goof-offiness, my wife is attending a play for a niece of ours, and my three year old is hitting the peak of his word-explosion phase, and a typical soundbite from him is “Daddy-I-make-noise-play-wth-Mark-at-day-care-Ooh!-I-want-that-I-want-that-I-like-fire-truck-Daddy-do-you-like-fire-truck-you-do-like-fire-truck?-Ok-I-want-snack-I-want-snack-I-WANT-SNACK-I-WANT-IT-I-WANT-IT-WAAAAAAAHHHHH!” And I’ve got to figure out dinner with no food in the house and get them all to bed.
I’m not whining because I never deal with this shit. My wife and I split it up pretty evenly. It’s just one of those days and … FUCK AM I WIPED!
So no original content for you today. You got a problem with that? Take it up with my fucking kids. I suggest you speak with my three year old.
But all is not lost, however. I give you, “How To Spot Lip-Synching” or “Philip Kirkorov Is A Big Fucking Pussy”
