I don’t fly very often, mostly because I work in IT and I don’t have to fly all the way across the country to interact with a customer. Thanks to the magic of the internet I can tell that customer that he has no idea how technology works and how much of a fucking idiot he his without even having to leave my desk. If I have a webcam handy, I can even illustrate his stupidity with an effective demonstration involving a potato and a hammer. I also don’t fly very often because I fucking hate flying more than Oprah hates fat-free sour cream. Continue reading

My boys are going to grow up thinking that Jan and Stan Berenstain were some really twisted motherfuckers. In order to counteract the nonstop stream of high-def candy and toy commercials that masquerade as children’s entertainment these days, I read them a book before bedtime. My kids feel that this is a rather quaint activity, something akin to whipping out a loom before bed and weaving the very blankets they’re going to sleep under. “Daddy, can we play Nintendo instead?” they’ll ask. The answer to that question is always no, and is met with groans until I pull out one of the Berenstain Bears books, which they enjoy because it gives them a sneak peek into the real world of bears and they can see how bears ride bicycles, go snorkeling, and how father bears are functionally retarded. Continue reading

There are seven billion people on our planet. That’s a fuckton of people. A lot of people will tell you that it’s too many people, but I don’t see these folks throwing themselves under a train or anything. They want to complain about the problem, they just don’t want to do anything about it. As P.J. O’Rourke once said, overpopulation is “just enough of me, way too much of you.” Continue reading

I climbed a mountain yesterday. Seriously. Had you told me twenty years ago that I would climb a mountain, my twenty-something year old self would have asked you if they were giving away free drugs at the top. Unfortunately, they weren’t, because I could have used them today. My arms and legs feel like someone broke them off, used them to beat a wildebeest to death, then reattached them to my torso without using anesthetic. Who knew climbing a mountain would involve exertion? Continue reading

I went to the Phoenix Art Museum this weekend, and for a place that has so many paintings of nudes they’re surprisingly uptight about people showing up without clothes on. They also don’t let you play paintball inside. Hey, Phoenix Art Museum: You know why you have to resort to private donations to stay open? Because you need to lighten the fuck up, that’s why. Yes, those are my children, yes, they’re pretty young, and yes, I gave them Sharpies to play with. What of it? Continue reading

Last week I selflessly ran the very real risk of winning a Pulitzer Prize when I blew the lid off of the robotics industry’s secret plan to enslave us all with Robotic Death Sparrows. Because of this earth shattering story, several things happened: First of all, intelligent people from all walks of life began burrowing into the earth in an attempt to save their lives. (At least I did, and now my boss wants to know why there’s a huge hole in my cube.) Second, I was made to be aware that the robotics industry was not pleased with my exposé when I found the following DVD footage on my doorstep next to a pile of sparrow feathers.

Yes, the Robo-Mule now throws cinder blocks, and it is only a matter of time before it can throw increasingly heavier objects, like refrigerators, Volkswagens, and Kirstie Alley. Do not be deceived by its cute, pre-toss Robo-Mule-has-to-go-potty jig, the Robo-Mule is displeased, and if my lifeless body is found broken underneath a pile of masonry, you will know what happened. Continue reading

I took my kids to the circus this weekend. There are few things in life I hate as much as the circus, that gaudy, shucksterrific slice of Americana whose sole purpose is not to entertain, but to give gainful employment to pederast drifters and people who like to burn things. I look at the ringmaster, who has now apparently had singing added to his list of super-annoying job duties, and I think to myself, “Good God, man. Your job is to go from town to town wearing that suit. That’s pretty much it. Have you no pride?” I guess I just don’t get the circus. Continue reading

I took my kids to the Museum of Natural History today, and with all of the dinosaur bones and other cool things in there, the one exhibit they liked the most was the jail. They had a replica of an 1800’s-era jail and my kids (especially the boys) were fascinated by it. A little too much for my liking, actually. I kept pointing out the negatives, like the fact that there was no TV, no Playstation, no LEGOs, etc. They didn’t care. “Look! Metal bunks! Daddy, shut the door and come back for us later. In four hours.” Pretty tempting, to tell you the truth, but it’s hard to explain to the police that your kids are missing because someone let them out of the jail cell you put them in, or at least it’s hard to explain that to the police without them tasing you in the nuts when you’re done. Continue reading

You know what store I try to avoid? Office Max. Or Staples, same thing. It’s not that I don’t like office supply stores, it’s that I cannot go in one of them without justifying totally asinine purchases. If I don’t watch it, I’ll find myself in line with enough supplies to keep the IRS going for a couple of years, a bill the size of the Peruvian GDP, and an unshakable conviction that I simply cannot go another day without owning a legal pad. Seriously, very few legal proceedings take place at my house. What the fuck? Continue reading

Is there anything worse than having a bad back? Of course there is. A rabid doberman could latch onto your junk, the Yeti could kidnap you and drag you back to his ice cave to become his concubine, or you could be stuck in a room with nothing but a TV permanently tuned to the CW. But having a bad back sucks ass in a major way. It’s been three days since I fucked my back up, and I’m still in assloads of pain. The only break I get is when the pain downgrades itself from blinding to severe for a few minutes, and even that doesn’t happen tall that often. Am I being a big baby? Fuck yes, I am. But if I don’t whine about my misery, who will? Continue reading