It’s funny how my kids are familiar with the entire Santa Claus mythology, yet they could give a flying fuck about where the Easter Bunny comes from. They know all about the North Pole, Mrs. Claus, their sex slaves elves, the reindeer, and any of a million details related to Christmas, but nothing about the Easter Bunny. I asked my three year old, “Where does the Easter Bunny come from?” He looked at me as if I was a mental patient, threw up his arms and said, “I don’t know!” exactly the same way you would say it if I asked you how many purses Lindsay Lohan has. They really don’t give a rat’s ass about the Easter Bunny, just as long as that fucker makes with the candy. Continue reading

When I was in college, I once found myself trapped in an attic with a roommate while an enraged lesbian tried to break in so she could kick our asses. I alluded to this story once before, but to recap, I leased a room in a house along with ten other complete strangers. As I was having a cigarette in the living room, I struck up a conversation with an attractive young woman in her early twenties, one of my roommates. She introduced herself as Mary Pat, and after exchanging pleasantries, I noticed that she wrinkled her nose at my cigarette smoke. “I’m sorry, is my smoke bothering you?” I asked. She assured me that it was not, as long as I didn’t blow it directly at her. Now I am nothing if not polite, so I put out the cigarette entirely and we had a nice chat lasting at least fifteen minutes. Continue reading

I had the distinct pleasure of watching my five year old son play in his first tee-ball game this weekend. For those of you not familiar with tee-ball, it is exactly like baseball except the players have all been exposed to a high power Attention Deficit Disorder ray. For example, in the second inning, our right fielder, Kyle, was sitting down and dreaming about space-robots, because this is what you do when you’re five and no one can hit the ball as far as the outfield. All of a sudden, a ball actually made it through the sieve-like gloves of the infielders and rolled right up to Kyle. Startled by the sound of twenty adults suddenly shouting his name, Kyle sprang into action, turned around four or five times, located the ball and scooped it up. As he reared back to throw, he spotted a dandelion and so of course he stopped, mid-throw, bent over and blew the seeds off of the dandelion. Then he threw the ball to the infield. This is not the kind of baseball you see in the big leagues, unless you happen to be a fan of the Kansas City Royals. Continue reading

We had a rather boring Sunday at the Dogs on Drugs household today. It was raining and in the mid-40’s, and so since outdoor activities weren’t an option we decided to hit up Target for a few odds and ends, and then the grocery store. So for well over two hours, I sounded like this. “Put that down! Don’t touch! Don’t touch! You are so touching! Stop it! Come here! Get off the floor! Hands in your pockets! You are not just looking, goddamit, you are punching holes in that ground beef with your grubby little thumbs! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? DID SOMEONE GIVE YOU GUYS FUCKING SPEED? SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN!” Continue reading

My wife and I celebrated her cousin’s birthday on Saturday night by getting totally sideways at the Talking Stick Resort which is an Indian Casino with absolutely insane rules. For instance, they let you bring whatever booze you want down to the pool, which is nice because like all Indian casinos, they charge seven bucks for a beer. But they will not let you bring a beer from your hotel room down to the casino floor, even if it is one that they sold you. Also, they stop serving alcohol at 2:00 AM, which is total bullshit from my point of view, and completely idiotic from theirs. Think of all the moronic bets you’re passing up on, Talking Stick! “Put it all on red-36. Yes, even the children!” Continue reading

I took my kids to the LEGO Store this afternoon, and let me tell you something: No matter what age you are, if you can’t get your kid on in the LEGO Store, then you are a reprehensible human being and I don’t want to know you. You know who would have loved the LEGO Store? Hitler. No shit, he was into architecture and design in a big way, so if you don’t like the LEGO Store, you are worse than Hitler. Continue reading

I hate discovering things that make it seem like I’ve turned into a total pussy. For my birthday, my wife got me the Steve Jobs biography, but instead of getting me the Kindle version, she got me the actual hardcover book. Holy shit is that thing fucking heavy! How the hell did anyone read these things without their wrists snapping under the load? Yes, my wrists hurt when reading a hardcover book now, because I am a pussy. And old. I’m an old pussy. I fucking hate that. Ever reach for a beer and strain a muscle in your neck? It makes you feel like a large, musclebound dude is about to come over and kick sand in your face. Continue reading

I grew up in Illinois, about 45 miles northwest of Chicago. It was a wonderful place to grow up: We had fields and forests to explore, ponds and rivers to throw rocks in, trees to climb, hills to roll down, and the weather was glorious. Fall was brisk, with the scent of burning leaves in the air. Spring was a time of hope, promise, and wonder, as kids would venture outside in shorts when the thermometer hit a balmy 50 degrees. Summer… Well, summer was an endless golden haze, a dreamland. Winter in Chicago, on the other hand, can fucking blow me. Continue reading

My family and I were eating at IHOP on Friday night, and my kids were drawing with the paper and crayons they provide kids so that they won’t entertain themselves by pouring syrup all over everything. After looking over the menu, I looked up at my five year old who was just putting the finishing touches on a minor masterpiece. “Hey, what are you drawing?” I asked. Without hesitating he said, “Indiana Jones punching a jaguar.” Continue reading

As you may have noticed, I did a little redesign on my site in order to point out to people that Dogs On Drugs is up for a Bloggie, which is the rough equivalent of an Oscar, only the odds that a young starlet will blow you if you win are much, much lower. Maybe if you were dealing with one of the dumpier Kardashians, she’d give you a tuggie out of pity. Anyway, if you follow me on Facebook or Twitter you’ll know that I put out really fucking annoying periodic reminders to let people know they should go vote for me. I have no problem whoring myself out in this fashion. Continue reading