I am such a fucking white dude. Today was a perfect Sunday: Nothing on the calendar. So I woke up, discussed the situation with my wife and suggested that we spend our day shopping at Ikea. Really. I could have gone hiking, watched TV, played video games with my kids, or any of a hundred other things that I consider fun. Instead, I went to a store that gives its products insane names like Poäng, Pluggis, and Duderö. Continue reading

I took my family to an arboretum today. I realize, of course, that in this technological age the concept of a botanical garden devoted to trees seems a bit quaint, but it was pretty cool even if I couldn’t find the Like button, and for some reason there was no porn. And my two boys, five and three, absolutely loved it because it allowed them to do what boys that age do best: Fuck shit up. Continue reading

The cost of playing the PowerBall lottery just went from $1 to $2. This means that throwing your money away is now twice as expensive as it was before. It’s as if you were walking by a burning trash can and asked the hobo warming his hands over it if you could put a dollar in there, and he said “No, but you can put in two!” This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. It is simply more cost effective for you to sit at home with a bunch of ping pong balls, pick six them at random from out of a hat, and then flush a buck down the toilet when you’re done. Continue reading

I paid an attractive woman in her 20’s money to physically pleasure me yesterday.

If you’ve never gotten a full-body massage, I highly recommend it. Having a person assigned to rubbing your body makes you feel like a goddamn Egyptian pharaoh. I always feel like barking out, “Massage whore! My hamstrings require attention. Rub them vigorously, I command it!” This, of course, would be a horrendously short-sighted thing to do considering the strength of my masseuse’s hands and her constant proximity to my nuts. Continue reading

By now, those of you who celebrate Christmas will have breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have gone through the holiday, but happy to see it (and all the associated stress) safely in the past. I, on the other hand, have added to the long list of people I will slay with extreme prejudice just as soon as everybody wisens up and puts me in charge of running the fucking show on this planet. (And seriously, what is fucking taking you guys so long?) Continue reading

Christmas used to be so easy at my house. My wife and I are always happy to get anything (or even nothing) on Christmas, and the kids used to be more interested in the wrapping paper than they were in the things the wrapping paper surrounded. This was awesome because we could use the opportunity to get the kids things they needed in addition to to things they wanted: They needed pajamas, they wanted to chew on packing peanuts, and a good time was had by all. Continue reading

Corporate holiday parties. Holy shit, do those things fucking blow. I’m not talking about the small company get together at someone’s house. Those can be fun, provided the host is an easy going sort and likes to drink. (But have one of those hosted by a strict non-drinker or someone who sells Amway on the side and you may as well slit your wrists with one of the plastic, serrated knives by the appetizers because if your life isn’t over now, you’ll wish it was by the time the party is done.) No, I’m talking about the Corporate holiday party that was scheduled when the bi-quarterly employee satisfaction survey indicated a 0.3% drop in employee morale, and the committee that was formed in response decided to punish everyone who lowered the corporate morale score by forcing them to attend the lamest fucking party of all time. Continue reading

We called the police on a neighbor’s 16 year old kid this morning because he apparently decided that 9:00 AM on a Sunday is a wonderful time to load up on angel dust. Seriously, the dude was shirtless in the driveway (because that’s how you get the police to come. Ever seen Cops?) barking like a fucking dog and performing a move I can only describe as “hyper-clapping”. He also looked like he was shitting on the side of a truck at one point. Continue reading

You know what I had growing up? A basement. A simple basement down a simple flight of stairs. It was wonderful. My dad had an office down there, filled with his extensive library of books that I devoured when I was a child. The first novel I ever read was Jaws. I was seven at the time, and it was quite an eye opener. I learned that I was never going to go swimming in New England, and also that sex scenes in novels were weird, hard to fathom, and something that I wanted to investigate in much greater depth. I read that book, and many, many more in our basement. Continue reading

You know what’s fun? Combing through the comment spam that my filter has picked up. I do this because every now and again a legitimate comment gets thrown in there and I have to rescue it. These tend to stand out, though, simply because the spam I do get is so ridiculous: “This post is a great resource. I will definitely be back!” Oh, hey, I’m glad you think my post consisting of a video of a retarded goat is so valuable. Be sure to come back next week when I have a clip of a badger with Downs. Or sometimes you’ll get a comment that looks like this: “Your site is so {informative|intelligent|well thought out}. I plan to {return|come back} {as soon as possible|soon|next week}.” Well thought out? Listen, asshole, I asked Styx to make me a roast beef sandwich. My site is as well thought out as the piece of shit program you wrote to send your spam. Continue reading