When I was 23, I moved from my home town of Chicago to Tucson, Arizona for various reasons, not the least of which was that I didn’t want to experience another Chicagoland winter. Well, that worked out well. It was 122º F here yesterday. Yeah, that’s way better than having to wear a scarf when you go outside. For those of you having a hard time comprehending that temperature because you’re unfamiliar with the Fahrenheit scale, imagine room temperature inside your home. Now imagine that you live inside your oven, the oven is turned on, and your house is on fire. That would’ve been a welcome break from the heat down here because 122º is fucking balls hot. I took the kids swimming at night, and even though it was pitch black out, it was still 109º. I read today how Seattle had this brutal heat wave going on, with temperatures as high as 92º, and everyone was crying in their heroin because of it. Yeah, well our low temperature was 100º, so you can cram it with espresso, Seattle. That is weak sauce, and you fucking know it. Continue reading

You may have noticed that I have not been posting much lately. This is because I have been confined to my couch, recovering from multiple, hockey-induced heart attacks. If you are a long time reader, you may know that I am from Chicago, and if you are from Canada or are one of the seven people in the United States who cares about hockey, you would correctly assume that I am a fan of the Chicago Blackhawks. And if you read page 47c in your local newspaper’s sports section today, buried below the middle school jai alai scores, you’d know that the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup last night by scoring two goals in seventeen seconds very, very late in the game. This is not unheard of in hockey. You will be absolutely unbeatable one moment and the next, a fluke shot that caroms off of a referee’s taint will end your season in the cruelest fashion possible. It is gut-wrenching beyond belief, and I am getting too old for this shit. Continue reading

A few days ago, I posted a video, the infamous “This Is My Fucking Single” post which was a big hit in that it made people want to hit me, big time. Actually, I don’t know what all the whining was about. I mean, we’re talking about a deaf castrato teen prancing around his room in front of a green screen. I can remember practicing some rock moves in my room as a teen, and although I hope that even my worst outtakes would blow “This Is My Fucking Single” out of the water, I’m certainly glad no that film footage exists to check my memory. Continue reading

This post was originally going to deal with an important topic, one so universal in scope that it would appeal to the broadest number of readers possible; namely that Huey Lewis is a horse-faced retard. Seriously, what kind of fucking drugs were we doing in the 80’s? First of all, Huey Lewis became popular, and then, even more inexplicably, he was not strapped to the Space Shuttle and used as a heat shield while his shriek-filled last moments were beamed across the globe to the ever-lasting delight of people with fucking taste. I mean, what the fucking-fuck? Huey Lewis was rewarded with money, drugs, and (one would assume) deaf and blind women when what he truly deserved was a trip to the bottom of the Marianas trench in a 50 gallon drum. Continue reading

I was too busy having forty-seven heart attacks while watching the Blackhawks outlast the Bruins 4-3 in three fucking overtimes to write a post tonight. Seriously, this kind of shit ages me. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but man, I get so fucking nervous that it can’t be good for me. In between OT periods, I built one of my kid’s LEGO sets (a really cool space shuttle) just to take my mind off of the craziness. Anyway, for those of you Bruins fans ready to throw yourself off of a cliff right about now, it could be worse. You could be forced to listen to this over and over and over again:

A while back, I sent someone a video of Angela Lansbury masturbating in a tub. Now, you may be asking yourself, “Greg, with all of the millions of videos of women masturbating in a tub on the internet at your disposal, why would you send someone a video of Angela Lansbury, of all people, furiously working her twat?” I did it because my brain is hard-wired for weirdness. Continue reading

I just got back from taking my daughter to the urgent care. Not that she need care urgently, or even really needed a lot of care. It’s just that under our insurance plan, an urgent care visit costs the same amount as a doctor’s visit and since it’s closer and takes appointments, we went there. If they had a place called Not Really Important Semi-Care, we would’ve gone there. Continue reading

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

As my long time readers are no doubt aware, Dogs On Drugs has long been a trusted authority in the world of international finance and business. I’ve got business acumen like a motherfucking wildman, yo. South of the border, I am known as Señor Acumen. Peasants doff their sombreros when I pass, and slay their burros in sorrow when I leave. So it should come as no surprise to you that I have been named to the 2013 Worldwide Registry of Business Professionals. That’s right, read it and weep, people. I am now fucking unstoppable. You may call me Señor Unstoppable Juggernaut Acumen, and you’d better have a fucking burro handy. Continue reading

I used to teach computer classes back in the mid-90’s. At the time, computers were just starting to become an indispensable tool in the business world, and thanks to the global pornography network known as the internet being made public, it was starting to become an indispensable tool at home as well, if only because guys needed something different to jerk it to (the lingerie section of the Sears Roebuck catalog only came out twice a year, after all. Not that I would know.) “This is a great investment, honey!” guys would say. “We can use it to balance our checkbook!” How this was accomplished by dumping man-juice all over the keyboard was left unexplained. Continue reading