Hair Metal, Mullets and Masturbation - How I spent 1988

The day a boy gets his first real stiffy is quite, possibly the second greatest day of life (the greatest is the day he realizes what he can do with it). That first week is like a honeymoon with yourself, where you will spend every available minute consummating your marriage to yourself. But it's also a little like doing heroin...you will spend the rest of your life trying to recreate that high (hint: listening to "Talk dirty to me" on repeat, does NOT help).

For me, that all happened in the summer of 1988.

1988 was a special year for me. I got my first "girlfriend", had a mullet, found my Dad's porno stash, all this with Def Leppard and Poison awesomely singing the soundtrack of my horrendously awkward youth. As a result, I will forever associate those songs with the first Summer my baby batter factory was open for business.

Hey - I said open, not that that I had any customers.

What I did have was a Def Leppard t-shirt that I literally wore every fucking day. I wore it so much, I had to peel it off of my yellowed torso every night lest my parents find it, wash it and it not be available for me to wear the next day. If you would have scraped it, you could have made a sculpture from the play-doh like mixture of grease and dead skin cells that gave the shirt it's strange, corn-dog-esque odor.

But because Hair Metal was huge that summer, I was convinced that shirt was the ticket to getting some "sugar poured on me". I'm still not sure exactly what that means, but it sounded like heavy metal sex to me. So on my smelly, scrawny chicken chest it stayed. And "away" is where the girls mostly stayed (I blame my Mom for not letting me have a pair of sweet tore-up jeans or big glam hair - my commitment to the hair metal scene was half-assed at best). I didn't even have a jean jacket. Where was a kid supposed to show off his "Winger" and "Tesla" patches? Fuck!

Anyways, having a heaping pile of porno at your disposal at that age is great, but it's only natural to start longing for a real human (ask anybody you know who plays a lot of World of Warcraft). Why else would Joe Elliot sing so passionately about love biting? It was clear to me then that girls were so awesome that it sucked not to have one (for love biting or sugar pouring or whatever). Other kids were starting to get girlfriends, and you couldn't go to the Middle school dance with an old Playboy magazine.

So began the quest for a girlfriend (and apparently Lita Ford was out of my proverbial leauge). A long and not-so-epic quest which I shall not retell here because it consists mainly of many hours locked in my room listening to Vince Neil croon "Without you" or those fags in Cinderella whine "don't know what you got till it's gone". That's right! Listen up all you stupid training bra wearing bitches! You don't know! Cinderella understands! Kip Winger understands!

I found extraordinary solace in those hair metal ballads the way fat, lonely, middle aged women do in Lifetime movies. Except I didn't stuff my face with Bon-Bons and low self esteem. They comforted me. Soothed me. I was so forlorn, I even started using the heavy stuff. Yes, I'm talking about "More than words" by Extreme. Don't worry, I've made a full recovery from that dark spot in my life.

I eventually got a girlfriend - by brow-beating her into submission just long enough to shut me up dump my one-armed drummer loving ass. At which point, I needed the soothing power of Sebastian Bach singing "I'll remember you" more than ever, or Bret Michaels to remind me that every rose did indeed have it's thorn.

Truer words have seldom been spoken.

I learned a lot that summer. One, that mullets and ripped up jeans as a fashion would quickly give way to Z Cavaricci pants and French cuffed jeans. Second, that the music of Poison, Def Leppard and Motley Crue have near medicinal properties. And lastly, you'll never get dumped by a Playboy magazine.

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The War On Being Totally Fucking Unimaginative

Ok, I make video games. That is my job, that is what I do. If I've learned anything during the process, its that how awesome things are matters. Things must be bad-ass. A lame-ass robot can have the same statistics as a bad-ass robot, and it will still be lame because it looks and feels lame.

Our military needs to learn this lesson. Not that we or our weapons are lame mind you, but we could be waaaay more awesome if we introduced a little videogame style design into our weaponry.

Take for example, BIGDOG.

This thing is awesome. It looks like a headless goat, its freaky as hell when it moves, and it makes a fucked-up, scary vibrating noise all the time. It can catch itself when it starts to fall on ice, jump over shit... awesome. However, the military plans to use it to... carry shit. Yes, its a fucking robot pack mule. Whatever happened to real mules? Mules are cheap, they've been carrying shit around for thousands of years. If you need to carry some gear, use a mule.

What we should do with BIGDOG, is make it 3 times larger and remote controlled (like a UAV). Next, mount double Cerebus-style beast heads on it with fucking flamethrowers in the mouths, put a minigun on the top, and amplify that freaky vibrating noise it makes x10. Send THAT fucking thing into a cave in Afghanistan to root out some terrorists. We could cut our need for soldiers in half and just use remote-located Red Bull-ed out Halo players controlling robot demon-beasts instead!

The Japanese have invented these.

Again, reducing the need for putting live Americans in harms way! Make some of these robots 10ft tall and send them in. They can crazy sideways crabwalk up to terrorists and flipping pile-drive or super-punch them. If I saw one of these fucking things crabwalking towards me at crazy speeds, I'd break and run like a crackhead at a DEA convention. Again, just recruit the top 10 best Street Fighter players and let them remote operate those bad boys... Robot dragon-punching a terrorist's head off would only be the most fantastic thing that ever happened.

And then, there's the Gay Bomb.

WHY DID WE STOP WORKING ON THIS! Its a bomb, that throws peoples' sexual impulses into super-overdrive, causing them to desperately ravage anyone nearby. Imagine a group of long-bearded muslim extremists suddenly going man-gay and uncontrollably giving each other the business... Ok, so that's horrific to imagine. Fuck. Man I'm gonna have trouble getting THAT out of my head. However, I'd give organs to see the conversation that breaks out after those guys wake up the morning after... How bad would the "Group Muslim Extremist Gay Walk of Shame" be? I imagine it involves them all gunning each other down in horror as they imagine Allah witnessing them Man-raping one another. Spectacular.

...And scroll down to the end of that article. Chemical weapons that send angry wasps to attack people?! THIS is the US Military I want to see. Imagine the press release after some Al Queda outfit gets swarmed to death by angry wasps... How would they even pin that shit on us? Our attacks would look like something out of Candyman. Those religious fanatics would think the wrath of God was on them and we could just sit back and watch their infrastructure implode...

Now, here is some shit we are doing right.

That's right motherfucker, LASERS FROM THE SKY. This is what I call ingenuity in action. I mean, Star Wars came out in the 70s, its high-fucking-time we got some laser beams to fry people with. I can just see the news headline now... "A huge leap forward in the War on Terror occurred today when a top Al Queda operative's head melted like a meat-candle in a microwave."

See, this is all I want, for our enemies to fear robots, lasers, wasps, and sudden uncontrollable fits of nymphomaniacal gayness. Dare to dream people, dare to dream...
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Why You Suck At Murder

I watch alot of murder oriented television. ALOT. We're measuring in fuck-tons here, ALOT of fuck-tons. I'm talking about Forensic Files, Dexter, Cold Case Files, CSI (but not Miami, David Caruso's bullshit pensive sunglasses thing makes me want to drink paint) NCIS... I mean, if its got an acronym with C, I, and S, in it, or they talk about shoe tread patterns and diatoms, I am there.

The thing I notice primarily, is how much amazing information is available on how to discretely dismiss people and how brutally poor at it people are. Dudes are out there, chipper-shredding frozen people who have addressed checks in their pockets, leaving bloody shoes lying in their mom's basements and trying to kill people with draino. What wild incompetence! What poor planning! In the spirit of reducing the population density, I've decided to gather together some basic guidelines for the novice death dealer. Read and learn.

1. No stabbing! - I know you really hate that d-bag who fucked your sister while running over your dog, but stabbing is for amateurs. Obvious knife-shaped entrance wounds linkable to the specific weapon, microabrasions on bones, indicators of attacker strength and strike angles... blood spatter... Why don't you just sign your name in your own semen on a "Glad you're dead" Hallmark card and tape it to the corpse while you're at it? Stabbers always go down hard, period. Its like running from the cops... all its gonna do is land you on TV getting tazed until foam sprays out of your mouth while a police dog drags you around with your pants half off.

If you somehow just wake up from a blind red rage already having stabbed, at least get the murder weapon out of there and dispose if it in an unrelated place. No asshole, not in the trunk of your car or buried in your back yard... more like in the trash can of a Chuck E Cheese two towns over. Toss the shoes you wore while you're at it.

2. Clothing is Key! - You might think you're a fucking ninja with your black sweats and your skimask, but you are a noob and a rank amateur. The expert extinguisher should smell like a hospital and squeak when he walks. Rubber apron, latex gloves, plastic shoe covers, shower cap... You'll look like a lunchlady, but you won't be dropping DNA all over the future crime scene while struggling with your wife's "platonic tennis partner".

And don't go taking all that shit home either. Put it in a lawn bag you stole from the Home Depot, drive 200 miles in a random direction and stuff it in the bottom of a restaurant dumpster at 2AM.

Don't go in to the woods and try to burn evidence! Starting a fire is like sending coincidence a native smoke signal and it will send some bumbling witness straight to your location so he can hide behind a tree and remember what you looked like and what suspicious shit you were doing. And for God's sake, don't bury anything. Nothing. Burying shit does two things: 1 - requires you to dig. People just digging out in the woods are fucking suspicious. Bumbling witnesses always dig up whatever you buried and inspect it. 2 - Burying shit protects the evidence. 2 feet of dirt is way less impressive than 10 tons of garbage. A bag of bloody clothes also stands out lying in a hole in the woods, notsomuch in a landfill. Imagine if you were charged with searching for evidence in a landfill, sounds impossible as hell right? Good, that's what you want.

3. Steal a car! - You'll certainly need a car for your homicial outing, as nothing is more conspicuous than a bloody man running down the street in a plastic apron. The noob move is to roll out in your silver 89 Hyundai with poorly attached discount rims and the red replacement door your ex-uncle in-law installed. Trust me. If you use your own car, there's somehow a 100% chance that you were coincidentally sold a limited edition, first press obscure tire made at a special plant in Milwaukee that closed down immediately after producing it and will leave a nice clear tire imprint in some serendipitous soft clay. (No doubt paid for with that first credit card you got in your name when you were 18) Either that, or the tri-lobal fiber baby-blue and lime-green shag carpet in your teardrop-window molester van is so fucking ugly that you are one of only three people in US history tasteless enough to stomach looking at it. (No doubt too they'll find a nice long strand trapped between the victim's teeth) Either way, they'll link some obscurely unique shit to your ride and they'll be spraying luminol all over your garage before your ex-ex's insurance paperwork even clears.

If you do steal a car, again, wear a plastic suit and gloves under that freshly bought trenchcoat, or no doubt they'll somehow find one of your semen-encrusted pubes stuck right to the steering wheel. You've been warned.

4. Don't Preserve the Body! - Dexter does this, and it pisses me off every time. Don't put the corpse in a plastic bag you retard! Corpses are the the PROBLEM, we want them to GO AWAY. Plastic bags are inherently designed to fucking protect items from the elements. You want to get rid of the damn thing, not leave it for your grandma to see on the news 6 months from now when the bag fills up with corpse-gas and floats to the surface. Put the body and some cinderblocks in a dog kennel or a crab trap and let the hungry creatures of the sea do your dirty work... Just stay out of scenic, scuba diving areas.

5. Use Science! - This is advice so good, I hate to give it you, for fear that when I have to kill your dumb ass, your friends might guess it was me. The human body is a complex system that doesn't deal well with chemical imbalance, especially to chemicals absent or present only in tiny amounts. There are a ridiculous number of chemicals that don't appear on a tox screen and will dispatch a human discretely and untraceably. And as an added bonus, if it looks like a heart attack, you don't even need to worry about dirtying your pasty white man-mitts dismembering a body! I've decided the best way to handle this is to immobilize the victim and inject them with a fatal substance right up the cornhole. That way, there's no visible needle mark, and the natural intestinal intake system will make things extra-speedy. Plus, you aren't trying to trick the victim into eating that odd-tasting burrito you mysteriously insisted on cooking and yet refuse to touch.

I also give this method extra thought, since genetics has granted me a guaranteed eventual ride on the alzheimer's express, and I don't plan to board, if you catch my drift. (I'll need a cornhole injection administerer volunteer) When I die of an "undetermined cause", SOMEBODY's getting that insurance money... Well, maybe not if they read this blog. Fuck. Looks like I'm gonna need administrative privilages here Dave... I'll need to delete this later.

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Things No One Really Bothers to Tell You About Fatherhood

So I’m a dad now and as shocking as that is to all the people who knew me when I was a young, pot-smoking, long hair, I decided none-the-less to try my hand at procreation and guess what, I’m fucking AWESOME at it. That’s right. I get the job done! And now as a result, my wife and I have a new a baby boy. 6lbs, 10oz of Adam genetics is now mine for the raising and man is it difficult. As a result of this newfound responsibility, I have learned a whole lot about having a child that people seriously failed to let me in on. They might have hinted at some shit but no one really gives you the bare bones reality that is fatherhood. So I’ve decided to do my best to give you a realistic understanding of parenthood as I know it. Here’s what no one bothers to tell you.

Lesson One: No one fucking cares that you are tired.

Man am I fucking tired. No..seriously. I’m really goddamn tired. I’m hallucination tired. I feel like I stayed up all night drinking Jolt cola at some shitty church lock-in and I’m never gonna get to sleep. I feel Robin Williams and it is 1982. I feel like Bin Laden. Now everyone always says “ You better get all the sleep you can before the baby gets here and boy you are gonna be tired” to the point that it isn’t really advice..it’s just someone being an asshole. First off, it is unoriginal as hell to tell someone who is about to have a baby that they are gonna be tired. No shit. I just produced an eating, crying, poop and pee storm that cannot provide any comfort for itself whatsoever. It’s all on me. AND I have to do all my other shit. Also, you can’t "stockpile sleep." I don’t have a closet full of extra hours of sleep I can cash in on like they sell two-for-ones of sleep at goddamn Costco. If I slept all day last Saturday it has jack shit to do with right now … Right now I could sleep through a blowjob.

What people SHOULD have told me is that not only am I gonna be tired but that NO ONE IS GONNA GIVE A FUCK. That’s right. Your parents think it’s funny b/c you did it to them, your grandparents think it is real funny b/c you AND your parents did it to them, your friends with kids are just glad they are past it and your friends without kids are drinking themselves into downsyndrome and readjust their Nuvarings every time they see the bags under your eyes…but the worst is your boss. Your boss REALLY doesn’t give a shit…you just have to “get the job done or suck it up" or whatever dickhead phrase that equates to "have more coffee and next time, wear a rubber."

Lesson Two: Babies are gross.

I know, I know. Babies are cute and their heads smell like a ceasefire and they get all chubby and they are simply adorable. But none of that matters when you have shit spray on you at 4am. And it’s gonna happen. Babies are unbelievably efficient at firing shit up to multiple feet. They are also very accurate. It isn’t uncommon for them to poop OVER the cloth you have placed in front of their butt in order for them to hit your hands or forearms…and if you have a boy, they like to wait for you to start to clean the poop off before showering your unprotected areas with pee. If you don’t think babies are gross, try cleaning diarrhea that looks like it has seeds in it off your wall, clothes and carpet.

Lesson Three: Leaving the house is a nightmare.

Need to go to the store to get milk? No you don’t. Re-evaluate how bad you need that milk. Can you put water in the cereal? How about black coffee? Just bought a whole pack of Oreos? Eat em dry, motherfucker! Because that trip to the store is gonna take all goddamn day. Every time you leave the house it’s like going fucking camping. Diapers, diaper bag, change of clothes, wipes, bottle, burp cloth, changing pad, car seat, stroller, pacifier, hand sanitizer, THE BABY. Then, IF and when you get all this shit in the car, you gotta make sure you remembered to brush your teeth, to put on a belt, to put in your contacts, to get your keys, your wallet, your purse, your cellphone, your sunglasses, then, when you and the baby are finally in the car and you have your shit together you forget where the fuck you are going in the first place.

Lesson Four: Like your wife’s new rack? yeah, it belongs to the baby

Her boobs are enormous….I mean, they are really big. Like porno big. Like I wanna make a mold of them, big….Man,…they look awesome. I bet they would look REAL awesome resting on my forehead. Yeeeeeah…let’s give that a try. (smack!)What do you mean I can’t touch them? Oh, you gotta feed the baby..ok maybe later.”

MAYBE NOT.

This was God’s cruelest joke (besides making the baby come out of the vagina, which is just plain shitty deployment)..I mean, why make them all awesome and untouchable at the same time? Couldn’t God just numbed em up all through the pregnancy and till the baby moves on to solids? Sounds like a good idea to me! Baby can eat, mom’s boobs don’t hurt, daddy can still touch em, everybody wins! Unfortunately this isn’t how it works and those awesome centerfold boobs are wasted on the baby, who can’t wait to tug and gnaw on them all over the place, roughing em up so that we’ll never get a chance to romance them again. If you are gonna make them so big that you can’t cover them up and they are gonna be out there all the time, give me fuckin access to them for christsakes. I liken it to those “metal claw grab games” they have at Walmart or the skating rink or whatever. There, behind the glass, that big soft stuffed animal that you want. It’s soft and all plush and nice and you can see it and you can just imagine how soft and comfy it is but you can’t grab the fuckin thing no matter how many times you try. It starts to pick it up but then drops it at the last minute. So close….yet so far away. Dammit….dammit.

Lesson Five: Paranoia…it’s not just for Schitzophrenics (or Republicans) anymore.

"I’m gonna drop the baby..I’m gonna drop the baby.." This is gonna become your mental fuckin mantra for a few weeks because you are constantly going to stress yourself out that you are gonna slip and your poor child will come crashing to the pavement and will smash their tiny baby head on the linoleum, thus becoming Tim Tebowed and solidifying you in the "Shitty Parent Hall of Fame." Even if you have a grip on that baby like he’s a bowling ball, you’ll picture yourself juggling him like a hot potato. And that is just "holding" him. Let’s talk about "sleeping." Just you wait till you set him down in the crib for the night. You put him down and walk away…only to find yourself sneaking back in there two minutes later to "see if he’s still breathing." Is he breathing? I can’t tell. I can’t HEAR him breathing. I could see him breathe but it’s dark. Shit. Let me lick my finger and hold it under his nose. Can I feel it..? I feel something but maybe it’s the fan. Fuck. Alright, I’ll just touch his chest and see if he’s breathing. Damnit. Now I know he’s breathing b/c he’s staring at me. I just woke him up.
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Creed Shreds 3: You Sh!t Here With Me LIVE!

Ahhh...I hate Creed. Thankfully, this came out just in time for their new tour.


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How to destroy the Earth - quickly.

Let me start by saying I am pro-apocalypse. My fear is there is no God and therefore no end of the world as predicted by the Bible. So we need a backup plan to destroy the Earth. And something cooler than waiting for the ice caps to melt, I don't have that kind of time. If there are no "four horsemen" to look forward to, I'm not just going to sit around and wait to drown.

During the course of my research, I came across a website called World Jump Day who seemed to have a decent idea about getting everyone on the planet to jump at the same time, thus adjusting the planet's orbit and theoretically improving things like global warming and extending the amount of daylight hours. That's fine if you want to save the Earth, but we need to destroy it. I like the idea of adjusting the orbit, but if we are going to get all those people together to unite for a single purpose, let's do something really spectacular. Let's send this Mofo out into space, or careening into the sun.

The problem is, the World can't even agree on a language, let alone whether or not they should all be jumping to correct the orbit. It's times like this I wish Superman was real because he could just throw the bastard at Jupiter like a 13,170,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 pound softball.

So here's my solution (if you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem I always say):

We take all of our nuclear weapons and ship them to Iraq. Once there, we pile them up and detonate them at the same time. This blast will produce enough power to send the Earth flying off into space. This is the same strategy scientists have for deflecting an asteroid away from the planet, only they would use less bombs. Look it up if you want, or go watch that travesty of a movie "Armageddon".

If we are careful, we can time the blast to fire us of into the desired direction. I say we go for the sun. It will be way more dramatic of an end and it would be way too hard to "lead" another planet on it's orbital path. Have you ever tried to shoot clay targets? Way too hard. And it's not like we get any practice shots.

By strategically selecting Iraq we get the added fuel of all that oil underground to burn and add fuel to the fire as they say. Plus, if it doesn't work there's your exit strategy for the war, accelerated global warming, the melting of a lot more than just the ice caps, and the eventual absolute destruction of the Earth all wrapped up into one.

It's what they call a "win-win".
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Things I have said to my kids

Kids may say the darndest things but I tend to be more amused by the manner in which I, as a parent must respond. So here is my personal collection of things I have said to my kids...

Mommy and I were just “hugging”. Get back in your bed. Now.

Stop licking the door.

Sweetie, you can’t put raisins up your nose. Yes, I’m sure it does make them taste like boogers.

Don’t hit the cat with the flyswatter.

No, Burger King doesn’t have that kind of Happy Meal toy, that’s McDonalds and we aren’t going to McDonalds. No, they never have the same toys at both places. Because they make deals with those toy companies to try and gain an advantage in the market so kids will whine that they want to go to one place more than the other to get the Happy Meal toy and thereby make more money than their competition. Because money is all they care about. No, I’m sorry bud, they don’t care about you, just your daddy’s money. Because they’re evil. Yes, evil means bad.

[To my daughter] Honey! Honey! Honey! You have to sit down when you pee!

Why are you licking my shirt?

How did you get bubblegum in your armpit?

Guys, you need to be quiet, Daddy’s trying to rest. Because I’m tired. Yes, I was drinking beer again yesterday.

Why did you try and clean the tile floor with my favorite CD?

No, ghosts can’t eat you.

Please stop tattooing your sister.

Sweetie, you can’t take candy from strangers. Yes, I understand that you really like candy.

You can’t call Uncle Desi a “wetback”. That’s kind of a bad word. Because it is. Look, just don’t say it anymore ok?

No, you cannot fill the sink [in your toy kitchen] with water. And you can’t fill the carpet with water either.

Get out of the dryer.

Sharks can’t live in the pool.

Because it hurts when you hit me there. Yes, that’s where my penis is. I know you don’t have a penis. Because girls don’t have penises. Because they don’t.

The potato bug won’t bite you, I promise.

What were you doing on the roof?

You got up there, you figure out how to get down.

Because some people are brown, and some people aren’t. No, you are not brown. No, I doubt you will be brown when you grow up.

Put your pants back on. Because you have to wear pants outside.

You’d really like that toy huh? Well, I’d really like a minotaur. What do you think of that?

Did you just say “Fuck”?
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Eat Shit and Die Suburban Hipster

Oh, hey. What’s up man? Geez, I haven’t seen you since High School. How’s it been going? Good. Good.
What? Oh, let you turn your Ipod down first? Ok, no problem. Just, go ahead and uh, do that. You’re listening to the new Killers album? No, I haven’t heard it. It’s pretty cool? Yeah, I guess I’ll have to check it out. No, I don’t have an Ipod. Yeah. Yeah, I can see you love it. You’re listening to it in the grocery store parking lot. Just picking up some Red Stripe for an art gallery opening. Are you the artist? No? Oh, your buddy just invited you. I see. Me? I’m uh, buyin my wife some maxi pads actually. Yeah. That time of the month you know?

You got a new car huh? What’d ya get? Oh, a Scion huh? That red one over there? Yeah, that’s cool I guess. No, I didn’t know you could customize the gear shift. That’s pretty neat. My Altima only had one type of gear shift. You like it better than your old Jetta? Yeah, I guess that makes sense when you compare the gear shifts and all.

Man, you sure put a lot of bumper stickers on that thing already. Aren’t you worried about messing up the paint? Oh, it’s a lease. Yeah, I guess “no big deal” then right? Yeah. Oh, your parents pay for it anyways? Fuck the dealership, exactly. Yeah, fuck them. Yeah, I like the bumper sticker that says “You laugh at me cause’ I’m different, I laugh at you ‘cause you’re all the same”. I get it. You probably get a lot of that with all you tattoos and piercings and tattoos and stuff. No, I never considered piercing that. They match your ironic trucker hat. Did I see your shirt? No, what’s it say? Oh, it’s the old Atari Logo. Sweet. “Old School”, haha. Yeah, hey… Remember “Pong”? No? Yeah me neither.

Yeah, I bet it’s hard to find a job with all that. We can’t really have stuff like that where I work. Where are you working now? Oh, the coffee shop in the bookstore? I work at a small design agency on the west si…. Yeah, I should definitely come up and hang out. It’s just hard for me to go out much with the kids and all. Yeah, I have two. They’re great, their names are Gabr… Oh sure, go ahead and call Tim. Tell him I said “What’s up”. An iPhone? Yeah, it looks cool. No, I just have whatever the base model they give you for free. Yeah, I’ll wait. I’m sure my wife isn’t going to bleed to death without the Maxi-Pads.

No, no problem. I understand, there are just some phone calls you have to make. Oh, he’s got some good weed right now? No, I don’t smoke anymore. Kids and all, remember? You don’t have any kids yet, do you? A pet snake? Yeah, well they’re pretty similar in that you have to make sure they don’t die and stuff, sure.

MySpace? Oh yeah, I made a page cause my friend Mike had one and he lives out of state so I… Add your band to my Friends list? Yeah sure, I should do that. Yeah, I saw the Chuck Norris thing. That’s your avatar? Pretty funny. Yeah, uh, what kind of band are you guys? Kinda like the Killers huh? Sounds cool. I will definitely check that out. Do you guys play out anywhere? Not really? Oh. Yeah I know, it’s probably way hard to find someone to sign you.

Ok, well cool man, I gotta get home before my milk spoils. Yeah. And you probably gotta get to the gallery before your Red Stripe gets warm. Alright dude. You too. Take it easy. Enjoy your gear shift and Ipod and stuff. Maybe I’ll catch you up at the coffee shop, you can make me a mochachino or something. No, you’re right, mochachinos are totally gay. Yeah, I’ll get something else. Ok, awesome, Later man.
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Bad Business

• Juicy Juice is a juice brand that parents sometimes buy for their children. I don't buy it because I cannot afford the redundant adjective on the packaging. This is the same reason I do not buy Milky Milk.

• Fish food packaging lists the ingredients on the back. As if I am going to check there first to make sure I am not going to feed my fish something he may be allergic to. The last fish food I bought said it was new and improved on the label, but I'm not sure if it was really better. My fish has yet to indicate whether or not he prefers the new brand over the old brand.

• I'm glad nobody ever thought to combine the resuscitation dolls with blow-up sex dolls. I wouldn't have bought one if was was advertised as being both. What they should combine are cows and pigs because I really like bacon cheeseburgers.

• Dave & Busters is the only place I know of where you can spend $200.00 gambling and only win a coffee mug. I guess that's better than Chuck E Cheese where all I can win is a Super ball. A coffee mug has a more practical application in my day to day life. I cannot drink from a super ball.

• I went to the barber to get my hair cut. The barber asked me if I wanted a "regular" haircut. I said "No, I would like an extraordinary haircut". I didn't realize I had an option. If it's the same price, I want my hair to look really good.

• The Avis Rental car company has a tagline. They say "We try harder". This implies to me that they try, but do not succeed. "I'm sorry sir, we tried to get you a car for the weekend, but could not acquire one for your use. That will be $39.00 please." They should change it to: "We will definitely rent you a car".

• A local car dealership has a commercial where two guys say: "We're the Fred Martin car guys and we know cars". This seems like a waste of valuable commercial time. I expect you to know cars already. Tell me something interesting about yourselves. Say: "We're the Fred Martin car guys and we know how David Copperfield made the Statue of Liberty disappear". That would get me to come down to your car dealership. But I would be really angry if the answer was "magic". I would not buy a car then.
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Thanks for coming to my funeral, assholes.

This is fucking perfect. I'm dead and about to be buried in the cheapest suit my wife could find. Jesus Christ woman! I know the life insurance paid enough for you to get more than a 23 dollar suit from Goodwill with a bloodstain on the crotch. Hope you are putting all that money you saved on dressing me for eternity towards the kids college fund and not going on another Hedonism vacation with Tyrone.

Good luck kids, you're fucked now. The only consolation I can offer you is knowing that when Mommy dies it will probably be from a painful STD or a meth overdose. At least Daddy loves you.

Oh and kids? Stay the fuck away from Uncle Bryan. It looks like he's drunk again, and that mean's he's probably going to try and ask you to go out to his van. Always stay away from vans with no windows.

And could everybody please refrain from putting their garbage in the casket with me? Honestly, keep the fucking photos. My eyes are sewn shut, I couldn't look at them even if I wanted to. And who dropped their chewed gum on my sleeve? Oh, wait, it's not just gum, it's Grandma's dentures too. Gross.

Man these pillows aren't very soft. I had always envisioned this scenario to be a lot more comfortable. I really didn't even want to be buried. I would have rather been taxidermied and kept in my own living room dressed in a smoking jacket, reading the paper. I should have had my brother put a remote control spring device in here to pop me upright and freak everybody out in the middle of the service. Or rig me up like a Billy Bass so I could blurt out "I'm not dead yet!" when somebody knelt by the casket.

By the way, did nobody take the time to explain to the priest how to pronounce my godamn last name? He pronounced it three different ways during that shitty eulogy (who told him I was an active water sport enthusiast?). And why did we we get a Catholic priest anyways? We aren' t Catholic, and I never went to church. I'm going to get to heaven and the first thing out of St. Peter's mouth is going to be "Who the fuck are you?"

I'm impressed how many people showed up for my wake. I didn't think I even knew this many people. Although I don't see my cousin Steve. I guess he couldn't make bail to be here. Nevertheless, It's nice to see people coming out to pay their respects. It just seems weird that nobody is crying.

Oh they're closing the casket finally. One last thing before I go -. Mr. Mortician. I'll be waiting for you when you die. I made it my whole life without every having any gay experiences and the week they are going to finally put me in the ground, you go and fuck me in the mouth, then sew up the evidence. To make matters worse, I didn't even get the courtesy "head tap" before you moneyed all over my dead mouth. And it's not like anybody bothers to brush the teeth of the dead. Thanks alot. Rest assured there will be a special surprise waiting for you in the Afterlife.
Oh well, I'd like thank everybody for making the last moments of my Earthly memories completely awful. And if anybody is going to drop any more junk in here with me, could you please make it a bottle of Listerine?
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I Want a Minotaur

I have two kids. Two kids who frequently “want this” or “want that”. In an effort to deal with demands that I am unwilling to fulfill, I started responding with equally unrealistic wants of my own. My favorite is telling them that I want a minotaur. And yes, I mean the labyrinth guarding, axe-wielding man with a bull’s head.

After saying this several times to crush my children’s spirit, I realized that I really did want a minotaur. Badly. Having a minotaur around the house would not only kick major ass, but also be really useful. So this got me thinking further about other mythical creatures and the pros and cons of having each around the house. So I present to you, dear reader, the Whangdoodle guide to owning mythical creatures.

Mintotaur

Pros: The minotaur can easily destroy enemies trying to break into your house/lair. They are intelligent, capable warriors who stay put when tasked with a mission (home defense, etc). Also good for moving furniture, taking out the garbage, and have a keen eye for landscape design.
Cons: Must build giant hedge maze on your property, not toilet trained.

Unicorn

Pros: Gentle and beautiful, the Unicorn makes a great alternative pet for horse enthusiasts. The hooves of these well-mannered beasts can be used to make magically strong glue.
Cons: Due to the giant spear attached to the forehead, unicorns are not recommended for use in rodeos. Plus, riding one automatically makes you gay.

Troll

Pros: When brute force is needed, look no further than a troll. Easily opens stuck jars, lifts cars for convenient mechanical repairs, removes unwanted trees from yard, and operates gate mechanisms to let orc battalions back into your evil kingdom.
Cons: Akin to owning a 12 foot tall child with super strength and down’s syndrome.

Succubus

Pros: Ask any kid who has ever jacked off to hardcore anime’ and they’ll tell you how they would cut off their mouse-clicking finger to bang one of these demon sex kittens from the underworld. Succubi are notorious for their sexual prowess and make a great in-house fuck buddy whose thirst for dirty sex is matched only by their thirst for blood.
Cons: Try to kill you after sex. High probability of catching Hell’s version of Syphilis or HIV.

Hippogriff

(if you don’t know what this is, watch “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”)
Pros: Hippogriffs can fly. Say goodbye to high gas prices and rush hour during your commute to work! Park your Hippogriff anywhere you like! I’d like to see a traffic cop try and put a ticket on the vicious snapping beak of your new ride.
Cons: No trunk, windshield or CD player. Extended warranty is a ripoff.

Dragon

Pros: Dragons are the ultimate in badass mythical creatures and provide more compensation for a small penis then a Hummer H2. Great for incinerating garbage, starting the grill, or getting even with a neighbor whose dog barks to much. Top choice for home security and guarding valuables such as gold, Nintendo Wii systems, and +3 magic swords.
Cons: Very volatile and unpredictable. Children and pets should not be left alone with your dragon. Not recommended for suburban living conditions. Sluggish in winter.
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My Butthole Itches

This sucks. My butthole itches. Bad. I’m in the middle of the godamn grocery store and my cornhole feels like it’s got a bad case of poison ivy. Don’t forget to buy Saltines. Your wife made chili and you need Saltines. Oh, and milk. Fuck, that itches bad.

What should I do? There are way too many people here to just reach right in and scratch it. Just ignore it. Oooo. Cheddar cheese. You need cheddar cheese too.

Maybe if the mother-daughter shoppers in this aisle would hurry the fuck up and decide what type of Hamburger Helper they wanted for dinner I could sneak a finger in and just get it over with. No, too risky. What if it’s because you didn’t wipe good enough today? This could go from bad to worse. Just ignore it. My lord that girl is ugly. I’m glad I didn’t have ugly kids. Take the beef stroganoff honey, it’s way better than the cheeseburger macaroni.

Fuck. I bet I didn’t wipe good and now my anus has been rubbed raw all day by my own stagnant fecal matter. Goddammit Dave, this is a bush-league mistake. You fucking amateur. Where the fuck are the fucking saltines?!! I knew I didn’t like this grocery store for a reason. Should have gone to the other one closer to the house. Can never find what I’m looking for here.

OK. Here’s the dairy stuff. Cheddar cheese – check. What about milk? FUCK MY BUTTHOLE ITCHES. GRRR. Get milk. We always need milk. The guy next to me is looking at me funny. Am I walking funny? I didn’t think it was that bad… Ohh, shit. What if I smell? This guy probably thinks I just filled my Depends.

Wait a minute, I didn’t take a dump today. Is this residual from yesterday? No way. I at least showered. What would this be from then? Feels like I sat on an angry mosquito. What if I have a disease or something?

Man, he’s really looking at me funny. Stay cool. It’s like being stoned - only you know your ass itches. You’re just being paranoid. Sweet, pudding is on sale, two for three dollars.

Bathroom. Need bathroom. Must inspect butthole. I will probably find those fucking Saltines before I find a bathroom. Ahhh. There it is.

OK. Find stall… Check. Drop pants... Check. Toilet paper... Negative. What the fuck?!! This fucking figures. Ok. Think Dave, think. Paper towels. You can use paper towels. Pants up, get paper towels. Paper towels… check. Wait, better throw a little water on them first, it’ll get you cleaner. Oh fuck! The milk guy just walked in!

Now what? Should I go back in the stall with a fistful of wet paper towels? Does that look weird? Fuck it. This guy already thinks you shit your pants. Who cares at this point? Him having a positive opinion of you is not going to scrub the filth from your crusty asshole.

Close stall door. Pants back down. Paper towel wad in. Wipe with extra pressure. Ahhh. Better, but still itchy. Inspect paper for signs of fecal residue. Nothing. Just some ass hair. Well what the fuck? Wipe again. Still nothing. What is Milk Guy doing? I don’t think he went to the bathroom. What the fuck is he doing out there? Checking on me? Whatever. Keep wiping.

What I really need is some baby wipes. Or sandpaper. Frankly, at this point I’d opt for cutting the shit out with my pocket knife. Ok, that’s going to have to do for now. Plus, I don’t have my pocket knife. I think Milk Guy left.

Saltines. Still need Saltines.
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