Potty training our children. The struggle is real.

Potty training our children. What can I say. There are no rules. There is no instruction manual. Every child has a unique process of learning to shit on a toilet. I can only speak of my own personal experience on all of this along with how my wife and I have dealt and managed.

I never judge. We all handle our situations differently. There is absolutely no correct way to raise our young ones in this tough world although there will always be those individuals that will point fingers like they are the matriarchs of asshole cleansing. Make us feel like we are raising our children and wiping their anal cavities incorrectly.

To be honest, this mostly comes directly from rich women who’s husbands work their asses off while they spend the day drinking mimosas, filling their lips with cancer causing chemicals and critique everybody else while some illegal immigrant raises their own children. I blame the dumb ass husbands for this. Get some balls guys. You are all fools.

These judgmental bitches have never wiped an asshole besides their own so do me a favor, shut the fuck up.

This post goes out to the parents who have been in the trenches involving their index finger so far up their children’s butthole during potty training exercises they pulled out “George the Animal Steel” as they truly understand what it entails to finally get our young ones to crap politically correct. I’m talking crap landing on your lip type of shit.

The struggle is real.

I can only speak of how my wife and I have trained our boys in this department. And trust me, this shit is not easy. Blood sweat & tears.

I knew we were in for a huge challenge when I was forced to change my boys first diaper. While my wife was in the hospital room with our other son, I had the honor of changing one sons diaper who unfortunately was placed in the ICU. We had twins if you hadn’t noticed. The nurse looked directly at me and smirked, “Dad you ready?” I said “ready for what?” Nurse replied “to change your sons diaper.” What was I going to say? No? I was put on the spot and had to man up. I said “yes nurse. I’m ready. Bring that shit on.” The nurse turned my boy over and removed his diaper. If I’m being honest the scene was something out of “Saving Private Ryan.” The substance this child released from his heiny was not of human origin. It resembled hot bubbling tar that produced an odor that disintegrated my eyebrows & caused severe breathing issues. I had to be a man. A father. Step up and be tough in front of the nurses. So I reluctantly stuck my hand in. Got that shit on my pinky and froze. My lower lip began to quiver uncontrollably. My throat swelled up. I panicked. The nurse gave me CPR. A shot of Narcan. The Heimlich maneuver. Burped and swaddled me. I came around eventually.

I wondered how my wife and I would ever train our children to release these deadly toxins into a toilet bowl in a controlled fashion.

When it was time we figured bribery was our best option. We bribed them with “Jelly Bellies.” Jelly beans. Every time they had a poop brewing and gave us a sign we would pick them up and place them on the toilet bowl. They would crack a smile. Laugh. Drop a pebble in the bowl and we would reward them with a popcorn flavored jelly bean. If they dropped a rather larger poop we would give them like two of those espresso flavored beans. Things seem to be working well until it was time to teach them to wipe their cracks.

This was the challenging part in all of this. My wife and I had different training methods. I believed in letting them wipe. As they left residue in the butt this would create discomfort and will teach them a lesson to wipe better next time. Creatures of habit. She disagreed.

She believed our boys should always have clean assholes. Although I agreed a clean butt is nice, I strongly felt they had to learn maintaining a clean crack should ultimately be obtained as a result of failure. That was just me.

In the end she won. Her potty training method prevailed. I went with her. It’s a fight I could never win considering she was home with them and would be the one mainly monitoring the children’s ass ordeals.

They were two years of age. We got them on the bowl. Bribed by the sweetness of Jelly Bellies. Time to wipe. They tried. My wife walked in behind them. Finished up. Wiped them clean. It was cute. Three. Four. Five years of age. My boys began a pattern. They would crap and say “I’m done!” My wife would jump up ready for battle. Hazmat suit and all. Safety goggles & nose plugs. As they got older it got a bit weird & uncomfortable. Nine years old. “Im done!” My wife would run into the bathroom like she’s saving some kitten stuck in a tree. Twelve years of age. “I’m done” they would cry from the local mall bathroom and here comes my wife driving a tank with B.A. Baracus and the A-Team ready to wipe dirty ass. JR Ball “I’m done!” She descended from a hot air balloon into the gymnasium with a hand full of wet naps & cinnamon scented candles as she bent my boys over and wiped their cracks.

I didn’t know how or when this would end. What was the cutoff point? College graduation? “I’m done” as she ran up to the podium and shoved the valedictorian aside, lifted their graduation gown and power washed their anus? I was getting nervous.

I had to finally put an end to all of this. Shit was getting out of hand. She finally let go. The kids were now 35 and on their own and had to find their own way within the world of proper ass wiping.

They figured it out.

My point is this. We all have our own ways. There is no correct way. No right or wrong. Do whatever you feel is right and works for you.

Fuck everybody else!

First warm day of the year and here they come. Get ready!

Situations that transpire when the weather finally reaches 68 degrees for the first time after a brutal winter.

#10. People that run!

I don’t get it. Next thing I know I’m driving down the highway doing 85 MPH on a nice day and to my right I spot Apollo Creed sporting red gym shorts sprinting winning the race by a car length or so. Then I see the underdog Rocky in my rear view mirror huffing, puffing, drooling and slurring his words like he’s sucking on a dozen choco-tacos. Adrienne cheers this halfwit on from some guardrail or whatever. Silhouettes of Mickey form within the clouds “You can’t win Rock. Clubber Lang pops up in my backseat and begins to pummel the piss out of me. I really enjoy running in beautiful spring weather. 😂😂😂 The only place I’m running to is the fridge for an ice cold beer.

#9. Landscapers.

It’s as if they sit around with leaf blower backpacks harnessed to themselves through the cold winter months in anticipation of that first unexpected beautiful spring like day. 89 gallons of fresh gasoline stored in their pantries. The impatient lawn manicurists can no longer fight the urge as they grab hold of their turtle waxed lawn rakes they unwrapped on Christmas morning and prepare for the restoration of local properties. Restore order within the community. Get shit green again. Plant flowers. Battle the weeds. I get it. March 19th. Sunny and 68. Way above the climate average. 6am. These fuckers roll down the street like they are going to war. 6 lawn mowers. Tanks. Rocket propelled grenades. Chemical warfare. Bro it’s a few weeds and some leftover leaves from the winter months. You are not invading Pakistan. Please put the “Scud” rocket away. They are all so ambitious. It’s nice to see they want to get back to work and all. Next day we have a Nor’easter that drops 9 feet of snow and these humps must fall back and retreat. Depression sets in naturally. Until the next warm day guys. I’m rooting for you.

#8. The car washers.

Holy shit. I just want to know how these car wash establishments prepare so quickly. Place is shut down for months. First warm day you better believe they are open for business. 69 workers. All systems a go. Water flowing. Soap bubbles. I need to know how they find so many employees willing to dry a vehicle on such short notice. Is there like a “vehicle drying union?” . It’s amazing. Again, next day it snows heavily and seems to defeat the purpose of all of this. We are an impatient species.

#7. The Tan individual.

Ok. You are not fooling anybody. These individuals roast in microwaves and “Easy Bake Ovens” all winter waiting to emerge. One warm day these oil slicked greasy bastards strut amongst us. Lean against their cars and pump gas and believe we are staring at them because they are naturally golden tan. We all want to know their secret. In all honesty, you look as if you have caught fire from the overflow of diesel fuel as you try with all your god given strength to fight the discomfort you are experiencing. One question. How is it even possible to tan the whites of your eyeballs?

#6. Convertible lovers.

You do understand that the temperature at the hottest point of the day is 68 degrees but with the wind chill in the month of March it feels like 38 and you are flying down the road at 70. You are stopped at a red light glancing over at me suffering from hyperthermia as icicles dangle from your left nostril. You make every attempt to keep your composure realizing you made a major mistake. As soon as we pull up to the next red light it’s quite apparent you are 6 minutes from death as you shiver uncontrollably like you are trying to save Rose from the Titanic. Rescue choppers drop down to hoist you up and airlift your dumbass to the nearest hospital to thaw the frozen body out. People, please cover yourself within your means of transportation until the groundhog sees his shadow. Thanks.

#5. Sexual Humans.

I’m guilty as fuck in this category. I wake up. Smell the warmth. The crisp air seeps through the bedroom window and I attempt to flip my wife around at 4:30 AM like a stack of all you can eat “Flap Jacks” from IHOP. The reaction and response is exactly the same as if it was 2 degrees. 30 degrees. 60 degrees. 89 degrees. She reaches over and grabs her night stand and cracks me over the fucking head with it. As I lay besides her bleeding rapidly, she belts out in anger “Are you fucking kidding me. What are you doing?” I reply “Get up babe, it’s warm. Doesn’t this weather make you horny?” She calls the police and I ultimately serve the day in jail for domestic violence. Guys, don’t let the weather fool you. At least wait until 6AM to make a move.

#4. People in parks.

Can you please give the community a chance to clean up the piles of wild geese shit that litter the park grounds? These prissy little bastards slide into matching rose petal embroidered half jeans that roll up just below the knee cap, swaddle up their 9 year old infant named Tatiano, pack a kale frittata and baste in the geese shit soaked sun as the father flys a Batman kite while mommy snaps pics for Instagram like these two geese shit stains are enjoying this day. Get lost. Clean the park up and wait until its ready for your enjoyment.

#3. Police encounters.

Be careful. The officers get impatient when it gets warm. I’ve learned this first hand. They have to lug around 50 pounds of gear. They sweat. It becomes irritating for them. God forbid you forget to turn that blinker on heading into the local gas station and the pursing officer behind you has a severe case of swamp ass. That fucker is throwing his lights on and you have some explaining to do. You can always detect how aggravated they are along with the severity of the swamp ass conditions they are dealing with from how fogged up their sunglasses are. It’s as if the swamp ass energy backs up within them and has seeped out of their eyelids. I’m convinced they simply want our license & registration to dry the soiled asscrack. We must comply. Respect & love always to those that risk their lives each & everyday to keep us safe. Thank you all! Much appreciated.

#2. The construction flag man.

This fuck thinks he’s modeling for Gucci. Dude, you have an excessive amount of hot lethal asphalt soot embedded into your chest. You’re waiving a flag totally off key dancing around on the streets squinting your eyes that are actually glued shut from rogue hot molten rock trying to pick up women passing by in their cars and I’m like “that dude with the backwards Jets construction hat is melting. Should I give him the Heimlich maneuver?” Mad respect for all your hard work man. I can promise you one thing. I’m pretty certain in the history of mankind and men chasing ladies, there has never been a case on record where an attractive woman jumped out of her vehicle, grabbed a flag man suffering from 7th degree asphalt burn in need of immediate medical attention and fell head over heels. Lived happily ever after. Just a hunch.

#1. People on Facebook on that warm day.

We all know how nice it is outside. Your confirmation of this simply clogs up our news feed with useless information. Old news. Open your windows. Breath it all in. Enjoy it. Don’t waste your precious time letting the one friend that actually pays attention to your post know about it. Please don’t be that person. It’s almost as bad as the person who posts those score updates of the the local sporting events taking place that day. I have ESPN 1,2,3,4 & 98. Internet. iPhone. Lab tops. Fire stick. Boomer & Geo. Smart televisions in every establishment known to man. An uncle that’s 6 steps ahead of you. I know the Giants are beating the Bills by 7. Thanks ass knot!

Here we go again. Aggravating humans!

There are certain people who reside on our beautiful planet with personalities & character traits that seem debatable. Sometimes the occupational positions they pursue must be questioned. Sometimes they have no choice as they must pay the bills. Sometimes it seems their sole self worth & existence on Earth is to simply complain. They seem to have been sucked in & trapped within the world of “somebody has to do it role.” Desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes that shit annoys the fuck out of us. Nothing we can do honestly unless you are me who writes his own blog and can discuss whatever the hell he wants to discuss. My opinion usually makes no difference & has little influence on others if I’m being honest. Hell I try though.

Pretty sure I have spoken on this topic in a prior post. There are so many walks of life we can talk about it a tad bit more I guess. Here are a few examples.

#10. The coffee complainer.

These fucks believe they are entitled to endless amounts of coffee whenever and wherever. I understand the way it works and how these people are mislead. Go to a local diner for breakfast. Order coffee and here comes the 79 year old vocally challenged waitress named Flo who smokes 3 packs of Virginia Slims before noon and nine busboys dressed in tuxedos made out of construction paper shove free coffee down your throat like you are the CEO of Maxwell House. Then the establishment wonders why they must place signs in the bathrooms begging patrons to please refrain from flushing napkins down the toilets. Dude stop pouring coffee down our throats like we have 3 assholes. God for bid these humps have to pay for a cup of joe outside of a diner. They start splitting one cup amongst a party of 9 and have the balls to request extra splenda. They demand cream and extra spoons. Please just cough up the two bucks and shut the fuck up you cheap bastards. Flow is not your waitress and you are at a Steakhouse you hump. The porterhouse you just ate was $109. Cut the shit.

#9. Guy begging outside of a convenient mart.

I have no problem helping people in time of need. I really don’t. A line must be drawn. Please don’t dance in front of me in your peanut butter & jelly stained jump suit at 8am begging for a quarter as you grab your nut sack and extend your hand out for a donation. If you want a cup of coffee I’ll get it for you. I’ll buy you a Snapple or a bag of chips. I’m not reaching into my pocket and giving you money and risking contact with your hand that has been rubbing against your dirty nuts on a hot July morning for eleven hours straight. Just not doing it. Get a hat or a change bucket to collect donations and we can talk. And please take some of the cash you collect to purchase some mouthwash. Your breath could disintegrate China in three seconds.

#8. The phone scammer.

This one is great. I receive dozens of calls per day. I usually ignore these calls but this time I decided to pick up. My phone detects the caller ID as “Scam Likely” on most occasions. I pick up and greet the individual. I say “hello.” This dude is so shocked I picked up the call he begins to stutter and shouts “hello sir. My name is Sinbad. How are you?” I reply “great Sin, how are you. What’s up man?” He gets down to business and informs me of the purpose of the call. “Well sir I’m here to inform you your identity has been stolen and I’m here to help.” I reply “well whoever stole my identity has now inherited a $300,000 debt, will be arrested within minutes, has a warrant out for their arrest & married to a Spanish woman who will cut your dick off with the heel of her shoe. So good luck Sid.” He never called back again.

#7. The weather man.

Why are these individuals here? Employed? What is the purpose of their occupational existence? The weather is the one thing that is never consistent. Predictable. Why do I need some sexually confused young gentleman with beautiful teeth and a superb hair due dancing around in front of me pointing towards a map projecting rain drops? Potential snow fall? What does he know? You must stop being so confident in your delivery. I would have so much more respect for the weatherman who stands in front of us and simply says “the weather for tomorrow is as unpredictable as my sexual orientation. Could snow. Rain. Hail. Typhoon perhaps. Could be 103 degrees. May be 38 degrees. Who the fuck knows.” Now that would be an honest & accurate forecast.

#6. Home Depot or Lowe’s employees.

Why are these people even there? What is their job title? How did they secure their positions? What are the job requirements for employment? I don’t get it. I walk in and everyone says “hello sir, how can I help you today?” It’s always a good initial start and the service always seems so polite and on point. So I answer, “hi, I’m looking for a paint brush. Can you help me?” The employee begins to shake nervously and must call for backup. They start paging other employees over the intercom system. Managers arrive. Dudes on forklifts show up as co-workers guide them and shut down the store for safety purposes like these fuckers are guiding a commercial airliner for takeoff. Finally the one dedicated knowledgeable employee shows up. He was born into this world for one purpose and one purpose only. Become that “Rain man” Home Depot director of items. This employee can tell you exactly where to find a 2″ galvanized screw. Ear muffs. 9 volt batteries & goo gone. This employee is rare and a breath of fresh air. Then his colleague arrives on the scene with an apron wrapped around their knee cap as they dance down the electrical isle. “Yo what up. I got you, What you need bro?” They mumble. Really dude. You were half asleep on the pile of insulation 6 minutes ago. Comb your hair, brush your choppers and get your shit together. Pull up your apron. You look like a homeless Betty Crocker.

#5. Car wash vehicle dryer employees.

I have absolutely no idea what these people do. Your car comes out of the car wash contraption. Never fails. Always seems to be 17 people armed with spray bottles & rags like they are prepared to re-create a scene from “Red Dawn” or some shit. They attack your car. Spanish women surfing on top of the cleansed vehicle like “Mikey J Fox” from “Teen Wolf” trying to fornicate with “Boof.” Not sure what this car drying army actually does but I always enter my vehicle when they are done and I feel like I’m in a swamp. My console is filled with windex. My dash board appears to have been smeared with White Castle burger residue. To make matters worse, these hard workers walk away proud from the “fruits of their labor” smiling in honor and shit showing off a new gold tooth like they just robbed the tomb of “King Tut.” Dude, take your towel and dry something. Stop dancing. Smiling. Rocking back and fourth. Get your head phones off. Dry something. You have one job. Soak up water. Don’t look at me for gratuity until shit is dry..

#4. The movie theatre security flash light individual.

What exactly is the purpose of this? They enter the theatre usually about 20-30 minutes into the film. They walk up the isle. Shine a light in our eyes during an important moment of the film. Turn around and leave. What are you looking for exactly? What tends to happen when you discover a teenage couple sliding into second base? Or somebody sneaking in illegal popcorn? Perhaps a leg up on the back of a chair? What is the protocol? What are you searching for? What are the repercussions? The penalties? I never understood the purpose of what you are doing. Seems like such a waste of batteries.

#3. Anybody handing out a flyer.

This just seems so old school. People still do this? Apparently yes. Has anybody ever actually took the time to read a flyer you received on the street? Like did you ever read the information on it that informed you Tito was now cutting hair at the local salon? If you book Tito before Saturday you would get a free lollipop courtesy of Tito? Did you ever stop what you were doing at that very moment and call Tito? No. You ripped that shit up an threw it in the garbage can. Tito is always shit out of luck. Seems like such a waste of ink. If anybody has ever actually contacted Tito and booked an appointment as a direct result of Tito’s flyer, please come forward.

#2. The temporary business mascot character.

For anybody desperate enough to dress up like a hot dog or Gumby god bless you. Shit must be real bad for you. But I get it. You are out hustling and trying to make some extra cash. Props to you. It’s the owners of the business I don’t understand. Do you honestly believe hiring a person and dressing them in a ridiculous costume while they jump around like “Toy Story” on a busy intersection will drive new business towards your establishment? Maybe it works. I don’t know. All I know is this. When I see your costumed employee humping a “no turn on red” sign I kinda don’t want to be a part of what you are selling. No offense. Nothing says come purchase some Jewelry from your shop like a stoned teenager in a “Fraggle Rock” costume swinging on a lamp post like that “Bacon” kid in “Footloose.” Makes we want to call his mother and hold an intervention if I’m being completely honest.

#1. Clothing store dressing room director.

Like I need someone chomping on watermelon trident with a bee hive decked out in shit brown dungarees showing me the way to the dressing room. I know what the “male” symbol looks like. I think hahahaha. In the world today who knows. Maybe we need direction. Women are men. Men are women. People have multiple penile attachments. Women have fu-Manchus. Children can now choose their gender. We can’t say “man.” Everything is offensive. So this occupation may actually be of some importance and a bit of a challenge in the future. Bathrooms and these rooms should simply say “person.” Good luck determining in the future what dressing room the 6’ 9” hairy legged individual in a floral sundress with construction boots, a handy manny g-string, cowboy hat, cigar, herpes, double d tits, Donald Trump “tramp stamp” & roller skates belongs in. That job title will require a masters degree. Good luck.

19% Irish. Honoring the iconic St. Paddy’s Day! Perhaps a little Jewish?

My family and I are 19% of Irish descent according to the results my brother Jeffery had recently received from his Ancestory.com inquiry. That could only mean one thing. Host a St. Paddy’s day festive event of epic proportions. I’m talking a home gathering of individuals involving bag pipes, shamrock nipple tattoos, custom fabricated drinking cups designed & engineered by German scientists that will inject alcohol into your blood stream 32 times faster than your standard drinking glass. Midgets for hire dressed like perverted sexually deprived leprechauns. 9 different types of corn beef paired up with a colossal amount of cabbage to entice your asshole to blow green clam chowder out of your rectum for a month straight. Things of that nature.

It’s what we do. We like to party. We take advantage of any and all holidays. Show our appreciation. We dedicate & commit. All in. Always.

Like that one time my sister in law Debbie and my brother Jeffery hosted Passover. As if we don’t have enough Catholic holidays to observe, we found the need to infiltrate the Jewish community and their holiday. It was a hostile takeover to say the least but I do believe we made every attempt to represent the traditions and beliefs of the Jewish iconic festive event.

We don’t hold back. My family jumps in and gives all they got. This Jewish spectacle was special considering we have an abundance of Jewish friends. We invited Rabbis. Hired Jewish Grandmothers to knit Torah’s. Inflated life sized Hanukkah Harry blow up lawn decorations. Potato latkes were the dish I was assigned to make. All the Jewish women had asked me what my secret ingredient was saying “these were the best potato pancakes they have ever had.” I said “salt” ladies. I’m pretty sure this dish was not Kosher. We had Matzah. And that’s all we had. Maybe some raw fish. That was it. If I’m being completely honest as I always am, the Jewish culture has the worst food on the planet. Hard to satisfy an appetite. Then they expected us to fast and shit. Like wait to eat. Yeah no. That part of the tradition we could not honor. No disrespect. We tried. We fasted for like 6 minutes while a nice dedicated Jewish boy began reciting a prayer within his faith to represent the holiday . It was nice and all except this child did not stop praying. People were attempting to record the event as phone data storage quickly filled. Phone batteries were dying at an alarming rate. I-phone screens began to crack. The child was beginning to make up shit and all the Catholic people were staring at the Matzah ball soup in agony licking their lips anticipating the grand finale of the prayer. Eventually we had to remove the boy in a tasteful manner and relocate him to a local Synagogue so he could complete his 7 hour prayer. The non-jews in attendance were not quite sure what he was praying for but if it didn’t include winning power ball, a 187 foot yacht, a sexual encounter with seven hot Brazilian women & an all inclusive round trip to the moon we didn’t understand what was taking so long. Only so many ways you can thank God for crackers that leave you with a severe case of cotton mouth. Moments later we boiled pasta. Made a sauce. Rolled meatballs. Fried some calamari. Put together some linguine & clam sauce and we were off! They always said Jews & Italians were very similar. The Jews did not complain.

Back to St. Paddy’s day. There was only one authentic Irish couple in the group. They were genuine. Requested Irish songs and shit. Everything they wore was green. Hunter green lipstick. Teal green Eyeliner. Tighty green whiteys! Green ass teeth. They were committed. Guinness and shit. Everyone else in attendance had a last name that ended in a vowel with a New York accent that sounded as if their mother gave birth to them on a fire hydrant in the Bronx. Make no mistake, alcohol consumption was on point and on pace with expectations of the Irish.

My brother Jeffery who bears a strong authentic Irish name, was in charge of cutting up the corn beef. He had a brilliant idea to make some Ruebens. He needed sauerkraut. He asked his wife Deb where the ingredient was. She let him know in a soft and somewhat embarrassed tone, “oh I’m sorry Jeff it’s still in the freezer.” My brother Jeffery acted as if his wife ran a train with 69 halitosis ridden Illegal immigrants from Guam. He began to twitch and nervously shake like he invented Tourette’s. This woman put together 18 different flavored corn beefs, arranged cheese platters, ran around all day shopping in order to get ready for the festive event and my inconsiderate impatient brother had the audacity to question why she “forgot” to remove the sauerkraut from the freezer so he could make a sandwich. I honestly wanted to stick his head directly into the pot of cabbage but it was a holiday celebration so I restrained. It took all of 38 seconds to defrost the kraut and he was able to make his dish. I believe he overreacted. I’ve never seen a mans shoulder vibrate so violently in panic as a result of frozen sauerkraut. Here is a man who will offer 100k above asking price on a home in a down market. Throw 200k into it. He will be completely upside financially and will refuse to nervously twitch. God for bid his sauerkraut happens to be frozen and this fucker starts rocking back & fourth like an “8-ball” induced seizure plagued “Beetle Juice.”

Then the music. I don’t give a flying rats ass who you are. Irish music will make you do one of two things. Commit suicide or drink enough ethanol to overdose from alcohol poisoning. Those are your options. Not up for discussion . The end result is death either way. We played a few tunes to honor the tradition. Didn’t take long until an Italian party guest took control of the music. Before you knew it, TKA & John Secada serenaded us all. The festive environment went from St. Patrick to St. Tito Puente in a matter of minutes. The women began dry humping one another as their children looked on like they were performing a “reverse cowboy” on a beach in Daytona with “Pauly Shore” while they rub & tugged that “Situation” character from the “Jersey Shore.” I had a hard time making the Irish connection to be honest.

I’d say over all it was a success. Ended like every other party. No matter what the occasion. Nine and half people sitting around a table uncontrollably drooling simply staring at each other speaking an unfamiliar language trying to sing along with Ozzy Osborne who doesn’t even know what “he” is singing. By the time the party guest sing the version Ozzy is attempting to sing we typically end up sounding like 9 and a half hyenas with a severe case of gout eaten by a 32 foot rabid salt water crocodile with stage fright.

It was a success.

Next party. Flag day.

Two hour school delay. The adults must play!

It’s a two hour school delay. The adults must play.

I’m not quite sure what it is about our children having a delayed start time to the school day due to inclement weather. Can’t exactly put my finger on it but I was fortunate enough to witness this miraculous event first hand yesterday.

As far as I see it, the delay actually hampers our daily schedule. Forces us to rearrange our routine to accommodate the new order of things on that particular day to get our children to school two hours later than normal.

That may be true for most. Certainly not the crew of adult friends I had the pleasure of spending my Sunday Funday afternoon with.

The fact I was out on a Sunday drinking alcoholic beverages as my wife was by my side was a miracle in itself. This is a woman who generally orders tap water on the rocks. She normally consumes shots of chocolate almond milk. She’s not a big drinker. Except when she gets together with her friends. Shit changes. All the sudden she morphs into “Buger” from “Revenge of the Nerds.” Slams grain alcohol doing cartwheels down 5th avenue like she’s the birth child of “Randy Macho Man Savage” & “Mary Lou Retton.” That’s ok. She has fun.

The day started nice. Lunch with the children. I suggested we go out for a few drinks. She concurred so I jumped all over that shit. We bellied up to a cozy fire place. Saw some friends and bullshitted a bit. An hour or so passed as a few more friends walked in. It was nice. Relaxing. Until one fucking snowflake happen to fall from the sky. Moods changed. Attitudes adjusted. Devious looks began to overtake the crew we were hanging out with. The two hour delay was in play.

Snow suddenly began to fall at a rapid rate. The mood went from a few Sunday relaxing cocktails to a complete potential shit show. Then it happened. The first phone rang. It was the school district informing there was going to be a two hour delay. Nobody believed it was true until they got the call personally. And then there was poor Shal. She was the only one who had not received the phone call. Visually upset, her friends comforted her. Gave her tissues and shit. The 13 other phone calls taken by the surrounding party wasn’t enough to convince her school was actually delayed. Her phone eventually rang. Confirmed. She was so happy she was now part of everybody knowing we had a two hour delay. It was a touching Hallmark moment.

The entire mood and mindset shifted. The energy was fascinating all because our children will start school at 10:30am as opposed to 8:30am.

It all started with my buddy Lance. “Like a Virgin” by Madonna creeped up on the radio. This man. All by himself. Alone, at the bar proceeded to violently rip off his cardigan as he lip sang and kept winking at me. Wrapped the sweater around his waist like one of those Williams tennis sisters. He began to dance like an electric eel was wedged up his asscrack and began making out with the micro brew glucose tap system. All because his child will now go to school at 10:30. Brian starts ordering shots of Johnny Blue as his wife began to fondle my wife’s nipple. The owner of the establishment starts moonwalking and his child is only one. Someone brings out a cookie cake. Sparklers and shit. After parties with stripper poles were discussed.

I’m not joking. Well ok, I’m not sure if Lance had a cardigan but this is how it went down. All because our children go to school two hours later than normal.

School was eventually canceled! Thank God 😉

Top (10) Stereotypical Daily Facebook Posts. Part 2.

Top (10) daily Facebook posts we as members can simply no longer ignore. These iconic, gut wrenching, ambitious, persuasive, annoying, in-grown hair between our nut sack irritating & repetitive stock pile of horse shit have officially become staples within the social media world. Consume our feeds. Tag us. Drag us in. All we really want to do is post snap shot photos of our raisin brand, sonograms of unborn offspring & filtered images that magically transform our worn out decrepit mugs into domesticated cute pets with button noses & pink shinny whiskers. Accept or delete, these are most likely the daily FB post options we have become victims of. “You can run, you can hide, but you can’t escape my love (I mean FB post) -Enrique Iglesias

I wrote a post a while back on this topic. Much has changed. New personalities have surfaced. Some mentioned may be an updated version from the original post. Who knows. I forget what I write at times. Bare with me.

Let’s face it. Chances are you wake up, take a piss & check Facebook. In that order.. Search for those notifications. It’s exciting. The creative concept of this was pure genius & that’s why “good ole Marky” is worth billions upon billions.

Considering we live in a world of gossip where everyone else is consumed with the lives of others instead of focusing on their own lives, the platform is perfect.

The Facebook journey we have all traveled together up to this point has naturally divided itself into certain categories of members. Some of us enjoy the social site for what it should be. I applaud you. Others have used this opportunity to voice their “not so original” opinions. Have their “not so creative” voices heard. When they post their “who gives a flying fuck” status or comments, most of us want to behead ourselves. We have accepted it because that’s just the way it is. You nor I will change that but I’ll fucking write about it if I choose .

In all fairness, some of these individuals occasionally have decent intentions. (Not often) Productive sometimes meaningful posts of purpose with a terrible delivery mostly.

Here we go.

#10. The animal rescuer. These passionate fuckers will attempt to persuade us to take in & look after an abused neglected 2000 pound rabid man eating tick infested Polar Bear from Iceland. They will actually convince us this creature needs a loving & caring home by inserting Sarah Mcglockton to bust out a depressing lullaby. Cute little Polar Bear eyes and 7” seal blood drenched incisors. Whoever is in charge of marketing this shit should win a fucking award. I bought into it. Next week I’m going to be a proud animal foster parent of three African Hyenas, a thirteen foot Nile croc, an anaconda named Frank and a juvenile sloth all because Sarah G’s soothing voice convinced me these wild animals would never eat my family.

#9. My child the honor student. I get it. We all want our children to do well & succeed in life. Understood. Just because little Joshua came home with a gold engraved pin attached to his shirt recognizing he took a pee pee on the potty doesn’t give you the right to tag 387 people on social media and brag about it. He’s suppose to do that shit by the time he enters the school system dumb dumb. When the child cures cancer let’s talk. The other day I received a letter that my son won the “Spanish student of the year” award. True story. He walked in. I said “Hola amigo.” He said “what does that mean Dad?” I truly hope all the children of this world do great things but please stop showing off the little ones placement of 19th out of 20 art award contest.

#8. Happy wife. You women should simply hang yourself. Or date & reverse cowboy Kevin Federline on “hump day.” Stop. You aren’t fooling anyone. We all know you are miserable and the constant “my life is wonderful” posts confirm it. I’ve been with my wife for over 23 years. She has one picture of me on her Facebook photo history. People have questioned my very own existence. I do believe this woman may be slightly embarrassed of me but we can address that in another post. We are happy I think 😂 or hope. Broke ass but happy. If you post happiness obviously you are miserable.

#7. The foodie. I’m guilty occasionally. Like three times per year. We all must post some food images at some point. I’m referring to the people who hire “Vera Wang” for an astronomical amount of money to design their parsley arrangement and attempt to capture that perfect food moment while trying to make us believe they assembled this shit. Rob Lowe will suddenly stick his head out of the microwave and gently hold the “chicken dish” creation. Yeah stop. The photo shopping and signing on the dude from “Youngblood” does not fool anybody. It’s impossible for cheese to melt that evenly. Eat your food before it gets cold.

#6. The one who disagrees. You say left they say right. You say up they say down. You say Marco they will never say Pollo. You are entitled to an opinion. That’s great. Go join a fucking debate club. There is a difference between someone who has a belief and respectfully argues their point and someone who blocks out every responsive word from another as they spew nonsense. Normal humans will disagree of course. It’s the ones that can keep an open mind and listen that will ultimately make a difference. Long story short, shut the fuck up if you are closed minded. Trust me, there is a 99.9% you are wrong anyway.

#5. Health nuts. I understand. You are healthy. That’s fantastic. Continue to be healthy but please stop trying to convince the rest of us to eat lemon infused blades of grass & kale glazed almonds. That works for you. Most of us want to consume 700 pounds of Bison burger and fried tadpoles. Stop posting pictures of Chris Farley followed up with a photo of “The Rock” and tell us we can achieve this transformation within 19 days guaranteed. You look foolish. It would take me at least 3 months to convert my triple chin to a double & 19 months to hopefully view my penis. Stop misleading us. It’s not fair. Some may actually believe you.

#4. Sports enthusiast. Honestly, unless you are Giants super fan Joe Ruback, shut the fuck up. We don’t care about those updated post showing the scores of a sporting event. We have TV’s, phones, internet & Mike Francesca. We know the scores fuckass. If you feel the need to take the day off from work and vent about who will sign Wilmer Flores I believe it’s time to swan dive off a building in Dubai.

#3. Facebook Challengers. Ok that ice thing was nice. Good cause. Got kinda annoying after a while but we accepted it. We move on. Next thing you knew people were jumping out of their vehicles on major highways bopping and weaving holding their hearts and waving their hands like they just didn’t care as 18 wheelers plowed over them. Shit was dangerous. A challenge here and there is cool. Please stop participating in every fucking one. We don’t care what your favorite album of all time is. The tide pod challenge had purpose. Process of elimination. Let them hopefully exclude themselves from any further damage the challengers could inflict on the future of our very own existence. Fucking dummies.

#2. The political fool. Personally I am unpolitical. Last time I casted a vote it involved the king and queen of my high school prom. I do understand the importance of it all & respect those who are passionate about their political beliefs. Unfortunately, Facebook political debates are like dirty oil & expired vinegar. They will never agree. As a result of this presidential election the division is decided. There is no compromise so please, can you all shut the fuck up. It’s tiring, boring & repetitive. Why even waste your time? Times were so much better when our president was sticking lit cigars into Monica. Imagine the presence of social media when that shit happened? You all seem to have the knowledge and information to back up your political debate thanks to Google. Although you think you sound “intelligent,” most sound like they should be arrested for plagiarism.

#1. Happy Birthday Anticipator. I don’t give a fuck who you are. You sit back and wait 364 days a year for this magical day. Personally growing up suffering the affects of being born on Christmas Eve, I dream about this day. I haven’t been wished a happy birthday until the year I joined Facebook. Even the doctor who delivered me threw my ass on the cold metal table in hopes the nurses could clean me so this fucker could run home and wrap gifts & eat his children’s cookies & milk. 589 “friends” wishing me a happy birthday.? Sign me up. That part is great. It’s the “thank you speech” that destroys this monumental event. We all feel the need to be creative. Out perform the last birthday recognition poem. A simple thank you just doesn’t cut it anymore. We must now dig deep into our emotional overwhelmed hearts to thank our Facebook friend “Niaga Tratte Lanaletta Tamali Gonzalez” from undiscovered land of the Amazon because she took the time to think of us on our special day. Shits intense.

There are so many more. Please feel free to chime in and let me know what type of daily posters get your nuts in a bunch. Love to hear.

We are getting married. Time to select the “Wedding Song”

The infamous “Wedding Song.” The musical choice we as married individuals select to represent our time together. Past, present & future. Memories. Emotional connection. Trying to choose a song so inspirational & moving our great great grandmothers will shit happiness in their dandelion imprinted depends.

Song selection should ultimately solidify and consummate the marriage. It’s a big deal. The lyrical connection must be perfect in every way.

I’m not sure where the song selection my wife & I chose for marital bliss went wrong. I feel we didn’t invest our deep emotions along with heart felt inspiration.

Long story short we chose a ballad by Kenny G & Bette Midler. Nothing says I love you my dear more than a man in crocodile boots with a seven foot perm blowing an out of tune trumpet for 88 minutes while the star of “Beaches” chimes in.

Naturally I am not in a position to break down & grasp the inspiration of my wedding song. Search the true meaning. The song kind of makes me want to assassinate myself if I’m being completely honest for a moment.

I have no choice but to analyze & depict the next closest song. My brothers wedding song.

“Never Say Goodbye” came to life in the late 80’s by the debatable iconic hair band Bon Jovi. How Vidal Sassoon (you don’t look good we don’t look good) has never offered this bunch of frizzy haired specimens an endorsement deal will haunt me until I croak.

Nevertheless, love them or hate them, they still sell out arenas filled with women sporting severely sun faded heart tattoo tits drooping just above the knee caps with inspirational shirts expressing how they still want to marry Mr Jovi.

I enjoy music immensely. I believe it is the soul of life. What drives us. Keeps us inspired. As a matter of fact I’m currently listening to “Bon Jovi” Pandora radio for inspiration. For the record I have regurgitated multiple times but I must get into character as I break down some key lyrics within my brothers wedding song selection

My brother Joe married Kimmy D from 1 Windmill Lane. When I tell you Kim is the best sister in law you can ask for I mean it. She requires nothing. You say hello at Easter. Occasionally she catches a buzz on Tequila Sunrises and informs you she would enjoy stepping on your face. It’s perfect. Honestly. We are so close we actually had a fist fight once. I shit you not. She kicked my ass. Today we are close and I have the utmost respect for her. She is my brothers soulmate, fantastic mother and when tipsy can exploit every single flaw of yours. It’s a true gift.

Let’s get back to it. The wedding song this couple selected. I’m not sure if everyone is familiar with the monster ballad selected by the two of them. I won’t go through every line. A few riffs I have identified with. Here we go.

First, the title of the song. “Never Say Goodbye.” I get it. Don’t “say goodbye to your marriage.” Makes sense but it’s confusing. Like can you guys say goodbye when you leave the home? Can you say goodbye when the other leaves on a business trip? I just feel “Never Say Goodbye” applies too much pressure to the marriage. What do I know.

A famous line and I quote “remember at the prom that night, you and me we had a fight.” No you didn’t. My future sister in law was at her prom with another date. My brother Joey T fish tailed his illegally tinted window Ford 5.0 directly in front of the prom event. Acid washed jeans, teal blue tank top, Italian horn, trimmed mustache and a very disrespectful mullet. He walked in as Kimberly was slow dancing with her date as Richard Marx serenaded the two of them. My brother rudely interrupted the intimate moment. Dragged this dude outside and beat the living piss out of him. Joe & Kim fell in love and lived happily ever after.

Although I disagree with this method to win the love & affection of another woman, it’s a direct tactical approach. Well thought out and inherited from our ancestors. Caveman like. It was an apparent success.

“Remember when we lost the keys and you lost more than that in my backseat baby.” Truthfully I’m a huge fan of this line in the song. To be honest, it was a bit uncomfortable watching my brother dry hump his new wife while her fathers eyeballs peered on this guy like “dude, you couldn’t pick a song by Kenny G?” I’m not sure how much validity there is to this line of the song. All I do know is the band refused to sing that verse. The drummer approached me at the bar during a break and asked if this was the real wedding song or a joke. I said “It’s real” and unless you want my brother to start his Mustang and drag you outside to beat the snot out of you I think it’s best you sing the fucking song and bang your drums man. I’ve never seen a musician beat his snare drum so hard. It was like watching “Lars from Metallica” defend his “whack-a-mole” title. Shit was intense. This fucker kept pounding the drums into the Venetian hour and eventually had to be forcefully removed.

Those are the only two lines I know of the song. Thankfully that’s all I got. I think that’s enough. Either way, they are happily married, raised three terrific & respectful young men and I’m proud to call them my nephews.

My advice to all of you considering marriage and need to select a song to make it official, pick some shit by Bon Jovi. Seems to work.

I can’t believe my wife & I chose Kenny fucking G blowing a damn horn when Kenny Rogers could have taken us through the years.

Next marriage perhaps 😂😂😂😂

Lack of WIFI signal & hungry family members. The struggles are real!

What’s wrong with the WIFI? We are so hungry.

Although these two life necessities are polar opposite and have no business being discussed in the same post I have felt a real connection recently between the two iconic everyday family debacles. And yes, the struggles are very real.

I believe the married men out there will most likely identify & find some sort of relation here. The wives & children will roll their eyeballs undoubtedly. If not, you are married to the perfect woman & your children are impeccable unhealthy little shit stains who suffer from an eating disorder. Facts.

Well not the humans I am so lucky to share a home & life with. These ruthless brutal bastards invade. Consume and always let me know it. Especially when the WIFI signal is weak or their tummies rumble just a tad in search of some appetite satisfaction. Grab a slim Jim or a bag of cheez-it’s kids and leave me the fuck alone. Thank you.

My point is this. I’m not an IT specialist. I’m the furthest thing from Bobby Flay. I can boil water and plug in an extension cord. That’s the extent of it. Period. So please don’t turn to me for malfunctioning internet connection issues or assistance with your desire to consume food. I’m useless.

Unfortunately it happens. I must adapt and deal.

I’ll be sitting on the couch 12 beers deep watching a sporting event. All of the sudden two children run down the hallway huffing & puffing along with offensive foot stomping on my freshly waxed hardwood flooring. “Dad?” “Daaaaaaad?”… they simultaneously bicker. “What guys” I reply. “We have no WIFi” they nervously respond. “Ok” I say. “Fix it” always follows. “Sure guys. I’ll take a dump on the router and hopefully it will improve the connection.”… really guys? It happens. Signals cross. Connections fade occasionally. Deal with it. My wife shimmy’s on down and chimes in. “Babe, I’m missing the final episode of Teen Mom 2. You have to fix the WIFi.” At that very moment I realize maybe WIFI is not a necessity in our household. It’s amazing. I once remembered asking my wife why her sexual drive wasn’t working properly and she replied “maybe that’s not a necessity in our household.” Next day I put tin foil on my head & climbed on the roof. Eventually I found a signal and fixed that fucking WIFI. WIFI now became very important to me from that moment on.

WIFI is the least of my worries to be honest. If any one of these creatures I share a home or life with happen to become hungry when I’m present I’m fucked. I’m better off swimming amongst man-eating salt water crocodiles on the shores of Australia instead of being around these “hungry hungry goddamn hippos” when they are ready to feed. I get it. You are hungry. We all become hungry at some point during the day. We manage. We open the fridge. Check the pantry. Go to a pizza shop. Most of us have options. Not my family. They have no options. These humps so much as mention they are hungry I begin to panic. Their expectations are high. I must uncover the grill in January during a deadly frozen nor’easter and cook these “food deprived” individuals grilled pork chops because they are “hungry.” They are snuggling all comfy in their pajamas waiting to be fed and I’m shivering on my deck cooking pork while the snot in my left nostril freezes to my wax infused earlobe. Good times. Anything to keep my family happy I suppose.

My wife purchases 7 pounds of honey glazed ham weekly along with a kilo of thinly sliced provolone and I have to grill & season pork chops in a fucking squall blizzard.

And that’s not the worst of it. When they are “hangry” I’d rather insert my nuts directly into a “George Foreman Grill” and call it a day. I usually can detect the warning signs. My wife will immediately send a text message as soon as she leaves work stating “I’m so hungry babe.” Now I know I’m fucked. I’ll make some suggestions in order to help satisfy her cravings. Pizza. Chinese. Calzones. Tea & crumpets. Things of that nature. She displaces all of my ideas. I always recommend an authentic Italian sausage to crave her desire. That only seems to work on my birthday.

I hear the door of her vehicle violently close as she pulls into our driveway. Her footsteps pound impatiently up the front walkway. I see her miserable “hangry” silhouette approach through the front door glass window. Her key penetrates and it happens. She violently kicks the door open. Next thing you know “Dog the Bounty Hunter” is standing next to her for security purposes in my foyer. Emeril, Rachael Ray and Paula Fucking Dean follow & I wonder why one of these fucks can’t whip up a dish for her but that’s another story.

In the end I get her a bowl of humus, a bag of lime infused bean chips and she is happy. My toilet & plumbing drain system not so much. How many little piggies lost their lives so you can stock up on 90 pounds of honey glazed ham?That’s my only concern.

Sadly her actions trickle down to our children. My kids follow suit. When I was a child and I became hungry I ate carpenter ants & silly putty. Those were my options. If I told my dad I was hungry he would respond simply by exhaling second hand deadly toxic smoke from his Viceroy cigarette into my face and say that should hold me over until dinner. I ate stale potato chips I found under the couch cushions. Tree bark dipped in maple flavored sap was always a tasty snack to curb my hunger. I surely never told my parents I was hungry. My mother made one hotdog and sliced that shit up 339 times like a hibachi chef on bath salts when it was time to feed her hungry family of 7. My mother was so precise with her food rations she always made sure there was enough hot dog slivers to feed the nightgown shredded draped Indian grandmother who took coverage in our neighboring poison berry bush for reasons still being investigated today.

We cherished every bite. Those were our options. I often found myself chewing on toxic plastic plates as a side dish. We survived. Not these kids today. Times have changed.

Hunger and lack of WIFI is a serious epidemic. We all handle it differently. God bless us all.

It’s Christmas time. That can only mean one thing. Top (10) holiday songs!

Well it’s almost Christmas. That magical time of the year. Jingle, jangle or whatever the hell we all do for this festive month. One thing is for sure, Christmas music. No matter where you go. Whether it’s Home Depot, Macy’s, CVS, the local gas station ran by ISIS or whatever. Even the Jewish Deli’s play this shit all day long. You can’t escape the 31 days of musical misery. Inevitably pounded into our brains. Same songs sang by every artist from Mozart to Clay Fucking Aiken. There is no escape!

In honor of the holiday and all it has to offer from a musical standpoint I bring you this. Top (10) Christmas songs. I have compiled a list of songs I believe have had an impact on my life and most likely yours. This list was a challenge as there are only a total of 8 Holiday songs ever composed although 5600 different artists have graced us with their beautiful renditions that pretty much makes me want to piss Chernobyl mutated hairy water chestnuts out of my pee hole on the morning of Flag Day.

Here we go.

#10. Jingle Bell Rock – I have no idea who sings this song. I googled it. YouTube. He or she is a mystery. All I know is this. Jingling and rock can never go hand and hand. This artist has insulted the “Rock Gods” and their only claim to fame is a nine year old boy who was home alone. Dude, stop jingling. Stop jangling. Stop decorating the halls with bounds of jolly and get the fuck off of our radio stations in August. It’s time Metallica covers this song to give it some holiday rock credibility.

#9. Feliz Navidad by Jose Feliciano. He wants to wish us a Merry Christmas from the bottom of his heart. Last guy to pull this shit off was that dude who sang La Bamba. All this fucker sings about for 3 minutes in our language and his. Thanks so much. Merry Christmas to you as well Mr Feliciano and a prosperous New Year. As a result of your inspirational holiday master piece there is a salsa dancing chiwawa in my house dressed in a Santa hat sitting at the top of my steps who shakes his burrito stained asscrack for an agonizing minute or so wishing me a Merry Christmas from the bottom of his heart demanding a chilupa. Thanks Jose.

#8. Baby it’s cold outside by whoever is dumb enough to sing this horrific holiday musical disaster. Over time they have attempted to find the perfect male pervert to sing the lead on this Christmas ballad. Dude she wants to go home. She’s not interested. No amount of snow accumulation will convince this woman to stay with your inappropriate sexual ass. It appears in today’s world, a man would be foolish to accept this role as the lead vocalist. The chick clearly wants to leave even though there’s a state of emergency and this dude is harmonizing about more alcohol consumption, smoking & getting under covers in front of a fire. The lady clearly wants no part of you. Please put your drink down. Cigarette out. Pack your shit up, call an Uber and let her go the fuck home. We understand. It’s extremely cold outside. It’s fucking December dick knot!

#7. Frosty the Snowman by Jimmy Durante. Please melt officially already and never come back someday or any day. We like summer and shit. If we are creating you and you actually survive a few days that’s not a good thing. Now we have to buy a carrot, scarf, a Federer hat, charcoal and shit. It cost more to build & dress your ass than it does to send our child to a Bat Mitzvah. We like heatwaves! Just saying!

#6. I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus because your mom is a whore. I mean let’s get real here. How desperate does your mommy have to be to kiss a 300 year old man dressed like a fire hydrant? This is the best your mommy can do? If you saw mommy kissing the gas station attendant on Ramadan that shit would be hot. Pipe bombs, rocket propelled grenades & shit. She waits all year to suck face with a fat man full of fireplace soot and reindeer poop? Unfortunately that’s your daddy she is kissing. I hope.

#5. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire by Nat King Cole. I’m 43 years old. This fucker has been talking about chestnuts roasting on an open fire for as long as I can remember. Has anybody else ever roasted a chestnut on an actual open fire? The only open fire I am familiar with is my Dad lighting his cigarette and accidentally setting the extremely flammable table cloth on fire during Christmas Eve dinner as that bowl of weird looking nuts that require a log splitter to crack which have been passed down from great great grand mother appear to be the only nuts I see that have roasted on an open fire. Is this what you are referring to Nat? If so I totally get it. If not please elaborate.

#4. Santa Baby sang by any woman with blonde hair. Again, I’m not sure about the attraction to Santa. But these chicks (Madonna) are sitting around waiting for this man to come down a chimney. Santa hasn’t been laid in 30 decades. What are you waiting for? To boot you don’t even have a chimney you dumbass. All the men out there and you are hoping for Santa to hurry down the chimney that night? I think you may find better luck on “Christian Mingle.Com”

#3. Santa Claus is coming to town by Bruce Springsteen. Basically 4 minutes of a constipated musician & his band trying to tell the classic lullaby through their eyes. Whenever I hear this song I feel like Bruce is attempting to shit out a “Lolly Pop Kid” from the “Wizard of Oz.” He always seems to fail miserably! This rendition sounds more like Bruce and the East Street Band could use an ear, nose and throat doctor, 5 pounds of “ricola” & a lifetime supply of amoxicillin.

#2. Grandma got run over by a reindeer by Elmo & Patsy. Not sure what it is but my Dad cracks the fuck up every time he hears this song. Must admit, it’s creative and most definitely one of my favorites. The fact the grandfather can sing about this without sad emotions is intriguing to me. Then the entire family joins in and everybody sounds so happy and festive. This wrinkly nut old bastard has been with this woman for 69 years and writes a song for monetary gain about the love of his life being flattened by a reindeer on Christmas Eve. I’ll assume life insurance covers death by reindeer.

#1. White Christmas by Bing Crosby. This bastard could put a cup of coffee to sleep. It’s the most depressing Christmas song I have ever heard. It’s as if I’m waiting for the Grim Reaper to show up and chop my chestnuts off and deliver them to Nat so he can roast them on an open fire. Based on his Christmas lyrical spirit Bing emotionally invested into this song it appears he was dreaming of death. He continues to refer back to “just like the Christmas I use to know.” Dude, how bad were your Christmas experiences? You have zero business partaking in any attempt to get myself or any other family into the holiday spirit. When your Christmas ballad comes on the radio while I’m driving I have the sudden urge to swerve under the 18 wheeler cruising along next to me in hopes I get sucked up into the muffler and spewed all over the highway like a tree branch in a wood chipper. That’s how fucking excited I become over the white Christmas you use to know. How was this song recorded by the way? I know it’s old and audio technology wasn’t that advanced back then. It appears this version was recorded from your casket as you were accidentally buried alive on a snowy white Christmas. Just like the ones you use to know.

Well Merry Christmas everybody and happy holidays. Be safe and I hope everybody enjoys the onslaught of holiday music that has fallen upon us all. God bless!

Preparing & understanding the Holidays. Top (10)

Hello all. Been a while since I have written a post. Not sure if it was a much needed break. Writers block. Laziness. Uninspired or just simply waking up to the daily grind of survival which seems to occasionally consume our lives. Regardless, we rise, adjust, push through. Rejuvenation at its finest. I like it.

I have finally felt ready to share some inner emotional craziness and inspirational thoughts with each and everyone of you. Considering the onslaught of events about to be dropped upon us, I truly feel the need to discuss the Top (10) Holidays and how we seem to prepare & celebrate for the festivities. Please keep in mind I was raised Catholic so I may be more educated and bias towards my Holidays but please take no offense. I’ll do my best. All I know is this. When I was in grade school I would mumble the words to “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” under my breath at our winter grade school concerts. Don’t get it twisted, when “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel” came on I would make that shit out of clay. Throw a piece of Salami on my head as I bounced up and down harmonizing like an electrocuted Kelly Clarkson trying to attract the attention of the cute little Jewish girls. Never worked. All the catholic grade school ladies were baking Christmas cookies and saying prayers and shit while the Jewish girls were playing “Seven minutes in heaven.” I knew who I needed to impress. I was no grade school dummy.

Here is a Top (10) list of Holidays and how some of us prepare for them.

#10. Valentine’s Day.

First off if you actually celebrate this day of complete bullshit you are in the wrong relationship. Trust me. When this day rolls around I buy my wife a vacuum and she rubs up against me as I brush my teeth. We peck on the cheek and go our separate ways. What happens the next day is a different story. 😜. If you find the need to rush home to purchase decaying roses out of the back of a Honda Accord owned by some Chinese dude parked on the side of a dead end street you are clearly cheating. It’s a dumb and pointless holiday. It’s cute for newbies in love. Like kids in high school and shit. Should never need a day to show how much you love and appreciate your significant other. Always hated this “Holiday.” If you have a hard time finding the words and emotions to express to your partner, hit me up. I’ll write you a really nice Valentine’s Day card. Two things will happen. They will either love you forever or you may simply be hacked up by them with a butter knife. Your choice.

#9. Kwanzaa

I’m just pissed growing up this was not a more recognized holiday. Like we should of had a week off for this holiday. I don’t understand the holiday in its entirety as I do recognize it’s an African American holiday. I do believe we all must fight to be heard and make this holiday more recognizable. Following Christmas we just roll into Kwanzaa. Two straight weeks off from work, school & life. Sign me up. I’m willing to sit down with my fellow African Americans to combine these Holidays and talk logistics. I have zero problems making Santa a black man who flies a Range Rover sled as our children leave Hennessy instead of milk for the big man. (Please don’t take that as a stereo type or insult). Not in the mood for that shit. I state facts. Personally, we need some soul in our Christmas music. “Nat King Cole” makes me want to roast myself on an open fire. And let’s be honest. How much better would “Santa Baby” sound if “RUN DMC” sang it with Rob Moschetti rocking behind them? Let’s talk my fellow man within the Black community. Let’s make this shit happen. No Al Sharpton please. Thanks in advance.

#8. Easter

Fuck. This day makes me want to vomit. Not the actual meaning of the holiday. If you follow the Catholic faith you understand this was the day Jesus resurrected. Pretty important event within our faith and historical religious moment I believe. Intriguing to say the least. Why the fuck on Earth am I waking up at 6am to walk my children into our living room so they can instantly contract diabetes from the Cadbury eggs and jelly beans hidden beneath a basket of green cancer causing frayed vinyl plastic grass? Why am I spending $29 on a hollow chocolate rabbit who’s edible eyeballs are made out of a substance that can instantly crack a human tooth? Why am I attempting to convince my children a 6 foot drug dependent bunny rabbit will be digging a hole beneath our home and penetrating our safe quarters in order to leave jelly belly beans? And why the fuck are we hiding eggs with money in them? More importantly why are we coloring them? I already know some “Easter Enthusiast” will be taking the time to explain exactly why this all transpires but save your breath pal. You can never possibly explain the connection of the resurrection of Jesus to exactly why my mother dragged me to the local mall and made me sit on a dude dressed in a bunny rabbit suit decked out in a three piece suit. Sorry. Poor Jesus. Dude carries an extremely heavy cross for miles. Struggles & dies for his people and he miraculously returns to us and all he gets in return is hard boiled eggs soaked in blue vinegar, marshmallow yellow sugary birds and miserable children running around his beautiful earth he created stepping in mounds of dog shit searching for plastic eggs. Welcome home Jesus.

#7. Hanukkah

Spelling this holiday presents a challenge. This event lasts eight nights. That’s epic. Again, why aren’t we getting eight days / nights off for this Holiday. We must protest. It’s just not fair. This Holiday reached new levels when the Jewish community decided to compete with the Catholics. I get it. Santa Claus. Iconic figure. Drives a sled. Drops a pile of gifts under a decorated tree for the children. Letters are written. Naughty and nice lists. Bright lights all over the house. Shits exciting. I get it. All you Jewish people could come up with is “Mench on a Bench?” I mean really? Like who brought this figure to life? Why is he being sold at target? I was so upset when I saw this. I consider myself a pretty creative guy. “Hanukkah Harry.” Now that dude is a legend. We never heard much about him. He was an elusive religious icon. I always believed Harry was just a Jewish uncle. What do I know. “Mench on a Bench?” Like the dude just sits on a bench? Come on now my Jewish friends. You are better than that. I have a few suggestions if I may! “Larry Lotka?” “Benny the Beanie?” “Coupon Cathy?” “Kosher Kenny?” “Whitefish Willie?” “Bagel Betty?”. Just to name some off the top of my head. Regardless, my family respects this holiday immensely. So much we actually hosted Hanukkah a few years back. True story. It’s not like we don’t host enough holidays and get togethers. Haha. We would celebrate the birth of a caterpillar if we have the opportunity. We felt the need to infringe on the Jewish holiday tradition. No joke. We invited as many Jewish friends as we knew. My sister in-law and brother hosted. We turned out to be very good & proactive Jews. One Jewish friend commented and said I made the best potato pancakes she has ever had. “What’s your secret” she asked. “Salt” I replied. The Jewish kids even said a Jewish prayer that lasted 68 minutes.

#6. July 4rth

Basically an excuse to blow off an extremity. I can eat hamburgers and hotdogs any day of the week. It’s nice and all. I particularly enjoy showing up at various parties throughout the day. Always a pleasure to see the guy who sits in his basement all year emerge wearing his “bomb pop” tank top. Overgrown back hair which eventually catches fire from a random sparkler. He consumes three cases of Budweiser. Loves America. His sneakers smell like a dormant Everglade swamp. His teeth haven’t been brushed since the Mexican War. He’s still wearing his middle school gym shorts and skateboard childhood knee pads. He has perfect vision but for some reason always seems to be wearing prescribed safety glasses from the CVS clearance rack. You know the guy I’m speaking of? He’s like Jesus. Resurrects once a year. Running into this July Fourth iconic figure is the only motivation I have for celebrating this day.

#5. St. Paddy’s Day

I have never seen so many humans believe they are Irish. I get it. It’s an Irish holiday. That’s fantastic. Let’s celebrate with them on their special day. Why must we become alcoholic green leprechauns? Stop speaking to me in an Irish brogue dude. You are from Bangladesh bro. Who are you trying to convince? Drink your green beer. Let’s get drunk. Call it a day. Last year I pulled my vehicle into a gas station on St. Paddy’s Day. Walked in. Paid for gas. The clerk strongly appeared to be from the Middle Eastern region. I said “Thank you sir.” He replied, “For fucks sake you fuck you. Gonna pour that gas are ya huh. I’ll bet you’ll fuck that up ya wanka. Don’t blow yourself up now you fuck you!” I feared for my life at that point. As if the Irish aren’t crazy enough I now have some gas station clerk barking at me like he’s the hybrid son of Connor McGregor & “The Iron Sheik.”

Please remove that shamrock from your cheek. Take off that green shirt. Remove the beads from around your neck. Get the corn beef & cabbage out of your mouth. The Irish laugh at us hahah. Just kidding. Enjoy your day as you seem fit.

#4. Cinco Di Mayo

Don’t understand this holiday at all. All the Mexicans are out cutting grass and blowing leaves on their special day as every American is sitting in a bar at 9am drinking Corona slamming shots of tequila off salt infused dirty strange belly buttons. It’s the 5th of May you dumb shits. That’s all it is. Don’t get it twisted. There is always those true Spanish individuals dedicated to their holiday tradition. Fuckers started drinking on May 1rst. You pull up to a gas station to grab a Mexican employee in need of work and he’s sucking on the diesel fuel pump. He still has the balls to try and negotiate a daily rate and demand lunch.

Really bro, you are drinking gasoline at 9am.

#3. Christmas

Yeah. A fat obese man in a red velour suit sitting in a sled driven by flying reindeer. One even has a bright red nose to guide the way. He lands on your roof. Comes down a chimney 99.9 % percent of people don’t have. He eats our cookies and milk as if that fat bastard needs any more sugar or cholesterol. Nothing says the “Birth of Christ” more than a snowman melting in July and an abusive degrading bully reindeer father figure who each year teaches our youth if you happen to have an illuminating red nose you just will not fit in. Guess the pale Irish lads are fucked. How in the hell is this show still being aired with all the offended people out there? Hmmmmm. I get the whole “gift” bearing connection. Makes sense. You know like a sweater. Shoes. Warm hat and such. Why are we buying our children iPhone 8’s and Mac Books? And the tree. All this shit does for me is fight with my wife over pine needle accumulation. I actually enjoy watching her bend over and water the tree. Christmas plumbers crack and all. Shits hot. Especially when a rogue pine needle falls into her ass crack and she struggles to remove it. That’s what Christmas is all about!

#2. Thanksgiving

My personal favorite. Food. Football. Family. I enjoy this day immensely. Again a day most of us gather without understanding the true meaning of what we are suppose to be celebrating. That’s ok. It has become our way. Not much to really say about this holiday. We gather. We eat. We drink. We fall asleep on the couch. Nice day with our love ones.

#1. Halloween

I am aware Holidays and their meaningful order will be different for each of us. This is my post so I get to select the order I choose hahaha. Honestly, I enjoy all the Holidays. Any chance we have to gather with our loved ones and friends is special. Celebrate. Enjoy these moments. Most celebrate for the simple sake of celebrating. That’s fine. Some have more religious and emotional connections. And that’s fine as well. Whatever works for you. Then there’s Halloween. This Holiday has zero ties to religious beliefs. Has an impact on all of us differently. For the most part we all seem to have fun with this day. It appeals to all. Then there’s my wife. She is on a different Halloween celebratory level than most. I get the pumpkins. Candy. Hay rides. Candy corns and shit. Seems normal right? Not this bitch. October 1rst rolls around and she starts to change. “American Puerto Rican Italian Werewolf in New City” type shit. It starts with the altering of the ringtone on her phone. First day of October it’s automatic. She downloads the “Halloween Soundtrack.” Her teeth begin to change. Starts growing fangs and shit. I try and pay no attention. It will pass I tell myself. Second week of October she enters the “family scare” phase. Simple tactics like hiding on top of the refrigerator waiting for the children to grab a cheese stick or something so she can scare the puberty out of them. I’ll go and take a crap and she will be sitting in the bathtub with her hairy centipede like leg dangling through the shower curtain. Nothing that alarming. Third week of October shit gets real. This is where we enter the uncomfortable sexual phase of this ordeal. I love my wife. I feel we have a fun, fresh & meaningful sex life. Until the third week of October that is. I walk in the room and she will be watching “Halloween” sucking sexually on a fudge pop as Mike Meyers hacks up some poor college student. Now I’m more of a romantic. I enjoy listening to Delilah on 106.7. Air Supply concerts. Cuddling. I’m a hopeless romantic. But if I want to be sexually involved with my wife in the month of October I have no choice. I have one option. I must enter my home in human blood stained blue mechanic overalls. Wear a rubber mask with pubic hair emerging from it uncontrollably. Grab a meat cleaver from the knife rack. Kill something. Fish. Ferret. Frog. Whatever. Something must die & it’s mandatory I show proof of death as I attempt to enter the room sexually aroused covered in hamster guts. Next I must call her phone so the Halloween music can play. Damn I love October. I always feel so connected. November rolls around & she DVR’s “Little House on the Prairie” and bakes a cake. I would be lucky to accidentally rub up against her boob. I take full advantage in October.

Enjoy the Holidays. Whatever you celebrate. They are special. Enjoy your family. One day this will all end. Never take it for granted. Live each day to the fullest!

So glad to be back writing a post. Hope you all enjoy.