The Catholic Church Mafia. What is religion?

Honestly. What is going on? Gender neutral God? Open Church immigration policy?

I’m not religious but I was raised Catholic. By Catholic I mean I completed my necessary Holy Sacraments in order to marry in a Catholic Church! I sat in a booth and confessed all my sins as the Father forgave me. I genuflected, ate “stale wheat thins” purchased at “The Dollar Tree Store” as they attempted to pass this off as the the body of Christ. I painfully watched the Priest throughout the years drink wine and never shared with his disciples.

Now the Catholic Church is a safe haven for illegal immigrants & transgenders? Nothing against a person who may be confused in their own body. I support all. Nothing wrong with that. I always thought the Church frowned upon these lifestyles? Maybe that was a typo in the Holy book.

Why is the Church now breaking laws willing to house illegal immigrants?

Here’s my point. Rules within the Catholic Church seemed to be a bit more strict back in the day.

When my wife & I sat in front of our Priest during pre-cana 13 years ago, the Father made it very clear, we must pro-create in the name of Catholic Faith. “That is your sole purpose in life” he said. He informed us if these were not our intentions we should reconsider marriage. What if my wife couldn’t get pregnant Father? Who the hell are you to tell me what I have to do? You’ve never been laid in your entire life and now I’m taking sexual advice from you like you’re Dr Phil on three hits of Viagra. Go perform an exorcism & eat that stale cardboard wafer from Pathmark! Get lost.

I respect the church but he was way out of line.

Then he proceeded to tell us the organ player fee would be $600 cash. Who the fuck am I hiring, Billy Joel? Additional Church band members were $150 per musician as if I’m retaining Richie Sambora & the Nelson Twins. A seven piece quartet was costing me $1500 to perform one song in Church as my wife walked & tripped down an aisle she would ultimately regret strolling down. This band was so off key. I was pissed. My wife wanted marriage. I wanted a fucking rock concert.

My point is this. Has the faith been lost? Has religion become a business?

Why is the Lords House now welcoming transgenders & illegal immigrants? Is business down? Again, I have nothing against people who are different. In my eyes let’s call it as we see it. You are gay. That is totally cool. Don’t tell me you are a woman in a mans body. No. You are a gay man or woman. That’s fine. No need for justification. Embrace it. Real simple. Penis = Man. Vagina = Woman. There is no argument there. There just isn’t. Unless you’re Bruce Jenner, you have nothing.

Getting back to our journey towards marriage, the priest threatened me like I was disrespecting God if I didn’t have children with my wife. I told the Father to watch his attitude & I immediately was set on fire by six alter boys. I was beat to a pulp with that wicker 1700 foot money collecting device that could accept money from China. What is that? As soon as you genuflect, say a Hail Mary & belt out two Our Fathers, these cloak like figures stick a basket in your face for cash. I’m piss poor and just want to be in the Lords hands and I got the Church Mafia shaking me down for money. Then I receive self addressed envelopes via mail stating I must give the 10% of my earnings to the church. Monthly. Haha. Listen up Padre. I can barely pay my bills and get by. That 10% goes towards beer, dinners & sex toys! Maybe next time you will share your wine with us!!!!😜 Just sayin.

Today the Church has 6500 Spanish individuals playing volleyball in the back of their facilities & alter boys who use to be girls.

Religion, unfortunately, is simply a guide to give us an understanding of why we are here. It’s not real. It’s designed to give us purpose in life. There’s 1000’s of religions. Which one is correct?

Believing in something is the rational way to understand why we are here.

“Religion” is that “understanding”.

How to survive a family gathering involving your cousins nipples!

My initial intentions were simple. Attend a little last minute party for my cousin Tara’s 40th birthday. Nothing spectacular considering her husband is taking her away to a destination celebratory event as many family members will be joining in celebration.

Last week my cousin Joey D expressed he missed me. I honestly really missed him as well. We are talking about a guy who pulled up behind his mother-in-law, my Aunt, his wife’s Mom and began bumping & grinding this poor woman as he got down with OPP. She proceeded to rinse off dishes and humorously glanced at this “inappropriate mother-in-law predator” wondering how her daughter selected this man to marry & raise a family with. Keep in mind he removed his shirt for now apparent reason. He was simply galloping around the festive event with erotic nipples and discomforting back hair patches. His faded tattoos appeared nothing short of defective birthmarks. I laughed. I chuckled out loud. My Aunts glasses snapped in half as soap bubbles began to accumulate uncontrollably. She hasn’t seen that much action since she went on a date with some wanna be T-bird from the Grease. Can you believe a song from Grease just came on Pandora. I know. It’s embarrassing.

We haven’t hung out recently so we made plans to get together tonight and catch up. I freakin love this guy. Solid dude & a pleasure to be around. A bit on the physically offensive side & borderline serial groper, but I’m ok with that. I must admit, he’s pretty sexy. I bent him over his granite counter top and we got to sloppy second. He tried to get in my tighty whiteys but I’m not that kind of guy. His disgusting nipples were fantastic. I went home and started flicking my wife’s nipples trying to recreate the scene. She poured “Franks Hot Sauce” in my eye & tried to set me ablaze with a Bunsen burner.

Figured I would stop by. Shoot some pool on his new pool table. He also installed a dart board, kegerator & neon signs stating he was “Open.” Basically he is turning his home into a Brothel. Like we need another excuse to party at their residence. They are the “family matriarchs” of parties. These two will blow off utility bills, mortgage payments, hide their car in the pool to avoid repossession, tax evade, etc. Make no mistake, you show up on a random Saturday there will always be burgers on the grill, an abundance of ice, 17 liters of Bacardi, 9 cases of red solo cups, Advil, dirty laundry in the microwave, at least one door that never seems to operate correctly & Joes erect nipples have now become a staple within the festivities. I honestly can’t wait for the day he walks his daughter down the aisle with no shirt on as he receives the body of Christ & gives her away to another man. Does the Father gently place the Holy Eucharist on his aroused nipple? I’m confused. Normally you shake the hand or give a kiss, perhaps a hug to your future son-in-law. The fucker will have to suck on a sweaty nipple in front of Alter boys as the chick on the organ belts out her rendition of “Hosanna in the highest”

My sister Allison from another mister graced us with her presence. And presence it was. She has beautiful natural red hair but she decided to color it orange. Like pumpkin orange. I have never heard of a ginger dying her hair a shade of orange. It was kind of weird especially when she started rapping. It was like the female version of “Snow”

Our family gatherings are very simple. Arrive. Throw some food down your throat. Drink as much as you can in 2 hours. Then we all meet & hover around a slab of granite as my cousin Tara says “yeah right Ant” 98 times and becomes the “song Nazi.” God for bid you play a song she does not approve of. She will throw you right the fuck out. We need to keep the “party goddess” happy. We start to play music. We all attempt to sing but I need to be honest. It’s like they threw a bunch of deaf humans with stage four Tonsillitis who smoke 3 packs of Winstons per day into a kitchen and made a bad attempt to recreate Hanson or the Jonas brothers.

Yes we are family. We party, hard. Our vocal skills resemble a sacrificial lamb who’s nuts have been severed. We actually think we are good. My sister Gina insists on using her thumb as a microphone like that’s going to help her performance.

Bottom line is this. There’s always one party guest who randomly collapses & rises back up like Batman fresh out of rehab. 56 bottles of diet tonic water shows up at every function. Nobody drinks it. It has become tradition. My cousin Dennis is to blame. I had this guy over for lasagna last year. Baked that shit all day. You would think he would bring a nice bottle of wine. Nope. 45 bottles of diet tonic water. I had to run out and purchase a dining room hutch to accommodate this shit.

Doesn’t matter. We have a great family. Special bond. How many times have you sucked on your cousins nipple? That shit is special!

I truly cherish each & every moment.

Top (10) types of people who unfortunately reside on our planet.

Top (10) types of people who unfortunately exist on this planet. We must co-exist I guess.

#10. “The miserable cashier.” Listen up fuck face. I did not request you to ring up my merchandise. You applied for this job, not me. We have to get through this transaction together. I really don’t give a flying fuck if you’re having a bad day because cousin Tito was apprehended at Walmart for stealing a box of goobers. Ring me up, perform your job & you can visit cousin Teets after your shift. Let’s go.

#9. “The unappreciative person you hold a door for.” My first instinct is to always slam that same door into the face of these individuals who walk in behind your kind jester like they deserve that shit. Chivalry is dead you fucking hump. Say thank you. Appreciate the fact there are still some decent respectful people in this world. Who the hell do these people think they are not thanking us for holding a door open for them? Next time I will open up a can of sardines and simply rub it on their chin you fucking disgrace to our race. That rhymes 😁Next time I hold a door for your ass and you don’t recognize and say thank you, I will smash you in the face with 3.67 pounds of expired chop meat directly into your eyeball you bastard. Try me. I’m fucking tired of standing at Shoprite (Shopwrong) holding doors for people because I have respect & common courtesy. These fucking humps walk right past me reading receipts & rolling their “shit brown” eye shadowed eyeballs like I’m suppose to be doing this shit for them. You got that all wrong guy. Now you are my victim. Say thank you. Least you can do. Shit stain of life!

#8. “Rent A Cop” I get it people.

You failed the law enforcement exam 15 times. This is your fate. You are a mall cop. I’m glad you take your career seriously but please stop inserting your hands into your belt like you are carrying guns, handcuffs, nightsticks, tasers & pepper spray. Dude, you have a flashlight and a pencil. Just stop. When you are called into a situation involving a 12 year old boy tripping over a mall bench, there is no need to throw that kid to the ground and secure the area, search him & call for backup. The poor kid tripped. You are not “Paul Blart” mall cop. Please take off that cowboy hat you purchased at Spencer’s 35 years ago. It has nothing to do with security unless you are at the Alamo. When you get a chance please take off that brass star on your chest as well Wyatt Earp!

#7. “The Community Pool Local Lifeguard.” Ok. You are not on Bay Watch. There is no need for sunglasses or that white shit on your nose. You don’t need that floatation device wrapped around your body. Job description is to monitor 3 year olds in a fucking piss infested kiddie pool swimming in two feet of water. No need for wave runners, ripped stomachs, helicopters & whistles guys. Cut it out.

#6. “The Traffic Director.” Sometimes we need people to direct traffic. Police officers usually perform this task most efficiently. The problem is when that “carpet delivery truck” gets lost and the passenger leaps out uncontrollably who has no hands, one eyeball & stage four Bells Palsy and attempts to maintain traffic order. I never know if I should take this seriously. This individual begins to yell at you like you were suppose to understand his directions. I try to always give these hardworking “not so put together” people the benefit of the doubt until they insult my intelligence. I would rather call an Uber spearheaded by that dude from “Goonies”’ who enjoys “Baby Ruth” candy bars shouting “Hey you guys”’in the most gracious form of Tourette syndrome then be directed by these individuals. You have no hands man, come on now!!!

#5. “The Spitter.” I enjoy conversation with people. It’s important today as everybody seems to be so consumed by social media. Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Let’s just continue to communicate through the computer because there is nothing worse than having a conversation with an individual while he spews last nights Yankee game dirty water hot dog residue directly into your eyelash and proceeds to follow up with chunks of digested waffle cheese fries falling off his lip and landing on your check bone as it just rests there for the entire conversation. Fuck that. FaceTime me. Email. Send your shit Amazon Prime. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Brush your teeth you fucking animal. You have the balls to wonder why I haven’t met you in person for a drink Hannibal Lecter?

#4. “Movie Theatre Popcorn Salesman.” I don’t know where they find these impulsive, ambitious, pressure inducing bastards but these employees are good. The minute I overpay for the movie tickets and enter the trap of death as this energetic prick starts selling popcorn I am sold. I walk up. Order a small popcorn. Now he starts fucking with me. He says: “For .50 cents less you can have a large.” Probably the most difficult decision I ever had to make. I attempted to try and figure out how this actually benefited him and it just never did. If I said no, I was an idiot. If I said yes I was wasting popcorn. It was a trick question I believe. Tricky little fucks.

#3. “Cars Salesman.” Listen, I’m here to buy a car. I don’t need some guy with a Vidal Sassoon encrusted mullet with diamond plated couplings & alligator boots approaching me like they’re about to enter the “Night at the Roxbury.” I’m here for a Kia Bro. What the fuck are you trying to sell? Do you honestly believe when you walk up to me with 9 crosses around your neck and 7 hoop earrings like you’re Cindi Lauper, I’m gonna connect with you? Nah. Better off in sweats and a Bloody Mary in your hand. You disgust me.

#2. “Home Depot Return Specialist.” We all know this fucker. We want to return an item but if we happen to have this “return Nazi” forget it. We walk in slowly and watch for this fucker. We try to to time it and select the most uneducated return Salesman working that day. Never works out. We approach. This “Savior of Home Depot Returns” asks “How can I help you?” You can take a fucking coffee break for starters. That would help. We try and explain our return. She wants no part of it. She calls a manager and some 7ft behemoth with dreadlocks down to his ass crack appears who just finished putting up Christmas trees asks “what’s the problem?” All you can do is wonder how this man is not dunking basketballs in the NBA. Home Depot could be a good farm system for the NBA. These fuckers are tall.

#1. “The porn addicted Indian gas station attendant.” You walk in. Put your candy bar, bottled water & $20 bill for gas on the counter waiting patiently for service. He’s glued to his screen. At first you give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s watching a video of his niece graduating college or some shit. Next thing you hear is some Indian porn star named “Curry” speaking dirty in Bangladesh. Now you’re pissed. Dude. Give me my gas and then you can spank your ramen noodle to “The porn of India.” You kidding me? Acts like you aren’t even there. Then I proceeded to ask him what site he was on. That shit sounded intense.


Top (10) worst operators of a vehicle.

#10. The non-signal driver. If you are going to make a left or a right please put your directional signal on giving us the common courtesy of which way you are going. There is nothing more aggravating than sitting and waiting to make a turn and that lazy fucker never gives us a heads up. They turn at the very last minute and all we want to do is jump out of our car and shove their directional signal device straight up their ass.

#9. The “Left Lane” notorious slow driver. Dude. There are 5 lanes. Why must you feel the need to mosey on up to the extreme left & travel at 28 MPH as you hold up the flow of traffic? Pull your shit to the right and get the fuck out of our normal traffic flow. Smarten up.

#8. The 78 year old Chinese woman vehicle occupant. I don’t mean to stereotype but this crap couldn’t be any more accurate. Chinese are good at math and shit. Once those women hit a certain age its like playing bumper cars on the streets with these individuals. They don’t give a shit. They will grind up and blindside you like Mr Miagi at a rub & tug. You can’t say anything because if you do they will get out of their car & karate chop your ass like Ralph Macchio in spin class.

#7. The text addicted driver. We are all guilty of this at some point. I get it. Can’t stand when you are at a light, it turns green and that hump in front of you has his fat head down sending a text to his girlfriend asking what type of Froyo she wants. Pull over you dip shit and get your yogurt order together. Cut it out.

#6. The old senile man. This poor guy can’t see 6” in front of him. He’s basically fornicating the steering wheel. We drive by him and wonder how the fuck he’s still breathing but he manages. At least he has the courtesy to stay in the right lane as he cruises along at 4 MPH. The struggle to focus is real.

#5. The speed racer. Listen guy. You are driving a Toyota. You are not Tony Stewart so stop. There is no need for you to have a $3000 spoiler attached to a car worth $400 weaving in and out of traffic endangering the lives of others on the road. Where are you going? Slow the fuck down. If you happen to injure myself, my family or a friend because of your stupidity on the road, I will personally rip that spoiler off your vehicle and stick it straight down your fucking throat. Ass knot.

#4. The extremely loud rapping music. Listen. I’m a huge fan of music. Especially while I’m driving. When it’s 6am there is no need to blast DMX so loud my car begins to orgasm at a red light while you toke on a bone and talk sexy to your “Boo” through your outdated Bluetooth system. Wait until 8am please. Thank you kindly.

#3. The garbage men. Guys seriously. You need to stop compacting the garbage at 5am. I get it. It’s your job but come on. You do that shit on purpose. Throw my 2 hefty bags in your truck and be on your merry little way. No need to start up that noisy contraption right outside my window for 2 garbage bags. Stop it right now.

#2. The slumped over guido driver. I mean really bro. You might as well just sit in the back seat and control the vehicle with crutches. This fake sunglass wearing fucker just slouches sideways with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Drakkar in the other. What the fuck are you doing? Drive the car. You’re not at the Roxbury dumb ass. Sometimes I glance in my rear view mirror and all I see is a dude with hair made of concrete in the passenger seat and nobody driving the car. It’s weird. Listen up. You are not cool. Guidos went extinct 10 years ago. Why are you even here?

#The “Horn Honker.” This one makes me want to get out of my car and beat this person with a bottle of windshield wiper fluid. Light turns green for a half of second and that prick behind you lays on the horn like they just discovered fire. If you do that shit again I’m going to throw my car in reverse and shove it in your asscrack you impatient fuck. And that parking lot “warning honker.” You know, just so you know they are driving on by at 1 MPH. Ughhhhhhhh. I see you Miss Fucking Daisy.

I’m done.

The day my wife became LL Cool J!

What happens when you unexpectedly realize your wife is a 1980’s hip hop artist?

I need to back track a bit as I was extremely confused. I’ve been with this woman for 23 years. We’ve had our share of lip singing, musical fist pumping and vacation car ride duets. It ended there. Nothing spectacular. Always managed to belt out a few familiar versus. We giggled as our memorization of any tune was nothing short of a dementia ridden 107 year old individual attending a “Pictionary” tournament.

The other night I asked my wife if she would like to join me for a few beers & catch up on Baywatch. Just her & I. Enjoy life & relax. Forget about daily stress for a minute. She said “Sure Babe.” Meanwhile my intentions were simply to intoxicate her and try & play “seven minutes in the microwave.” If that didn’t work I had chloroform as a backup plan. Luckily she went along with my scheme.

That shit backfired.

This chick started slamming beers one after another like she was about to stage dive at an Anthrax concert. I felt there was no need for the chloroform method at this point so I put that material away safely.

She was out drinking me two beers to one. I was shell shocked. I wasn’t sure how to react so I pretended I had to take a crap. Let things settle down a bit & collect my thoughts. You all must understand, my wife is not a big drinker except when she gets together with her friends at their annual “Girls Summer Getaway Weekend.” I’ve heard some stories about this female fueled freak show. For instance, rumor has it my wife once performed paraplegic cartwheels down a busy highway as tractor trailers zipped by her. She was sporting a “Debbie Gibson” sweatshirt and yellow M & M slippers. Her friends cheered her on like she was Rosa Parks. This woman has a husband and two kids at home and she’s doing backflips across a busy intersection like she’s Mary Lou Retton.

Anyway, my wife was having fun. I was so confused, shocked, bewildered, sidetracked, flustered & baffled she was actually enjoying herself . I anxiously wanted to join in but I knew it was risky. Then she started playing music and said “Yo bitch, I’m playing LL Cool J.” I said “Ok.” There was a moment of silence. She screamed as her hands waved uncontrollably in the air like she did not care “Watch this babe. This is my jam. I know every word. LL, bust it.” I immediately replied “What? What are you doing?” Now in my mind my wife only knows the words to a few New kid tunes and maybe a Chicago ballad. She said “Watch.” I grabbed my beer and prepared for what I thought would be the funniest shit I’ve ever seen. Nope.

Song came on. My wife jumped up like Reverend Run at confession and began spitting out every lyric to this LL Cool J song word for word. I instantly sharted. I watched in completed awe while her boobs just bounced up and down on the couch filling every crevice of her Disney Grumpy shirt. She even grabbed her phone and the portable speaker and began acting like that DJ Khalid character. She was beat boxing. Rapping. Break dancing. Head spinning. Her children walked in the room and thought they were witnessing an Albino mentally challenged member of the iconic 90’s rap duo Salt & Pepper having a seizure. Kids were concerned.

Shit was serious. Dancers emerged from a cloud of smoke from the back of my couch dressed in Puma jump suits. I had Turbo & Ozone from “Breakin 2” moon walking across my kitchen floor. There was a constipated Beastie Boy dropping a deuce in my bathroom! Grand Master Flash was doing “The worm” in my dining room hutch.

It was bad. Very bad. The whole household was in complete disarray. I was six seconds away from calling animal control.

When the song finally ended it was the most uncomfortable moment we as a family have ever faced. My wife, mother of my children just performed a rap song in a Grumpy shirt and she nailed it. A woman who’s most exciting daily moment is loading the dishwasher! We finally clapped and wanted an encore. She originated back to her roots and grabbed a vacuum. Cleaned a bathroom & went to sleep.

One minute my wife was the coolest rapper I have ever seen, next minute she was Mary Fucking Poppins!

I will never forget this night!


My Dad is having surgery today. Thoughts & prayers please.

I’ve written some blog posts over the past few days and I was honestly just looking forward to relaxing. Collect some thoughts. Re-charge. Take a little breather. Hahahaha. Then I forgot my Dad was going into hip surgery today.

My brother felt the need to post an inspirational “pre-surgery” video of my father to his social media account. My wheels began to turn like seven “Dead Heads” arriving late to a “Jerry Garcia” funeral.

The overwhelming temptation consumed my ability to rationalize. I was now committed. Damn. Oh well. I love this shit. Let’s go.

Let’s rewind the clock back two years ago. My Dad required knee surgery. So we thought. He suffered. With every step this man took he released a grunt of discomfort. We were all concerned. We felt it was time to take action. Against my Dads wishes, we forced this man who hasn’t seen a doctor since he was checked for head lice back in 1952, to get his knee replaced. He reluctantly agreed. As a family we were so excited. Honestly, if any of us had to painfully endure one more of his dramatic “oohs or aaahhhs” we would simply use him as baiting chum on the next shark fishing excursion. It was that bad. If my Dad so much as opened the refrigerator door an uncomfortable grunt protruded from his larynx as if he was caught in a bear trap. It was so disturbing we weren’t sure how to respond. At times it sounded like a gazelle attacked by Godzilla. Sometimes he whistled “Frosty the Snowman” through his right nostril to let his children know he was doing ok. We knew he was suffering & this was a lie. Those Mid-August Christmas desperate nostril ballad attempts to try and convince us you were Ok Dad were terrible. Blow your nose Rudolph. You should have won an Oscar for “Best Dramatic Actor in Need of a 2016 Knee Replacement!” This fucker was convincing. His portrayal was astonishing.

Operation day. My Dad limped in. Family beside him in full support. He needed to undress and change into that polka dot hospital smock. He inhaled 389 cigarettes in the parking lot as he believed he was never coming back. Understandable.

We settled in. The process began. The first step in the procedure was to hook him up to the EKG heart monitor. This required a hairless area of the body to be fully effective. This shit took three days just to locate such an area. This guy had so much hair on his body they believed they discovered a new species. They immediately flew in paleontologists from Indonesia to dissect this specimen like they discovered some new creature from the Cretaceous period. They tried shaving him but this man was a chia pet from Chernobyl. Hair sprouted out like “Al dente” angel hair pasta at the “San Gennaro Feast”. Shit was uncontainable.

We finally got it to work.

As my father prepared for surgery we all presented our gifts and sent well wishes before they put him under the knife. 98% of the offerings were related to junk food. That’s fantastic because that’s what my Dad loves in this life. It was very appropriate. A few of us took notice to a “Cherry Cheese Danish” that my Dad happened to make a connection with as he descended into the anesthesia world of surgery. You would think he would make an attempt to glance at my Mom as he faded but this guy was focused on the Danish. He was out. We all waited & prayed the surgery would be a success.

Surgery ended.

He slowly rose from the depths of hell. Family surrounded him. We were all anxious & concerned of his well being. We shouted: “Vito, Dad, JR are you Ok? How do you feel?

A few seconds passed. He came full circle. Popped up like a mentally challenged Silver Back Gorilla during an exorcism & yelled: “Where is my Cherry Cheesecake Danish?”

Really Dude? You just had a serious surgery that could have resulted in death and you are asking where your cherry danish is? Like that’s what’s important to you? You have 13 grandchildren bedside you and all you are concerned about is a fucking pastry. Hahahah. That’s cool. That’s my Pop. I think it’s great.

So now he’s going into hip surgery tomorrow. Not sure how this happened. Don’t know what to even bring as a gift. A get well offering. I’m leaning towards an 89 pound gift bag full of pop rocks, fun dip, dipping dots and a signed photo by Willy Wonka. I’m really trying to stand out from the others. What will he think about before he goes under?

I’m not sure how he will awake. That “Cherry Fucking Danish” was classic. Don’t think anybody could ever measure up to that.

Either way. My Dad goes into surgery tomorrow. Prayers. Be safe Dad.

I love you. Can’t wait to see the next chapter. You are a comedic genius and don’t even realize it.

You inspire me!

Top (10) Facebook personalities.

Here is a list I compiled of (10) Facebook personalities we all can relate and identify with.

#10. The Troll. They spend the day stalking our profiles. Jumping on our threads. Attempt to spread hate. Create controversy. Meanwhile, if they try that shit on my page, I will dismantle them like Ken attempting a “reverse cowgirl” on Barbie. Not here pal!

#9. Political genius. Dude shut up. The “copy & paste” approach is extremely boring. You have your beliefs. (I mean CNN & Fox belief). God bless you. Stop trying to convince the rest of the world to agree with you. Go plant a tree or something. Nobody has time for that bullshit.

#8. The bathroom selfie photographer. I just don’t get it. Brush your teeth and move the hell on. The need to pause and snap a picture of yourself in the medicine cabinet mirror as a dingle berry dangles from your ass cheek is mind boggling. What’s that all about?

#7. The food enthusiast. These fuckers will post pictures of bread crumb residue if they get the chance. It’s like they simply cook all day, take a picture & let us all know they consume three square meals daily. Meanwhile, their Facebook friends in “shithole” Ethiopia are viewing this as they chew on rusty tuna fish cans & rotten anchovies.

#6. The Happily married couple. First things first, if you feel the need to post and share how happy you are, you are fucking miserable. Period. Stop capturing that one moment of fake marriage bliss and sharing it with us like we actually believe that garbage. I can basically see the mans penis your cheating ass just chomped on right before your husband walked in with bullshit flowers because he felt bad bending his secretary over a futon. It’s apparent.

#5. Racist fucktards. Please stop. Why must every post of yours contain a race baiting, insinuating, derogatory comment? It’s not the 1800’s. White, black, pink or fucking green. Come on. I must acknowledge racism is part of our way of life. I get it. Why fuel the fire on social media? I see it differently. I view people for who they are. Not the color of their skin. If you’re a good person and respect me, I will always respect you. Seems simple but why is it so difficult?

#4. The “Meme.” Some are clever. Some are funny. Some are dumb. I have a small problem with the “Meme”. It’s not original. For the most part. Most people steal the ideas of the brilliant creators. I believe if you attempt to be “funny” or “creative” it should be your own material & thoughts. My opinion really doesn’t matter. Rest assured, everything I say, write & share with you all, is my very own. Heartfelt. Genuine. I will always stay true to myself.

#3. Dick pic dudes. I have never actually had one of these inappropriate photographs personally sent to me but I have heard many lady friends speak of this. I have a hard time wrapping my head around these tragic events. I just don’t get it. I barely let my wife see my pee pee because I’m so embarrassed. You mean to tell me these guys just lay on a bed in their parents home and snap pictures of their junk? Send it to you women and expect you all to view this disgusting body part and be turned on? Are they anticipating you gals to hop on the next flight to Michigan to meet them because you received an image of their 5” deformed uncircumcised shiitake mushroom? Seriously? Come on guys. Please stop this chaos. Its embarrassing.

#2. The sport score updater. Guys. I’m watching the game. I don’t need to see that stupid update informing me of the score in the sport contest. Thanks for being concerned but stop it. I got it.

#1. Facebook weatherman. Who needs Sam Champion or that man who looks like a “Pug” on channel 12 local news when we have 17,000 individuals posting the current weather conditions every six seconds on Facebook. I thank you immensely for keeping me informed but when my nostrils become stuck frozen to my vehicles door handle, believe me, I know it’s fucking cold. When I see water falling from the sky, I know it’s raining. If I wake up and my property has white stuff on it, I’m aware it has snowed. If I happen to hear something moving around outside and my plant topples over, I’m pretty sure that’s wind but thanks so much for pointing me in the proper direction. If my nuts adhere to my inner thigh, it’s hot. But thank you for warning me. And last, if I hear a loud crashing sound and witness strange lights in the sky, I know it’s just God bowling.

If you feel your purpose in life is to keep us all informed, you must re-evaluate your purpose!

Men of yesterday. Men of today. What happened to our nuts?

Separating the men from the boys. Today compared to yesterday. (And there’s no time frame for this). Can be 30 years ago or the Cro-magnon era. I’m flexible.

Back in the day this was a simple task. Men drove muscle cars. Wore leather jackets & someday dreamed of becoming a T-Bird. They hunted Saber Tooth Tigers and drew hieroglyphics with their children on their homes cave walls as they were attacked by 3ft poisonous centipedes.

Not me. The first time I laid eyes on Danny Zuko I wanted to hang myself. This was the most unhip role model since the “Son of Sam.” I never wanted to be a T-Bird. I couldn’t stand that whole crew of degenerates. That’s why I loved “Grease 2.” That English dude showed up on a moped and put all those greasy fucks in their place as he attracted the attention of Michelle Phiefer. That shits classic.

“Stranded at the drive in, stranded a fool, what will they say, Monday at school?” I’m going to tell you what they said Monday Daniel. You should be trying to bang Rizzo because boring Sandy sang a horrific song “Let’s get physical, physical, let me hear your body talk.” Between the two of you humps harmonizing poetic lyrical bullshit has turned us all into a bunch of pink lady worshipping “brush a brush a brush a” fuckers. This ends now!

They were equipped with packs of Winston cigarette packs rolled up in their white T-shirts. They had girlfriends sporting bee hive honey comb hair dues who lip sang “My boyfriends back and there’s gonna be trouble” as they played chicken with a local bully named Salvatore. In the end their “boyfriend” was shoved off a cliff. Those days are gone. Your boyfriend is not coming back. Sorry.

Here are some comparisons of men today & back then.

1. Men back then:

Walked into a diner. Ordered a milkshake. Asked the lady next to him if she wanted a milkshake. She said no. The man did not accept that answer. The gentleman slid his last nickel into the jukebox and played a Dion & A Belmont tune. He grabbed her. Maybe inappropriately. Maybe passionately. They eventually married and had eight children. Lived happily ever after.

Men today:

Walk into a diner. Order a Kale salad with snow peas. Notice a pretty woman. Ask if she wants a milkshake. Next thing you know 17 cops arrive and he’s on CNN for being inappropriate.

2. Men back then:

Corrected their children as they saw fit. Period. Nobody ever interjected. Tough love at times. Did what they had to do.

Men today:

Some men still practice this and I applaud you. Most men, no. Their children actually correct them. Fathers need to tell their children how it works in this world. I’ve heard stories of children threatening to sue parents. They have lawyers on retainer. Most men have lost control of their family. We need to reclaim this ancient form of obedience. It just may be our key to survival.

3. Men back then:

When a man wanted to make love to his woman it was simple. I’m going way back to like the caveman era. Back then a man beat his woman over the head with a Mammoth femur bone and she complied. I actually disagree with this form of forced (inappropriate) love making technique. I believe the caveman was a bit harsh & out of line. He lacked compassion. Could you imagine Oprah hosting a show on this behavior today? That would be interesting.

Men today:

Not much different. Today men drug women. Use their power within the workforce to (beat) women over the head. Force themselves. They are cowards. If a man doesn’t understand how to treat a woman and properly use his “inappropriateness,” he is simply a moron. There’s a fine line. Respect our women. Gorgeous creatures of life. Mothers of our children. Saviors. If you disagree, you are bitter and scorned. Sole reason for male existence. Could you imagine the male race without our lovely women? Bunch of horny, gun slinging, squirrel chomping, tree chopping, laundry deprived, blue balled little whinny bitches. They are beautiful. We need them. Deal with it. Try and eat your squirrels after you make love to them gentlemen.

I’m lost without my princess. She’s my rock. My guidance. My everything. If you don’t feel the same about your girl, you are in the wrong situation.

4. Men back then:

Political views. I can’t stand this topic but it must be addressed. Politics before social media was simple. You watched the news. You read the newspapers. It ended there. Agreed. Disagreed. Really didn’t matter. You casted a vote and that was your voice of reason. Your contribution to political debate. Nobody listened or gave a flying fuck.

Men today:

I am cringing having to talk about this. Social Media. We all have a voice today thanks to Bill Gates, Steve Jobs & Mark Z. Honestly I think it’s great. Unfortunately some voices were never meant to be heard. Political battles are one thing. Listening to you sound like a Google repetitive robot is another. The “left” & “right” news battles for one, are repulsive. Listening to uneducated FB politicians is terrible. The stupidity level of political influence you all believe to be portraying is nothing short of a “Dora the Explorer” repeat episode. Stick to your beliefs. That’s fantastic. Keep it at that. The guy with the dirty tie dye shirt, frayed sandals, man bun, grass eating, hacky sack kicking, kite flying, kitten saving, bongo thumping anti Presidential elected individual will never convince the squirrel hunting, Harley Davidson driving, machine gun owning, dirty tank top wearing, pick up truck hauling, catfish hand fishing presidential supporter to see “eye to eye”. We are divided. Period. Move on. The end. The bickering is pointless but entertaining at times. Fuck politics.

5. Men back then:

Physical build. For years we have all been different. Size. Shape. Height. Weight. Hairy. Not so hairy. Whatever. We varied as a human race. Men fluctuated. Some muscular. Some just fat fuckers. That was then.

Men today:

What’s going on with males today? Seriously? Every child, boy, teenager, young adult is 6’ 3” & ripped. They have beautiful hair. Nice eyes. WTF. What ever happened to acne? These fuckers never heard of “Oxy Clean.” I don’t get it. Growing up I resembled a 5’ 10” well done pepperoni pizza just wandering around the local mall. I always had a years supply of Noxema on hand just in case. Today I’m pimple free but I find myself walking through Target caught in a trance admiring our male youth of today. I’m not gay or anything but this shit is impressive. I can’t help but feel like a socially awkward Oompa Loompa from Oz. These lads are tall, dark & handsome. What happened to body hair? Are we evolving and nobody told me? I walk around like a dried up hairy Christmas tree.

Here’s the difference. Men today are soft. They will never know what being a “man” is. Unfortunate. Now grow some hair will ya!!

Come on guys. We need to become men again!

(10) Uncomfortable situations in life!

(10) Uncomfortable situations in life.

#10. Buying a rubber. Personally, I probably have only done this a handful of times in my life. Let me tell you. That’s shits intense. Like you’re being judged. The old lady behind you with dental floss hanging from her lip watches your every move. Piss off lady. I wasn’t ready to be a Dad. Then the cashier grins at you like you are about to commit a felony. Dude. Ring me up and move on. WTF!

#9. Public bathroom stahl. For some reason when I squat down to take a poop I’m always concerned about the dude next to me shitting his brains out. I don’t want to offend him. I’m worried about his well being. I’ll never see this man again. Why do I care? Here I am squeezing my ass cheeks together and trying to be respectful and this fucker from South Africa is dropping Hiroshima from his asscrack.

#8. Going on the “15” or less item line at the Supermarket when you have 16 items. This shit can be stressful as Betty Fucking Crocker behind you starts counting your item like she’s some kind of common core enthusiast. Get lost mam. Take your head of parsley and shove it up your ass.

#7. Having a police vehicle pull up behind you. All of the sudden you crap your panties and start doing that “10 & 2” steering wheel motion. You know they are running your plates and you pray to God your registration is up to date. Doing the speed limit is extremely tough. I always feel like a criminal and I did something wrong when those bastards get behind me. But it’s ok. They keep us safe!

#6. Body odor. Come on. You smell like a porter john during an August heat wave. Take a shower. Spray some cologne. Do you not smell the aroma? Freshen up fucker.

#5. Running into a friend at Macy’s who just ate a “crave case” of White Castle with a stomach like she’s “Octomom”. You congratulate her on her pregnancy but she’s not prego. My bad.

#4. Would you like to donate a dollar? What the fuck are we suppose to say? Of course I’ll donate for a good cause but it’s getting out of hand. I take a crap at Home Depot and some dude in an orange vest with three eyeballs is looking for a buck. Come on bro.

#3. Waiting on line at the Pharmacy. Nothing worse than being behind a pill addicted individual scratching their arm as dandruff just floats around you as it lands on your eyelid.

#2. Gun chewing waitress. Listen Flow. Stop popping your gum like your Dolly Parton working 9-5. That’s shits annoying. Take my order. Spit your gum out. Get your shit together. Thanks

#1. Jehovah Witness. These fuckers are relentless. Don’t ever answer the door. Hide under your toilet bowl when they come knocking. I once made the mistake of answering the door and this dude showed up nailed to the cross. He pulled up in an Ark and convinced me I was a terrible human being. I started genuflecting and saying Hailmarys & shit. Don’t ever accept the reading material. They will come back and quiz your ass on that shit.

(10) Activities our children engage in. Our future lies in the hands of our youth!

(H 10) Activities our children currently participate in. God help our youth and the future of our very own existence.

# 10 FaceTime

If I walk down my hallway one more time and see a child from my kids science class staring at me from my boys IPad, I’m gonna set my home ablaze. Every time I turn the corner there’s a “live child feed” awkwardly gazing at my every move. Get lost children. Go play manhunt or some shit.

#9 YouTube

What the hell are you watching? The other day I caught my boys laughing hysterically at a “famous” YouTuber video. It peaked my interest. I asked what was so funny. My boys replied: “Dad you have to see this.” So I engaged. The video that had my kids caught up in an uncontrollable belly laugh was simply a father making french toast for his family. My kids couldn’t stop chuckling as I stood there throwing up in my mouth as this fucker had 2.7 million followers earning 3 million per year because he makes french toast on YouTube. Makes me sick!!

#8 Laundry Pod Challenge

The future of our world is currently challenging each other to eat laundry detergent. I’ve been dared and challenged to do a lot of dumb shit in my life. Some I accepted. Some I declined. Out of all items to consume in this world, you ass knots came up with detergent? Your creativity is embarrassing. Here’s some suggestions. Battery Acid? Anthrax? Tree bark saturated in dog piss? Homeless mans naval juice? Let’s go. Step up your game.

#7 Turning into cats, dogs & other creatures

How come every time I see a picture of a kid on Social Media they have whiskers & pointy hairy ears? Their eyeballs change colors and they pant like dehydrated Hyenas. I didn’t realize we all now live on the “Island of Dr. Moreau.” You adults happen to be extremely guilty of this as well. It’s weird and here’s the reality of this. Most of you look much better as fluffy rabid hamsters with bright blue eyes. Keep it up. Our Social Media fashion statements have come so far. The other day I ran into a Facebook friend at a gas station that I haven’t seen in a while in person. On Facebook she always looks like a “Happily Married Mermaid.” In person she resembled a syphilis plagued half eaten rhinoceros. It was weird. We hugged it out and I said it will be ok.

#6 Styling of the hair

I get it. Our youth tend to go with the trend of the hairstyles of today. We were all guilty of this. I painfully admit to once growing out a “braided mullet tail” that extended halfway down my back. I had the thinest hair on the planet. This braid resembled two intertwined pieces of fishing line. This was honestly the worst display of hair representation since “Kid & Play.” I had a face full of pimples, a banana colored Bum Equipment shirt, black Reebok kicks as my overwhelming bodily stench of Drakkar Noir set off the school fire alarms daily. I had the audacity to wonder why girls never liked me. To make matters worse, I rolled up to the school parking lot in a candy apple red Chevy Beretta souped up with a “Vanilla Roma” tree air freshener & white windshield wipers. Guess what? You kids will get a fucking pass on anything you do with your hair. I was a disgrace to hair styles. I apologize.

# 5 Fighting for a “like”

I am aware of the power of Social Media. I know all the young ones want to be “Liked.” Your life will never be defined by a “Like.” In the end, it’s not important. I understand how exciting it is when a “friend” or anybody on our accounts acknowledge our posts, pictures & material. Here’s my question? If you happen to get 222 “Likes” on a post, do you walk into school like you’re the “Like king or queen?” Do fellow students actually stop you in the hallway and ask for an autograph because you get “Likes?” Come on now. Smarten up!!!!!

#4. “Watch me Whip, Watch me Nae Nae”

This activity may be considered a “thing of the past” within the youth community but I must address it. It was a serious movement. This choreographed dance took over every event on the planet. It started with our children “Nae Naeing.” Next thing you knew my wife was bouncing up & down on top of my refrigerator throwing down gang signals like she just assassinated Tupac!! I didn’t understand how a song could convince so many youths to perform a karate chop. Even our adults. Whenever that song plays, my Grandmother stops in her tracks and instantly morphs into a Don Mattingly bobble head doll. Vanilla Ice did this shit years ago. What if Mr Ice had the same Social Media exposure as his fierce competitors today? Could you imagine the youth today trying to keep up with the choreographic range of difficulty of Mr. Vanilla dressed in star spangled parachute pants? Hahaha. I give Robert Van Winkle credit. This fucker was a success. I guess my point is “Nae Nae” is the modern day “Ice Ice Baby”.

#3. Slime.

Ok. What is going on here? Honestly? My boys lock themselves in their rooms and make giant buckets of “Slime.” Every minute of every day I patiently wait for the “Blob”’to emerge and eat us all. “But Dad, we are starting a “Slime” business.” Next thing you know I receive “Slime” certified letters informing me I am being sued as a result of copyright infringement. My kid was extremely unoriginal and found it necessary to copy the infamous “Hamster Slime Logo.” Really kid? You should have just asked your Dad. I would have came up with some slim logo for you. I’m 30 seconds away from losing my house and everything I’ve worked for because my boy copied some other “Slime” entrepreneur. This Slime shit is serious. All I see is children constantly finger pressing on material that I believe we once called “Silly Puddy.” I won’t even elaborate on the materials used to create this shit. Borax??? I recently had an 18 wheeler truck full of this hazardous material back into my driveway for a delivery. My son whipped out a gift card he received from Santa Claus and said “Dad, I got this.” My wife will not let my boys eat Progresso soup or drink tap water but allowing them muster up 98 Lbs of Borax is perfectly ok. Whatever. Is what it is. Make sure you wash your hands my good children.

#2 Eating. We’re sooooo hungry!

No shit. We are all hungry. These little bastards continuously haunt us parents with this obvious necessity of life. Sometimes I wonder if these children have three assholes. My boys will have a cousin sleep over. I’ll cook them breakfast. They will all smile & hi-five me. They will thank me for the meal. 18 minutes later my 15 pound nephew will ask when lunch will be served. My first response is to flush this little hump down the toilet but it’s family. I don’t need his parents questioning me about his disappearance so I refrain. Then I must reflect back to my day as a child. I remember occasionally informing my mother I was hungry. My tummy rumbled a bit and I softly whispered “Mom, I’m hungry.”’ I thought this was a reasonable request. My Mothers response, “Wait until your father gets home. He’s gonna beat you with his belt. I’m not a your slave. Who the hell do you think you are? I’m not here to serve you! You have some nerve.”

All I wanted was a slice of Ellios Pizza Mom. Shit was brutal. I always loved the “Your father is gonna beat you with his belt” threat.

My poor Dad uncomfortably limped door to door every day trying to sell malfunctioning vacuum cleaners. Last thing he wanted to do was come home to beat his children after accumulating 89 total cents in daily sales. My mother always instilled in her offsprings mind that my Dad was a “Hitman” for the Mob. My Dad was nothing more than an malnourished hairy Italian man mistakenly named Vito who attempted to use his name as an intimidation factor towards his children. One day my mother beat Vito over the head with fried Cauliflower in front of us all. We all waited for my Dads response. There was no retaliation. That was the moment we all knew my Dad wasn’t a “Vito.” A true “Vito.” Let’s be honest, a “true” Vito would have stuffed my mother down the garbage disposal.

#1. Homework assignments.

Just want to be honest my sons. Your Dad was like Usain Bolt trying to graduate High School. I ran 1700 miles trying to makeup missed gym classes the morning of graduation day. In all fairness, they just wanted me out the curriculum. So when you come home with that confusing common core math problem bullshit, please understand, I can’t answer it. In my day when I asked my parents for assistance with homework, I was greeted with a cigarette & a cheese grater. I was told to “Figure it out”. So guess what kids. Google it!