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.

Summer is coming to an end. Let’s reflect on the top (10) beach goers we’ve encountered while people watching!

Summer is coming to an end. Sad. Always seems to pass us by in the blink of an eye.

Magical time of year. Most of us make memories. Take a vacation. If you’re a teacher it’s a time for freedom & relaxation. A much needed break. If you happen to be my sister you duct tape yourself to the air conditioner for two months. That’s fantastic but her husband keeps the AC locked at 83 degrees. She attempts to turn it up when he leaves but he’s no dummy. This fucker set a booby trap and had an electric dog fence secretly installed around the thermostat. He connected the device to her earnings and each time she attempts to adjust the thermostat she gets blasted with 74,000 volts of electric current. I was curious how much voltage that was because I didn’t want to see my sister get a burn or a scar or anything. I googled it. Turns out that voltage level could kill a full grown healthy 60 ft sperm whale in 9 seconds. He’s not fucking around. He sent a message. He has a back up plan. Obviously I needed to speak with him about this. I wasn’t sure how to approach him considering he’s a hippie and all. I had a plan. We dropped two hits of acid, chomped on a bag of shrooms, played some “Dead” on Pandora and drank 17 disgusting stouts from Belgium. Once I felt he was comfortable to open up about this, I told him to adjust the electrical current to 70,000 volts. He has back up. If the fence fails or deactivates, he cut out a trap door from his oak wood flooring in the hallway just beneath the air control device. When she presses “on” the floor opens and my sister falls three floors into the heated locked basement as sewer rats and earth worms begin to nibble on her sweaty shins. She hasn’t touched the thermostat in nine years.

That’s great and all but I believe the fondest moments for the majority of us are the beach experiences. Soft sand beneath our toes. Sounds of the ocean waves crashing. Complete relaxation with the exception of the rogue alcoholic seagulls who fly above dropping shit bombs on our hair like the winged bandit is chasing “Maverick” from “Top Gun” as he attempts to heist your bottle of ice cold twisted tea when nobody is looking. It’s not like he simply snatches the alcoholic beverage. This prick lands, pulls three ice cubes from your cooler, cracks the bottle open with his beak & pours it into a red solo cup. He sends his loud mouth seagull chick “on the rag” out to distract us as it pauses mid flight, directly above, hovering & chirping uncontrollably. Women 😂!

My point. With the exception of a few sun scorched swamp ass inspirational 189 degree humidity indexed days, summer and trips to the beach are what it’s all about. There’s a catch.

Going to the beach means only one thing. Other people will be there sharing the glory with you. I have no problem with that. I think it would be creepy if it was just me on a beach battling the onslaught of bird turd as I fiercely guard my beverages from hungover seagulls. Something about being surrounded by other people tends to make it exciting, extremely curious & most of all interesting. Our natural desire & attraction towards people watching kicks into high gear. I haven’t had a chance to get to the beach much this year. Luckily my wife & children along with some of her friends found some much deserved relaxing time over the past few weeks to inhale the beach and all it has to offer.

I have been a bit busy lately. Finding time to channel a creative outlet has been a challenge lately. That being said, I haven’t posted a Blog in a while. I asked my wife for some suggestions. Her first response, “how about top (10) people at a beach.” I was intrigued as I went with her request instantly understanding the beach population was fresh on her mind. Thank you my love. She gave a few, I added a few of my own. Here we go!

Top (10) people almost all of us have seen at a beach

#10. The extreme hairy man of epic proportion.

Personally, I like a little hair on a man. I think its sexy. I’m sure some women agree. Perhaps I’m a bit bias considering my hairy physique is similar to the gentleman above. Some may strongly disagree. That’s ok. Everybody has their own thoughts and opinions. On a side note, I’m not speaking of the dudes walking around with grandmothers 1947 hand knitted sweater sewed directly onto them. Those men are moderately hairy. There’s just something not quite right about a 59 year old adult male walking around with one 6” green chest hair sprouting from each nipple that concerns me. To me they resemble a six foot child about to jump on a slip & slide in his Barney underoos. I’m referring to the men who stroll past us on the beach like “Chewbacca” on “Bay Watch.” Fuckers who are so hairy they require a fire extinguisher present at all times because the lifeguard passionately feels these fury objects may catch fire from the direct heat of the sun. As if a beach forest fire may break out at any given moment. I get it. It’s the hand you were dealt. Trim that shit bro. When we can’t tell where your ass hair begins and eyebrows are positioned on your face, it’s time for a man-scape consultation. Either that or visit a farmer. Hop on that table with the lambs and sheer that shit. If it takes you 7 hours to “dry off naturally” in a sweltering 106 degree summer sunny day, its a problem. Sometimes I can’t decipher if I’m sunbathing next to a hairy man or perhaps some beach patron who planted a fully mature radiation induced chia pet.

#9. Old topless ladies covered in blistering sunburn to the 5th degree.

This proves you can worship the sun your entire life and still live a healthy happy life. True, if you enjoy seeing yourself in the mirror daily looking like you’ve been showering in cinnamon raisin oatmeal for 6 decades. The set of boobs attached to your body are literally held together by dental floss. The g-string bottom covering your overcooked fudge cookie brownie I assume is now used as a protective shield for your life alert button. If I had to guess, I would say your mother gave birth to you in a tanning bed. Only way a human can withstand the destruction of the sun for 80 years. To make matters worse, you have a “three pack a day” Virginia Slim cigarette addiction. It’s not like normal average size tobacco products like Marlboro are harmful enough. You must feel the need to suck and puff on a 13″ Lincoln log cigarette that burns continuous for several hours. I had an Aunt who use to smoke such a cancer stick. She would light her first cig at breakfast. Shit would still be burning during coffee & cake. Simply amazing.

#8. The narcoleptic.

I don’t give a damn what time of the day it happens to be. What beach you’re at or what time of the year it is. There’s always that one individual who finds a comfortable sandy beach area, lays their towel down and hibernates. This specimen can sleep & survive pretty much through any beach situation. Sand storms & viscous attacks from multiple colonies of sand fleas. Typhoons will pick these extremely tired people up from their original beach resting place at The Jersey Shore and deposit them on a beach in Maryland like it never happened. They will sleep like a baby during the entire ordeal. Meanwhile, I drink seven jars of extra strength NyQuil only to get one hour of sleep. I’ve seen sleeping beach patrons run over by off road speeding police vehicles. 9 ton rusted sand swipers simply crush them. Buried in sand by playful children. Heck, I once witnessed an avid shark fisherman run out of bait and chum. He grabbed the exhausted being and inserted a 9” hook into this bastards shoulder blade and casted him out into the frigid ocean water in hopes of snagging a 4000 ton 18 foot Great White. Luckily, he didn’t get any bites that day.

#7. The human floatation device a mile off shore

Life guards have basically have simply given up on this individual. Their whistles & warning go unnoticed. Before you know it all you can see is a sparkling toe and a shower cap down the surface of the ocean water. Dolphins emerge in curiosity from the surrounding waters. Families of sardines will nibble at there ass cheeks. Seagulls will use them as landing pads for a short rest. Last but not least, don’t these fucking wanna be mermaids understand there are dangerous man eating predators lurking below? I know they must feel at peace and connected to the ocean but come on now. I won’t even mention the fact you our navigating through the ocean saturated population of poisonous jelly fish. I firmly believe you can find a better way to spend your Sunday. I must admit, your sea floating skills are tight.

#6. Romantic beach couple.

Never fails. You walk on a beach. Find a nice comfortable relaxing spot. Settle down. Get your shit in order. You naturally begin to people watch because that’s just what we do as a human race. I once seen three ladies of Africa people watching some other hard working African lady balancing 80 pounds of laundry and a buffalo carcass on her head. These bitches were critiquing her style and approach as buffalo guts seeped into her eyeballs as a pride of Lions chewed on her ankles. Basically we are intrigued with all the different walks of life around us. We must judge. It’s natural. Then it happens. Our attention is instantly drawn to Romeo & fucking Juliet sexually sprawled out across a dandelion embroidered beach towel next to a filthy garbage can full of vomit & grannies flaking burnt skin residue. It’s pretty intense. Public ocean affection at its finest. Ok. They are in love. Maybe a bit passionate for a public beach but hey, there is nothing more romantic than seagull shit and sand fleas in your belly buttons. You look the other way as you become jealous and wish your relationship is that arousing. You figure a few kisses, a hug or two and these love birds will take dip in the water. You decide to cool off for a moment. Dry and prepare to relax. These two horny bastards are still kissing as if they are bobbing for apples. Now Tiki torches surround the couple. Remains of cherry stems and bottles of curdled whip cream liter the area. Rusted yellow planes dangerously low on fuel fly above with banners in tow stating “Johnny & Marie forever.” Meanwhile they met in the Boardwalk bathroom a few hours back. Micheal Bolton’s greatest hits serenade the entire beach. Meanwhile, these two humps haven’t rounded first base. They been swapping spit for 3 hours in the sweltering sun. I become jealous as I haven’t kissed my wife passionately since our wedding rehearsal dinner. I’m all about romantic encounters mostly with Pornhub but the beach is not the place in my honest opinion.

#5. The drunk girl.

This scene is almost always bound to occur when you spend the day at the beach. Time is never a factor. These events can happen anytime of the day. 6am. Don’t matter & it’s always a girl. I particularly enjoy when the police arrive as this intoxicated figure attempts to explain her point of view. She trips over sand castles pleading her innocence. Proceeds to regurgitate on her boobs. The “Richie Valence” tramp stamp she had tattooed above her ass crack the prior evening appears severely infected. Officers always allow the situation to continue for a bit for comic relief. Once she gets cuffed it becomes serious. She morphs into a severely arthritic double jointed “Rhonda Rousey” on crystal meth. Anger turns into rage. Vomits again violently as one boob covered in seaweed emerges. Either that or a half eaten funnel cake will drop from her panties as she’s hauled away to the slammer. Then it happens. Her beach posse dressed in ponchos & sombreros will arrive on the scene driving a beach wagon full of “Mikes Hard Lemonade” pleading their friend is not drunk and this is a form of police brutality. Eventually they all get arrested. Never fails.

#4. The Amish Family

Listen. The beach is public. All are welcome and I think that’s wonderful. It’s everybody’s right to enjoy a day at the beach. I believe that certain cultures simply don’t belong at the beach. Not because I’m discriminating. I feel the lifestyles they lead & follow don’t gel well with the beach environment. That’s all. I don’t believe I gel well with the Indian culture. I like Indians. They are nice people. Everything about their culture turns my asshole into a volcanic eruption. One whiff of curry has me flame throwing lava out of my butt. Everything the Amish believe in & the ocean seem so polar opposite. Historically, beaches are a time to put on a swimsuit, jump on a boogie board, drink a beer and show a nice body off. These families stroll the beach dressed like they are picking corn & planting fig trees. Suspenders & dress pants. Wooden shoes and flowered head gear. Fuckers pull up in a horse & carriage. Coolers made of hand carved cherry wood & copper water canteens. It’s truly a site to see. They walk to the waters edge. Look around as women with giant fake tits and male speedo induced sausages rub up against their 29 layers of clothing. They quickly realize they are not at the local stream hunting crayfish & gathering fresh water. There’s is nothing more satisfying than watching a young Amish lad stare at a half naked woman on the beach as his Wife smacks him in the back of the head with a pressure treated 2 x 4. Gets me every time.

#3. The Puerto Rican family beach party.

Here’s what I know. When this crew gets together it’s a party. They treat this experience passionately. Every family member attends this event. Great grandmothers. Uncles & Aunts. Cousins. Infants born that morning. Doesn’t matter. If you are somehow related you must attend this gathering. Personally I love it. Most of the time I’m tempted to send my family home so I can party with them. I’ll take an Uber home or crash in one of their vehicles. They do it right. No doubt. 7:30 am it’s on. Spanish music pumping. Pigs roasting and shit. Family disputes begin immediately. Mostly revolves around who’s the father of the infant born that morning. The women are tough. They usually get the situation under control. If that doesn’t work the Grandmother gets up. The party stops. Music miraculously fades. Even the ocean water calms the fuck down to hear this shit. A Puerto Rican grandmother is equivalent to a mafia boss. She grabs the men by their thin trimmed mustaches. Slaps them around a bit. It ends there. 119 additional cousins show up and now it’s a party. There’s no sand castles. No beach chairs or umbrellas. No sun tan lotion or towels. It’s 378 family members dancing together in a 9 foot radius even though they have 378 miles of open beach. They keep it close. Even the life guard blows the whistle occasionally. The Grandma stands up and this fucker apologizes. I’ve never seen so many people salsa on a beach in my life. Even the infant born 3 hours ago was busting a move (or was simply hungry.) They know how to throw a party on a beach.

#2. My wife.

This woman loves the ocean. Doesn’t get to go often. When she gets the opportunity she embellishes. Reads a book. Passes out and doesn’t give a crap. Could probably put her in the narcoleptic category I guess. At home she hears every sound. Extremely alert of her homes surroundings. I drop a grain of salt and she yells “what was that?” She hits the beach and gets in the zone. She’s out. I’ll bounce sour bologna sandwiches off her cheek in hopes to disturb her. I’ll shoot spit balls at her lip. Spread seagull poop in between her toes. Nothing. She has the ability to shut out the world while she lies on the beach. Nothing wrong with that until a rogue wave comes rolling in one day. Honestly don’t have much to say about her in this post ironically. Just love picture to be honest.

#1. My mother in law.

Ok. She is actually that Puerto Rican grandmother I was referring to. I am tempting fate and the very own safety of my life writing this. Pretty much gonna finish this up and get the fuck out of dodge. Kiss my family goodbye while they are all asleep & hop on a train. Most likely my last post. This woman will be at my door tomorrow morning with Spanish voodoo, evil smudge equipment, a meat cleaver, Goya beans, a Tito Puente cassette, tray of Flan, El Chapo and the director of Scarface. If I leave now I have a chance. This is my last goodbye. I love you all. But first, let’s talk about my YaYa at the beach. Last time this woman was so close to an ocean front she was riding a Cuban refugee boat taking on deadly amounts of sea water as she crashed into the shores Miami. She doesn’t seem to fit the normal Puerto Rican woman profile on a hot summer day at the beach. She appears more prepared for a day of ice fishing in Alaska. Either way, she enjoyed herself with her family. I can’t say too much about her as I may want to one day reconcile with my family.

I was warned and I ignored the warning. What else is new. I Live on the edge I guess.

Red lights mean stop. That also means we can survey our surroundings. Top (10) individuals we encounter while we wait!

If you own a license to operate a vehicle you have most definitely encountered these characters who become stranded at a red traffic light besides you.

Normally when I obey the laws of the road, I attempt to keep to myself. Sometimes my patience runs thin. I begin to actually believe the traffic light sequence is malfunctioning. I contemplate blowing through the red light & take my chances. Then I think better of the situation. I relax. Take a deep breath. Look around and inhale all the other motorists on the road to understand exactly what they are experiencing as well. I try to relate and identify. I become one. Then I process. Then this shit becomes saturated in my brain and I have to share it with all of you.

Here is a list of the top (10) individuals we encounter while we have the privilege to wait patiently for our traffic light to turn green.

#10. The Nose Picker. These fuckers jamb their index finger so far up their nostril while listening to Barry Manilow it becomes uncomfortable. Then they have the balls to glance over at you like you didn’t witness this tragic event and flick the 32oz snot ball directly onto your passenger rear view mirror. There is nothing you can do at this point. You pass it off as wild geese shit and carry on with your day.

#9. Mario Andretti. This fucker rolls up with a racing helmet, leather gloves & a trunk full of Nitrous. Some chick jumps out of his car half naked with a flag sponsored by Red Bull. She hops in front of your vehicles to start the race. Meanwhile, you are in a school zone driving a Ford Escort with 278k miles unprepared for such a race. The appropriate response is to alert the local police there is a man driving a US Navy fighter jet on a local highway but you feel the need to challenge this fucker but you can’t get past the size of the woman’s hooters initiating the race. Escort blows up. This dude flies away like that motorcycle dreamy man with a British accent in Grease 2.

#8. The Celine Dion. This artist approaches the red light singing “My heart will go on” at the top of their lungs. Windows down. Local birds just fall from the sky as a result of such earth shattering vocal disappointment. Eventually they turn to you for vocal back up. Like they actually expect you to audition, harmonize, form a band & sign contracts in the middle of a highway. All you can hope for is carbon monoxide poisoning at this point.

#7. The Vapor. First instinct is to call the local Fire department. You can’t initially see anything. Just a huge cloud of smoke engulfs the entire area. As the smoke clears you begin to collect your thoughts to make sense of the situation. Never fails. There’s always some 19 year old dude with a face full of noxzema emerging with a backwards “Mountain Dew” hat with three hairs dangling from his chin. He smiles. “What’s up bro” will roll off their lips 99.9% of these encounters. Suddenly, 9 more dudes pop up in the back seat like a pack of adolescent hyenas. It’s truly a sobering experience.

#6. The Police Officer. Doesn’t matter how innocent you may be. You see that law enforcement patrol car roll up next to you a certain panic ensues. It’s great when they are ahead of you. You have some control. You always stay a cars length behind. Problems occur when they come up behind you. You try and remember where you placed your registration. Is there a brake light out? If they test me is my Blood Alcohol Content still within the legal limit from last nights festivities? All of the sudden you become the most alert & responsible motorist on the planet. 10 & 2. Turn the radio down. Clean off your dashboard. You can’t wait until they give up and bang a left or right behind you.

#5. James Dean. These guys pull up. Time their cigarette inhalation. Exhale the second hand smoke in your direction as their eyes squint like a constipated Clint Eastwood. Are we suppose to ask for an autograph? I don’t get it. Do they honestly believe this looks cool? Dude you are not Danny Zucco or any T-Bird for that matter. You are driving a pink Sunbird with a major oil leak & rusted ball joints. Take the oil out of your hair and apply it to your vehicles ball bearings. Thanks.

#4. The Dog. My personal favorite. Car approaches and there’s a dog taking in the comfort of the wind. Appears to be smiling. Drooling all over the window. Can’t make this encounter funny. I truly enjoy these moments each and every time. Problem arises when I can’t tell who is the dog and who is driving the car.

#3. Garbage truck. It’s not so much the actual garbage truck itself. It’s the two Mexican men hanging off the back of it holding on for their dear illegal immigrant lives. This garbage contraption barrels down the highway at 67 miles per hour. These trash enthusiastic amigos are cracking a smile while dirty tampons & rotten salmon bounce off their chin at 3:37am. They take pride in what they do. Red lights seem to be a time to gather their composure and wipe their cheeks clear of dirty diaper residue & rotten banana peels.

#2. The rice burner. Never fails. We all come across that couple rolling up next to us with those weird ninja face protectors. They look like Skeletor. Meanwhile, every cicada bug on the east coast happens to land on their helmet. We become nervous. The guy driving the motorcycle always seems to have biceps the size of grapefruits accompanied by legs from “Popeyes.” The chick on the back is a show piece. The wind always plays a factor. The shirt they wear blows uncontrollably exposing a tattoo on their back resembling the Jersey Shore rendition of “The Last Supper.” When they finally arrive to a rolling stop beside us, the woman passenger picks a wedgie so big the Mexican man from the garbage truck emerges from her anal crevice smiling like he just won the Mexican pick 4 mid day lottery number. I can’t wrap my head around all the excitement. It’s truly a joyous event.

#1. The bicyclist. All of the sudden this figure emerges like he’s touring France. His spandex are so tight his nuts require an intravenous hydration drip. He looks at you. Then you look at him as you develop a plan in your head to run this dude and his team off the road into a ditch. They have these hand signals like they are Navy Seals. Vocal outbursts along with inconsiderate hand gestures towards the motorists on the road are inevitable. There’s always that one out of shape unconditioned bicycle pack member who slows the flow of the mission. They can’t peddle properly. Coyotes & turkey vultures lurk in the wings waiting for these humps to hit a pebble and drop. Get off the road guys. You have nice asses. I’ll give you that. Stop with the hand signals. Nobody understands what the fuck you are doing.

Ladies. Here is what lurks ahead within the internet dating scene. (10) eligible male bachelors!

Often people wonder how such a pretty woman like my wife could fall for a guy like me. I don’t have that answer. I do believe perhaps this post will help some get a better understanding.

The reality is this. I’ve known my wife since high school. We began dating over 20 years ago. We have hardcore time invested in our relationship. It’s a special situation. Many ups and downs as we have worked towards where we are today. It’s never easy. All relationships are unique in their own way. I will confidently admit this. A committed healthy partnership is a result of the effort & dedication put in by both involved. That’s all I got. I’m not a relationship expert. I only speak on the experience of my own situation.

Here is what I have learned.

I recently had a great conversation with a single friend of mine in her 40-50’s. I won’t spill the beans on her actual age because she will hunt me down & run me through a meat grinder. I know this because I recently did some home improvement renovations for her. One of her kitchen pendant lights were off level by a fraction of an inch as she began to shake uncontrollably. It was terrifying. I wouldn’t dare to talk about her age. I will however discuss this. She is single. Seeks a relationship with a gentleman. Like other women, it sometimes presents a challenge. She made it clear settling is not an option and I couldn’t agree more. She has thrown herself out there into the land of internet dating and all it has to offer. I don’t know much about it and hope I never have to swim in this pool of horse shit. And that’s exactly what it is. But that appears to be the road one must travel these days to find that lifelong love connection. Who has time to go out and actually meet people? That shit doesn’t happen. And don’t believe that old wives tale about supermarkets. I walked the lanes of Shoprite (Shopwrong) for eleven hours on a Sunday putting this “urban legend” to the test. I pranced around striking up numerous conversations with shoppers. As a result, I was beaten with eggplant, tossed into the frozen shrimp ice bin & asked to leave by a bag lady. This is not the atmosphere for a love connection. People want their garlic & ice cream and be on their way. There was one lady who expressed some interest in me. She fell and couldn’t get up as she laid motionless in the personal hygiene aisle. I was frantically pressing her life alert button and performed CPR. She was a spunky chick. Full of surprises. I eventually brought her back to life. She was approaching 103 years of age. The young lady whispered under her romantically flirtatious fossilized breath, “excuse me young man, could you tell me where I can purchase a bra enhancer, new dentures and a motorized wheel chair?” I was taken back by her kinky devious sexual thoughts. She had my attention. We struck up some conversation as I re-attached her hip. I felt some attraction & chemistry. In the end I just couldn’t commit. I felt the age difference would be a factor at some point in our relationship. In my opinion, the supermarket is more of a place to make funeral arrangements.

So my buddy happens to be “bat shit crazy” in a good way which she already knows. That’s a great quality in my opinion. Normal is boring. She wants what she wants and would never settle. I don’t blame her. She suffers from OCD. I explained you should not date people like yourself. I firmly believe opposites attract. It keeps everything fresh and on edge. Imagine two OCD individuals dating? What transpires? Do you both walk around the home holding hands on a Saturday evening adjusting pictures on the wall as you argue over proper toilet paper placement? That’s no fun. My wife and I are polar opposites. I walk around the house tracking mud throughout as she opens up her vacuum collection and cleans directly behind me. She’s not happy about it naturally but it creates conversation and controversy. I leave my underwear on the kitchen table and she removes it with protective gloves & safety goggles as she’s decked out in a hazmat suit. It just works. Not sure why. That’s only my opinion. She most likely hates me and wants to shove the vacuum attachment up my pee hole. Let me believe we are happy. Thanks.

As we dug a bit deeper into the world of the mid life dating scene she found it necessary to share some pictures of a few potential life partners. People in search of soulmates who expressed interest in her online dating profile. Turns out her sister is a member as well so I had the privilege to soak in both of their personal experiences. It was a life altering event for me. I was not aware of what actually takes place within this strange world.

Warning* May contain some inappropriate images. Some may find this disturbingly offensive. My apologies in advance.

Here are examples of (10) men currently registered on dating sites. These are actual photographs submitted by registered male members in hopes of making a first impression on females longing for a romantic match. Here we go. Buckle the fuck up. Thanks for the inspiration. You know who you are.


This man has sexy written all over his physique. I’m having a difficult time pinpointing exactly what room of the home this epic photo was taken in where a background consists of a roll of paper towels, a dirty fish tank & a “tweety bird” comforter on the floor? And a “My pillow?” My second guess was he snapped a selfie in the waiting area of a dentist office. What should a woman expect when she goes home with you for some romance after a nice date? Why is there a slit across the front of your undies? Is that suppose to be some sort of sexual technique that excites, seduces & teases a lady? Sew that shit up and get dressed. Why are you snapping selfies with a 55″ flat screen TV? Is this what your potential soulmate has to look forward to? I won’t even elaborate on the golden painted walls. What’s with the bracelet cutting off all circulation on the right forearm? Turn off the fish tank light. It will make you much more appealing. If that’s even possible.


I’m pretty positive most women can’t wait to hop on top of this Greek god. What exactly happened to your right nipple? Is that a gravity issue? If I was a middle aged woman searching for a long term serious relationship, you are exactly what I would have in mind. That is the biggest dog tag I have ever seen. Your disturbing smirk would inspire any woman to call law enforcement immediately. Good luck with your future love endeavors. You have most certainly brought sexy back in a trailer park twenty five to life sort of way. Good work.


Look at this tulip. He’s 44 ladies. If he’s 44 I’m Barack Obama. He may have been born in ’44. Is this man serious. I give him credit for keeping his clothes on. He’s one step ahead of our previous male sex figures patiently awaiting future connections to the single females. Ernest, although your hairstyle resembles a beautiful orchid blossoming flower with props to the “Pink Floyd” poster, you must accept the fact you are on the wrong dating site. You belong as a registered gold member to the site properly named “Grannie In Search of Old Flannel Boy Toy.” If I was a woman and had to guess what you did for a living it would be this. You are the voice of “Dora the Explorer”


This man is my favorite of the bunch. He looks honest and sincere. Again, if he’s 46 I’m 12. He’s mysterious in a sexual predator sort of way. Not sure what happened to his left ear. I’ll assume a police dog bit it off while he sold ice cream to minors. Just a hunch. This man has potential. Ladies save this slice of pure relationship heaven to your favorites.


Why is he sleeping in the shower watering his junk listening to “My heart must go on” by Celine Deon? I’m trying to determine exactly what is reflecting on the shower head. He seems to be a hoarder. I’m sure most women dream of bringing this being home to meet grandmother on Christmas Eve. Why am I selecting you to be my life long partner? Do you honestly believe this is sexy? What is wrong with these men and their decorating selections? The backgrounds seem to be extremely boring and distasteful. I’ve never seen such a physically fit man with such a bloated flabby stomach. You are exactly what women want. Wake up ass knot. You’re gonna drown.


This man was smart about his profile presentation. Nicely toned body. Excluded his face because he most likely was burned in a forest fire as he grabs his package. What does this accomplish? So if we happen to date you we have the pleasure of walking around the mall with you as you latch on to your erect private parts? I’m just confused. The downward spiraling chest hair footprint is quite fascinating. It leaves much to be desired such as if Professor Dumbledore is a part of your family tree perhaps. The intriguing chest hair design reminds me of some sort of human torturing device from the 1500’s. That or a character from “Fraggle Rock.” Hmm. Again, the background wall paint color is atrocious. Did all these men get a group rate & take their photos in the same home?


The flash dance rendition of internet dating. I almost want to throw my phone into a fire pit right now. What is going on here? I have so many questions. Who took the photo? Why is the right side of your body so hairy? Is that rain or snow? Does your profile dating site interests state “hairy man enjoys traveling naked to caves in Afghanistan during a monsoon?” I’d love to hear about your entrepreneurial adventure. School of law? Lol. You sir will most certainly convince a man like myself to question my sexual identity. It’s beautiful male creatures like yourself that make straight men like me curious. Hit me up and let’s drop that black lantern you are holding over your penis. That shits hot.


The good news is there is only 1/1 pictures available for our viewing pleasure. At least he has some decorative art in the background. I will give him that. But then I must take notice of the 32 day old rotten banana peel he is using as a sexual prop. Yeah great strategy man. You are trying to lure in women who haven’t been laid in months as you are passionately gripping a rotten banana peel. To make matters worse, your facial expression leads me to believe you haven’t taken a shit in weeks. Maybe months. It screams constipation. The Warhol picture confirms you will most definitely fed ex your earlobe to me after we get to sloppy second. You are creepy AF. Exactly what scorned women who can’t seem to figure out exactly what they want romantically in life. You my friend are the answer to all the prayers of our desperately seeking women. I wish I had the opportunity to witness this brute sexual presence back when I was growing up. I would have purchased a poster of you and thumb tacked you to the back of my door right beside Cindy Crawford and the teal green Lamborghini. Heck, I most likely would have ironed this iconic photograph of sex appeal directly across the back of my jean jacket. Keep it up bro. Nothing sells sex more than a bald man suffering from “resting bitch face syndrome” while his hand is wrapped around a rotten banana peel. Damn!!!


Jesus Christ. Why did I have to see this? I have enough crap in my brain. He unfortunately happens to be the most attractive in the bunch. If you find the courage to look past his toes that remind me of a gecko of course. Like this dude should be selling insurance. Again, who snapped the photo? His mom perhaps? I can’t make out the bottle between his legs. Is this suppose to leave women in suspense? You may not be lying about your age but you are sprawled out naked in a black tub with no water and a plastic bottle between your legs. There are flowers behind you along with a device I believe is a suspended weight scale. This whole scenario is troubling. I can tell you this for a fact. If I was a woman on the dating scene you are it. My everything. My “1980’s Black whirlpool tub prince with inflated toes.” You are smiling. You must be a jolly man. What the fuck are you doing guy? Please tell me your buddy hacked your account and photo shopped this. What are you glancing at BTW & the right nipple is sort of sexy. I must be honest. You should simply post a blown up exaggerated version of that. Only positive feature within this cluster fuck of internet dating failed photography. And to think you are an “Assistant Vice President” to anything but a gay internet porn discreet dating site is mind boggling. Good work. All you are missing is a yellow rubber ducky & some water.


A fucking legend in my book. He is what I imagine the bi-product of a one night stand accidental pregnancy involving “Wolverine, Fred Mercury & Hacksaw Jim Dugan” would look like. Give this bastard a 2 x 4 and he will crack his date right across the her fucking temple. No questions asked. He has the integrity and honest approach. Simple. Respond to my profile and express interest and I will eat your pancreas. The fact this man has the hairy nuts (and I’ll assume those fuckers are “Yetti” like hairy) to select this image as his profile picture is brilliant. He makes his point obvious. No messing around with this beast. His profile description must be as follows. “Date me. I will throw you in the shower after we consume 5 rib eyes with 9 sides. Once we get past the fact my hair will eventually clog the shower drain, I will chomp on the fungus of your foot while “Barry Manilow” Pandora softly plays amongst us. I will proceed to eat your pet goldfish. Here is my promise to you. I will continue to wear these grease stained leather overalls, for better or worse. Thick & thin. Even to your families Thanksgiving Day feast. I can’t wait to meet your Dad and share a life with you.” This dude nails it. The ideal match. The fact he has a plug-in smoke & carbon detector in his bathroom leads me to believe he has all intentions of spicing up a potential long term commitment. The wall paper ensures us he is the next Jeff Dahmer. Good luck with this gem ladies. He is special.

So there you have it. These are just a few eligible bachelors available to all you middle aged ladies looking for love. Here’s my advice, stay fucking single.

For everyone who questions why such a pretty gal like my wife is in love with a guy like me, this should answer it. Although I can totally see my wife leaving me as I’m forced to enter the dating internet world. I would most likely take a profile picture of myself buck naked at “White Castle” holding a rabid armadillo. I would be no better than these members.

Good luck ladies.

Life can be stressful at times. These are some situations that stress my wife out!

Life can be stressful. I get it. I try to live it one day at a time. Accept daily challenges with open arms as I navigate through the unpredictable path of our very own existence.

I don’t care how “together” you think your life is, shit happens. You can try to organize and plan your course. Chart your way. Attempt to figure it all out. Unfortunately, that’s just not possible. There is no rule in life. No guideline. No handbook & certainly no instructions.

As a human race, we all encounter stressful daily situations. Doesn’t matter who or where you are within our planet. We all deal with these “hick-ups” in life at one point or another.

Marriage & children tend to escalate our level of stress. It’s normal. Some handle these situations differently. Again, there is no correct way to deal with the curveballs we face in life.

However, I do have the day in and day out opportunity to witness exactly how my wife processes and deals with stressful life events.

Here are a few recent stressful explosions my wife has experienced. I try and understand her and why she feels the way she does. Personally, I don’t sweat the small shit. If my family is happy and healthy, I’m good. Everything else is irrelevant.

The child’s bed broke.

I’m not sure where my wife grew up as a child but I broke so many beds as a kid my Dad began making bedroom sets for the family. And this bastard didn’t even take the time to sand down the plywood. He nailed the shit together with rusty nails, threw a sheet on it and said “sleep!” I would get out of bed and a 3” splinter would be lodged between my infected toes. My eyeballs would swell up like a puffer fish as a result of an allergic reaction from dangerous wood chemicals. Last night my son walked in and informed us his bed had broke. Granted we recently purchased the bed in November, I wasn’t happy. I know it is covered under warranty. I will deal with it tomorrow. Not my wife. Her left eye teared up like she ate 9 red onions. She began to shake. She pouted and ran down the hallway. Stomped her feet and yelled “this is fucking bullshit!” I froze and feared for my life. I let her be. She mustered up so much adrenaline she cleaned the bathrooms, changed the AC filters, baked a cake & actually attempted to make a sexual advancement towards me. Then she realized what was happening and made me call the hotline to file a complaint at 11pm. Like I’m suppose to argue with some furniture sales associate from Wisconsin at that hour about a broken bed frame. She was so pissed. I didn’t understand it at all. Shit happens. Beds break. We move on. If I don’t get a new bed first thing Monday morning, I’ll be the one stressing.

I need to get my hair done. I have grays.

She makes it seem like she’s Mrs. Claus or some shit. She has like one strand of gray hair buried under all her other brown hair. She ran into the living room. Grabbed her hair and parted it like the Red Sea to show me. “Look babe, look at all my grays.!” All I saw was a scalp. And hair. She insisted she could not go out in public like that. People would have to literally grab her head, run their fingers through her head with a spotlight to locate her one strand of gray. I don’t argue. Women are bat shit crazy when it comes to crap like that. I try not to overthink or understand it. Here is $80. Have fun.

There’s no more Extra Cheddar Goldfish!

God for bid we have no more Extra Cheddar Goldfish in the home. As soon as my boys chomp on the last fish cracker, before the crumbs can hit the floor, my wife hops on her 1200 CC Kawasaki Ninja and pulls a wheelie straight into the cracker aisle at Shoprite. I try to explain to her that the “cheddar fish” can wait but she fights me tooth & nail. She insists, “we must have fishies for our boys babe.” I get it.

We need gas.

Me personally, I take the gas to the limit. I know my gas tank and it’s capabilities. I’ll drive that shit on fumes for a week. Not my wife. That fuel level drops below a quarter tank and this woman calls Triple A. It’s aggravating but that’s who she is. I must abide by her ways if I want to stay married I guess. I haven’t filled up a gas tank since I purchased my new vehicle with a full tank of gas. We were driving home from vacation and the gas mileage to empty was 146 miles and she was sweating like a fag eating a hot dog. It became uncomfortable actually.

We are taking a vacation. We need extra cash.

Yes. We all want to take our vacation in comfort. Stress free. Not us. Off the bat my wife begins to stress about the amount of money we will be taking with us. She asks, “how much you bringing babe?” I reply “$8000.00.” She says, “is that enough?” I respond, “we are going to the Jersey Shore for the night, yeah it’s enough!” Her lower lip begins to shake rapidly as she whispers, “I just want to be prepared. Just in case ya know.” I say “Prepared? Prepared for what? $8000 should be enough to cover my bail & funeral arrangements!”

Our boys are getting so old.

This one hits home for her and I believe stresses my wife out the most. It’s hard to accept. Our boys are growing fast. Becoming young men. Moving on in life. My wife refuses to allow that to happen. Our boys will attend a Bat Mitsvah. All dressed up and ready to party. She will drop them off, jump on her Ninja and race home. Grab her recorder and begin to play videos of when our boys were babies. She will watch this footage for hours. She will cry & laugh. Reminisce. I must admit, it’s nice, sad, depressing, happy and confusing all in one. Although I cherish those moments, I am one to move on and think about the future and what lies ahead for our family. My wife would rather recreate the first time her babies shit on her hand and keep that memory forever.

What’s for dinner? Where’s my food?

You would think this woman has never been fed. Food is most definitely important to her. Leftovers are my wife’s lifeline. She will hide her remains of last nights dinner like she’s hiding Hoffa. She sets her alarm for 4:48am so she can be the first to rise and eat her leftover salmon. She will bark and hiss at you if you get to close to her plate of food. She invented “Hangry.”

Dirty Car.

It’s actually annoying. We recently took a seven hour road trip. For seven hours straight she waited for pieces of lint to land on the dashboard so she could wipe it off. She had three vacuums, a sham wow, a plunger and a case of windex. What the fuck are you cleaning? Let some shit build up first wacko!

Stress sucks!

Vacation has ended. That can only mean one thing. Top 10 people of Virginia!

This past week I had the pleasure to embark on a family adventure to the beaches of Virginia.

I’m not entirely sure why we chose this destination. Well actually I am pretty sure. It was the cheapest seven days I could find on TripAdvisor. Considering we are taking the plunge towards the “Disney World Disaster” in October, I figured we sneak in a quick relaxing getaway. Cheaper is not always better is a rule I have always lived my life by and the past seven vacation days has confirmed why I believe in this.

As a child, my parents took my family to Virginia Beach. It was a memory that always seemed to be embedded in my mind. I was young. My memories were foggy. I thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to reconnect some past experiences of old with my wife & children of today. Again, I honestly forgot what this state was all about. Don’t get me wrong, I love diversity, different cultures and interesting walks of life. This state is bat shit crazy in every way possible.

As I traveled through the family vacationed week, I observed, absorbed, interacted & to be honest, could not wait to get the fuck home and start writing this post. From the moment I parked the vehicle at our hotel as we arrived until the minute I packed the car up to get the hell out of there, I was surrounded by the daily chaotic ways of Virginian life. I have nothing against the wildlife of Virginia and it’s occupants. I’m from New York. The South happens to be a much slower & different pace of life compared to NY. I attempted to adjust. Tried to make the best of all situations & encounters. Unfortunately, each and every time I turned around and ordered coffee or an egg sandwich it was just another situation that had my head on a swivel. I remained calm and respectful. Collected my thoughts and kept my mouth shut until now.

Top 10 People of Virginia

#10. Women of Virginia. I could not help but notice this obvious trait within the native female Virginian community. They love to smoke. Like a chimney. Burning a child with a cigarette was not a concern for these women. I’ve never in my life seen a mother hold her newborn in one hand, a banana daiquiri in the other and play a round of corn hole as she breast fed her triplets decked out in mud stained overalls. It was truly amazing. The baby’s daddy’s just lied motionless passed out under a bar stool as these women actually placed their children next to daddy for a photo op. Like this was going to be a Christmas photo or some shit. Weird.

#9. Women of Virginia. Leg Tattoos. While we are still on the topic of women of Virginia, I must address the leg tattoo phenomenon. My wife and I kept an open mind on this. We couldn’t figure it out. We walked the boardwalk. Women strutted down the way with massive tattoos of “I have no fucking idea” to be honest. Literally. The trend was this. A black tattooed work of art that began at their inner hairy thigh & stretched out to the top of their disproportionate knee cap. It resembled a black mass of diarrhea. That’s the only way we can explain it. Maybe it was a gang symbol or some shit. Either way, when they are 80 it will appear the anus has leaked upon their thighs.

#8. “Interracial Couple Capital” of the world. I have no issue with this. At all. If two people fall in love, color, race, religion or anything else should not make a difference. I’m cool with that. I thought it was great. Children from black & white parents are truly beautiful. I’ve never seen so many albino white children with a sunburn sporting dreadlocks in my lifetime. They were mesmerizing. Honestly. I think that mix is great. The problem is the Virginians try to get creative within their relationship pairing. That’s cool but in my opinion maybe some relationships should not happen. I shouldn’t judge but I have a big mouth along with a big opinion so fuck it. Love is Love and I respect that. Always. I just have questions. In Virginia it seems love has no boundaries. Connections will be made no matter what. I questioned the “Love Connection” ethics in Virginia when I happened to notice a 7’3” Chinese man strolling down the boardwalk holding hands with a female midget. Again, I have nothing against this. Problem was their child trailing behind them. This kid was confused. He was attempting to do a karate chop but his limbs were just too short to complete the move. It was a challenge. Next was the love connection we witnessed involving the Italian hairy man from Bensonhurst and the whitest female on the planet. He walked down the boardwalk with a salami stuffed in his shorts as his wife was clearly roasting in the sun as their son trailed behind them looking like an over cooked “biscotti cookie” on St Paddy’s Day. Very confusing. I respected the diversity. I was puzzled by some of the relationship decisions.

#7. The Virginian Staff. Did not matter where we went. SO SLOW. Maybe that’s just the South and I’m use to the faster pace of New York. Either way, people run businesses. I don’t care where you own a business, the ultimate goal is to maximize profits. Productive employees. Shouldn’t make a difference what part of the world you reside in. Right? Not Virginia. These fuckers are basically asleep. They are paid to catch up on some zzzzz’s and stand behind a counter to aggravate the shit out of tourists. I tried so hard to keep my composure. Until we went to Chick-Fila or whatever it’s called. We walked in at 10:28 AM. I asked if they served lunch yet. She said “sorry sir, we don’t serve lunch until 10:30 AM. Would you like to take a seat and wait?” Ok. That sounds great you dumbass. You expect me to walk to my seat, sit down, then get up a minute later and place my order with you? I wanted to shove my sons sun drenched asscrack directly into her pie hole but I was the better person. She had the balls to smile as I approached a minute later and said “How can I help you today sir?” Hahahaha.

#6. The Dancers of Virginia. I don’t care what tune comes on, these Virginian fuckers will sway to any ballad playing on the radio or live performance. My wife and I were on our way to dinner. We heard a band. We paused. Took in the musical festivities. Buckled our knees a tad but that was the extent of it. A Bruno Mars cover began to play and all of the sudden we had an 87 year old grandmother bumping and grinding all up on some hillbilly with 2 teeth with a BAC content seventeen times the legal limit. The human bonding was fascinating. This young hillbilly glanced upon this ambitious grandma with two weeks to live like she was “Cindy Crawford in Heat!” Love has no limits in VA!

#5. The Virginian Parking Attendant. This threw me for a loop. The most easy going fine lad I encountered on the entire trip. I wasn’t sure if he was still tripping on acid from a “Dead Show” or he was just confused, but he was accommodating for sure. I’m from NY. If the sign says $25 to park your vehicle it’s $25 to park. I don’t give a rats ass if you park for 5 minutes. I pulled into the Virginian lot. This parking lot kid had hair he did not wash in a decade and teeth that have not been attended to for a few months. He had the nuts to smile and say “Hey Man”. I proceeded to hit the record button on my phone. Once his lips freed themselves from his plaque infused gums we began to negotiate. I said “how much?” He laughed and said “$25.00 man.” I said “I’ll only be here 10-15 minutes.” He replied, “cool, just give me $5 man.” I crapped in my pants because I never won a negotiation battle with anybody. I tried to get cute. I said “I will only be here for 5 minutes. I’ll give you $3 bucks.” He replied, “That’s cool man.” I froze, panicked and gave him $25.00 anyway.

#4. The Virginian mans midnight glowing toenails. This was intriguing. This may be hard to accept or believe. I am only stating this based on personal experience. Alcohol was involved and vision may have been impaired. I’m not sure exactly what I was witnessing. Here’s what I do know. I was on my balcony. I glanced over onto the boardwalk. It was dark. I noticed a man under the shadowing lamp post light who began to wash his feet off from the sandy grains of the beach. Three seconds later his middle toenail began to illuminate. Like ET was trying to phone home or some shit. It could have been the reflection of the lighthouse or spilled yellow mustard. Either way that shit was glowing.

#3. The Virginian Animal Enthusiasts. Along our adventure we encountered some aquariums & live animal shows. Some events were hosted by ambitious personnel. They took their job very serious. I think it’s great a person could be so passionate about the animals they are discussing. Wish I could find employees like this. Educating & enlightening us all. I have a question. Where did they find the girl who speaks to us about the Otters? This chick was born to explain the daily routine of Otters and why they eat lettuce and fish and shit. How did they recruit such a fine, detailed, articulate Otter specialist? It’s as if she was one with the Otter. This chick was so good at her job when the Otter took a diarrhea on top of a rock and pissed all over it’s webbed feet in front of 38 fatigued spectators she actually had the ability to make us all laugh. It was magical. This employee basically ate, breathed and shit everything Otter. When she asked if anybody had any questions about the life of an Otter and nobody raised their hands she literary had an “Emitt Otter” Christmas breakdown. Next was the “Horse Shoe Crab Historian.” I curiously stroked the tail of this crab and it raised its ass like a kitten and I was reprimanded. This horse shoe crab officer with a face full of black heads and a Justin Bieber mouth retainer yelled at me. He said they were sensitive in that area. I shouldn’t touch them there. This fucking crab species has been around for 600 million years and he’s worried about me touching his backside because it tickles? Wait what?

#2. The Virginian Toll Collector. I’m not sure what they feed the toll collectors in Virginia but these fuckers are chipper as fuck. We pull up to pay a .35 cent toll at 3am and this woman is line dancing to Rascal Flatts. She has a shit eating grin across her face and had the balls to ask “what are y’all doing? Where y’all heading? Sleeping you shit stain. I’m heading to Mexico to drink a Dos Equis and purchase a sombrero. What the fuck you think I’m doing? I’m driving!

#1. The Virginian who just doesn’t give a shit. This is common. My wife and I along with the children often found ourselves bewildered by our local surroundings. People just don’t give a fuck in Virginia. It’s as if they wake up, throw on a piece of liverwurst for a shirt, pull up a pair of cut off bright yellow frayed dungarees, brush their teeth with synthetic oil & saddle up on a beach. Their knee caps & shins are always severely bruised. Miraculously, seven children with humidity plagued mullets emerge from a suitcase and start building sand castles. Dude, it’s a free beach. Please put the 40 Oz down along with the bag of Fritos and get with the program. Your children need air and a haircut.

Until the the next adventure!

Preparing for our family vacation. Reminiscing about old times!

The time is now 1:12 AM. I am patiently waiting as I consume a case of beer while my wife attempts to finish packing for our summer vacation. We depart tomorrow. She insists we pack the car tonight. Like that makes a damn difference. Can any living human being on Earth please explain to me why spending 9 minutes at 2 AM or spending 9 minutes at 8 AM packing the vehicle saves time, aggravation or the miserable reality we must drive to our destination?

That’s correct. We are driving. That can only mean one thing. We are not spending our vacation this year on an Island consisting of swim up bars, sexual encounters with cancer causing plastic necklaces and body rubs by an Avatar who calls himself Jean Jacque. Sorry. Wasn’t in the budget this year.

We are heading to Virginia Beach. Why you ask? I have no fucking idea. I went there as a kid. It was my first vacation I took with my family. Except that one time my Dad rented a handicap family bus to transport his family to Wildwood, NJ. We pulled up. First out of the bus was my mother Paula, who hasn’t been in ocean water past her ankles. Ever. Next is my Dad, 125lb Italian man named Vito with 7” curly spiral macaroni chest hairs who has smoked so many cigarettes “Smokey the Bear” just gave the fuck up. My Dad abolished the “Surgeon General.” Then there was our oldest sibling named Jeffy who started a fashion trend involving a ripped peanut butter & jelly stained Ozzy shirt with his middle school orange Gym shorts pulled over his greasy ass sweat pants. His yellow striped tube socks finished off the failed fashion statement. All this and he had the balls to place a bandana over his pubic hair infused mullet to flatten his mane. Like that made a difference. Next, my brother Joey walks out. This interracial being became a family conversation piece for years. All immediate family members through three generations had a tendency to sunburn uncontrollably under any contact with the sun and this guy darkens up like an eggplant. The winter months rolled around and his skin pigment balanced out. Once June pulled up, this dude was a stunt double for Denzel Washington. Then there was me & my brother Jim. I popped out with golden blond hair that I no longer have. My brother Jim was this skinny little boy who loved potatoes. The last sibling arrived. This was my sister Gina. The only girl in the bunch. She blossomed into a beautiful woman. Her younger years not so much. This chick was so hairy she had yarn sprouting from her calf. We couldn’t figure it out. The hair eventually would fall off and all was good. One Easter morning we snapped a family photo with the local Bunny at the mall & it was as if our family adopted a pre-teen female Yeti & Willis from “Different Strokes.” The Easter Bunny took the fuck off after that photo. He could not wrap his head around how these five children could actually be siblings.

So yeah. That’s how we rolled into our family vacations.

We were a confused bunch. My mother must have had many affairs with many different men to form this loving family unit. My brother Joey would take me to the mall. An “alleged” colored man holding a little white angle Saxon boy’s hand in the Mall in 1982 was confusing. My brother was apprehended three times per week during the sun sweltering summer months and charged with child kidnapping. My brother loved me and his skin color should not have mattered. I loved him for who he was. Black, white or Tito Puente-ish! I don’t see color, I see the good in people. Treat me with respect & love and you will get it right back. Period. I break bread with genuine & real people. Take your bullshit and false pretense somewhere else. Shit don’t fly with me!

What can I say, my mother never judged. She was involved in free love. My poor Dad was so hairy and constantly blinded by his cigarette smoke, this poor bastard had no idea. The fact my Mom convinced my Dad these children were his own was astonishing. My Dad bucked up, was a man, took care of his questionable offspring.

Our family pictures made no sense. We looked like a human rescue facility. We were the poster family for “We Are The World!” Michael Jackson & Kenny Logins type of shit.

So glad I had the time to reminisce as my wife is still packing.

Virginia here we come. Only reason we are going is because it was the cheapest destination under a 6 hour commute. My first option was Pennsylvania. I found a nice hotel with no electricity. A place the family could make furniture and grow beards and shit. My wife wasn’t into it. Oh well.

So now packing is done. 19 suitcase later. My car is pulling a wheely in the driveway. My wife just asked if I could go to the supermarket at 2:48 am to pick up raspberry seltzer and bottled water for the car ride down. This woman is bat shit crazy. Yeah babe. I’ll text the Shoprite manager now to see if he could open up so I can grab some carbonated water you fucking lunatic!

Love your family. Love your friends. Cherish the moments. These moments will come to an end, sometimes abruptly. Never be the one left holding the “bag of regret & guilt.” Not worth it. Whatever the differences may be, it can always be worked out.

Whether these are my real brothers & sisters or not, it doesn’t matter at this point. I will never know and I don’t care. We grew up together. Some seasonly darker skinned than others. Some producing hair follicles of epic proportions at an alarming rate. Some chemically dependent on starch. Some dressed like a failing gym class student with an insulting ratty ass stink bug infused mullet protruding through his backwards bright white semi-glossed paint stained “New Balance” hat playing hooky in order to attend a Black Sabbath concert as he attempts to actually approach and impress females.

I will not elaborate on the pure simple fact my brother Jeffy purchased and drove around in a nationally sponsored Russian Volleyball “Yugo.” Yes a “Yugo” that had a volleyball net decal embedded into it. This stupid prick and his friend Vinny D would cruise through town with their plexi-glass windows down blasting “Beth” from kiss and truly believed some young lady would find this display of male dominance attractive. Problem was this. I would be in town as well with my friends skateboarding making out with some chick behind a dumpster with rusted braces, a chin that overflowed with acne & mustache like I was sucking face with “Rollie Fingers.”

He would excitedly beep.

“Who was that?” Oh fuck. “That’s my brother Jeffy. Yes that’s a volleyball net on the side of his car. It’s a long story!”

It’s all about memories. I’m glad I have the opportunity to remember all this. Hopefully I am creating memories for my children as well. We joke, we laugh, and in the end, we love!