My Truck is a DINOSAUR.......RRAAWWWRRRR!!!

I had to post this, because I'm pretty sure my truck is secretly a dinosaur, and I wanted there to be photographic evidence before it's too late and it eats someone like in the movie Christine.

The last couple of days, my truck has had some wicked looking teeth. I'm pretty sure these are for eating slow drivers and hitchhiking babies.

I know this all sounds crazy, which not only means it's most likely true, but seeing how I've only had this truck about a year, and it's quite possible that it's a Transformer like Bumblebee, but meaner and T-Rex-ier.

Maybe it's a Decepticon.

All I know is that it's good at hiding its vicious fangs in the summer, but come winter, it's feeding time.

I can't help feeling sorry for all those blue-haired Sunday drivers and wondering hobo infants.

See for yourself.

Case closed.

Tuesday Quickie...

Welcome to my Funnies, all you new people. Make sure you go back and read some of my old stuff. Some of it is decent. It's your job to find the decent stuff mixed with all the indecent...wait....undecent....err....nondecent.......screw it, I'm AWESOME. Go see for yourself.

And now some quickies:

Conversation over Christmas weekend @ my house between the Wife and ME while watching White Christmas:

Me: “I read somewhere that Danny Kay wasn’t Bing Crosby’s first choice to play opposite him.” (because I’m full of useless knowledge)

Wife: “Nuh-uh. Really?” (said doubtfully, cause she knows I’m usually trying to dupe her)

Me: “Yeah, he wanted Fred Astaire, since they played together in Holiday Inn. Fred was his first choice. But Fred declined, because he thought he was getting too old. Then he wanted some other old dead dude, but that guy had a prior engagement on another project.”

Wife: “Was it Van Johnson?”

Me: “That sounds about right.”

Wife: “It probably was because he was big around that time.”

Me: “Yeah, so Danny Kay was option 3. And I guess he was pissed when he found out.”

Wife: “Poor guy. But he wasn’t known for dancing. He was more of a comic.”

Me: “I know, but I like Danny Kay. He’s funny. And they had good chemistry onscreen. And he’s a good guy, what with starting St.Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital and all.”

Wife: “That was Danny Thomas.”

Me: “Right! Danny Kay Thomas.”

Wife: “No, just Danny Thomas. He was a different actor.”

Me: "I think that’s probably incorrect.”

Wife: “I think YOU’RE incorrect. Maybe you should look it up online.”

Me: “Nah, I prefer to remember it my way. Since that’s the correct version.”

Wife: “Wrong version, you mean.”

Me: “Well, maybe Danny Kay started Riley Children’s Hospital.”

Wife: “That was James Whitcomb Riley.”

Me: “Geez, why does everything have to be so factual with you. A boy can dream, can’t he?!”


Today, while helping Old Guy Office Mate take a photo to put on a dating website:

Me: “So, what kind of pose are you going with? You want just a standard headshot?”

OGOM: “Yeah! Give me a Headshot! Headshot!”

Me: “Calm down tiger, save it for the ladies…….I said Headshot………….HeadSHOT……………SHOT……..S-H-O-T…..not….J-O-B.”

OGOM: “Just take a close up.”

Me: "Okay. How much physique do you want showing? Gut? No Gut?"

OGOM: “Most of the women on the site post from here (points to chest) up, so you can see some of their breasts.”

Me: “Is that what you want? You want them to see your breasts?”

OGOM: “F@*# You, asshole!” (said while laughing hysterically)

Here's your commercial Lee...

Right up front, I want to say that I have received nothing for doing this, and will accept nothing in return.

I don't do product placement, for reasons I have mentioned previously.

This was a fun project intended to make people laugh, improve my movie making skills, provide some free publicity for a friend, and give me another chance to show off my AWESOME MS Paint skills.

First, I want to think Lee at Headaches, Hotflashes, and Hormones for letting me poke fun at her products.
Lee, feel free to steal my idea at the end of the video.

Secondly, I want to thank Travis for encouraging me not to just mail it in.

Thirdly, and Most Importantly, I want to thank the Wife for allowing me the time to finish this, and offering your constructive criticism. It definitely would not have happened without you.
(i.e. you talked me into killing the first vlog idea of me masturbating in the shower; and you kept the kids entertained all Monday evening while I finished this, even though you were ready to kill me.)


Without further ado, I give you this.....

Memoir Monday: I'm a REAL LIVE mountainman

Travis begged me for another story from my illustrious past.

Both of my parents moved to Indiana from Virginia in the early 1960’s, following the manufacturing jobs boom. When I was little, my family would take occasional trips to Virginia to see family. Even though the trip was LO-O-O-O-O-O-NG, I loved going down there, as the mountains were always so pretty.

One of my mom’s uncles, Arthur, lived at the base of a mountain. Whenever I would visit him, I would beg him to take me up it. Sometimes he would, but we never made it all the way to the summit, as this supposedly was an ALL-Day trek.

One time, we went up and shot a shotgun and a revolver at an old station wagon that somebody left up there for target practice. I was probably 8. Maybe 12. It’s hard to remember because of the moonshine.

I’ll never forget this one time we went up the mountain and we saw a snake. It was a Rattlesnake. It stretched clear across the road, probably 18 ft, and had venom dripping from its fangs and it kept striking at us and shaking its rattle and Arthur wanted to run, but I broke a limb off a tree and beat it to death with my bare hands until it died of death, and then we cut it open and all these baby snakes crawled out and were pissed that we killed their mom, or dad, (I’m not good with snake anatomies), and they started to circle us, and then I made a noise like a hawk and they fast-crawled away, because snakes hate hawks. Then we skinned their mom and made belts. And, we sold her tail rattle to a baby.

On the way back down the mountain, we saw a bear. I think it was a grizzly or Kodiak or something. It was eating some berries and then it saw us and decided we were tons better than berries, so it charged. Arthur ran again, but I just pulled off my red cape and went, “Torro, Torro!”. Then I ran too, because bears hate red unless it’s blood. The bear almost had me, because Arthur had a good head start, but then I turned on my cheetah speed, and ran like a puma. Bears are slow.




*Some of this might be an exaggeration*
**The first 2 paragraphs are definitely true**
***The moonshine thing is inaccurate. They never let me drink moonshine. Until I turned 13.***
****Okay, that was a lie. I never drank the shine.****
*****By rattlesnake, I meant blacksnake. By 18ft long, I meant 3 ft long. By Arthur wanting to run, I meant he used a stick to flip it into the weeds as I screamed like a schoolgirl*****
******The last paragraph is most likely totally false. But it was fun to write and definitely how I would handle things in a similar situation because I am a total bearwhisperer.******

I WON!

I won another caption contest, because I'm an AWESOME SMARTYPANTS.




Thanks SoccerMom!

*click the picture of the badge to be linked to the site.*
**That's for you ignort folks....(ahem....justsomethoughts).**

Vasectomy report and randomness

I promise never to talk about my nuts again.

After this time.

So, the vasectomy went great.

As far as someone cutting on your junk can go.

My wife reasoned with me before hand, that making the doctor laugh during the procedure would probably not be to my benefit.

I agreed with this sound logic and therefore kept my jokes to myself.

Just so you know, myself was totally busting a gut at my funny.

The doctor was very nice and gentle.

The nurse was pretty.

She also was very loving of my cleanly shorn balls, and rolled them around in her hands playfully.

She even gave Little Ed a nice rub and tug beforehand.

Which is a total lie, because the wife was sitting there the whole time.

Party pooper.

But she wanted too, because I could see it in her eyes, and it looked huge.

When they started, I felt a slight pinch when the first needle went in.

Then, as the doc was working on the left side, I felt my back and left leg cramp up, and my toes started curling.

I think she had ahold of the wrong cord or something.

Anyway, she put a little more numbing in and it was good to go.

The whole thing took about 45 minutes.

Afterwards, it just felt like I got kicked in the crotch.

Or for you ladies out there, imagine really bad menstrual cramps, but worse because I’m a guy and not used to that once a month stuff.

Then, I spent the weekend lying around and using a bag of frozen peas (Which I will be secretly serving to the entire extended family on Christmas Eve…..sssshhhhhh!) for comfort.

The wife got a front row seat for the entire procedure, since it was taking place in her purse.

Her reaction was, “That was a lot worse than I thought it was going to be. They really downplayed it, but that was WAY worse. I didn’t realize they were going to be taking things out and putting them back in like that. You poor baby.”

Then she bought me a Blizzard at DQ because I was such a good boy.

Moral of the story, Guys?...Make sure your wife goes in and watches the whole procedure for big sympathy points.


As an aside: The wife and I were puzzled as to why they kept stressing ,“You are not sterile when you leave today!” ….Not only do they say that a bazillion times, but it’s printed on everything in giant bold letters……My wife even asked, “Do people actually go home and get busy right after having this done?”…..And they just kept saying that I was not sterile until they had 2 confirmed negative samples…..Ever the curious individual that I am, I went home and researched this phenomenon….Turns out, sperm can be stored downstream in the remaining tubes for 6 to 8 weeks afterwards, AND it takes approximately 15 to 20 ejaculations to clear the tubes!......I shared this info with the wife.

Her response……”Knock yourself out!”

Not exactly what I had in mind, but at least I now have permission.

_______________________________________________________________________________


So I spent part of this morning looking up remedies for “Dark Circles Under Eyes”, because evidently some people are scared by my Grim Reeperliness appearance in my vlog yesterday.

One person, who shall remain nameless…….okay, not really…..it was Dr. A, said, “Dude. What’s with the giant bags under your eyes? You need to lay off the late night porn and get some sleep.”

To which I replied, “It’s not the late night porn that won’t let me sleep. It’s the carpal tunnel syndrome CAUSED by the late night porn that won’t let me sleep. That shit be painful.”

Another anonymous bitcher commenter (ahem…Carol) said, “You look like you need some rest. Like a 24 hour nap.”

I like to think of these dark circles as my own permanent Eye Black, because you never know when the coach is going to put you in the game, and like a good Boy Scout, I always be prepared, plus sun glare is a bitch.

Not to mention, it adds to my rugged good looks, which I just mentioned after I said I wouldn’t.

I’m part raccoon, is my point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Merry Christmas!

Don’t forget the real reason for the season.

God gave us his Son.

Regardless of whether we are celebrating it at the right time of year or not, it’s the principle that matters.

And if you’re Jewish, thanks for ignoring that Jesus guy, and opening the door for the rest of us.

Happy Chanukah!

In support of Travis....(without gum)

And because you have been begging for more of my handsome mug and sweet vlogging skills....

I give you my response to Travis' response to the response that he got to his video on the Okay Christmas Parade.

Enjoy this totally adlib Awesomeness. (which I managed to do WITHOUT gum in my mouth)

p.s. Pay special attention to the artwork on the door behind me as it decides to wave at the camera.

A recap and a look ahead....(I said head....hahaha)

So yesterday was the office Christmas party.

My dog poo was a hit!

Actually, I didn’t bring any poo, because my dog is good at hiding it and you can only find it with barefeet in the summertime.

Old Guy went out and bought both mine and his gifts to bring, because he knows I’m handsomely irresponsible.

He also brought in extra food for me to claim.

He’s like my Daddy Warbucks.

So we go in at lunch time and they are drawing numbers for the White Elephant gift exchange (A.K.A. Redneck giftswap…….which is similar but different to Redneck Wifeswap).

Anyway, a big argument breaks out about how to play the game.

Do you pick and open and then swap, or can you just swap and force that person to open again?

People are getting seriously upset about this.

So finally, I scream in my mind, “YOU’RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!!!!”

I received a First Aid Kit.

The food was good.

The End.
_______________________________________________________________________________


Afterwork, Old Guy and I are walking out to our cars and when we get to the parking lot, Old Guy remembers that he parked on the other side of the campus because Alzheimer's is a bitch.

I’m like, “That sucks dude. See you later.”

Then, I gave him a ride over to his car because he faked a heartattack and I didn’t want to get stuck disposing of a body. Again.

On the way to his car, he starts talking about how dark my windows are tinted and other stuff that old people notice.

Then, we’re slowly pulling through the parking lot and this lady is walking to her car, and she looks a little freaked out and keeps looking back at us and walking faster, and Old Guy says, “It looks like she thinks you’re going to rape her.” And I was all, “Why do you think my window are this dark!” and I gave him the crazy eyes.
___________________________________________________________________________________

So, I know today is supposed to be TMI Thursday, and I’ve been promising to reveal my “biggest” TMI ever.

But I’m seriously chickening out.

Here’s why:

1. It is disgusting!
2. It is way too personal.
3. It would most likely cost me followers, and since I lost one yesterday and didn’t even write anything yesterday, you all are a fickle bunch.
4. I’ve tried writing it 3 times and it just sounds more vomit inducing than funny, which sucks.
5. I’m a pansy.
6. I have too many flesh friends and family that read my blog.
7. It is fun keeping secrets.
8. I’m a sissyboy.
9. I wanted to make a top ten list of reasons why, but yet again I keep getting stuck around #7 or #8.
10. I went ahead and put this in and now it will count, so suck it Letterman.
_____________________________________________________________________________________


Tomorrow is V-Day.

I’m actually looking forward to getting it over with.

It’s like the stock market, short term risks = long term rewards, but with sore balls and no accidental pregnancies.

This might be the best Vasectomy post ever in the history of Vasectomy blog posts and will definitely make my balls legend, which is completely random.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to come into work tomorrow for a half day, or just skip the whole day.

Well, because of my indecisiveness and rugged charm, my coworkers surprised me with a birthday party this morning.

I’ll be 35 on Saturday.

Actually, it was mostly Old Guy’s idea. He’s awesome like that. Gruff exterior but with a heart of rainbows (not the gay kind of rainbow though).

Old Guy isn’t old, old, by the way. He’s like 67.

Which is almost twice my age because Math hates him.

So that makes him “Old Guy” for witness protection purposes.
____________________________________________________________________________________


I was planning to vlog most of this last night, but I’m lazy and decided TV and sleep were more important.

Then, I thought about doing a before and after vlog of my nuts for educational research purposes because I like to help society.

But I can’t ever get any privacy at my house, and when you’re showing your junk to the world, you HAVE to have privacy.


So then I dreamed I met the President at the White House, which we all know means I’ll secretly be having an affair with Mrs. Obama in the future.

Or I’ll be winning the Super Bowl.

Or the World Series.

Or some Championship.

Or crashing a dinner.

I’m hoping for the affair. Michelle’s hot! (Call ME!)


Just kidding Wifey!


*shaking head at camera and mouthing “Not really, Michelle. Do call me!”*
_____________________________________________________________________________________

As I was typing this, the doctor’s office called to confirm my appt tomorrow at 1pm.

And to tell me they could get me in at 9am due to a cancellation, if I wanted.

I asked the lady if there were any advantages to coming in at 9am vs. 1pm.

Like “Are the doctor’s hands warmer in the morning?” or “Is she in a better mood in the morning?” or “Does she fight with her husband at lunchtime?”

I won’t divulge her answers because I don’t spread rumors but let’s just say I’m keeping my 1 o’clock.

Tuesday's Ramblings

So, I did a Video Blog this weekend which was super AWESOME and done in the style of MTV Cribs and I wasn’t chewing gum and the camera work was done by my 10 year old. Then the wife came home and was pissed because she had told me not to do it because she is a private person and doesn’t want people knowing what our house looks like or seeing all our expensive treasures or judging her our cleaning skills or class standing in society. She has a fear of being judged. I was all, “The only way to confront your fears is to face them head on. So you should definitely put yourself out there and say, ‘Go ahead and judge me because I don’t care what you think’”. And then I said, “Also, it’s better to be judged by 12, than carried by 6”, which made complete sense in my mind but didn’t in hers. And then I got all badass and was like, “It’s my effing blog and I’ll post it if I want to!” because I clearly don’t want to have sex before my vasectomy, or after for that matter. Then I watched it, and realized that I looked like a cross between Quasimodo and C3PO, because of my stupid back, and decided not to publish it.

Then I thought about filming one at work showing our kickass Colts office, but Old Guy decided it was the Ed Sullivan show or something and started doing all these impressions of dead people like Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart and I was all, “Get your own blog!”, and he was bitching about my camera work and saying how he was a natural born director and stuff. This probably won’t make it up either.

I won a caption contest over at Jeff’s This Is Why Your Hold Time Is So Long.

You people who follow me with your Google Reader are missing all my sweet Christmas decorations that I spent millions of dollars and man hours on. So your loss.

Also, I have some new awards over on my sidebar which are totally worth looking at, but have $0 value.

Make sure you visit everyone on my blog roll over on the side bar too. And tell them that I sent you over, that way they will owe me stuff like Lunchables and money and kittens and their first borns and stuff. Especially visit Kurt, and tell him he’s a douche for not following me back.

Our Christmas party is tomorrow, and they are having some White Elephant gift exchange for which they said we are supposed to bring in something cheap and funny from home. So since I can’t wrap myself (again) this year, I am bringing in some dog poo from the yard. It’s cheap. It’s from home. And poo is always funny. Somebody is going to be very surprised.

Also, we are supposed to make something to eat, but I am lazy and the wife doesn’t cook much, so I will be claiming I brought in stuff that other people made when they aren’t around. This guarantees that I still get to eat without looking like a lazy douchebag, which I totally typed as doughbag the first time through and now can’t stop giggling like a school girl, but not looking like a lazy douchebag would be like attending in costume. So basically, it’s a Christmas Costume Party.

Yesterday, my 10 year old brought home a friend from school. My five year old asked his brother’s friend how many syllables were in his name…*crickets*……Friends response was ,”WTF!”………Actually, he said, “You’re smarter than I was at your age.”, which immediately caused my wife to do a double fist pump, and then wag her finger in the friend’s face while yelling, “Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo!”*.







*My wife would never say or do something this mean to a child. However, I totally would cause that shit is hilarious.

Memoir Monday: Well, Hello Cha-Cha!

It’s time to tell stories from yesteryear, in hopes of revealing the root causes our mental psychosis, as commanded by Dr. T and the women.

And by Dr. T and his women, I don’t mean Richard Gere the movie GYN and his female patients.

I mean Doctor Travis and his Blackberry Bitches.

Those of you who were lured in by my clever post title ,with the hopes of learning about South American Ballroom dancing, or maybe even catching site of some female nether-regions, may be slightly disappointed.

The year was I don’t remember.

I was probably 4 or 8. Or some other number.

The setting was the “The Drags”.

Every year around Labor Day weekend, as far back as I can remember, I was subjected to “the drags”.

Let me explain nearther.

The Drags were not drag queens.

I was still too young to fully appreciate the sight of a man in heels and a dress, doing his best to tuck his man bits up in proper tranny fashion.

Oh no, the Drags were DRAG RACING!

The U.S. Nationals in Indianapolis, to be precise.

A ¼ mile of smokey burnouts and ear-piercing noises and nitromethane fumes and rowdy drunks and topless women.

The perfect childhood environment.

Fully endorsed by Mr. Rogers as a “safe neighborhood”.

Anyway, this was an annual Father & Son bonding weekend.

We would go to the drags almost every labor day weekend.

Dad and I would walk around and look at all the cars, then he would make me go collect stickers for him at the merchant booths, before we went into the stands to watch the races.

We would return to the merchant tents several more times, for more stickers.

Dad loved his racing stickers.

The whole front of our pickup truck, from the cab forward, was decorated with racing stickers.

The one that we drove on the street.

Or to the grocery.

But that’s a whole other post.

Back to my original remembery…..

So normally, we stayed over on the Grandstands side of the track, since that’s where most of the merchants' tents were.

However, this time, Dad took pity on my begging him to go over to the Pit side of the tracks, so I could see the Top Fuel Dragsters, and over the skywalk we went.

Well, I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I ended up separated from Dad.

I may have run from him.

Regardless, I was lost and starting to freakout.

This really nice pretty lady found me and brought me over to where she and a guy were sitting.

They were sitting by a TOP FUEL DRAGSTER!

How my luck had improved! Oh boy, oh boy!

Turns out, this nice pretty lady was Shirley “Cha-Cha” Muldowney.

She was THEE lady of racing.

She was Danica Patrick before Danica Patrick was Danica Patrick.

Anyway, she had me sit with her under the awning of her RaceCar Hauler and next to her Pink Dragster.

Turns out the guy that was sitting and talking with us was “Big Daddy” Don Garlitts, a.k.a. The Swamp Rat. (He was like the Father of Drag racing.)

Anyway, they flagged down the event staff and had them page my dad over the loud speaker.

I was just sure my dad would kill me, and told them as much.

We he came to get me, I could tell that he was a mix of pissed and embarrassed.

They made him promise he would not punish me, before letting me go with him.

Then they gave us a bunch of free stuff and autographs.

As we were leaving, I realized that there were hundreds of people standing around their Car Haulers, which were roped off.

They were all in line to get an autograph, or a picture, or something from Cha-Cha and Big Daddy.

So basically, I totally cut in line. And, I made everybody else wait.

I WIN!

My First (and possibly last) VLOG Post

I finally attempted this video blog stuff.

Don't worry, it's short (like Me). Sadly.

And it only lasts 18 seconds (also like Me). Also Sad.

I had to get my 5yr old to be my camera man, because no one else wanted to help.

Thanks family!

Of course, I had to go to where HE was, AND sit on the floor by HIM, because he was too busy watching Dora the Illegal Immigrant Explorer.

Regardless, without further ado, here's me in all my AWESOMENESS.

Enjoy & Season's Greetings!




Thanks, Sam The Cameraman, for giving me the "Max Headroom" look and cutting me off at the chin.

Some Acceptable phrases with double meanings...

“Nice Try!”

Your response when your kid strikes out in coaches’ pitch = Acceptable

Your response to the giver of a horribly lame Christmas gift = Unacceptable, but funny

“Would you like those in a cup or a cone?”

Question asked when ordering ice cream = Acceptable

Question asked when helping Madonna decide how to cover her breasts on stage = Also Acceptable

“What’s that smell?”

Heard while working in a mortuary = Acceptable

Heard while in bed with spouse = Not so much

“Someday maybe.”

Your response to your kid asking when they’ll be able to drive = Acceptable.

Your response to your kid asking when they’ll be able to eat = Sad, just sad.

“I’m pregnant!”

Said by your wife = Acceptable

Said by your teenage daughter = Dead teenage boyfriend

Said by your teenage wife who also happens to be your daughter = You live in Kentucky

“It’s all backed up.”

When talking about your commute to work = Acceptable

When talking about your bowels at work = TMI

“I got this especially for you.”

When giving someone a Christmas gift = Acceptable

When giving someone an STD = FAIL

“Does this look good on me?”

When trying on new clothes = Acceptable

When trying on a chicken suit = Awkward

“This is Uncle Earl.”

When introducing a man at your family reunion = Acceptable

When introducing a woman at your family reunion = Awkward

“Man that’s HUGE!”

When looking at your new TV = Acceptable

When looking at your wife’s ass = Fight

“That’s a cool mustache!”

Said to guy at work = Acceptable

Said to girl at prom = Tears

“Do you need a ride home?”

Said to a hitchhiker = Acceptable

Said to a Girl Scout = Jail

Memoirs Monday: More stupid stories from my past...

The FATMAN Speaketh and declareth iteth toeth beth Memoireth Mondayeth.

I was probably about 6.

I was over at the neighbor’s house, talking his ears off while he was unloading his truck.

In an attempt to be funny and show off my acting skills, I collapsed right as he let the truck tailgate down.

Have I ever mentioned what a good actor I am?

Well, I’m a good actor. There, I just did.

Seriously though, I am at least as good as Toby McGuire.

But then again, who isn’t.

Okay, so I’m not Morgan Freeman, partly because he’s black and has a dead hand and I’m pretty sure sounds something similar to God.

But I’m at least better than Nicolas Cage.

Honestly, after Raising Arizona, all his characters are the same and completely interchangeable.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah, giving the neighbor a heartattack.

He freaks out, just sure he’s killed me with his tailgate.

He drops down and starts shaking me and screaming, “EDWARD! EDWARD! EDWARD!”

My Oscar worthy performance continues until my mom runs over.

She’s seen my skills before.

Since there was no bleeding, bruising, or swelling (I couldn’t afford a makeup girl on my allowance), she knew it was a ruse.

“EDWARD, YOU QUIT PLAYING RIGHT NOW!”

I smiled and opened my eyes to see my panicked neighbor white as a ghost and visibly shaken.

He did not laugh.

In fact, his color quickly returned and went straight to an odd shade of red.

I half expected steam to shoot out from his ears like in cartoons.

He mumbled something to my mom about taking me home before he went all Vietnam on me.

I thought it was hilarious.

Almost as much as another time when I was about the same age.

(This is my mom’s favorite story to tell, so I’m sure she will be correcting me on something.)

I grew up in a Pentecostal church.

Making a child sit through a Pentecostal sermon is number 4 on CPS’ list of Defined Child Abuses.

Or it should be.

To make matters worse for my Hyperactive and bored self, there was the threat of severe punishment if I misbehaved.

My mom will dispute this fact, but she’s old and senile and this is my blog and my memory and she should get her own blog if she wants to tell these stories the right way, whatever that may be.

Anyway, it went like this.

Me: *misbehaving*

MOM: “SSssshhhh!”

Me: *quietly misbehaving*

MOM: *pinching my leg hard enough to cause me a limp even today*

Me: *misbehaving on one leg*

MOM: *whispers*..”If you don’t start behaving, I’m going to take you to the restroom and wear you out.”

Me: *thinking these are empty threats I continue misbehaving*

About this time, the sermon enters the eternally long prayer portion.

My mom snatches me up, and starts heading for the restroom.

Realizing my impending doom, I yell out into the completely quiet congregation, “PRAY FOR ME! PRAY FOR ME!”

When we reached the restroom, mom was laughing too hard to whip me.

See!

Don’t tell ME prayer doesn’t work.

My Balls and Stories from their produce...

Me: “Only 2 more weeks boys.”
My Vas Deferens*: “Are you seriously still going through with it?”
Me: “Yeah. Appointment is all made.”
My Vas Deferens*: “We thought that was just some BS you were playing to get the wife off your back.”
Me: “Nope. I’m a man of my word. I’m taking one for the team. Just look at this two weeks as your Farewell Tour.”
My Vas Deferens*: “Come on, dude! Haven’t we always served you well? Gave you 4 kids, that you know of,didn’t we?”
Me: “Beg all you want, but the clock is ticking, then it’s adios.”
My Vas Deferens*: “Bastard!”
Me: “Sorry fellas. I just don’t need you anymore.”
My Vas Deferens*: “So that just gives you the right to toss us out like an old piece of meat.”
Me: “Well, technically…”
My Vas Deferens*: “We’re not going without a fight! Prepare for the hurt locker!”


*(I originally shortened My Vas Deferens to My VD…..During editing I realized that could cause confusion and possibly divorce.)


Since it’s Fatherhood Friday over on Dad Blogs, I thought I’d share some of my kid stories.

My little baby girl is the proverbial apple of my eye. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, when I see her, I light up instantly.

Thankfully, the feelings are pretty mutual.

She is almost always the first to greet me when I come home, and she will occasionally wrap herself around my legs when I’m about to leave.

My wife says she likes looking at my picture (which is completely understandable since I am so ruggedly handsome, kind of like a lawn gnome) whenever I’m gone and exclaiming “DADDA! DADDA!”

Often, even when I am with her, she will see a picture of some guy and gasp “DADDA!”

Usually, I’ll correct her and say, “No, that’s Ronald McDonald……….I’M Dadda!”

Or “No, That’s Rush Limbaugh……I’m Dadda!”

Or even “No, That’s Ellen DeGeneres….I’m Dadda!”

But last night, she was looking through my wife’s AVON catalog, and gasp “Dadda!”

I looked down to see her pointing at a picture of that Dr. McDreamy dude from Grey’s Anatomy.

Well, it’s not healthy to ALWAYS correct a child, now is it?

“Yes baby, that’s me!”



Last night, we went and picked out our live Christmas tree.

On the way back, we stopped to eat at Wendy’s.

When we got out, the 10 y/o said something about the 5 y/o’s Christmas Tree drawing blowing away.

Later, we get back in to go home and the wife decides we need to stop at Walgreens for milk.

Meanwhile, the boys are arguing about something in the backseat.

I head across the street to Walgreens and let the wife out. The 5 yr old is wailing by this time.

I’m like, “What are you WHINING about?!” (because I’m nothing if not sympathetic to my children’s emotional needs.)

He says, “My Christmas Tree Picture fell out of the truck and blew away!”

Then the 10 yr old helpfully adds, “I saw it land in a puddle!”

5 yr old wails…….

I say, “Well, just make a new one.”

He says, “I CAN’T! ….IT TOOK ME A LONG TIME TO MAKE THAT…..I SPENT LIKE TEN WHOLE SECONDS ON IT!”

Crying,crying,boohoo,whine,whine….

Trying to again be helpful, the 10 yr old says, “Turn on the light and I’ll look to make sure that it’s not still in here.”

A little later…..

The 10 yr old says, “I don’t see it, but I did find your To-Do List, Sam!”

The 5 yr old loves To-Do lists. He is constantly making to-do lists.

That still doesn’t work, he’s all “Oh no! That was my best picture EVER!”

Finally, I say, “Well, just put on your To-Do List…’Make New Christmas Tree Picture’”

Cue wailing.

How Victoria's Secret Stole all my money........

Old Guy Office Mate and I decided that being back to work after 5 days off SUCKED!

So, we cut out at lunch time and went Christmas shopping like a couple of old women.

Seriously, it’s not even Christmas Eve yet. I’m pretty sure we have vaginas now.

Regardless, it beats work.

Shopping….that is…….not vagina.

Although, that beats work too.

I’m seriously off topic here.


Shopping on….
Old Guy decided he wanted to buy my lunch for helping fix his computer. (Part of our shopping mission was to pick up a new graphics card for his personal PC, so he could use his new Hi-Def monitor)(Guess watching Porn in regular definition wasn’t cutting it.)

We ate buffet style at the Sirloin Stockade, replete with senior discount and all.

There we were…..At Lunchtime…..On a weekday.

I am pretty sure I was the only one there who didn’t remember the Normandy Invasion.

The only other person I saw without white hair was a guy who looked like he had probably been run out of every buffet in town.

You know……five full plates in front of him……an I.V. of gravy….. and sitting in 3 chairs.

I’m pretty sure I saw him pick his teeth with a child’s femur.

After lunch at God’s waiting room, we headed for the mall.


I ended up in Victoria’s Secret (that sounds dirtier than I meant for it too).

One of the only “hints” that I caught from the missus was that she needed some new bras.

Honestly though, any reason for a guy to go in that store is a decent reason.

Well, unless he’s buying something for himself.

I went in looking for their “new” bra that was supposed to be “special”. I have no idea why I keep using “quotes”.

After a fair amount of ogling fondling perusing the merchandise, I finally asked a VS lady for assistance.

Why do they always have really hot chicks with lots of cleavage working in these places? It’s so disgusting.*****(That was just in case wife reads this.)(However, that disclaimer probably ruined my ruse.)


Anynotreally, she shows me to the special bras.

Then I notice that the special bras aren’t available in my wife’s size, per the little slutty poster.

I voice this concern to the lady, and she said, “About 70% of women are wearing the wrong size bra. What size is she?”

I tell her what my wife said, but the lady is sure that is probably incorrect, because I’m a guy.

So I call the wife, to verify. The lady ends up having wifey measure herself over the phone.

While waiting for wife to get a tape measure, I say the following:

“You guys should really have some of those different sized silicone molds, for when guys are shopping for their wives. I could totally put my hands on them and tell you which size hers are.”

VS Lady: *eye roll*


Later,

VS Lady: “These bras will add 2 cup sizes.”

Me: “Holy Crap!”..and then..“Wait, that’s false advertising. That’s basically like stuffing two pillows under your shirt and walking around all hot.”

VS Lady: “It will make her a Double D”.

Me: “I’ll take seven!”


I also asked about panties.

She took me to a table with dental floss. I thought I must have been smiling too much after eating at the buffet.

VS Lady: “Does she wear thongs?”

Me: “That’s none of your business.”

VS Lady: “Well, what do you like to see her in?”

Me: “Do you have any made of bacon?”

VS Lady: “What style panty does she normally wear?”

Me: “Something comfy, but not granny panties. Maybe Bikini briefs?”

VS Lady: “You’ve never noticed what type of panty she wears?”

Me: “I’m a guy! I only notice when she’s NOT wearing panties!”


$300 later…



I remember that wifey said she could use some new jeans.

Since we both like to pretend we’re still hip, young, and cool (she pretends, whereas, I really am!) I entered one of those trendy boutique stores.

They may even have had Twilight posters in the windows.

Charlotte Russe or something.

When Old Guy and I enter, the little clerk girl comes running over to us, as we are clearly over the age limit to be shopping there.

Clerk girl: “Can I help you.”

Me: “I doubt it. I need to get some jeans for my lady.”

Clerk girl: *clearly surprised that I have a lady*.. ”What type of jean?”

Me: “I don’t know. Something that makes her butt look good. Or those that say buy one get one 50% off.”

Clerk girl: *giggling* “How about these flare legs?”

Me: “NO! My wife said flare legs were out. She has a bunch that she is getting rid of.”

Clerk girl: “Flare legs aren’t out. Tell her they aren’t out and don’t get rid of them.”

Me: *enticed by the picture of the jeans model’s butt*…”What about these skinnies?”

Clerk girl: “Does she wear skinnies? Oh, and these are flare legs also. What size does she need? Do you like the light or the dark? Is she Team Jacob or Team Edward? What time is it in Borneo?”…(I’m not totally sure what all she was saying. She just kind of started rattling stuff off at machine gun pace in a high girlish shrill.)

Me: *looking at the tiny jeans on the table*…..”Do you have any in adult sizes?”

Clerk girl: *eye roll*

Me: “What about these?”…*holds up pair*

Clerk girl: “Those are popular. What size?”

Me: *I tell her the size my wife told me that I’m not going to tell you because I don’t want to die in my sleep for sharing but it turns out that the EVEN sizes my wife gave me are not inline with the ODD numbered sizes the store sells*……..”Well, she used to be BLANK before she had 4 kids, and now she wears BLANK. So it kind of depends on how high up they come because she still wears a size BLANK panty.” (insert even sizes for BLANK)

Clerk girl: “All our jeans are low rise, so let’s split the difference and go with BLANK.” (insert odd size for blank)….”How long are her legs?”

Me: “Longer than mine.”

Clerk girl: “So is she tall?”

Me: “She’s taller than me.”

Clerk girl: “Like……….?” *said kind of snooty*

Me: “Maybe 5’7”.”

Clerk girl: “OK, so she needs a Regular.”

Me: “I AM her Regular!”

Clerk girl: “I meant length.”

Me: “So did I!”

Clerk girl: *clearly ignoring me now*….”How about these?”…*holds some jeans up*….”They will make her legs look longer, and show off her height.”

Me: “Then we would be like Tom and Nicole, before the Katie"......... "Don’t you have any that would make her look shorter?”…..”Or maybe some that would make ME look longer?!”


My humor is often wasted at the mall.