Monday, November 30, 2009


How have I never seen 1973's Sisters before?

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

I don't practice Santeria/I ain't got no crystal ball (or finger lickin barf)

It’s been previously noted that our neighborhood has weird bird issues. There are always too many. They are always carrying on at the worst times of the night with impossibly amplified voices that sound like 1000 garbage trucks crashing into 1000 dumpsters. They have attacked us with their Mach 5 razor beaks and Quattro razor talons. And they are hideously deformed.

Obviously, it’s shameful that I live in a world where my exposure to wild biology is a negative one. Well, the dog is pretty wild. But when throws up for no reason other than he has a weak constitution he still does it mostly in a house in the suburbs.

This week, however, the neighborhood (as a sentient entity) finally got its revenge.

But it’s been a few days now. So if you were carrying a chicken carcass in a plastic bag and you dropped it on our street, you can come pick it up now. The dog is down with it but the rest of us find it a little gross. And flat.


Friday, November 20, 2009

My Flickr account proves my reality

Remember when i used to have the really shittiest job from hell but one awesome thing that came out of that job was an incredibly ill-fated trip to the Carlisle, PA Bike Fest? Yes, that really happened. It wasn't just a night terror.

Hell yeah I met Brad Whitford!

Anyway, this made me think of that.

cue the digital wolves

"That was my favorite part. The screaming."

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

A cold and wet November dawn/And there are no barking sparrows

I found out two things about my marriage this weekend. First, my wife is the only member of her demographic who reads Parade Magazine on Sunday mornings. Any demographic she qualifies for, she is still the only one. Second, she has been tweeting the wolf-face crazy things I say. Especially the ones that make me sound brain-dead.

The tweeting thing is my fault. I am an early adapter of everything I don’t understand. I joined Twitter awhile back and was apparently following people but never actually looked at what anybody wrote because I couldn’t really noodle out what was going on. If I had bothered looking into it, I could have curbed my yammering.

So what is this all about? Me being a moron?


According to my wife and this week’s Parade Magazine, our Pilgrim fore-invaders didn’t watch the Lions lose on Thanksgiving, they played an equally painful game called Kick the Shins. It’s as it sounds. You put some straw in your pants and then kick the crap out each other’s legs. And it’s still played today! Here’s last year’s championship:

And this is timely because just last week, when I discovered my wife tweets about me, I was talking about the very same thing! And she tweeted about it! On the internet!

But I feel I need to expand on what I said.

Ladies or beta males, if you’re getting messed with and all attempts at a peaceful resolution have been endeavored, may I suggest a kick to the shins as an alternative to the cock punch. Any old asshole is going to expect a furious knee or fist to the groin and will employ a stance to protect the area. But the shin should be considered the groin of the leg. Its vulnerability has been ignored by Hollywood and the MSM for decades. Although, not in the funny pages.

Even better, deliver the assault and wait a week. Close to the bone, the bruise will swell to a degree so painful that even a bed sheet resting on the leg will cause muffled pillow screaming. Track the guy down and when he’s least expecting it, deliver a follow-up blow. The hematoma will rupture and spread instantly to the rest of his leg. He will either throw up on the spot or crumple into a howling mass.

And best of all, he will end up with those weird knobby legs that old men have. You know the kind with all these bumps that look like knee caps but start only six inches north of the foot. And their legs are mostly hairless except for around the ankles for some reason. And they’re at the pool.

Or so has been my experience in the last two weeks. And the bruising is nice down there too. In between yellow and purple somehow.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

instant rats


me: yeah! i heard that on the radio this morning!
also he was 52
so we should all be dead soon
hi have you met me? miss mary sunshine?

Amanda: yeah, where can we send you? for some relaxation?

me: maybe i have a vitamin d deficiency
maybe i have delerium tremers
which one is the beer and which one is the affliction?
they are both the same

Amanda: hahahahaha

me: but i had to wikipedia that to find out

Amanda: yeah i swear, the vitamin d thing is for real. i am way less awesome in the winter

me: and have therefore stumbled upon the best wikipedia entry ever, btw
from now on it shall be referred to as ""the abdabs"
thank you
i decree this
to all my friends
you now have the abdabs
the end


me: awesome
the rats
whats wrong, you?

Amanda: the jimjams

me: i have the rats
man I should really have a blog to talk about this in more detail


Monday, November 16, 2009

and it's where i lock the children during the day

K & S and I were talking about bed sizes the other day. Full disclosure: pitchers of beer were involved. I think the conversation was something like oh we all have queen mattresses but that it would be fun to own a king sized bed or something; and how it's funny when big people have doubles and tiny people have california kings and etc etc.

Anyway I was telling them about my childhood art projects: remember when you were in elementary school, everyone drew like, their imaginary dream houses or dream rooms, right? And a lot of time kids constructed rooms/houses with waterslides (me too) and ponies and crap, but for a few years in a row my Dream Room was nothing but a giant mattress. Like, you opened the door and the FLOOR WAS MATTRESS.

They laughed but I still think this is genius in a sleep-where-you-fall style way, and would have come in awesomely handy say in college/my early twenties; actually okay now. What I'm saying is: someone build me a mattress room. *

Which is essentially a padded soundproof room. Oh my god?

Friday, November 13, 2009




I spent Veterans Day cleaning up copious amounts of dog shit (poop: it's coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE); BD's bowls exploded in the kid's room. It was like the next installment of the Saw movie franchise only with poop instead of blood and no weird puppets. okay, other than the weird puppet my mom recently bought, which actually is a puppet that looks just like the dog. Is crapping all over the house his way of honoring those who serve? I don't know, but it certainly just proves what a dick our dog is.

. . .

the above paragraph is why i no longer blog.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

It actually turns me on a little

For those of who were South of the Border this week, here’s an update on Halloween. And not the good South of the Border in South Carolina with sombrero rides.

There’s an old Civil Was Fort behind our house that’s a good place to walk dogs on Sunday mornings because the squirrels are fat and lazy from their church pot luck lunches and there’s a good chance they can get caught and murdered in Brown Dog’s mouth. That’s right, we are back to hating squirrels.

This past Sunday, it was again an unsuccessful hunt for BD. But not for everybody. There’s some large raptor that also lives in the park and I witnessed with my own eyes it catch and destroy a squirrel for breakfast. It was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom at its most satisfying.

Obviously, I’m still upset about this pumpkin thing from last week. While I doubt the squirrel that perished on Sunday was the one that butchered my project, I’m hoping that they were related. Perhaps a brother-in-law? But one that he had gotten really close to after his sister got married. He even asked him to be in his fantasy football league this year. And now every week there’s that painful reminder when his dead brother-in-law’s team loses because no one can figure out how to hack in and replace the players who have byes. I hope he makes the playoffs and knocks out the best team by accident even though he’s dead and in a falcon’s stomach.


Contrary to what some people may think and even say, AM did not win Halloween. Naturally, she had a good run even though at the end of the night she looked less like the Hipster Grifter and more like a hairy chested Spock offering oral handjobs. Up to last Saturday, she had things wrapped up. But then I got this:

I know last Saturday was technically a week after Halloween so many will argue that my entry is too late. But look at this thing! It looks like so many other things! So many other things that are not pumpkins! And I got it a place called Cox Farms!

I even saved it from a certain death. Kids were trying to throw it underneath a tractor in the hopes it would get squished. They cheered and hollered as other unloved pumpkins met their demise. But Ben and I used our magical powers to prevent it from getting slaughtered by a hayride. It danced like a wave on the ocean through dozens of passing wheels before I was able to rescue it.

Would you have thrown Klimt’s The Kiss under a tractor? No, you would have not. Especially if it looked like balls. Or boobs even. That’s why all kids are idiots.

Friday, November 06, 2009

Peter Peter Pumpkin Destroyer 2: The Inevitable Let Down

Hi there.

We’re going backwards this time.

Here is how this year’s squirrel pumpkin turned out.

I agree, it’s a little disappointing. Kinda sucks, in fact. I was even hesitant to post anything after last years astonishing debut. It found its way into the trash first thing Monday morning. Where it belongs, with the other garbage.

After action report:

First, the squirrels waited until Halloween afternoon before they even began working on their half of the project. Granted the weather was not ideal in the days leading up to Saturday but I presented the partially carved pumpkin to them on Tuesday. That means they dicked around for three entire days before getting their flea-bitten acts together. On Saturday morning, I resorted to throwing a handful of party nuts into the thing to entice them out of the trees and into my gourd. It’s why it looks rushed and careless.

Second, it’s obviously not as creative as last year. The asymmetry that made the 2008 version so fantastic was inflated to an excessive degree this year. The squirrels overstressed the right eye to the point of violating the sovereignty of the nose. And it nearly collapsed the entire face after dangerously swelling toward the mouth. And then there’s the other eye. Left untouched it leaves an imbalance too extreme to chalk up to anything except laziness. Once they were able to drag their fat carcasses through the eye and get their nuts they gave up. Very disappointing.

So who’s to blame here? Obviously, it’s the squirrels. Last year’s project seemingly garnered too much attention for their egos to handle. In the last 12 months, they’ve let themselves go and don’t even bother getting out of the way of cars. They just waddle around the streets with haute attitudes and musky odors. If our neighborhood dogs were still running free like they were before the overzealous animal control officers started patrolling they’d eaten all the squirrels by now or at least broken their necks.

Our collaboration may have come to an end. We are not enemies like we were 3 years ago but this relationship is on the brink of abandonment.


Where did this start? Like everything sciurine-related it was once enormously promising. I found a pumpkin at the local patch the seemed to fit all standard pre-carving conditions. A few taps returned a solid, reassuring echo. A small child sat on it to test out its fortitude. Its stem was comically large as a way to over-compensate it smallish height and fat gut. R2 is standing in to provide scale.

I was feeling optimistic from moment one. Some animal started to dig into my gourd the day the pumpkin stork brought this bundle home from the pumpkin hospital. And since the initial gnawing seemed like an ideal place for an eye, I took a potato peeler and punched the rest of the way through. Since we had great success last year with the small holes, I decided to do the same thing with the other eye and nose.

But, damn, did it look boring. We need something magical for the mouth. But what kitchen utensil could be enchanting enough to carve something magical into this beautiful pumpkin? I’ve got it! I’ll use our

(side note – sometime last spring, we were in one of those fancy suburban stores that sells nothing but very specific fancy kitchen supplies to mostly young white folks. Because it was spring, all their Christmas goods were 75% off. This included a GIANT gingerbread house that needed only a quick and easy assembly. Or so the box said. All supplies were included! But my beautiful wife would not let me buy it, put it together, leave it on Amanda’s doorstep and run away. Instead, all I was allowed to get was a)

unicorn cookie cutter!

So if worse comes to worse and the squirrels don’t get after the pumpkin, at least it will have an awesome unicorn shaped mouth. All it took was a little delicate beating with a rubber mallet and BAM. Halloween is a go.

Well, as we all know, worse came to worser. The squirrels mangled the eye hole and absolutely destroyed the mouth. There is nothing unicorny about it. Honestly, we would have been better off leaving the squirrels out of it.

So what’s the lesson? First, don’t trust squirrels any farther than you can throw them. And I could throw a squirrel pretty fucking far. At least over that fence. Second, a unicorn makes a pretty awesome pumpkin mouth. And finally, if you have the opportunity to buy a monster gingerbread house at 75% off its retail price you better buy that son of a bitch because come Halloween you’re gonna wish you had something you’re proud to put on your doorstep.

And not some bullshit squirrel pumpkin.

The end. See you next year.

Sunday, November 01, 2009


Dear Rudest Piece of Crap in the Entire Universe;

The risk of throwing parties is that people like you show up. It's the liability when living in an awesome house that is perfect for parties - with a big shindig, the random dregs of society filter in from the streets. People steal, they have sex in bathrooms, they eat your breakfast food, costume-less assholes no one knows attempt to sexually torment women. It sucks, but it happens. There's always a few of you to ruin an otherwise really fun night.

Let's get one thing straight. If I was around when you grabbed my partner-in-crime's breasts and said one of the stupidest things known to fucking mankind, I would have hit you and you would have deserved it. Well, truthfully probably just caused a scene verbally, because I don't know how to throw a decent punch.

And because you were a woman, it makes the whole thing ... maybe less ominous? But only maybe. And certainly more more infuriating. Perhaps you thought you were being "wacky drunk girl." Instead, what you were being was a total fucking nightmare of a human being. So, good job on being a sexual predator.

I don't know who you are. I don't know what you were dressed as, because she wouldn't rat you out (what an unbelievably kind gesture, consider it Halloween charity) which is a shame because I would love to share a few of my choice thoughts. You epically suck! How's that for starts?

Otherwise, a toast to Fickeween once more. I always love a throwdown that has Beam, 95% fantastic people, knitted Brain Slug hats, and polite and orderly lines for the bathroom.