Ten T.V. Commercials we have seen enough of.

(10) T.V. commercials I would  like to never see again. Ever.

10. Aflac. A swan with throat cancer is attempting to sell me insurance. I never was able to make the connection. I believe this canary would make a better spokesperson for Ricola. Just saying! Does anybody actually have Aflac insurance? I feel like this company doesn’t even exist. It’s just a duck and that referee.

9. Geico. Again, a green amphibian with a British accent doesn’t seem to sell me on an insurance decision. The desperate attempt to toss a caveman into the mix peaked my interest for a minute. The only connection I made from any of these advertisements was the sudden urge to buy a reptile imported from Britain. I can save 15% anywhere so cut it out.

8. Progressive Insurance. Obviously insurance commercials may be the theme here because there all over the fucking place. I won’t even get into that little army guy jumping around my television screen. I’m all for the army and our military but a miniature GI Joe / Santa Claus hybrid will not seduce me into buying your insurance. And Flo from Progressive has no sex appeal. It’s like watching my Mother. It’s terrible. Flo belongs in a doctors office scheduling appointments. Period.

7. Bobs Furniture. Really Bobby? Really? You are filthy rich. Can’t you just hire an actor to play your part and sell the furniture? I’m at my wits end with you. I want a sexy man like Rob Lowe luring me into the abyss of a furniture purchase. After all, I will be fornicating on your recliner. I don’t want the image of your green teeth and boot cut Levi’s in my head as your blonde haired sidekick mistress pitches me with her over exaggerated voice. You should be selling hammers at Home Depot. Your side piece should be a manager at a “Rub & Tug.”

6. Red Lobster. The individuals in charge of this marketing monster happen to be the most brilliant fucks in the business. I see a Red Lobster commercial and I pack up my wife, kids, grandmother, and pet hamsters and bring all these pricks to the restaurant. Next thing you know I’m dropping $39.99 for that 68 year old extremely sick lobster floating around the fish tank just begging to be eaten. You fuckers are brilliant. If it wasn’t for your biscuits you would be out of business.

5. Kia. Great car. I own one myself. Please don’t hire an intellectual being to prance around on your screen and tell me you will buy back my car and give me a new one. No matter what. And don’t say “all I need to earn is $250.00 per week” you fucking dumbass. As soon as I get past you and the paperwork is passed to the “Under writer” I couldn’t get approved to purchase an air freshener. So don’t blow smoke up my ass you fucking half wit. I come in expecting to drive away in a fully loaded Kia Sorento and I ride off into the sunset in a Yugo with 227,000 miles. Fuck off ass knot.

4. Keytruda. Ok. So what exactly are you curing or helping me with? It treats Melanoma. Skin cancer. It’s serious. I will eventually die from it. But why would I ingest your product to quicken the process? The side affects will give me 300 more problems I currently don’t have. My ass will bleed. I will kill myself. My shins will disintegrate. My liver will catch fire. I will eat my great grandmother. It goes on and on. I’ll take my chances with a cancerous skin tab dumb dumb.

3. Papa Johns. The worst pizza on the planet. But he is smart. Team up with Peyton Manning because he really knows how to make a good pizza and bam, every asshole buys into this bullshit. Yankees score six or more runs and you get a free pie. Fuck that. I’m a big Yankees fan but I hope they lose every game 6-5 just so I’m
not eligible. Papa Johns pizza reminds me of a 16” circle of diarrhea. So bad. Two hillbilly’s trying to sell me pizza. Get the fuck out of here Papa John. I’d rather eat mozzarella sprinkled on a frisbee than eat that crap. “Better Ingredients, better pizza” Papa Johns. Your pie costs $5.99 bro. Stop! Hire Giada De Laurentiis, Lydia or the mother of Joe Pesci in Goodfellas if you want to sell me pal.

2. JG Wentworth. Get cash now. Yeah ok JG. Cut the crap. Unless I’m backed by a 987 Fico score and have 27 million in the bank, you ain’t giving me shit. At that point why would I need you anyway. Hiring an overweight opera singer in a viking hat riding a bus will not make me think of you first for a loan. I’ll stick to the shy-larks on the street.

1. The Sarah McLachlan animal rescue commercial. Stop. That dog actor should win an Oscar. Those sad puppy eyes and the fact it could only cost me .53 cents per day to save him has me sobbing uncontrollably. The amount of guilt I’m consumed by as Sarah’s lullaby serenades me crushes my emotions & inspires me. I didn’t feed my family for a month straight so that dog could eat. That message is powerful.

“FriendsGiving” An interesting gathering amongst good friends. “Shit Show”

“FriendsGiving”. A gathering amongst our closest friends. Typically takes place a few weeks before the actual holiday arrives. I like to call this a practice, a run through & a chance to brush up on our Thanksgiving Day family communication skills before we must actually eat dry turkey with a house full of unappreciative guests dressed in candy yam flannels and ripped jeans from the clearance rack at Walmart.

No matter how much you prepare for this epic holiday there is always that one family member who shows up in a Lincoln Navigator, slicked backed hair with a frosted tip, sunglasses from CVS, a three piece suit on sale from Peddlers Mart, a Bi-polar stripper girlfriend from E-harmony and a box of stale gingerbread cookies. There is a 70% chance this she was born a he. This family member actually believes he’s attending a Christmas Eve dinner. He kicks the front door open with his dog shit engulfed footwear and shouts “What’s for dinner?” Visions of this chooch falling into the 1725 degree pellet stove as he roasts like a chestnut on an open fire is all you can hope for at that very moment.

Each year our “FriendsGiving” hosts LB & Brian invite us to this event. I am always most grateful as things I tend to say, do & post on social media throughout the year usually gets me de-friended, turned into the authorities or murdered. So thanks guys for sticking by me. Much appreciated.

As the guests arrive we instantly begin to argue about what “Annual FriendsGiving” year it is. Was it three or four years? The only real evidence and factual proof we have is what each couple brought to the gathering in past years as far as a food dish. Personally, I drink 2 gallons of cinnamon induced moonshine apple sangria at the annual event so I honestly just jumped up, pulled a calf muscle and shouted “six years” and was kindly asked to leave as my wife stared me down like I just impregnated her mother. We still don’t have the answer but it gives us something to discuss next year at the very least.

We all hovered around the table arguing, disagreeing, agreeing, de-friending, throwing mash potatoes at each other. This is exactly what friends should be doing at holiday celebrations. It was perfect and I was so happy until the doorbell rang and I was escorted away in handcuffs by my policeman buddy who I have a signed contract with to renovate his basement. It was awkward. He fired me naturally.

The concept is great. All guests make a holiday appropriate dish. Turns out there’s always enough food to feed China for a week.

The atmosphere was awesome. As we walked in, LB was running around the kitchen with her wooden spoon, hair tied up in a Betty Crocker bun like she’s preparing to bake a batch of oatmeal cookies & an IPad open with recipe in hand. Our grandparents would be rolling over in their graves if they seen this shit. She always seems to be concocting a pumpkin themed dish. Last year it was Pumpkin Cornflakes. This year her creation was truly amazing. Her husband Brian made several attempts to assist in the process but looked more like “Gumby at a Rave.” He was asked to leave as well and eventually became my cellmate at the local jail. We made booze in the prison toilet and greased up the guards for some grub. It was all good. 😜 That was a joke. We got arrested later in the evening.

Brian & I took this opportunity to catch up. At this point we were at his home, not in prison yet. We go way back & I always look forward to shooting the shit with a lifelong friend. I’m in construction. Brian likes to pick my brain once in a while about some ideas he may have for future work on his home. This was different. As soon as I walked in he said “ I have to ask you something.” I felt this was serious so I took this moment as he was thrown out of the kitchen to discuss his question. “I have this light downstairs & I’m trying to change the bulb. I can’t figure out how to change it.” He mumbled in extreme frustration & proclaimed “I was about to take a sledge hammer to it but I figured I would talk to you first”

We walked downstairs. He directed me to the light like I was that midget lady from Poltergeist dressed in a nightgown from Caldors. I pulled the light frame down in 3 seconds. Exposed the light bulb to be changed & looked at him like he was a Triceratops from the Cretaceous Era. He then gazed at me like I just rode in on an elephant prancing through a Taco Bell drive through on Easter morning. I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. He is a crane operator. He responsibly lifts 60,000 pounds of steel delicately over our heads each and every day. He builds our cities structures, moves mountains & can’t change a fucking lightbulb. I was deeply concerned. In the end, he was happy he didn’t smash his ceiling. We gathered around the basement bar. Brian broke out a bottle of “Johnny Walker Blue Label” and all was forgotten about. Love this guy.

Dinner was ready. We made our plates and gathered at the table. It was time for the fights, relationship truths & current home renovation wars to begin. I don’t know what it is exactly when couples sit down and break bread but this always turns into some Maury Povich shit. It started out so innocently. Everyone dug in. Compliments flew around the table on how good all the dishes were. It was like one big happy “Little House on the Prairie” episode. Then it happened. That one couple who happened to be in the middle of their “frustrating” gigantic home remodel project began to bicker. “Wow this broccoli tastes so good. If only I had an oven” said the wife of the incomplete renovation. The defensive husband replied “Really, you don’t cook anyway.” “I don’t cook?” I don’t cook?” the scorned wife shouted. The husband knows he fucked up as we all sat around the table choking on corn niblets. So uncomfortable and this is exactly the moment we all thanked our lucky stars we were invited to “FriendsGiving.” The sense of discomfort was so satisfying.

My advice. Get the renovation done. “Happy wife, happy life.” Those words could never be more true. Probably the most honest advice I have ever been given.

“FriendsGiving” is also a time for magic & miracles.

At this point nobody else wanted to stir the pot so I volunteered. I didn’t realize my wife’s friends knew about the love of my life’s anal natural gas issues. Turns out they did. I had the pleasure to learn about what this woman did to her friends one night during their “Girls Annual Summer Weekend.” I was so embarrassed.

After a fun night of drinking tap water and being hit on by a dude with a yellow adidas “Southern Comfort” stained wife beater, baby blue contacts, a tattoo of Italy on his cheek, glow in the dark shoe laces, a severely infected gold fake hoop earring from Spencer’s simply eating away at his earlobe flesh as he pulled up besides her in a deteriorated rusty ass Chevy Z-28 with T-tops dressed in that black leather bra installed over his front end as his “Kenwood” kicker system belted out TKA’s greatest hits, my wife & her friends finally went back to the room. For once she realized her husband was a better option. I hope. If I’m not more appealing than that dude I’m electrocuting myself in the toaster oven. They sat in a circle and reminisced. Most had on Pj’s & got comfy. Their friend Jen was sporting a G-string and joined the party topless. Conversation began. From what I understood, all the women sat and talked as my wife was sprawled out on a cot in her “grumpy” shirt & dirty sweats. She blew constant farts out of her butt crack like she was fueling a “Hot Air Balloon.”

At first the girls all laughed. Then it became serious. They became uncomfortable. They ordered cheeseburgers from room service and this animal continued to pollute the room & smiled about it. I had several eyewitnesses confirm this story. I said “I’ve been exposed to this shit for years ladies. She’s a beast. A savage.

That’s what it’s all about. Rehearse. Recollect. Rehash. Rethink. Reconsider. Relive. Recreate.

I consider myself lucky to have friends who get together & allow me to show them how to change a light bulb, argue, rip ass & just let it all out. No boundaries. No bullshit. We don’t give a fuck. It’s truly a special bunch. I’m proud to call you all my friends. I look forward to the next round of shenanigans.

Thank you again LB & Brian. Two of the truest.

Love you guys!

Life & it’s daily annoyances. (10) more. Should have done (20) more.

Here are (10) more daily occurrences that seem to aggravate the shit out of me. I’m pretty sure there was a previous Blog post complaining about life’s annoying moments. I have a feeling there will be a few more in the future.

10. The fact I simply must wake up only to be exposed to these travesties day in and day out is quite agitating. It has become a routine. Adjustments have been made. It’s beyond my control. I’ve patiently learned to deal. Having an outlet within this Blog has allowed me to express discomfort regarding disappointing acts of life. It has gently soothed a bit of my bitterness. Thanks for listening.

9. It’s not fair to subject my eardrums to that nasally old lady at 7:30am who has a physical presence that appears she has taken a bubble bath in a 30,000 watt microwave for 6 1/2 minutes as she orders her morning coffee trying to multi-task & hold a conversation with her sister Harriet dressed in a dirty nightgown with embroidered images of tadpoles & catfish who resides in Kissimmee, Fla. Shut up please. Your raspy cigarette voice is not a morning blast of fresh air. (No pun intended). Hang up with Harriet and get your shit together. On a side note, please invest in some throat lozenges. (Can you believe there is no “R”) in “Lozenges?” I know. Checked and googled the correct spelling like 18 times. That’s another annoying fact of life. Our language and pronunciation of some words. “Phone?” Come on now. It should be “fone!!! Sorry. Can anybody spell sikiatrist? That’s a hard one. Whenever I’m in need of some therapy (which is often) it’s almost impossible to find a reputable source on Google search. Usually the results end up being “The greatest hits” from Korean musical sensation “Psy.” This fucker was so bad he was offered a multi million dollar record deal along with a billion views on YouTube. If 10% of our worlds population is interested in what a Chinese man with “Bells Palsy” has to sing & dance about we need to activate our own nuclear device now & and just end it. My apologies to all the hard working, talented musicians out there that had to watch this. Must have been hard. He must have been doing something right. When this extremely talented artist got up and sang on a New Years Eve special event my wife jumped off the couch after a suffering from a severe bout of strep throat. She promptly ordered Chinese food & began to mimic his signature dance move that made her look like a 5 foot rotten string bean on crystal meth. She waved her arms in excitement. I proceeded to vomit on my Christmas themed sweat pants. She looked like “Vanilla Ice” at a karate tournament. She tried her luck with the “Karate Kid” crane kick. She slipped and cracked her head on the night table. I proceed to throw her the fuck out of my home. At this point I felt she was a danger to our family. Kids were nervous.

8. Running into that same woman above at the local gas station trying to pump gas. She yells across the lot “Excuse me!!! Excuse me?? How does this work sir??? It’s not working sir. Do you work here? Can you help me sir?” My response. “Lady you are a 100. How the fuck do you not know how to pump gas? There is a sale on “Cherry Luden” cough drops inside if you are interested. Ask Harriet” Just kidding. Annoying or not, we help everybody.

7. Heading to work and getting stuck at a red light behind an illegal immigrant driving a souped up “Maroon Eclipse” with white windshield wiper blades as his audio entertainment “kicker” serenades the entire county with a Tito Puente remix. He has the balls to actually smile at me. He attempts to lure me into a drag race. I’m driving a severely rusted Ford 250 Econoline Van with a top speed of 30 MPH. My brakes haven’t worked in months, windshields are cracked and my truck hasn’t been inspected in a year. Really? I accepted the challenge of course. My own wife doesn’t smile at me and this guy drives around the neighborhood as his front headlight violently scrapes against the pavement looking for a race. He has a 17 foot wind spoiler fastened with duct tape to the back of the vehicle as if he’s prepared to launch from Teterboro. He has a bumper sticker portraying his grandmother slamming a shot of tequila and his sunroof has been leaking for years. He’s begging to be deported.

 

6. School Buses. Is every child now picked up at their front door? WTF? The parents having a conversation with the bus drivers when their children are dropped off as you sit and wait makes it much worse. What are they possibly talking about? How many potholes you avoided on your journey? Drop the kid off and move it. We got shit to do.

5. Landscaping. Honestly, we are infested with these companies. Stop cutting grass at 6am. And the names of these companies have to go. “Gary’s Gorgeous Grass”. “Jose’s Custom Lawns” “Eric’s Even Edge”. “John’s Jolly Cuts”. “Mike’s miraculous maintenance”. Enough. You guys move around a few dead leaves and three blades of grass. Cut the shit. There’s nothing miraculous about your company. Cut the lawn and get the fuck off my street. And get some new equipment. Listening to your struggling employee trying to start the gas flooded leaf blower for an hour is extremely irritating you cheap fuck.

4. Having to use the restroom so bad you stop at a gas station. The door is always locked. You wait patiently with your legs crossed as you shove a “ring ding” up your ass to help avoid anal leakage. Door finally opens and the gas station attendant walks out with a grin like he just shit out “A lollipop kid” from “The Wizard of Oz.” You walk in. You have to make a decision. Dare to sit down following a gentleman who looked like he danced around in horse shit for a month or just crap in your pants. Yeah this happens daily to me. The struggle is real. Tough one! And why is there a “safety” key for ice? A bag of ice is a $2.00. Why do I have to go through customs and a credit check to buy ice? Is there people who actually run around and steal ice? For what? I don’t get it. Ice has a life expectancy of an hour once it leaves the store. Weird. Didn’t know ice was a hot commodity.

3. Flag men. I’m sorry. There is nothing worse than being told when you are able to stop or go by a gentleman with a “Superman” tattoo, a yellow “half shirt” safety vest with a “NY Jets emblem” & 27 chest hairs swaying uncontrollably in the current wind conditions as a bead of sweat dangles from his nostril. Never fails. He eventually gives you those bedroom sexy eyes when you pass as the asphalt soot from the days work just drips slowly off his chin. This always turns me on😜. Sexy shit. Then there’s the “Flag Women.” Don’t lie. As a man we always thinks it’s sexy and try to figure out which sweaty worker flexing his underdeveloped bicep is wooing her. This is how I pass the time waiting to be waved on.

2. Public Fitness Figures. Why must you feel the need to come on my block armed with dumbbells, running shoes, a bandana & a gallon of water as you run up and down my street like you’re trying out for the 2020 olympics? You are 78. Your skin is literally falling off the skeletal structure you are composed of. Dogs, cats & stink bugs are chasing you. Can’t you do that shit on your own block bro? Why must you stretch in front of my mailbox and pretend like you are physically fit? Much respect to the fact you are attempting to stay in shape. Quick question. Are you equipped with life alert? I’m deeply concerned.

1. Tomorrow is another day. Wake up and do it all over again. It never ends.

Celebrating the “Holy Sacraments”. It’s good to be Holy.

Celebrating the Holy Sacrament of Confirmation in our world today compared to our celebratory platforms back in the day when I reached this milestone within my religious education is a major leap in our Christian Faith & beliefs. I honestly can’t believe the overwhelming commitment and dedication in our current lives the Christian youths have sacrificed in order to preserve Jesus, Confession & the Act of Contrition. These gestures have made me believe again. The future of humanity & our very own existence has resurrected. Haha. That’s funny. Even I chuckled at that.

Times have changed a bit I think. When I refer to “Back in the day” I can only discuss my spiritual “Confirmation” experiences I had the pleasure to be a part of. We have no choice but to compare the events I have participated in against the events that took place today at my nephews “Holy Day.”

I’ll explain to you all as simple as I can on just how we honored my personal Confirmation Sacrament “Back in the day.” It may me difficult to follow at times so I’ll do my best to guide you through the overwhelming exciting adventure. Hang on!!!!

I woke up. They tossed a red robe on me like I was Hugh Hefner at grade school graduation. I walked down an aisle hand in hand with a drunk Uncle as my sponsor. We ate a religious, dried out, stale vanilla wafer purchased from the “Dollar General” as the Fathers cigarette stained cuticle rubbed up against our wisdom teeth. We genuflected, pulled a hamstring and we left. I was ”Confirmed.”

My parents threw a party consisting of burnt hot dogs, crinkle cut ShopRite brand potato chips, a three liter pineapple soda bottle saturated in 789 grams of sugar per serving as three and a half family members gathered to witness the event. Our only entertainment was a rabid German Shepard named “Bo” who ran around in circles for 7 years inside a cage laced with dog shit and “dear ticks.” After we ate, they let Bo out for the first time ever to chase down the children as the canine ate our ankles and playfully injected rabbis into all in attendance. It was fun. It was a life altering connection to God and our faith. It represented exactly what our God expected from us. My mother proceeded to put out desert which consisted of a tray of nuts you couldn’t crack with a sledge hammer and three pieces rotten cantaloupe. That was it. Happy Confirmation now get the fuck out.

Today the times have changed. I mean God is still God and our Catholic ramifications are generally the same but the party atmosphere has slightly taken on a new form.

Today my cousins Tara & Joe hosted the Confirmation party of their son Joey. It was cute. Really. First and foremost they asked my brother Jeffery & his wife if they could host the event at their house. Keep in mind my brother gets nervous & starts twitching like an electric eel when his box of “Frosted Flakes” gets low. They agreed and the party was on. I couldn’t wait to get there. This was a dream come true for me. 😜

I attempted to enter the party. I was stopped and frisked at the door by a 367 pound bouncer named Freddy Amanotuchi. He had a tattoo of “Mike the Situation” on his neck along with teal green “Sarducci Boots.” At that point I should have left but I was now interested in how much more Catholic knowledge I could obtain as we all know security with these “precious markings” were a major part of our religious background. Imagine if Jesus had bouncers? Hmmmmm. As I walked in and got comfortable I was surrounded by super models passing out bake clams & pot stickers because that’s exactly what happened at the “Last Supper.” The reincarnation was so surreal as my cousin Joey D was lying dormant on the kitchen floor from exhaustion I felt the urge to strap a cross to his back and make him get up and walk a few miles. This poor guy demolished three bathrooms, cooked 187 trays of Ziti, scanned 19 sets of scrotums & drank 2 bottles of bourbon in a day and a half. His wife Tara grinned and said it’s not enough. “Get up you lazy fuck” She mumbled under her breath. We have a party to host.” This poor guys eyebrows were burnt to a crisp & I felt he needed medical attention ASAP.

I have to be honest, the connection to religion was never stronger. Tara & Joe have restored my faith.

 

 

Has the world officially stripped us of our humor and racially divided us?

  • What happened to our sense of humor? Our laughter? The ability to separate ourselves from the daily stress of life & the “touchy” subjects within the world that has the tendency to “ruffle our feathers?”

The political bullshit we have all been subjected to within our social media streams & news outlets is unacceptable. It is impossible to determine “genuine” information from what is “fake news”. It has stripped many of us from our protective guard. It has scrambled our minds. We have lost our way.

In life, laughter is a must. We must be able to embrace a joke. Take a breath. Have the ability to separate the bullshit from the important shit. It’s a fine line.

The topics that have uncontrollably divided our nation must sometimes be taken with a “grain of salt.” Unfortunately, levels of hate have been planted, grown & now roam freely amongst us all. It’s amazing to see how we have regressed a 100 years within our social human existence while technology thrives and controls each & every move our human race engages in. Sad. Truly. We are all puppets. Trained within the schematics of life and what it has in store for us. The more I actually pay intention the more I realize. The fact I’m writing this as “Dan Hill” serenades me on “Pandora. Radio” is living proof we have lost our way. Who the fuck is “Dan Hill?” He’s terrible but I think I know this song.

We now have sex robots. “Bionic Sex Robots.” I can’t even walk up the steps without running out of breath and contracting laryngitis. I must now compete with a “sex robot” who can download “Air Supply’s Greatest Hits” through WIFI and bounce on my Wife like a “Whack-A-Mole.” I can’t compete with the sexual future. I have been sucking on my rescue inhaler for the past hour & pressed “life alert” multiple times just to get through this post! I’m fucked. I’m currently in the market for a woman in her 80’s who enjoys sewing and frequent visits to the “Arthritis Specialist.”

Turn back the time to discussions of slavery that has been reintroduced into our society. White supremacy? Are there actually still dudes with acne dressed up like Casper marching the streets of Alabama? This has honestly turned my stomach and makes me want to fucking vomit. I would never disrespect or make light of what transpired during that horrific moment of our pastime. It is a “pastime.” I don’t have to be educated. We all coexist and live together in our world today. We face much greater obstacles. The color of your skin in my eyes means nothing. I’m married to a “Half Puerto Rican” who releases more gas than a “Yellowstone” geyser and I don’t give a shit. She gets dark in August and that’s sexy. She gave me two beautiful children consisting of 25% Puerto Rican decent who spend the majority of their life clogging my toilet like they are the offspring of “Harry” from “Dumb & Dumber.” I embrace it. I love it.

I have a brother Joey (obviously on the far right of this photo) who is a 100% product of a black father. My mother denies these allegations but no white man in the history of life gets so dark in August and asked to host the “BET Awards.” Makes no difference to me. I’ve loved this Mulatto brother like a “brother.” But then he becomes an avid bow hunter and that makes me believe he is actually a legitimate white man. I never heard of a black man sitting in a tree for a week in Arkansas spraying deer piss on himself like he’s one of those women at Macy’s during Christmas time with 18” eyelashes, halitosis & a severe case of “camel toe” trying to sell me a 379 Oz. container of “White Diamond.”

For me personally, I don’t give a frogs fat fucking anal constipated water tight ass crack what color you are. You could be “Pastel Green.” I don’t give a fuck. Are you kidding me? If you treat me with respect, your color does not matter to me. Ever. At least in my world. I will never sit here and try to understand what men & women had to endure during the era of slavery. I have zero knowledge of what took place except the one time I watched “Roots” in the fifth grade
featuring the father from “Good Times.”

History is important but it’s not our current way of life. That’s why it’s “History.” If we are friends and you happen to be black, yellow, green, purple or pink I will hug and kiss you as I recently did with my boy Barnell when I ran into him at the “Lowes Home Goods Center. This dude is so black I couldn’t locate him as he was hanging out in front of the “Tar Paper.” When I saw him I embraced him. I kissed & hugged him like he was my Italian Grandmother. Don’t get me wrong, I had to perform that “black handshake” routine and use words I learned from Ice Cubes character in “Boyz in the Hood” but you get the point. The color of his skin was irrelevant. We haven’t seen each other in years. He is my friend. I am blind to color. Don’t bring that bullshit racist crap around me. He did smell like “Cocoa Butter” and when we embraced his package rubbed up against me like he had a “ground hog” in his pants. Racially profiling? No. It’s a joke. We are friends. He also mentioned when he rubbed up against me it felt like a “toothpick” rubbed up against him and I smelt like “Saltines.”

If you disagree go jump off a fucking bridge. I’ll drive you to the highest point. Life’s about laughter. Don’t bring your negativity around here.

We now live in a world of uncertainty. It’s chaotic. Unpredictable. Uncomfortable. It’s reality.

What we need to do is stop taking everything so seriously. Stop being so politically correct. Next time you enjoy a bike ride where you could possibly be flattened and removed from this earth as your children navigate through life without a parent think about those who actually were the victims. Think about the opportunities you have while you are still here and enjoy, relax & laugh as much as you can. It’s important.

I personally enjoy laughter. Telling a joke. A “White Lie”. Bending the truth. Fabrication. Whatever I can do to tell a story that holds some truth but can make people step outside their comfort zone and escape the harsh reality of life for a minute. What I can’t stand are those individuals who take life so literal & serious. They can never enjoy the miserable life they live. Cracking a smile is never a part of their daily routine and they always seem to sit and wait, stalk, prey and attempt to expose the ones who try and live a relaxed, “not so serious” life. I have news for you “Mary Fucking Poppins” of life. You better get the fuck away from me because not only will I teach you how to shove your “Great Grandmas” nightgown up your asshole on “Flag Day” I will eventually make you laugh about it. So get lost.

I’m honestly tired of all the offensiveness & people strolling through life on eggshells. Here’s the reality of our world. Like it or not. We wake up. We brush our teeth. If you have been blessed to have a family & a lifelong partner you must deal with,  well that is ultimately a fucking nightmare day in and day out. But that’s the life you chose and be grateful.  To the ones who don’t have the responsibility of raising the  “Miracle of life” &  satisfying a “ Soulmate”, you are lucky. Unless you are that “Tony Little” guy with blonde hair extensions prancing on that Gazelle machine at 3am it’s impossible.  I try and rise to the occasion. I turn on the shower that takes 38 minutes to warm up. You attempt  to arrange a quickie with your lover. That usually results with soap in the eye or massive amounts of egg yolk thrown at your hairline. After rejection from your lover  we must now perform a job we all despise as we commit sexual harassment. We accept. We perform. We complain. We wake up. Repeat. We get arrested. That’s life as we know it.

Honestly. Stop being so flakey. It’s annoying. When you see something funny please laugh. Don’t live your life so serious and politically correct. Find the humor in life. Try and smile 😜! Step outside the box once in a while. We only have one shot at this thing called life.

“You may still be here tomorrow but your dreams may not”……Cat Stevens.

 

How to cope with a “Demonic Hot Wife”. Your children’s Halloween Party and the family crashing it!

Part 1.

As our children grow they become more active in life and develop the desire to entertain. Trust me they don’t get this important life quality from their mother. It’s all me. I’ll just about throw a party for any event if I’m given the opportunity. My kid scored a 68 on his math quiz & I mailed out 338 “save the date” invitations like this little shit just solved “World Hunger.” Its all about the social gatherings. I could have a good time at a wake.

I once told my wife my parents were stopping by to say hello because we haven’t seen them in 6 months and she had the balls to reply “Ugh, I have no make up on, my boobs are swollen, I have no coffee in the house and I’m tired.” I took three steps back and slapped her across the forehead with a piece of raw bacon. My automatic response was “Really?…Wait your boobs are swollen? Let’s meet in the bedroom!” She then proceeded to slap me with the raw bacon and it became an instant shit show.

Needless to say, she’s not an entertainer.

Until my kids asked if they could have a Halloween party this year.

I was sitting on the couch. 14 1/2 beers deep. New York Yankees just lost their playoff series. She walked in with a tee shirt slightly draped over her shoulder like she just scalped backstage tickets for a “meet & greet” to a Debbie Gibson concert. Her lips began to move. “Babe, the boys want to have a Halloween party this year & invite their friends. What do you think?” Naturally I didn’t give a rats ass. I was just waiting for her boobies to swell so I could knock them around like “Rocky Balboa” in a meat locker. “So you’re ok with it” she quickly shouted. I said “Yeah!”

The following day she hired “Dr Loomis” from the Halloween franchise as the party planner. I wake up for work and the next thing you know I’m sitting down having coffee with “Michael Meyers” & that facially distorted serial killer who wears a hockey mask and hangs out at a lake all day. We all discussed the celebratory event. All of the sudden this “Resting Bitch Face, socially challenged, unfriendly woman I call my wife magically morphs into “Steve Rubell”. She eventually falls in love with Dr. Loomis & lives happily ever after. I always thought my boys looked a bit like Dr. Loomis.

 

Then the decorating begins. This evil woman sneaks into the local graveyard and starts digging up dead bodies. She then places their remains around my living room like they are some sort of “Party City” prop. Next thing you know my wife is beheading the neighbors in order to create a realistic scene of horrific proportion. She releases black widow spiders, tarantulas & scorpions to add special effects & make the gathering appear more realistic.

When I was asked if my boys wanted to host a Halloween party I assumed it would involve some snickers bars & a few bags of Doritos. Maybe the “Monster Mash” would play in the background as the children dressed up like Barney & watched the iconic “Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin Patch.” I was not prepared for special guest autograph signing appearances by “Charlie Manson” & photographic memorabilia with “Jeffery Dahmer.”

I haven’t spoke to my wife in a week. To be honest, I fear for my life. My children are not safe. The children attending this party are not safe.

As I’m writing this she sends me a text message, “Hey Babe, when are we booking Disney World?” Lol. I choked on my beer and texted back, “You just beheaded your neighbor and dug up dead bodies from the local graveyard and now you want to go play with Mickey Mouse? I think you need help.  Party is cancelled.

Part 2.

A second verse came to life as I was lazy & did not publish the above post written a week ago.  (Glad I procrastinated & allowed the festivities to take a natural course)

The shit I witnessed within four hours of a 12 year old Halloween Party has convinced me our children do not know the difference between “Explicit” & “Clean” versions of a rap song. I had rules. Clean versions only. I tried to let the kids have their space and enjoy the party. Eventually I had to pee. On my way to the bathroom I couldn’t help but absorb the musical lyrics serenading the children in attendance. All I could see is seventeen pre-teens swaying on a brown micro suede couch slow dancing to a song where the artist is discussing hookers and slinging rock on the corner of 188th & 8th. Every child present sang this shit word for word like they were hosting the “Harlem Crack Awards.” Meanwhile, my boys failed English seven times & the only rock they have ever slung was a “pet rock” from Walgreens.

Party wasn’t cancelled. I’m glad I had the opportunity to continue on this topic.

As my children’s guest arrived I hid under the dishwasher praying for this ordeal to end.

Then something magical happened. I was informed Joey D, my sister Gina, Paulie O & my cousin Tara were coming over. I was half asleep but this is my crew and I always rise to the occasion. But my cousin Tara had something on her mind. She was accused of being “angry” & “upset” because allegedly her screen door was damaged at a party she hosted. Let me tell you all something. I’ve known Tara my whole life. She is like a sister. She has raised a family in homes engulfed in “Black Mold.” Her front doors have never worked properly. Her decks have violated every building code known to man. Her wood floors have embedded splinters into her children’s feet for decades. Her laundry hasn’t been washed in years. Her pool has collapsed six times in 6 different locations. Unless Bacardi goes out of business this woman don’t give a rats ass. If you think she gets mad at a screen door being broke you don’t know her. Even I laughed at that.

We instantly cracked three bottles of wine, a bottle of Jameson & my sister Gina started stretching on my pergo floor like “Richard Simmons” at a colonoscopy. Even my wife had a Pilsner of beer. It was exciting. We took over the music. I felt at peace again. Then my cousin Joey D said something inappropriate as always and made the night even better. My brother in law Paul played with his hair for an uncomfortable hour. He made several attempts to lure my sister home. This woman could not be removed from a social gathering if you tied her ass to a dump truck during “bulk pickup.”

In the end the party was a success. I’ll never do it again.

As people left my wife walked around the home with Lysol, a shop vac, spray 9, a power washer, Clorox, Goo Gone & a garden hose like she’s trying out to be the next ghostbuster!

House was clean though!

 

 

Top 10 “Useless” Occupations.

Most of us must put our time in and hold an occupational position as we navigate through this journey known as life. It’s necessary to survive. We work hard, no matter what our employment duties may be, in order to better our lives & the lives of our families.

Job titles and employment status vary from person to person. Some more prestigious than others.

Then there are those employment positions that must be filled by somebody. I personally have a hard time understanding how a human being could possibly engage and perform some of these positions within the workforce. Somebody has to do it I guess.

I compiled a list of the worst and/or pointless forms of employment.

10. Jehovah Witness.

Not sure if this practice is even considered an “occupation”. Regardless, if you’re gonna pair up, dress in yellow suits, knock on my door at 8:30am on a Sunday, hand me biblical reading material trying to guide  me toward Jesus, you better have a Bloody Mary, 3 Advil and a Bacon, Egg & Cheese with SPK.

9. Taco Bell Porter

This poor bastard has the responsibility of cleaning the bathrooms within these establishments. Between the employees & customers blowing up these toilets after consuming a bakers dozen of Chalupas, this does not seem like a desirable work environment.

 

8. Costco Receipt Clerk

I walk out of Costco with 1700 items and this employee pretends like they are checking off everything in my cart and has the balls to say “you’re good.” Really Costco receipt guy. Really? How about the Red onion I shoved down my pants. Missed that one I guess. Job requirements. Must be able to draw a circle with a sharpie and pretend to be “Rain Man”

7. The Easter Bunny

I’ve always wondered how they actually fill the “Easter Bunny” position. Does this process involve auditions? Who decides which individual retains the qualifications to endure such a challenging task which includes dressing up as a 6 1/2 foot rabbit, sweat to death and scare the piss out of little children in the beginning of April. I believe selecting the proper candidate to fulfill this position takes careful planning and detailed human selection.

6. Bathroom Attendant

When I go to the bathroom, I don’t need a man hovering over me dressed in a three piece suit with gold teeth handing me a wet nap after I wash my hands. Why should I have to feel the uncomfortable silence as this worker gazes at me like I should give him a tip for this transaction. I have arms. I can get my own napkin. Get the hell out of my way and don’t try and squeeze me for a dollar because you are offering “orange tic tacs” and “Drakkar Noir.” I know your tricks.

5. Home Depot Employee

There’s a giant sign before you enter the store. “We are hiring. If you use drugs do not apply.” Ok. I would like to know what the employees are medicated with because I asked a gentleman in the “Plumbing Dept” where the toilet bowls were and he needed assistance to answer my question. The employee the other day in “Lumber” was sucking on a pressure treated 2 x 4. Not sure what is going on in that franchise. They need to reconsider their hiring tactics.

4. Bagel Shop Counter Help

When we enter the establishment it is generally early in the day. Most are on their way to work. All we want is our coffee and bagel and be on our merry little way. When we give you the order, write it down. There is nothing more aggravating than having an employee stare you directly in the eye and pretend to process your order. As they begin to make the order they ask “Did you say milk?” How many sugars?” “Did you want the bagel toasted?”. Honestly, my blood is boiling writing this. Order is finally complete and they have no idea how to use the register. Very, very frustrating.

3. Mechanic

Not sure why these assholes even exist. Never fails. I bring my car in for an oil change and a light bulb replacement and the following day my transmission shits the bed. Fucking crooks.

2. Lincoln – Matthew McConaughey

I like him as an actor. He flat out sucks as a car salesman. Has anybody ever jumped off their couch and ran to the Lincoln dealership after one of his commercials? Personally, when I see a Lincoln vehicle on the road I want to blow it up. I can’t stand those commercials. Alright, alright, alright. Stick to acting bozo!

1. POTUS

Who would ever want this position.

 

Newsflash. Your significant other is NOT your best friend!

Why do married couples often refer to their spouse as a “Best Friend?”
Really? I’ve had a few “Best Friends” throughout the years. I don’t recall any of them ever asking me to stop and get a gallon of milk on their way home. Yelling at me to get “out of the bar”. Hmmmm! Asked me to buy them a dishwasher. I don’t recollect any of them attempting to organize an apple picking event in 110 degree weather. Getting hassled to purchase window treatments doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t believe I have ever bought my “Best Friend” a vacuum. When was the last time your “Best Friend” gave you the gift of life? A miracle. A child. In some cases that may have actually happened but you get where I’m going with that.

I believe most couples have become accustomed to saying the oh so popular phrase because it sounds cute. “I married my best friend!!” No you didn’t. Your best friend is doing tequila shots off a Jamaicans ass on top of a swim up bar as you prepare to spend an entire life savings on a wedding that I guarantee serves undercooked prime rib & garlic infused mashed potatoes along with musical entertainment that includes a seven piece ensamble dressed like The Bee Gees caught in a bug zapper. You can always count on a female lead singer who’s chest hair protrudes from her cardigan like a chia pet named Dominick. This special day is never complete unless there’s that  “Joe Dirt” looking bass guitar player who always seems to have a fresh piece of cauliflower nestled comfortably on the corner of his chapped lip. This band member gets so into his musical act he begins to literally contract scoliosis in front of the 330 unwanted guests. After he electrocutes himself, he has the balls to ask if the lady in the white dress with perky boobs, nice makeup & a firm butt is single.

You proceeed to purchase a pre/owned Mini-Van, buy a home you cannot afford and settle for a career that makes you most likely want to vomit! “Best Friends?”… Get the hell out of here. By the time this shit show is over you want to grab your “Best Friend” by the throat and insert them into a sausage grinder. “Best Friends?”. Hahahaha hahahaha. Smarten up delusional beings. Know the difference.

Your significant other is NOT your best friend. Not even close. There is a special bond but if you are not allowing your “Best Friend” to hang out with strippers & drink until they vomit, they are not your best friend. Sorry to to be the “Bearer of bad news..” The “Debbie Downer.” The “Negative Nelly.” Best friends. Lololololol!!!

Marriage is next level bonding. If you are in a good, honest, respectful relationship you are NEVER best friends. Completely different. The two relationships couldn’t be further apart.

Don’t get me wrong. You can laugh, play, fart, shart, play hop scotch and tickle each other’s fancy but ultimately you are not friends. It may resemble a friendship at times but that is only an illusion. This is real world shit. Life is about to punch you in the face. Nobody got time for friendships when you are trying to survive, raise a family and navigate through this crazy world. When was the last time you and your “Best Friend” took a toddler to Preschool and that child threw up on the newly installed carpet and the two of you (Best Friends) took off your shoes, removed your socks in order to wipe up the vomit? I bet never. When was the last time you and your “Best Friend” wiped a child’s butt crack at 3am only to have fecal matter get lodged beneath your finger nail as you maneuver a toothpick to dislodge it? I will go out on a limb and say you and your “Best Friend” have never experienced that. I truly have a hard time remembering the last time I tickled my “Best Friends” fancy. Sounds fun.

Some may disagree. So be it. As long as we are all happy. That’s what truly matters.  If anybody honestly believes they married their “Best Friend” that’s ok. Embrace it. Enjoy it. This is only my opinion. If you want to ride a merry-go-round with your “Best Friend” have fun. Go have a picnic. Ride a bike together. Hold hands while you wait online at McDonald’s for a happy meal. Go take long romantic stroll over hot lava. Whatever works. Just keep it real!

The bond between Soulmates, when it is true, is like no other bond. Then there is the child bond which trumps all other bonds. No stronger connection on Earth.

Decipher my good people.

If you consider your mate a “Best Friend” that’s fine and dandy. Congrats. You made a new friend😜

Social media connections. Are they real?

 

In life we form relationships. From the moment of birth until our very last breath. Most created within families. Friends we meet along the path of life. Everyday encounters & daily experiences. Then there is social media. The almighty light of our social existence. It has opened up opportunity to form bonds, fuel hatred, divide, develop friendships & enabled us to connect with people we would otherwise most likely never associate with.

We post on social media to engage and ultimately receive response. Good, bad or indifferent. It’s why we do it.

Personally, I write my posts to generate laughter. Sometimes I get controversial. Sometimes, rarely, I get political. Either way I connect. If you are reading this, we have connected.

Our consistent social media interactions slowly form friendships. Sometimes! Friendships within the internet world. We look forward to the criticism, agreement, disagreement & challenges within our posts. It tends to develop into expectancy when the posts are genuine. The anticipation of what is to be said next consumes us. A connection is born.

Then, like all friendships, there is a final destination.

Social media friendship may end in a block. A de-friend. A cancellation of an account. Sometimes, not often, it ends in death.

Today I heard about a friend, follower & engager who has passed away.

Whenever I wrote a post, he would always interject his witty thoughts. I enjoyed and eagerly awaited. At times his replies confused me. At times he understood. At times I laughed. At times he rambled on. At times he annoyed me. That’s the relativity of social media. It happens to be the most unexpected, expected, predictable, unpredictable, offensive, inconsiderate, considerate, passionate, caring, loving, hatred, correct, politically incorrect & grammar challenged part of our day. Like it or not.

He will respond no more.

RIP Jeff Kelly.

I never thought I could mourn and feel the sense of loss for an individual I have never met. I will miss him and his thoughts.

The connections are real. Embrace.

 

Great Grandmothers & Sexy Photos!

Yesterday I wrote a post about men and their penis antics. I disagreed with male figures sending photographs of their private parts to women. As a result of my social media actions, I received a little negative feedback from a few of my Facebook fellow male friends. Some privately messaged, some texted. Some sexted. Others came out publicly arguing their case. These male individuals pleaded women are just as guilty when it comes to sending inappropriate photographs to the opposite sex. This may be true so I must be fair and give my honest opinion on how I feel about this.

Here it goes.

Ladies, you can send me a picture of your body parts whenever you feel like it. Any day. Anytime. Anywhere. Even on Christmas Eve dressed up like Mrs Claus for all I give shit. It could be your mother, grandmother or great grandmother. My only request is this. If it’s your Great Grandma, please make sure it’s a recent photo and she is still alive. I just find it a bit strange when I occasionally receive portraits of deceased women’s nipples from the 1800’s. Thank you in advance.

Mates, don’t ever compare. The body of a woman is beautiful. Much sexier than ours. No debate. So shut up!

But hang on. Even I have some limitations, rules & regulations. Please don’t take this the wrong way if you happen to fit this description. This is not intended in anyway to offend, insult or bully any of you. It simply means I don’t recommend sending me, or any man, pictures of your naked body parts. That’s all. I’m sure there is some man in Kentucky with 3 teeth, a straw hat, oil stained dungarees, a Lady Antebellum tee shirt & shit stained moccasins on his feet who would gladly accept your sexy images.

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Again ladies, you are all beautiful. If you fit the description below, you happen to be more beautiful with your clothes on. That’s all.

Please. Pretty please. If a crane is required to pick you up out of your bed and transport you to the toilet, please keep the sexy photos to yourself. If you enter a taxi cab & the vehicle pulls a wheelie the entire trip and requires a parachute to stop, please refrain from sending me sexy photos. If you enter an “all you can eat” buffet & there is no more food remaining for other patrons as you leave the restaurant, please keep the sexy photos to yourself. Last but not least. If you can’t find a pair of undies that fit you comfortably at a department store within a 686 mile radius and still have a dallup of cat food on your chin from the previous evenings midnight snack, please, no pictures. Maybe a boob or two in this situation would be acceptable.

To all my beautiful ladies. Hope you find this helpful in the future. Guys, keep that organ in your pantalones. Don’t ever photograph it. Ever!

Have a good day!