Our Mexico Adventure. Do I have some stories for you!

Wow. I remember back in the day when we took a family vacation it was always a personal experience you would never forget. We, as a family growing up always tried to make the best of the unrealistic situations. We smiled. Pretended to love our siblings for 168 hours. We improvised. When my Dad said “Look at the colorful lighting bugs outside our dirty car window kids” we jumped up as a family unit and clapped our hands in appreciation as if Celine Dion just busted out “Her heart will go on” as that poor peasant boy Jack drowned on the Titanic trying to save that “Rich Bitch Rose”.

I don’t think so. Nobody does that. If I’m ever stranded in the middle of the ocean straddled together on a floatation device as sharks lurk, I would never comfort my lady and let her live. It’s about survival at that point. I will feed her ass to the Orcas, Sea Lions, Jelly Fish, Octopus, Plankton or any other creature that will devour her. “Don’t let go Anthony!” Yeah. Goodbye Mi Amore! This poor guy on the Titanic was freezing his nuts off and this bitch has the balls to say “Don’t let go Jack”. I’ll see your ass at the bottom of the sea. Rose!

Vacations are not natural. Do you honestly think that the Cro-Magnon man said to his family of hairy beings after they hunted and destroyed the Saber Tooth tiger that a “vacation to the Bahamas was in order?” How about after bringing down a 3000Lb Wooly Mammoth that crushed their cousin during the process allowed them the right as a family to kiss dolphins and caress friendly horse shoe crabs as they pound Mojitos until their loin cloth fell off?

The answer is no. Their vacation was to the nearby lake to wash themselves of Mammoth guts.

We adjusted over time. We adapted. Vacations have become a way of life for us. It’s a nice break from the daily chaos and stress we all endure. I enjoy them.

As I was recently on vacation in Mexico I must speak about the events that have transpired. These are my honest and truthful encounters. Some of these may lead to my divorce and castration. I’ll take my chances in order to enlighten you all.

I tried to enjoy this temporary escape and keep an open mind. As a result of unforeseen circumstances I found myself engulfed in a whirlwind of mishaps that are to good not to be shared. So here we are.

Below is a few of my recent experiences along with some advice. Hopefully you will all take these into consideration as you book your future getaways.

-Amish family in Cancun, Mexico. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with this. They deserve a vacation like the rest of us. The issue is this. They don’t leave their property. The only place I have ever, and I mean ever, seen an Amish family is in Pennsylvania driving around in go karts with square wheels. So how the hell does this rebellious Amish squad wind up in Mexico dressed like they are prepared to bake a cake and plant zucchini seeds? It was 107 degrees with a heat index of 237% and this Amish mother was breast feeding her child under a quilt! It was weird. (I have nothing against breast feeding. Let me be clear on this) I have a problem with a quilt in Mexico. That is all. I believe they got on the wrong horse and buggy! There is something that does not register in my brain when I try and picture an Amish woman doing a keg stand in a Mexican Resort at 9am on a Tuesday morning as “Julio the pool entertainer” slams shots of tequila off her boob.

-Mexican Karaoke show. This one blew the snot out of me. You must prepare yourself for this. These people will jump up on stage like Whitney Houston at a crack convention and perform the most complicated American songs to ever be recorded. Each performer will give you fair warning their English is not that great before they begin. This becomes very obvious after the first note but they are passionate and that’s all that matters in my opinion. Man it is funny to watch!

-Vacation salesman trying to sell me a timeshare package. I get it. It’s a business. Be smart about it. If I’m going to dedicate a half of a day of my precious vacation time to listen to some Ricky Martin inspired scam artist you better be prepared to at least provide me with some Goya and Tacos. Also, don’t present me with a 50k package then when I decline accept 47 pesos as a last resort. Get lost!
These salesman are aggressive and their fake Rolex watch is not impressive.

-Sunburn while playing pool volleyball. I am from New York. We are only exposed to the hot sun for a few months out of the year. We finally arrive at the Resort or a Caribbean Island and we get excited. We jump in the beautiful pool. We sometimes forget sun tan lotion. We mingle with the locals. We burn our skin. We don’t realize this until we go back to the room and our nose falls off. Our earlobes curl up like rotten tomatoes. Our shoulder blades turn a shade of fuchsia. Our lips become so chapped we look as if we sucked face with a cheese grater. From here on out, I will be vacationing wrapped in tin foil.

-Respect the wildlife. We all love animals. When on vacation we sometimes encounter species we are not familiar with. Some appear cute and fluffy so we throw pieces of bread at them. We want to pet and hold them. Then they turn on us out of natural instinct. They will bite your big toe off in 3 seconds. They are wild. Enjoy from a distance. I must acknowledge the bird that took a crap on my wife’s arm as she sat poolside sipping her mudslide. The bird had impressive aim. This made the whole trip worthwhile.

-Understanding and dealing with foreign currency. I have not personally experienced money exchange with any other country except Mexico. This is challenging enough. It took me a while to grasp the fact a bag of potato chips cost $374.00 dollars. That’s pesos (Mexican currency) which still translates to $22.00 US dollars for an item you can purchase 3 for $5.00 at Costco. Hey, it’s vacation. Nothing is real. I must say, I got a kick out of getting a role of quarters wrapped up in scotch tape. Our dollar goes so far in that country the waitress took her clothes off and gave me a lap dance because I tipped her $2.00 for a hot dog she brought to me. Next year I’m giving her a ten spot. Can’t wait to see what that gets me!

-Spending your vacation in the gym. Listen up Hans and Frans. If you are going to spend 80% of your vacation time “pumping you up” why the hell are you paying $5000.00 to do it? I see people on vacation getting up at the crack of dawn running 17 miles down the beach. They have 6 protein shakes followed by 200 pull-ups on the Tiki Bar. They proceed to stretch for an hour in front of the main pool area as their tan assholes leak out of their speedos. They continuously lather themselves with Fellipe Berillo olive oil like they are preparing Sunday dinner and consume shots of ice water. What the fuck you doing on vacation bro? Go home. You look ridiculous.

-Running out of cantonelli pasta. Let’s get one thing straight Mexico. If you have the balls to present this elusive pasta on your menu, don’t tell me “Sorry Mr., we have no more” when it’s a Tuesday night and there are 19 people in the restaurant and 10 of them are employees. I just dropped an extreme amount of money to stay at your Resort and you ran out of a pasta you couldn’t even spell correctly on your menu? Get your shit together. Stick to what you are good at. Nachos!

-Food and bathroom habits. Let’s face it. We are on vacation. Unless you’re that workout nut eating soy and grass, you want to splurge for the week. Eat unhealthy foods and experience the different cultures. My family firmly believes this is what a vacation is all about. Until our second night that is. We will just about eat anything at anytime. We never consider the consequences. We eat. We shit. We move on. A Mexican impulsive shit is a bit different. My son found out the hard way. We just finished dinner. We jumped on a golf cart on our way to the next destination. My boy felt a rumble in his tummy. He said “I have to poo.” We replied hold it in, we will be there in a minute.” His response “I can’t!” Next thing you knew we had eight fingers and a bag of cashews plugging up his asshole. We placed a portable fan to his face for oxygen and sang a soothing lullaby to help distract him from the urge to crap. All this as the driver of the cart laughed uncontrollably and belted out “Tacos, chimichanga, nachos, Tequila…hahahaha.” I replied “He’s twelve.” Get me some toilet paper ASAP and no tip for you.

No matter where we vacation it should be a time to enjoy, cherish and make memories. Life is too short. Enjoy it while we are here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Top 10 Pet Peeves that drive me absolutely crazy!

We all have our pet peeves in life. They are different for everybody.

Here is a list of my top 10 pet peeves that absolutely drive me insane. Although I can go on and on with a 1000 more of these, I just don’t have the time, energy or storage available on my phone.

These pet peeves are in no particular order. They are equally aggravating and drive me to the brink of removing my ears with an electric can opener as I jab a pitch fork through my eyeballs.

We must carry on in life. We cannot control these doings of others. All we can do is accept, adapt and learn how to get through the day.

A pet peeve is a creation in our own mind. What bothers one person may have no impression on another. It’s very interesting.

Accept the things you cannot change.

Here is my list

10. Gum Cackling Waitress

There is nothing more annoying than a waitress at a restaurant chewing her gum rapidly (cackling) and blowing bubbles and snapping her trident between her dentures. It drives me insane. I will leave. Unless you are a server at a truck stop diner in Montana, this is unacceptable. Please stop.

9. Horn honker behind you at a red light

These impatient sons of bitches need there hands removed to prevent this. As soon as the light turns green these ass munchers behind you lay on the horn like they are a train conductor crossing a railroad school intersection. Your impatient honking will make no difference. It changes nothing. It will only confirm you will reach the next traffic light 3 seconds earlier to start this process all over again.

8. The 103 year old lady smoking a cigarette driving a 1974 green 29 ft Cadillac ahead of you.

This all happens in the fast lane of course. They reach a max speed of 28 miles per hour. First off get off the road. Second, where are you going.? You’re a century old. What is your destination? I need to know. Where does a 103 year old woman travel to at 1:30pm on a Wednesday? Unless you are scheduled for a guest appearance at the Museum of Natural History in NYC you should be home on the couch knitting a sweater.

7. Pumping gas.

If you drive a vehicle we cannot avoid this. You must put gasoline in your tank to operate the car. Ok no problem. I give the attendant a $20 bill for gas. All is good until you have filled up with $19.25. That last .75 cents takes forever and you are determined to put every cent in as you battle extreme weather conditions and ethanol fume poisoning. The entire time you believe the gas station wants you to walk away and give up so they can reap the benefits of gas you paid for but didn’t use. Not me. If I have to stand there for a month to squeeze every penny of gas I paid for so be it. I will lose a months pay to save a quarter. Fuck them.

6. Cotton Mouth

We have all been dehydrated at one time or another. I get it. Please be aware of your lip situation. There is nothing more disturbing than those two little white spitballs that develop at each corner of your mouth. The more you speak the bigger it grows. It’s like building a snowman. Stop talking. Drink some water. Hydrate. Clean your lip and get the hell away from me because if that thing lands on me life as I know it is over. Thanks

5. Hands

When we greet each other we shake hands. It’s the proper thing to do. I’m cool with that. Before you make contact with me as our
hands connect, please get your situation under control. I’ve worked in construction 20 years. My hands are still in good order. Proper hand etiquette. If I’m having a bad hand day I will throw my elbow up and pound you out. I have respect for my fellow man. If your hand is laced with calluses , infested with chicken pox and your index finger is 2 inches longer than your middle finger don’t embrace my hand and expect a positive reaction. Trust me. We feel the unhealthy inconsistency of your finger length and honestly it becomes very uncomfortable. I feel like I’m locking hands with a creature from the Hobbit and I don’t like that. Let’s just pound out elbows and call it a day. Your hands are not designed for human contact.

4. Movie theater popcorn salesman.

We all like going to the movies. A chance to escape reality for a minute. We over pay for this experience but we push forward. What aggravates me is when I order a small popcorn and the 13 year old employee with Miley Cyrus braces asks me if I want a medium popcorn for a dollar less. This honestly becomes one of the hardest questions I have ever been asked. Is it a trick? I am never sure how to answer this. To be honest, I feel like my intelligence has been insulted. My answer is always no. Here is why. I’m not gonna eat it. It’s going to wind up in the trash. Even though I’m saving a dollar for more product I would only be wasting precious popcorn. Sounds like a bad decision and it probably is. I legit fear this encounter with a puberty fueled employee covered in pimples with an under developed mustache. I’ve never felt so dumb in my life.

3. Mom jeans.

Listen ladies. I get it. You get older. You get married. Have children. That body you once had is gone like the wind. No shame in that. We as husbands morph into bald, beer bellied, faded tattooed, under achieving specimen. You are not alone. It happens to the best of us. The inevitable. If you are married to a good man they will always see you just as beautiful as the day you met. Then you throw on a pair of “Mom jeans.” Don’t don’t do this. This will make us now think we are at a Walmart beauty contest. If you are not comfortable with your body that’s ok. You would be better off wearing a Thanksgiving day table cloth. Grandmas plastic couch covering will do just fine. Please don’t put on a pair of jeans that rise up to the bottom of your boobs and makes your ass look like you have a stack of pancakes in it. There are so many more options for pants. Don’t settle for the classic “Mom jean.” It’s a sign of surrender. We would rather see you wrap your ass with tinfoil.

2. Chinese counter help

I love Chinese food. One of my favorites. Sometimes the ordering process can be a bit stressful. Here is a tip to the Chinese women wearing a snow suit because the Chinese race doesn’t believe in heat. You need to give us a minute. Your menu includes 1895 items and I’m not a fast reader. Stop staring at me waiting for my order as I try to figure out what type of animal is the main ingredient in Moo Goo Gai Pan. Please stop yelling at the co workers. Its uncomfortable. I only wanted an egg roll and you start screaming at Mr Chin like he assassinated your hamster. Relax. It’s a $1.79. Not that serious.

1. Smart cars

This one is most disturbing. It starts with the name. I understand some run on electric. Environmentally friendly. You can fit two vehicles in one parking spot. Yes this all seems so smart. What happens when a dump truck accidentally rear ends you? Or an 18 wheeler can’t see you in his mirror and crushes you? How smart are you now? The vehicle should be properly named “Smart car until you crash dumbass.” What else bothers me is the height of the people driving these hot wheel matchbox cars. My thought is smaller people should be attracted to this smart means of transportation. For some strange reason all the drivers of these cars seem to be 6′ 4 and 358 pounds as their heads are jammed up against the roof and their ass is in the trunk. It’s amazing to see. For something so smart it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.

Last minute Bonus pet peeve

White kids trying to be black

Please white children. Stop this. It’s embarrassing. I understand Black people are cool. I get it. They are cool because they are Black. What’s not cool is a milky White kid with corn rolls who’s father invented “whiteout” walking around town like he’s Malcom X. Don’t get me wrong. I am guilty of turning Black for a minute or two. It happens to all of us. We all have that Black friend we haven’t seen in a while and when we bump into them we momentarily become Black. We do that handshake followed by the chest bump. Use phrases like “no doubt” , “what’s good” and “I got you”. We part ways and it’s back to being White. It’s all good. What aggravates me is this. The other day I was at the local mall. Two extremely white kids, one dressed like Re-run and the other dressed like JJ Walker from good times were arguing. All I heard was each one yelling “what’s up n.” “Let’s go n”. “Let’s do this n”. Now the “n” word is to be only spoken by Black people. It’s a rule. So I’m so stupid I hear this and I’m waiting for a Black kid to arrive and join the fight. Nope. Just two crackers duking it out. Cut the shit. You sound and look stupid.

 

 

I have so many other pet peeves. These were the first ten plus one that came to my mind and seem to aggravate me the most.

 

Let me know what some of your pet peeves are. I’d love to hear what you all have to say.

 

 

 

Ain’t no cure for the Summertime Blues!

Summer is finally upon us. We have waited all year for this season of sweltering heat. The uncontrollable swamp ass like conditions. The end of the school year. Time to relax.

Hahahahaha!

Bullshit. Summer can only mean one thing. Unless you are 21 years of age with flat abs and a golden tan which most of us are not, summer is misery. Here is why.

Children.

If you are lucky enough to have been blessed with these little inconsiderate bastards pay attention.

Our children attend school throughout the year. Pay their dues. Grace us parents with homework assignments Albert Einstein would need extra help in order to complete. It’s a difficult task for all.

We manage.

There is hope. It’s called summer! A time to relax. Kick our feet up. Enjoy.

Not for children today.

These ungrateful humps walk around our houses, breath our air, use our water, drain our electricity, eat our food, use our wifi & have the audacity to complain about boredom. Wait until they get married and they will really know the meaning of boredom.

Kids today have no idea what it was like growing up in our time. I’m 42. A spring chicken compared to some old timers who have really experienced the harsh reality of growing up under the rules and regulations of parenting before google.

Today parents are confused and don’t know how to deal with little Billy climbing on the couch. Cute little Sarah eating the futon. So they turn to google for answers and guidance.

Back in our day our parents had google as well. My Dad would scroll down his hairy belly button and press the enter button (belt buckle.) He would then proceed to download his leather belt. My siblings and I always prayed the wifi signal was weak but it was a crap shoot. That signal was always strong for some reason.

Once completed, my Dad transferred his belt buckle app onto our software white asses and hacked our butts only to download a shitload of viruses. In other words, he whacked our heinie so hard Donkey Kong sent us get well flowers.

He sent a “text message” across our anal cracks. “Behave or be beat.” Simple.

Our children today cling. They hang around us. They are needy. Get away. We love you but you must go play in traffic or jump in a lake. Leave us parents alone.

When kids cling today we think it’s cute. We pet them. Buy them gift cards. Put them on our laps. Buy them bomb pops. Things of that nature.

Back in the day if I tried to cling to my Dad, first and foremost I got a severe case of rug burn from the abundance of chest hair I contended with. Second, my Dad would ash his Viceroy cigarette directly into my eyeball. He viewed me as an ashtray. Period. Last, when he attempted to show affection towards me after breaking me down he would sing “Frosty the Snowman” into my face as all I could do was embrace the onslaught of severe cigarette infused halitosis breath as bits and pieces of Maxwell House coffee beans shot out of his mouth and bounced repeatedly off my forehead.

There was nothing I could do. This was my clinging and bonding experience with my dad.

Kids are lucky today.

My wife and Mother in law protect these two little shits as if they are the “Princes of Egypt.”

Once I tried to give my son a hug because he got a 68 on his Math test and my crazy ass mother in law sliced off my left man boob.

It was an interesting day.

Children seem so protected today and lack the ability to deal with day to day daily struggles of life.

We must continue to do our best and raise our family in a time we are unfamiliar with as life changes everyday.

Go with the flow! Adapt. Embrace. Evolve.

 

 

Our children and today’s school homework load!

The educational process has changed since I was a kid. It all seemed so simple back then. Everything from the bus transportation to the homework assignments has become a difficult and impossible task for these poor kids today.

When we were growing and went to school the bus stop was simple. Get your ass to the destination or you had to walk back home and tell your pissed off parents you missed the bus as they were late for work as well. There was only two outcomes. You were either beat down with a burnt pancake or you were tossed in the vehicle and driven to school as your mom & dad spilled coffee all over the cars console and argued over the rising costs of a pack of cigarettes.

Back in the day a bus didn’t stop 1700 times in front of each students house like they do today. We had one main bus stop per block and we needed to be there on time.  Rain, shine or Nor Easter!

If you were lucky enough to get on the bus the first thing you did was inhale the after burn residue of the bus drivers Camel cigarette as the overwhelming aroma of dirty vinyl seating crazy glue repairs consumed you. The floors of the bus were laced with rotten banana peels. Once you found your seat you looked up and recognized the bus drivers burnt end frizzy ass perm reflection in the 3ft rearview mirror as they rapidly chewed gum like a coked up Mr. Ed and waited for you to make a mistake so they could slam the brakes and tell you to sit the f$&@ down. It was an adventure. In the end you ice skated off the bus as the driver smiled at you with a mouth full of halitosis and wished you a good day as their front teeth popped out and trickled down the vehicles exit stairway like three fat Italian men tossing dice at their mothers funeral.

We survived.

Today is so different. Especially with homework assignments.

When I went to school you owned one Def Leppard trapper keeper for all subjects, a science book you took home and protected with a supermarket brown shopping bag, a #2 authentic lead pencil that caused your finger to fall off if you accidentally stabbed yourself and a lunch box signed by the lead singer of Night Ranger containing a stale bologna sandwich. Simple. You were prepared to learn.

Today is much different. My kids need scoliosis treatment and require a “live in” chiropractor to adjust their spinal chords on a daily basis just to help embrace the 178 pound back pack they must carry around like they are troops preparing to fight a war in Afghanistan. It’s math people. Why do my sons come home like they are landing on the beaches of Normandy?

It’s very unnecessary.

Unfortunately thats the way it is today. I believe the school financial budgets and cost of education has unfortunately compromised the quality of our children’s education. School systems depend more on the parents to get involved and help assist in the kids learning assignments. Big mistake.

I take nothing away from the hard working teachers and individuals who do the best they can to educate our children within the guidelines of the curriculum they must follow. I applaud and respect you all. Thank you.

But remember this. Parents like my wife and I are three steps away from being pushed around in a motorized go kart with a rusted helmet and a feeding tube attached to our temple. We are not smart. The only reason my wife and I graduated high school is because we both ran the 40 yard dash in 4.8 seconds the morning of graduation day. My wife’s knockers bounced up and down like a sewing machine as I pranced around the track like an Ethiopian carving a turkey. It was truly inspirational but we got it done.

This had nothing to do with school or education. This was the process back then. They just wanted us out of the school system. I get it.

Today the schools expect the parents to contribute. Yeah. No!

When I came home from school I asked my parents to help me with a math problem. My dad took one look at the math question and instantly set it on fire and smacked my ass so hard that I never asked for educational help again. It was a simple time. I got the message.

Kids today present math problems to us parents with the new “Common Core” system. I don’t understand it or why they teach it but I’m sure they have their reasons. In my book 2 + 2 = 4. Pretty simple. My kids showed me a math problem the other day. It asked what is 3 + 9? Now I’m pretty dumb but I thought I had this. I said “12.” Good guess right? I’m all happy and I cracked a beer like I just solved world peace and my kids start crying like two Amish kids employed at Microsoft.

They said “No” dad. It’s 3 + 9 = 378 – 235 + 896 – 1289 = 9. So I did a shot of Tequila and said drop the hell out of school cuz I can’t help you.

Next day they signed up for a language class. It was Spanish. Next thing you knew my wife and I had 6 foreign exchange students from Guatemala roll up in a tinted out muffler less Toyota Celica with white windshield wipers low on power steering fluid move into our bedroom closet with Derek Jeter engraved front teeth and Pablo Escobar trapper keepers. I assumed these were the Spanish tutors? I was confused but I just went with it and figured if things didn’t work out they could dig a few holes or demo a few construction projects for me.

I feel today our school systems are so financially tarnished the kids are not getting the proper education and guidance they need and deserve. Teachers within today’s systems do the best they can with what they have to work with but ultimately I believe the education process depends too much on parents who are not capable of assisting our children as we just grew up and learned in a different era.

Growing up my dad was capable of counting to 20 simply because that was the amount of cigarettes in a pack. Simple math.

I sometimes feel like we as parents today are the stepping stone to the next educational generation leap. Makes sense. Our children are learning today’s systems and will be able to pass on the future of education to their children. I don’t agree with many of these programs and policies but I have no influence.

In closing my fellow parents, we have a pass. When your children come home with homework and unsolvable math problems, just look them in the eye and explain we did our best but can’t help you. It will now be up to you to train and guide the next generation into a world of uncertainty and improbability. Good luck.

Do a shot of Tequila and call it a day. It will all work out in the end.

 

Fire! Fire! It can save a marriage!

The power of fire. I’m not sure what a burning piece of firewood does for all the other husbands wives out there but this I know for certain. When I so much as light a match in front of my wife she gets turned on like an LED light bulb at a Thomas Edison motivational speech convention hosted by Tony Robbins and co-hosted by that Guidette broad from “Long Island Meduim” with the “something about Mary” jizz hair due who speaks to dead people. Yeah ok.

This woman walks around and has the balls to make us believe she has the ability to communicate with the dead? TLC pays this lady who’s only credibility consists of a reading of some homeless chick at McDonald’s ordering a one piece chicken nugget and a side of honey BBQ sauce as this Nostradamus brain surgeon earns 20k per episode as her dead beat over cooked tanning bed husband with Popeye anchor tattoos on his elbow just prances around like he’s JT bringing sexy back. Please. He’s actually pretty cute for an older gentleman.

I see dead people all the time. Like at the funeral parlor. I don’t get paid for that shit. I particularly enjoy when this Debbie Gibson wannabe so called “Medium” just randomly calls out some cashier at Dunkin Donuts. I find it quite amusing when she says, and I quote, “Did someone close to you pass? Like in the last 35 years?”…No shit you dumb orange adopted daughter of Donald Trump. Chances are somebody died within four decades. Just a hunch.

My wife watches this show as if this shit is actually happening live and when this “Guidette Medium” senses a spirit, my wife becomes emotionally attached as if that physic midget from Poltergeist may actually save Carol Anne from a bad cable TV connection. Stay away from the light!!!

Getting back to fire. If I must be honest and frank? I believe the key to a healthy and successful marriage is fire. If your marriage and connection with your partner is fading and you can’t figure it out or the passion is dying simply start burning shit. Anything you can. Just set anything and everything on fire. Even the children. The house. The vehicles. Just burn baby burn.

Fire will bring the fire back into your relationship. Trust me. My wife hasn’t looked at me in three months. Except when she needs money for bills of course.

I recently set fire to her puke green cotton robe and fluffy Maroon 5 moccasins and miraculously she acknowledged my presence and asked how have I been lately. It was nice to know my presence was felt.

One of my wife’s lifelong dreams is to own a fire pit. I always tried to make this dream a reality but the cost of a fire pit was just a smidgen above our budget. Until today. I checked the mail and my tax return in the amount of $137.00arrived to my surprise. I was so excited. I cashed the check and raced to Lowes. I found the cheapest most rusted broken down leftover 2016 fire pit available and I struck a deal with the Lowes employee who’s pants were wrapped around his calfs as his earlobes were made up of what I can only describe as fat round black Shrek wedding rings. He was an interesting looking fella.

I skipped home and presented the gift to my wife. She was so happy. Most women want diamonds and expensive pocket books. Not this girl. All she wants is fire and a vacuum so once she burns me to death she can suck up my charred remains. Smart!

Fire. Fire. Fire. Trust me gentleman. When you come home tonight light a candle. Burn the cat. Boil some water. It will be life changing. Your significant other might even nibble on your pecker. Good luck!

Is your Colon Unhappy? It has feelings.

 

Today my wife came home with a box of tea packets she purchased at a concession stand from the local flea market. The tea was called “Happy Colon.”

The purpose of this tea is to encourage her colon to deal with the daily struggles as it
attempts to extract maximum colon happiness from all of life’s challenges and obstacles.

At first I had my suspicions of “unhappy colon syndrome”. I never heard of such a condition. I wasn’t sure if this disease even existed. I was curious and decided to investigate. I wanted to learn more about this. I thought if my wife is suffering, I wanted to educate myself and fully understand what she may be going through. So I Googled it.

Description was as follows. “If your colon is unhappy, you most likely did not wipe your asshole good enough.”

Made sense but I wanted to give my wife the benefit of the doubt. I knew there was more to this. Naturally, as a concerned husband, I asked her why her colon was unhappy and was there anything I could do.

Understanding this was a touchy subject I decided to give her the necessary time and space I felt an individual needs who painfully suffers from “unhappy colon syndrome”

Then I began to back track. I tried to remember any signs she may have given me or obvious cries for help she may have belted out over the past 22 years to indicate her colon was upset. Then it hit me.

I was blinded by her struggles. Selfish to her needs. This poor woman had a condition. She begged for my help as the years passed and I just treated these warning signs as if she was constipated for a few decades.

I assumed her colon was a happy colon and was enjoying its life. It always seem to sing happy songs on a daily basis. It jiggled all around performing the macarena up and down the hallway as I chased it with a spatula. Her colon even acted as a generator and provided electricity for our home during a hurricane when the power went out and kept our goldfish alive during this time of desperation.

I thought her colon was quite heroic and doing its part in contributing to society. I was obviously wrong.

Further research has shown “unhappy colon syndrome” is a very serious condition and unless properly treated, can lead to unpredicted mood swings, castration of the husbands genitals, wear and tear of all vehicle fabric along with destruction of dining room table seat cushions.

Although today my wife and I have an open policy with our colons, it wasn’t always that way. I was against any type of breaking wind and all other colon activities. It was a deal breaker for me. I just didn’t want to believe her colon was active. And somehow someway, this volcanic eruption of a female ass kept her natural daily occurrences a secret for over twenty years. How she managed this will be a mystery until the end of time.

Today she blows more gas out of her ass than a BBQ propane refill station. She releases enough natural fuel to send a hot air balloon to Jupiter.

Bottom line is this. Pay attention to
your significant others colon. It may need help. Colons have feelings. Sometimes they may not wear emotions on their sleeves but “colon lives matter.”

I will be creating a “Go Fund My Wife’s Colon” page on Facebook. We will also be doing the “Colon Challenge” to raise money and awareness to help shed light on this horrific epidemic in attempt to save or rebuild as many colons as we possibly can. Together, with your help and a commercial featuring Rosie O’Donnell’s colon, we can put an end to this.

Our goal is simple. We will strive to make each and every colon flourish. All colons, no matter what color or shape, shall receive the same equal opportunity as the colons before them.

I’m sorry. I’m obsessed with this photo. Can’t believe my colon will finally be happy!!!

A Day off from work is more work!

Here in New York today we had a little precipitation. I would say 1/4″ at best.

I run a construction company and I will make any excuse to avoid my daily work load. If the wind is blowing 3 MPH it’s a tornado in my mind. If a single rain drop falls from the sky I consider this flash flooding. If it gets above 68 degrees we are in a heat wave and are dealing with a serious drought. If it drops below 32 degrees you might as well move to Alaska as far as I’m concerned.

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I hate my job. I will do everything and anything not to show up. But I have a family that depends on me so I have to be a responsible supportive family man. I do what I have to do.

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As I mentioned earlier, we had three snow flakes and one drop of hail so naturally I cancelled the days schedule.  This meant I was home for the day. I could kick back. Lay in bed. Watch Anderson Cooper and shit. Nah. No such luck. Turns out my wife took the day off from work as well and my boys ironically had the day off from school. This was a recipe for disaster.

So there I was, lying in bed, fruit of the loom undies and all, contemplating if I had made the correct decision. And then I got the text from my wife who was snuggled up besides me. “We are hungry.” I personally would rather receive a text message stating my asshole fell out in Mexico and Dr Jose will be re-installing my rectal cavity over a corona and a plate of nachos.

When it comes to food in my household its eat or be killed. Those are the rules. No exceptions. Only the strongest and hungriest will live to see another day.

My wife installed electric fences around our refrigerator to keep family members from eating her leftovers. The kids and I must walk around the home with collars around our necks whenever we order takeout as we get zapped with 480 volts of electricity if we go near her leftover bow tie rigatoni in a mushroom cream sauce.

So I propped my extremely out of shape hairy physique from my sleeping quarters and jumped right in. I figured if I get up and feed these needy bastards it would buy me some time and I could relax and enjoy the rest of my day off I definitely did not deserve.

I concocted a masterpiece of a breakfast. Eggs, bacon, ham, toast and OJ. Everything was going according to plan. My wife even gave me a sexy sensual look like she would stroke my funny bone. I have to admit, it was exciting.

As these three shits ate their food and dished out steady complaints of how the eggs weren’t runny enough, the toast was burnt, the OJ was warm and the ham tasted like Ajax, I put a safe distance between them and myself. Piece and quiet finally.

As I slept for a minute and enjoyed wet dreams consisting of a ménages a trois with Martha Stewart and Opera, I heard a familiar voice as I slowly awoke. “Dad, Dad we are hungry. What’s for lunch?” Didn’t I just feed these animals?

So again I rose to the occasion and performed my role as a stand up dad and whipped up a lunch and fed these people. Everybody was happy again.

Now it was noon and it was time to crack a beer. Figured this would help and deal with what the remainder of the day had in store for me. A few hours passed and I thought I was home free. Legs were up. Beer in hand. Then it was dinner time. Now my wife gets involved with the dinner menu requests. “Babe can you make roasted duck with a French style glaze sauce? Oh and can you make those potatoes Au Gratin with that creamy lobster sauce? Oh and for a simple little side can you fry up some scallops ($17.99 per half pound) for like an appetizer? You know what you have to do to wet our pallets and get us started!”

Before you knew it I was like a “Celebrity Chef” in my own home mincing onions and chopping carrots like an hibachi like figure on bath salts.

The family had three square meals for the day. Everyone was happy. I figured I did the right thing and hopefully impressed my wife and maybe she would rub my ankle or stroke my calf but that never happened. She consumed her meal and hit me up for $100 so she could go summer clothes shopping for the boys while there’s three feet of snow piling up outside as plow trucks rumble down the roads.

As the day was winding down I began to weigh my options. I should have went to work and made a days pay and avoided being the families personal chef. I also spent $200 on food ingredients and $100 on shorts that most likely will not fit my boys in the month of July.

The sexual vibes with my wife was nothing short of the sinking of the Titanic and I was that poor boy at the end who kept that greedy bitch warm as my ass froze up like a snow cone as I sank to the bottom of the sea while being consumed by hammer head sharks and plankton. This was my exact feeling today.

Needless to say, it was an enjoyable day home with my family and I
honestly wish we could do it more often. Today we laughed and made memories and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Marital issues involving Oreo cookies!

 

Marriages are challenging on every level. Couples work day in and day out striving to be a successful duo trying to reach that final destination of inevitable dementia along with the collective milestone of holding on to three toes amongst the two of you. A set of rubber teeth seems to be the only means of foreplay at this point.

I believe as parents the main goal in life is to attend our grandkids first grade winter concert without the support of “hospice” and roll up in a custom wheelchair designed by Xzibit from “Pimp My Ride”

 

My point is, we all want that perfect fairytale life. I hate to be a negative nelly but I honestly believe that does not exist. Perhaps it does. Who I am I to say. I’m pretty sure there is an old couple with a rare case of chicken pox living on some West Nile infested pond with man eating alligators holding hands on some dry rotted deck saying “Yeah Mel. We lived the life.” And that’s great and God bless you.

Some couples will argue that surviving a family trip to Disney World without ending in divorce or avoiding a beheading of your spouse after the trip constitutes a positive step in your marital direction. Nothing wrong with that. It’s a different situation in all marriages involving that whirlwind hurricane typhoon tornado avalanche phase of life called love and family.

The one common denominator in all relationships is arguments and fights. I don’t care who you are. If you are in a relationship you have disagreements. No way around that one.

I love my wife so much and I try to avoid conflict at all costs. She’s half Puerto Rican so altercations with this lady usually involves switchblades, rusty forks, beans & rice and a souped up tinted-out Honda Accord covered in scratch & sniff pickle stickers.

The other day something came over me that could not be explained. I started a fight with this woman over Oreos. Yes, Oreos. As in the cookie. It was not intentional but I suddenly found myself acting like the worst husband since Ike at Tina’s bridal shower.

It was National Oreo Day (And this is a real day) so I felt the need to celebrate and asked my wife to purchase the iconic cookie for me on her way home. I love Oreos and ice cold milk. I never took into consideration (because I’m an inconsiderate asshole male specimen) my wife was suffering from a sore back, the responsibilities of taking care of our children and all of her other daily motherhood tasks. I just wanted my cookies and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I threw a hissy fit tantrum and pouted like a three year old with a turd wedged between his diaper and rash laced inner thigh.

I honestly bow down and praise all of the mothers out there that have the patience and the life skills to raise our children and ultimately sacrifice everything to do what you do. Much respect. I just wanted my fucking Oreos.

My wife quickly put me in my place as I attempted to rub her shoulder and play with her bangs. As always, she smacked me with a pair of Lularoe panties and a metal clothes hanger.

Life is too short to fight over Oreo cookies. Chips Ahoy? Now that’s another story!

Valentines Day. True relationships should be above this!

Valentines Day.

What can I say. An event created by Hallmark. A brilliant concept and we are all guilty of falling victim to this meaningless holiday at some point in our lives.

In truth, do we really need a “special day” within the year to profess our feelings & love towards the ones we adore and care about?

I would hope the answer is no. For some of us this may be the only opportunity to express our deepest affection and gratitude in hopes our mates will possibly grab the willies or massage our bunion & gout infested big toe.

Perhaps your lover will purchase a cardboard red heart full of chocolate clusters that resemble undigested corn racoon turds that exceeds the expiration date and violates all board of health regulations that can land a fella 6 years in federal prison.

As I drove home from work today I noticed many men were freezing their nuts off as they wandered around aimlessly upon local streets with frozen flowers as lovers patiently awaited the arrival of these suckers.

What seemed to catch my eye was the fashion statement of these individuals. Most were bundled up in pink scarfs and perfectly trim beards paired with skin tight farlows and capezio footwear.

Bottom line is this.

I have nothing against the passionate obsession with this iconic holiday. If you feel the need to get motivated and kickstart your love for your partner, so be it.

Personally, does nothing for me.

I love my girl each and everyday. As a matter of fact Valentines Day is the only day I can’t stand my wife as I must spend $10.00 for a card engulfed in cellophane written by some pediphile who has the ability to express loving and caring words that most of us are simply not capable of accomplishing.

What truly tickles my fancy is when people say you married your best friend. Let’s get one thing straight. Your wife is not and will never be your best friend. Ever.

For starters my best friend growing up was a guy. We got arrested together. We robbed convenient stores together. He was the one who did everything in his power to try and prevent my wife and I from getting married. He introduced me to drugs and alcohol and held my mullet back as I threw up pork fried rice and fried wontons.

So to conclude, my wife is not my best friend and if any of you dudes out there think the woman you are married to or your partner is your best friend you need to take that teal green mini-van you’re driving along with your chucky cheese gift certificates and get your head examined by Dr Phil.

Most couples feel this “Invented” special day is a day to become intimate with each other.

It is just the opposite in my relationship friends.

My gift I presented to my wife this Valentine’s Day was deeply thought out and executed with precise concentration and careful planning. I offered to sleep on the couch so she can rest peacefully without my snoring. I also presented her with a gift card that stated I will not attempt any sexual advancements towards her until this coming Saturday evening.

She was so happy. I couldn’t help but notice a look in her eye I haven’t seen since we were snuggled up in the backseat of her navy blue sun faded Pontiac Sunbird on our first Valentines Day together.

Love each other everyday. No matter what. If you need “Valentines Day” to make your situation feel special you are in the wrong relationship. Just my opinion.

When you reach the point where “Valentines Day” makes you and your partner absolutely miserable and causes the both of you to cringe and throw up kidney beans, you are heading in the right direction and are truly in love!

Happy Valentines Day!