Rudolph’s Santa is a Toothless Bigot



This is my granddaughter’s third Christmas which, to me, means that she is now old enough to watch and appreciate all of my favorite holiday classic television shows. She will do this even if I have to glue her to the couch. Those of you old enough, do you remember before the days of video machines, when you had to scan the TV guide to find out when Rudolph and The Grinch were going to be on? You had to schedule the times with your parents to be sure that you would be home to watch Frosty the Snowman? Inevitably, you’d get stuck at your grandparents house and show up fifteen minutes late. It was like, “Great! I get one fucking time a year to hear the Heat Miser song and now the whole thing is fucked up!” We couldn’t just pop in a tape or a DVD if we were screwed over by insensitive adults. This is another reason why young people suck. People my age were hardened by the things we considered vital, not mattering to anyone else. “You have food? You have a roof over your head? Healthy? Then shut the hell up about how you missed your stupid cartoons!”rudolphintro

So here’s the problem. I’m older now. I’ve watched these things a thousand times and, while this might come as a surprise to you, I’m more cynical and sarcastic then I was say forty years ago. I watch these holiday specials and have a special affinity for finding flaws, inconsistencies and holes in the story line. “So you’re saying that there are vagaries and holes in a story meant for a 4 year old? Remarkable.” Regardless, I made a few notes the last few dozen times Leila and I watched the clay-mation version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and this is what I’ve come up with. As always, I encourage and welcome your feedback but don’t give me any crap about it being a kid’s show. That’s no excuse for shitty work.

Early on in this Christmas classic, Santa drags his stupid ass to Donner the reindeer’s cave. As long as we’re on the subject, why is a reindeer living in a cave anyway? Reindeer either live in a barn or they’re walking around migrating from one cold, shitty location to another. There is no cave. Ever. Anyway, Santa comes in all high and mighty gracing the Donner family with his presence and, upon seeing Rudolph’s glowing nose, proceeds to drop some of the most bigoted shit on this poor creature. I cannot imagine that the EEOC would be pleased to hear that Santa is going to restrict someone’s right to work based on the color of their nose. Santa is like, “Well, I don’t know what you’re thinking Donner but I’ll be damned if that freak baby of yours will ever have anything to do with pulling my sleigh.” Donner proceeds to cover Rudolph’s nose with mud from the cave floor. Yeah, good call. That’ll fix everything. Santa will never see through that. He’s a racist, Donner, not a nitwit you stupid loser.


Shunned from being able to find work in the ever-competitive sleigh pulling game, Rudolph ventures out on his own and eventually meets with this stupid little fucking guy, Herbie. Herbie is an elf who hates making toys and wants to be a dentist. However, it is clear to anyone over the age of say ten that this Herbie guy is frustratingly gay and “dentist” is nothing more than poorly covered euphemism for ass play and clay penises. Once again, poor Herbie, because of him being “different” from the other elves, i.e., gay, is asked to disappear and is summarily found, by Rudolph, barely clinging to life in a snow drift. So in the first ten minutes of this right to work nightmare, Santa has thrown two people to the literal wolves one for being gay and the other for having a different colored nose. God forbid you were born with a club foot or something because this fucking Santa guy would have you hung.


On a less controversial level, in Santa’s workshop, there are like ten elves responsible for building toys for every mother fucker on this earth. This is simply impossible but is clearly indicative of Santa running an illegal sweatshop staffed by little people that he holds in captivity in an icy and inescapable hell. In addition, the only toy they ever seem to make is a shitty gray box on wheels. No one wants that stupid crap so why bother?

Speaking of toys, there is an kingdom in the story that Rudolph and Herbie stumble upon called the Island of Misfit Toys. This lifeless, cold dump is populated by toys that somehow ended up here after they were not wanted or played with by the children they were given to. The moniker of “misfit toys” seems a bit harsh given that all Santa is churning out of his workshop are grey wheeled boxes. Hmmm, let’s see. Would I rather have a grey box or a gun that squirts jelly? A box on wheels or a jack-in-the-box whose only fucking defect is that his name is Charlie. Every single unwanted misfit toy was one hundred times better than the best stupid box Santa was making and cramming down everybody’s throat.

Later on, the king of the misfit toys begs Rudolph to tell Santa about their plight and to try again giving them to a thankful kid rather than the ungrateful bastard he gave them to in the first place. How does Santa not know about this island of hell? All my life I was told and manipulated my kids with stories of Santa’s surveillance system that gave him intimate knowledge of every fucking thing they and I ever did. So here he is, up everybody’s ass all year long but he has no freaking clue that there are toys, toys that aren’t a sorry box on wheels and come to him free of charge all sitting on some dumb island? Is this guy mentally ill? How can I take any of this seriously if I even have half a brain?

In the story, there is this mean snow creature they call The Bumble. This thing is apparently committing heinous and violent crimes against the residents of the North Pole. killing and eating elves and reindeer alike. We are kind of led to believe that there are more than one of these murdering snow gargoyles running around. What kind of shit is this? We’re to believe that this Santa Claus character is completely capable of delivering toys to every fucking house on earth in one night but is completely helpless against this Bumble thing? Does Santa not give a fuck or is he some kind of giant pacifist vadge? Is this why he’s down to only ten or so elves? This guy is a real piece of work, if you ask me.


There is concern the entire film that Santa is not eating enough and granted, he does look like a cancer patient. Mrs. Claus is obsessing that her husband wont fit into his Christmas attire mostly because she’s lost the will to live and doesn’t want to have to re-tailor this fat idiot’s wardrobe. Magically though, as soon as Santa eats crown and elicits Rudolph’s help with the sleigh, he gains like 150 pounds like he’s some kind of a diabetic Incredible Hulk.

In the end, Santa needs Rudolph’s help because of some storm. Here, Rudolph really missed a chance to tell Santa’s racist ass to eat shit but since he has no self-esteem left to speak of, he acquiesces to the old slave owner and “guides his sleigh” anyway. How can Rudolph even look at himself in the mirror knowing how much this old bigot hates him for his nose skin color and then help him deliver his lame-assed packages all over the world. If he had even a shred of dignity he would have told him, “You know what Santa? Why don’t you go fuck yourself! You hated me for the color of my skin! I’m not helping you and I hope you all go out into that storm and die. Die a horrible long and painful death.”

You know what else? What’s with this storm at the North Pole anyway? Really? Canceling Christmas because of a storm? It’s the fucking North Pole! The fucking place is a perpetual storm. More likely than not, Santa is just trying to find an excuse not to go on the excruciating toy delivering journey from hell and for that, i cannot blame him.

As in all customary Christmas fable fare, Santa is to fly on his sleigh, climb down everybody’s chimney and deliver toys to every boy and girl on earth as long as they been well behaved. When my kids were little I would tell them the story of Monkey Claus and how, if they were bad, Monkey Claus would come instead of Santa. In my manipulative story, Monkey Claus drops the hammer on all of the bad kids by releasing a diseased and delirious spider monkey into their house. This monkey afflicted with a severe case of hemorrhagic fever proceeds to defile their house with infected feces even using the curtains to wipe himself with. He breaks their toys and eats their food. To this day, they all vividly remember the emotional damage done by the story of Monkey Claus.

In the last scene of Rudolph, Santa is shown flying around like an asshole in his sleigh and instead of going down the various chimneys like he is supposed to, is seen carelessly carpet bombing people with all of his shitty ill gotten misfit toys that he has ruthlessly tethered to umbrellas. I remember thinking even when I was a kid how absolutely fucking lazy this was. Like get out of the sleigh you fat bastard and do this Christmas thing the right way!

Let me close this by saying that half the reason I love Christmas is for the television shows and movies. In spite of all of this vitriol, I will watch and appreciate Rudolph until the day I die. I’m just funnin a little.



Grinding My Ax Against the Innocent Pretzel

Recently, in the middle of a conversation with a friend, shockingly, I veered off subject and went into a rant into why pretzels are so stupid and gross. I was a little shocked as the vitriol started to spew so fluidly because I genuinely like pretzels. They’re good and damn versatile. They come in a ton of flavors and sizes. Hard or soft. Are great for dipping but also stand alone. Pretzels, not always needing the limelight, have made forays into supporting roles as with your Combos snacks, more on this later, or by adding a nice salty compliment to the sweetness of the always delicious Take 5 candy bar. And let’s not forget the semi-recent and delicious advent of the pretzel bun.

Pretzels do not deserve my scorn but this post and this site has never been focused on highlighting things that make me happy. This is my outlet to complain about people and things that have disappointed me and let me down and, unfortunately, the defenseless pretzel will not be immune.

The story with pretzels goes that some monk came up with the recipe, a few hundred years ago, as a reward to children for learning verses from the Bible, being good or some shit like that. There’s also some stupid crap about the shape of the pretzel being fashioned after two hands folded in prayer. Whatever. I’m not sure if that part is true but what we can be sure of is that this whole pretzel thing came about before the advent of readily available sugary sweets because no kid I know is going to rack their brain learning some twenty verse passage from Proverbs just so some creeper monk will give them a dry ass pretzel. Besides, given what’s been going down in the church world for the past decade or so, I’m not entirely comfortable with a priest handing out treats to my kids. Keep your pretzels to yourself Chester, we’ll do the memorizing at home if we so desire.

What sort of a lame ass reward is a pretzel anyway? As with any religion, Catholic or any, there is, of course, the requisite heavy focus on and motivation by guilt. Pretzels as a reward for some dumb monk’s impression of good behavior comes off as some kind of epicurean cilice wrapped around and painfully secured to the skin of my esophagus. “Good job learning that thousand word verse about how God wants to fuck up gay people or send you to hell for eating lobster. Now take this piece of salted drywall as a a sign that God may let you see another day, you pathetic mongrel sinner.”

Anywho, pretzels come in a myriad of sizes, shapes, textures and flavors and all are pretty tasty with the exception of the following:

Those hard assed things that come in a box

Ever had the occasion to eat or better yet, choke down, a Snyder’s of Hanover Sourdough Hard Pretzel? Like when you haven’t been to the grocery for a few weeks and there’s nothing else to eat but a couple of ketchup packets and an still unopened box of these cement chunks. I actually broke my tooth on one of these gems a few years ago and carry the dental crown as proof. Cereal comes in a cardboard box. Hell, lots of things come in cardboard boxes. Most food products that come in a box are also sealed in a plastic bag to stave off spoilage but because this particular brand of pretzels is made of flavorless wallpaper sizing hardened by shredded bits of old German newspapers, there is no risk. There is no way on Earth that these things could possibly get any more stale. You know what else comes in a cardboard box without a plastic liner? Shoes. Shoes don’t have a plastic liner. Laundry detergent doesn’t need a liner. And these pretzels. They need no further protection. I’m surprised there isn’t a desiccant in the box with them.

Moms everywhere will tell you not to bite your fingernails because they are made of material that is actually harder than what your teeth are made of and you risk doing damage. But go ahead and eat these pretzels that are made from busted up pieces of old driveways. That’s totally fine. Thanks Snyder’s and thank you mom for my new 900 dollar crown!

These horrible things hearken back to a day when food just sucked ass. To a day when survival took precedence over things like, say, flavor. Like the people you see in those post Civil War pictures, the ones who never smile. Little did you know that they didn’t smile back then because their teeth were all fucked up and broken from eating rocks. Why was everybody so ugly back then anyway? I can honestly say that I have never seen a picture of a women from, say, the 1920’s who I found even remotely attractive. Pick any age you like, Victorian Era? Hideous. Pre-World War I? Ugh. Movie stars of the Silent Age? They make me wish sound was invented before pictures. Just gross. It really wasn’t until after World War II that you started to see attractiveness starting to break through and while I’m not saying that these plaster clusters of dried shit are responsible for human ugliness, I do think that they are indicative of the collective physical hideous nature of humanity as a whole.

Snyder’s of Hanover Pretzel Pieces

First of all, why is every pretzel made by this Snyder consortium? They really seem to have a monopoly on the whole contorted, knot shaped snack game. Kudos to them. Here in Ohio we have a potato chip company called Snyder’s of Berlin. Are they any relation to the pretzel Snyder’s? Was there a wayward brother who frowned on the whole breaking of the public’s teeth and rebelled deciding to instead hitch his wagon to the more eatable and softer potato chip. Horrified by the way his family was systematically destroying the dental health of Americans, he decided there had to be another way to snack.

The way I heard it though, old man Snyder was a hardcore Nazi who was so distraught with the German loss in WW2 that he packed up his pretzel / drywall operation and moved it to the United States under the contingency that only members of the Aryan race would ever indulge in one of his salty twisted treats. Once entering the United States and realizing the racial melting pot he had so readily delved into, he had a heart attack and died. His gravestone is, in fact, engraved with his last miserable words, “Give me back my pretzel you Italian bastard!!” This of course is not true but it sounded good.

I am a huge fan of the Honey Mustard variety of this Snyder’s pretzel gem. These have been a mainstay on my Top 5 Salty Snack list for well over a decade. If you haven’t tried them, I highly recommend. Here’s the rub though, this bag of deliciousness is just a sack of their garbage sprayed down with a slathering of honey flavored chemicals. It’s like, at the end of the day, these Snyder’s people were wondering what to do with all of the broken pieces of pretzel and some smart guy came up with the idea of adding flavor and bagging it. I hope this guy was promoted for actually finding a way to get people to pay 3 dollars and 50 cents for the scrapings of old man Snyder’s filth.

I like those cheddar pretzel Combo things. The cheese and pretzel relationship is one forged by the gods and to have them already conjoined and readily available in a easy to open bag is an answered prayer. These, however, are the only good tasting Combos made. Why do we need pizza flavored Combos? If i want something to taste like pizza, I’ll order a pizza. I don’t need poorly copied and chemically poisoned reproductions of my favorite food in junk food form. Pizza is already junk food. Plus I don’t like the bland, white Combo sleeve they use for every other flavor besides the pretzel ones.

I feel like these white flavorless sleeves are the same things that come in a bag of Chex Mix. No one eats them but if they do, it has to come with a mouthful of the other stuff to diminish the experience of the disgusting Combo spindle tube. In Chex Mix, they are meant to be nothing more than a crunch enhancer and never as a stand alone treat so why, Combos people, would you make them a headliner in your snack playbill? I think, in order to keep costs down everything actually starts as a pretzel but Combos, Inc hire retarded people who don’t like to go out in the light to suck off the outer layer of pretzel crust to use with their other more disgusting flavors. Remember that visual the next time you eat one of those things. Bat Boy sucking on your Combo. His acidic saliva braking down all of the deliciousness.

Speaking of other flavors, are you aware that, in Japan, there are like 37 kinds of Kit-Kat candy bars? What the hell? We invented them and have only one variety. I wonder if this playing god with candy is why the Japanese people have seen the highest increase in adult onset diabetes since WW2? Like, “You know what we need? A sweeter, more palatable vehicle to deliver as much squid ink into our diets as we can tolerate. Fortunately, I happen to have just such a vehicle in mind, the Kit-Kat bar!!” The Japanese. The givers of Godzilla and the Edamame Soybean Kit Kat. Thank God.

Kit-Kats are for another day though…

Waterproof? Waterproof this..

A trend has been developing lately that is quite disturbing to me. Not that it’s doing me or anyone else any harm but whoever decided that waterproofing every last god damned thing we own is now, suddenly, of vital importance? Did something happen? Is global warming super real now? Are the polar icecaps melting at an alarming rate and perilously surrounding us with more and more water? Why are we around so much water all of the sudden that we need our accouterments sealed from this ever-growing and pervasive moisture?

In my mind, this obsession with keeping dry started when we all started carrying our cell phones around like they were life giving oxygen tanks or something. I see people at the urinal all the time reading the news, texts, emails or whatever else they can’t do without for the next 30 seconds. They look ridiculous and I cant help but wish to be there when they drop their expensive phone into a pool of loamy community urine. Can’t we put our phones down for just a few god damn seconds? Long enough to at least take a piss and not drop the stupid thing in the effing toilet? Before cell phones, I cannot think of one thing I ever dropped in the toilet. I’ve never dropped my phone in the toilet but I’m just saying, why is this expensive piece of electronics perilously hovering above the toilet in the first place? One small consolation though is the discovery of a new use for white rice. Drop your urine saturated iPhone into a bowl of rice and it might soak up enough of the liquid filth for it to function again. What about brown rice? Does brown rice work too? Can it be cooked like fried rice?

I thought of a few things where I think waterproofing comes in damn handy and no where on this list will there be an expensive piece of electronics. Shoes and boots should be waterproof. Maybe not all of them but certainly ones meant for hiking and shit like that. Gloves and mittens should be waterproof and diapers. Maps used by people fucking around in the wilderness hiking and shit like that should be waterproof. Along those same lines, matches should always be waterproof.

Lastly, bandages should be waterproof. I cut my finger and every time I wash my hands I have to put on a new bandage? I have a germ problem. Do you know how many times a day I wash my hands? Can somebody come out with a bandage that doesn’t disintegrate every time my hands get wet!?!? Dammit! There is a growing fashion craze amongst the hipster crowd for wooden watches. I believe that a wooden watch, as stupid as it is, should be waterproof so that every time the idiot who bought it sweats, it doesn’t swell up and split.

In addition, and because I have a flawed perception that people actually care about my opinion, I threw together a list of things that, under no circumstances, should ever be waterproof. If for no other reason than as a punishment for being a fucking idiot and dropping your shit in water. I didn’t want to rely on my own insight here and actually Googled the best of all waterproof products and this is what i came up with.

Playing Cards

Really? Cards? Who’s playing poker in the rain? What is the matter with you? The “you” being anyone who bought these things for three times the price of regular cards. I swear to God, 70% of the population of this country is mentally ill. You know what you do when you have a rousing game of pinochle interrupted by a sudden downpour? You go in the fucking house. You don’t sit in it like some kind of a mind numb asshole secure in the fact that while you may be getting wet, your cards are not.


Since when did we need to listen to music so badly that we felt the necessity to invent a waterproof speaker? Not the kind that goes in the shower with you although you could just as easily put a regular speaker on the bathroom counter that would offer the exact same quality of sound but wouldn’t be susceptible to  black mold.

You’re in the shower for 5-10 minutes tops. Ladies maybe a bit more if there is some manicuring to do but still, we have become so dysfunctional and in need of instant gratification so much that we can’t go 15 fucking minutes without listening to some stupid song?

Why do we need speakers that float in the pool? There’s even a speaker being marketed as being impervious to salt water. Salt water? Like I’m taking this into the ocean with me? Aren’t there waves anymore? Does this ridiculous product come with an anchor so it doesn’t float away in a riptide?


We’ve done this one already. You drop your phone in the water and you aren’t in the effing Coast Guard or calling the effing Coast Guard, then you got what you deserved.


Does it make any sense to have a waterproof keyboard but the rest of the computer is not? Is the intent for me to sit in the rain with my new keyboard and run a cable through a semi-open window to the rest of the unit? Why on earth would I do such a thing? What was the impetus behind such a stupid invention? What I want is to run my reports but to sit in the rain while I do it.

The Waterproof Bible

This is seriously a real product. Expensive too, 50 bucks! Why in the hell does anyone need a waterproof book of any kind? Is this stupid thing some kind of a sissy’s cilice? Like I’m not quite into self-flagellation enough to wrap a sharp and rusty piece of barbed wire around my thigh but I do like to punish myself for my sins by sitting in the rain reading God’s word. Can you imagine how pleased God would be if you were to read this Bible in a blinding hurricane?

I also found a few listings for waterproof chalk and chalkboards. At the time it didn’t seem necessary to make note of it but on second thought I got to wondering just how you’re supposed to erase the fucking thing?

The Dick Hole Flap Flap

I don’t know when thongs came into being for women but I’m pretty sure it was after I was off of the market. I don’t remember encountering a thong back in my heyday. Having never worn a thong, it’s tough for me to say but those things look pretty uncomfortable all crammed up your butt crack and all. Not that I’m at all in favor of bringing back the giant panties. They’re just horrible. There really  could not be a more sexually deflating piece of clothing ever created than the giant panty. I’m really glad those days are behind us.

For the most part, I’m a boxer brief guy. I never had a problem with what they nowadays call “tighty whities.” Mostly because that’s all we had back then. Sure you had your boxers but those were for old men who wore those leather straps to hold their socks up. No one under the age of 70 wore boxers. When I was a teenager they started making bikini briefs for men and I was never comfortable with those either. They were too close to what women wore and the name “bikini” certainly doesn’t illicit any feelings of secure manliness. Life was hard enough at the age of 14 without scrambling my sexual identity with androgynous co-ed under garments.

Bikini briefs can also make the laundry process more arduous. Who wants to have to hold every last pair of underwear up to the light to tell who it belongs to? I want my underwear to scream that they belong to a man and I don’t want to inadvertently have my wife slip into a set of mine only to find out that they have a dick hole.

Inevitably, I had to make the move to boxer briefs mainly because society simply frowns on the man who wears tighty whities. Who in the world ever decided to make men’s underwear white anyway? Seriously? Like, “We’re here today in this meeting to come to an agreement on what color is best for our new line of what we’re going to call, men’s underwear. It’s my opinion that wives should be able to see exactly how much urine and crap is in every pair of their husband’s draws and I say we go with iridescent white. All in agreement say AYE.

Boxers never really did anything for me either. You cant wear them with shorts because when you sit down anybody sitting across from you is going to get an unwanted eyeful of your boys. Without a tighter pair of pants like jeans, boxers leave you just hanging there and it’s an uncomfortable feeling. Plus when you’re just hanging there and you’re on the move, you run the risk of getting sore balls like if Life just used them as it’s punching bag for the day.

In these cases, tighty whities, boxers and boxer briefs, men’s underwear comes with a flap in the front that is supposed to be used as a doorway to make the process of  urinating easier. Bikini briefs do not, in my limited experience, come equipped with this flap technology but as they are, for all intents and purposes, women’s panties, I will no longer refer to them. If you wear them and are offended, I am not sorry and you really should thank me for cluing you in.

I have silently but sometimes publicly struggled over the proper use of this dick hole flap that comes as standard equipment on most of your varieties of men’s underwear. In all cases, this flap is so poorly designed that most men just pull down the front of their draws to perform the act of relieving themselves. No one goes to pee casually. While there may not always be a need to break into a full on sprint to the bathroom most people are generally in a damn hurry to get there and men, in this case, do not have the time to fuck around with a dick flap when under the gun.

Getting back to boxers, boxers don’t have a dick hole flap. They just have a hole. Sometimes the hole has a button on it but the button offers very little protection. With or without the button, wearing boxers does not offer me the kind of support and control I need and they expose a man to spilling back out of his draws and emasculating himself between two sides of a  rusty, dull vice grip we call a zipper. Every zip up your bag? It fucking hurts.

As previously mentioned, white briefs and boxer briefs both come equipped with, what is called in the industry, a dick hole flap. This flap is intended to grant proper access and facilitate the process of relieving oneself. This is not a casual flap or opening like a pair of boxers has but rather two rather large pieces of material laid one over the other that, in every case I’ve ever experienced, requires the user to be some kind of a fucking hand contortionist to make it work. I envision those people who practice pick-pocketing or can move a coin over their knuckles to be the only ones capable of making use of the dick flap.

Extracating your “guy” and freeing it from this genital snare is like reliving the first time you tried to tie your shoes all by yourself. Fumbling around all over the place like a monkey trying to do algebra. The difference being, in this case, instead of your kindly mom or dad propping you up on the nearest chair to re-tie your shoes for you, with this penis flap thing, you end up pissing all over your hand. Maybe it’s my age but I don’t have the time to be fucking around with this thing. I mean, I don’t suffer from any prostate issues or anything but I drink a lot of fucking water and when I have to go I cannot take the time to properly use the underwear as it was intended.


I Hate Outside

I hate being outside. To me, being outside for even a few minutes, is like enduring a slow, unending and painful torture with no end in sight. Being outside gives me an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. Outside, I haven’t the ability to alter my surroundings. I must adapt to it and I don’t like that loss of control. As if a human being has the ability to come to physical terms with 95 degree humid heat or survive very long in anything below zero. Being outside at the mercy of the elements sucks ass.

Some may contend that I suffer from agoraphobia or some other psychosis but they would be wrong. I simple hate hot, cold, dirt, bugs and any other natural infirmity that plagues this world.

Outside it’s never “that perfect temperature,” ever. It’s either too hot or too cold and if by some freak of nature it is meteorologically (I think I just made that word up) comfortable, the humidity is 90% and fucks it all up. I’m either sweating like a fat, greasy sow or covered in painful goose bumps. The are too few days with any middle ground. Probably fewer than a dozen times a year I am actually happy with the weather..

As I said, I also hate dirt and filth. Has anyone ever gone outside and actually come back in the house cleaner than they were when they left? No. The answer is no. Outside is dirty and disgusting.

I hate the sun. There’s no getting away from it. Being in it is like undergoing an unrelenting, energy sapping, savage beat down. My God! It actually burns our flesh! Like fire! Have you ever considered that if you go outside on the planet you were born on and stand in the sun that birthed said planet that you will turn to a pile ash? Does this make any sense? Clearly, we belong indoors.

Bugs and animals also make their homes outside. I don’t care for bugs. Mainly the ones that fly. Flying gives them unfettered access to my ear holes which they all seem quite attracted to. Ever get a gnat in your eye? All shoved down and crammed inside your eyelid? It fucking hurts and God only knows how many piles of dog excrement that thing has been wallowing in before it suicide itself in my optical fluid. One thing I can assure you of, shit covered vermin have never gotten lodged in my eye when safe in the comfort of my home.

Where do fruit flies come from anyway? It seems like they spontaneously generate whenever you spend more than twenty bucks on fruit at the grocery store. How are you supposed to get rid of them unless you throw away every piece of fruit in the house? Once you dispose of your fruit, why do the wayward fruit flies always gather on the bathroom mirror?

I love to play golf. The one thing I despise about golf is that it has to take place outside. I think I read once that there is an enclosed golf course somewhere in Japan. If that’s true and I lived anywhere near it, I would play every day. Indoor golf, that is happening.

The out-of-doors are now blessed with Zika virus carrying mosquitos. This festering disease causes babies to be born with tiny malformed heads. Where did this come from all of the sudden? I’ve never heard of Zika until this year. The day these things hit Northeast Ohio will be the last day you’ll see me outside wearing anything but a yellow biohazard suit.

Mosquitos don’t bother me. I mean I hate them (big surprise there, I know) but they leave me alone. Dana and I will sit outside (me reluctantly) and they are on her like a fat kid on a tube of cookie dough. By the time we throw up the white flag and head back indoors (where we should have stayed in the first place) Dana looks like she has come down with a scorching case of rheumatic fever. Maybe my blood is as sour and acrid as my personality but then they don’t even try to bite so how do they know what I taste like?

There’s nothing worse to me than a fly in the house. The only thing I’ve ever seen a house fly do outside is roll around in a pile of dog shit. Everything they touch, I throw away. I don’t try to kill them either. Just like I don’t belong outside in their domain, they don’t belong in mine.

Who’s idea was it to put grass around everybody’s house anyway? What a fucking genius that guy was. Once a week, I am forced to go outside to cut the grass. Any day of the week I would rather my house was surrounded by molten, bubbling lava filled with fire breathing dragons trying to kill me than grass. I wouldn’t have to mow lava and weeds certainly wouldn’t grow in it. Wouldn’t it be a much better use of space if we just covered everything over in concrete?

Don’t even get me started on swimming in the ocean…

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Piss mud


Stranded in the middle of nowhere covered in muddy piss is not how I want to remember a beautiful summer night sitting under the stars listening to The Beach Boys play live. To top things off, one of the Beach Boys, at least in my mind, was responsible for setting my car on fire forcing me to eat stuffed peppers made by a grease monkey.


Top 5 – People Who Are “Into” Things Make Me Sick

Maybe it’s because I’m old but I’m pretty sure I’ve held this belief as long as I can remember, I can’t stand people who are “into” things. Like so into things that it’s all-consuming and it’s all they talk about. I’m not bothered by a person’s nonchalant or cursory interest in a hobby or in a particular interest but when it borders on an all-consuming obsession, I boil inside. I’m willing to allow some grace here in a couple circumstances, one, my granddaughter has what one would describe as an obsession with Pete the Cat but she’s two years old and besides, Pete is pretty freaking cool. Even in spite of her fixation with Pete, she is still able to mix in a few other hobbies like making Play-Doh jewelry and crapping her pants. Two, I am willing to give some leeway like if you’re autistic and you get off on your fascination with plate spinning. Basically, in my mind, obsessing is okay if you’re a child or if you happen to be mentally challenged.

Lord knows that my house is full of equipment I bought in anticipation of my new hobby. Home improvement tools, exercise doodads and low fat cookbooks to name a few. My saving grace is that I had the sense to wise up. Yes, I made a mistake and got all caught up in something for a few days but I quickly came back to my senses and all it cost me was a few dollars. The people who go into something full bore, hold onto it and act like total d-bags with their stories of running fifty miles over the weekend have lost much more than money. They have also lost their dignity and probably all of their friends.

I’ve made a quick list of the things people obsess about that make me the sickest. These are, by no means, the only ones but simply the ones that will make me avoid you like the plague. “Who am I to say these things?” was a comment I’ve heard quite a bit since I started floating this idea out there. I’ve also been told, “Who the fuck are you to be bothered by anyone? You’re one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met,” was another observation made by others. The answer is, I’m me. Most things irritate me and this is my forum for venting. By the way, most of the people who made disparaging comments about my subject matter are the very people I loathe so it only stands to reason.

Yoga –

I see some of my people posting pictures of themselves doing(?), practicing(?) yoga and I think, “Okay, fine, so you do yoga or whatever you call writhing around on the floor carefully balancing on your earlobe. Big fucking deal. Whoopee, so what if you can blow yourself. I don’t care. Do I take pictures of myself sitting in a chair watching television which happens to be my form of recreation? What the hell does Namaste mean anyway?

Are you aware that yoga pants can cost up to 150 dollars? What kind of a mindless and pretentious d-bag pays this much for stretch pants that in all actuality are the equivalent of a couple of pairs of nylons piled on top of each other? Don’t get me wrong. I am totally in favor of women walking around in these things but I have a notion that most people are wearing them as a piece of fashion and are skipping out on the intended yoga session.

Very often you’ll find that your hardcore practitioners of yoga are also into eating gross things like lentils and wheat germ. Not only are they annoying about their Indian exercise fixation but they also smell like a hippie food co-op. This odor does not make them more appealing and frequently only adds to their annoying nature as they won’t shut-up about how I’m killing myself with beef or pork.

I went to a yoga class a few years ago at my wife’s insistence. It wasn’t so much that she demanded that I go, she gave up on the hope of commanding me to do anything years ago, but more wouldn’t stop talking about how great it made her feel. Knowing full well that nothing makes me feel great with the exception of complaining and lethargy and in order to make her stop bringing it up, I went to a class. Everyone in the class was a fucking flower-child weirdo and reeked of cumin. What was worse was the constant stream of farting that ensued once the class began. These freaks had been ingesting beans and hummus all day and were probably already on the verge of crapping themselves then thought it a good idea to sit on the floor and stretch the shit out of themselves. Charming. I don’t think I need to mention that I never went back and blame my wife for scarring me permanently to this day.

Bicyclists –

Of all the people who annoy me, bicyclists are the worst. It’s not that I hate cycling, I really couldn’t care less about any aerobic activity. What bothers me are the get-ups these people think they have to wear in order to properly operate the bike. Why do these people think that in order to be a true cyclist that they have to wear tight fitting spandex clothes slathered in French and Italian words, stupid clunky shoes and those ridiculous elongated helmets? Whatever happened to just riding your bike in regular clothes?

When I was a kid, in order to keep my father from going into a tirade about how he had better things to do than to dig my jeans out of the gears of my bike, my mother would give me a rubber band to wrap around the ankle of my pants. This is the only accessory you need to ride a bike. If you’re tooling leisurely around the neighborhood for a little exercise, you don’t need a 200 dollar featherweight, polycarbonate air-cooled helmet. You look ridiculous trying to be aerodynamic at 4 miles per hour. We didn’t even wear helmets, in my day. If you fell and got hurt, you were an idiot. We laughed at you and you got back on and rode some more. When did people start smashing their heads on the ground?

And what’s with all the Italian writing on the shirts? I’m pretty sure that some of those words translated mean “douche bag” and “pretentious snot rag.”

I drive home from work thru a national park and it doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, the roads are full of these people. “It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon and you’re riding your bike? You must have jobs or you wouldn’t be able to afford that expensive bike costume you’re wearing so I’ll just assume that you are so much cooler than I am and run you off the road into a ditch.”

Religious zealots –

I don’t expect that I will have to go too far here to make my point as you can turn on the news at any given moment and some ass wipe is blowing up a street full of innocent people who are just living their lives, not interested in being killed for God. We all despise those people, it’s a no-brainer. Why do people find it necessary to post chain letters for Jesus on Facebook? “Repost this if you love Jesus. Ignore it at your own peril.” What? Now I feel pressure to pass this on to my friends to avoid terminal damnation? What’s worse, hell or being blocked as a friend?

My loathing does not only apply only to the devout. Atheists have a belief system that is as much a religion as any, no matter what they may say. They, just as often as the fundamentalists, try to cram their side of the debate down our non-soliciting throats and it’s equally irritating. Why can’t people just believe what they want, no matter how stupid it is, and just shut the fuck up about it? You believe that Grimace from McDonalds is the New Age Messiah? Cool. I don’t care. Just leave me out of the proselytizing.

Meanwhile Pearl Jam and others are cancelling tour events in North Carolina because the people there voted to keep their public restrooms gender specific. Why does it seem that this debate is really about religion? Your hardcore fundies and God, apparently, don’t like women peeing in the men’s room. Frankly, having been in many a men’s rooms myself, I would rather use the chick bathroom. Women seem cleaner and they sit down to pee which eliminates sloshing through the soup of every man’s pee pooling around the base of the urinal station. You ladies need to be careful of which side you take in the transgender bathroom debate. All of the politics and the humanity of the whole thing aside, I’m pretty sure that a man who opts to wear women’s clothing and use the ladies room is still a man and will still pee all over the seat.

Women have nice public restrooms. If I happen to be walking by at the right time at just the right angle I often see a furnished and carpeted lounge area. Why do women have couches in their bathrooms? I make an effort to spend as little time as possible in a public men’s room and women have furniture? I don’t see the need to take a breather on the couch wallowing in the odor of someone else’s fresh dump but women maybe don’t mind so much. Men don’t have any entitlements in our cold tiled men’s rooms. Once in a while, if you’re lucky, you’ll have that jar with the metal lid, filled with some mysterious blue juice and cheap black combs. Like, yeah, why shouldn’t I feel safe combing my hair with those vermin infested things?

You can recognize one of these people who refuse to welcome urine on what was their once untarnished toilet seat by a number of traits, snake handling, blowing up of perceived infidels, rolling on the floor speaking in tongues, protesting soldier’s funerals and / or rallying support at a Trump demonstration. They would also be the ones punching black people for having a differing opinion, sporting a cheap baseball style hat proclaiming the benefits of one of the many truck manufacturers or that they are “retired and have gone fishing.”

Sports fans –

I love sports. I can give you a baseball player’s lifetime batting average from any age of the game within 5 points of the actual. Yet and still, I have never painted my face and refuse to wear a team jersey until somebody pays me for the advertising.

I’ve been an Indians fan my entire life. I don’t know how to root for another team. I have friends who were born and raised in Cleveland and are Yankee fans. I don’t understand that but what I hate more are the people who are so wrapped up in sports that they decorate the entirety of their home in Dallas Cowboy colors or morph their car to look like a Browns helmet.

Hipsters –

Everybody has problems with Hipsters. My particular beef with them revolves around them thinking they discovered every damn thing when, really, they’re just going back and grabbing things from the past, my past mostly.

Take this obsession they have with music, specifically how they listen to their music. Vinyl, as they call them, are really called, records. I grew up with vinyl records so I know. Hipsters are, for the most part, under the age of thirty and don’t remember how shitty records were. They scratched easy, got stuck and we large, heavy and cumbersome. When CD’s came out, the first thing I did was either sell or throw my records away. You know why I did this? Because they sucked. The sound of CD’s blew vinyl out of the water. I couldn’t even listen to records anymore because all I heard were irritating scratchy background sounds. CD’s ruined vinyl and justifiably so. Hipsters act like they discovered this vinyl shit when in reality all they did was just dig through my garbage.

I hate the term “craft beer.” Hipsters drink that shit. Where I come from, one doesn’t pay 15 dollars for a beer. My age group would call you a jackass for doing that but the hipster set thinks it’s cool to piss away money, literally. If you see the words “artisan” or “artesian” before any product get ready to be ripped off and / or stampeded by a group of Hipsters thinking they’ve found the next best thing to prop up their uncertain self-esteem in partaking.

I like to think that this whole Hipster craze is based in being anti-establishment. I get that if that’s the case, and applaud it. But going against the grain set by “the man” does not mean to be a giant sucker buying things that are inferior or pay 12 dollars for a jar of pickles that are holistically bottled by a guy with a beard and a criminal record because it make you look cool.


Seriously? This is the Best We Have to Choose From for POTUS?

Since it’s primary voting day here in Ohio I threw together a little voting guide. Bear in mind that I hate politics so don’t expect anything of a any civic consequence…


I don’t vote. I haven’t voted since the second Reagan administration. Am I a bad American? Maybe. The reason why I don’t vote boils down to two prevailing reasons. One, I don’t want to get called for jury duty. Jury duty should be for old, retired people. Old people love crap like jury duty. They feel useful and they get to vent about what pisses them off. Like, “In my day, men didn’t wear earrings so he’s clearly guilty.” I also don’t vote because I will not be made a fool of. I’m good enough at that on my own and I don’t need to be spoon fed an election process that purports to offer me the choice of two morons both of whom are in the back pocket of some rich oligarch yanking their strings. Those in charge don’t care who wins because they have them both in their control. You think you have a choice? Think again. No all-powerful yet anonymous overlord would dare risk an actual open democratic voting process and run the risk of not having his guy as the lead actor in his play.

You mean to tell me that with all of the brilliant people we have in this country Trump and Clinton are the best we could find? Granted anyone with a brain in their head wouldn’t want anything to do with politics but still. Both Hilary and Trump are two of the most contemptible people I have ever witnessed. She is a horrible, old, used up shrew and he is a total idiot at best, Hitler in a fancy blue suit at worst.

I tried to watch some of these debates and as much as I can’t stand any of the people on stage from either party, I despise the people in the audience even more. How can there be so many suckers in the world? Do they actually believe that any of the promises they hear are actually going to come to fruition? How many times do you need to fall for a liar before you just stop listening to what they are saying? Given that the average IQ in the US hovers someplace just above being labeled as retarded, this could go on forever.

As I said, I don’t care about politics anymore but I do pay attention, mostly in horrifying disgust with the American people. Like I’m driving by a bad accident on the freeway. I don’t want to look but you feel like you owe it to myself. I don’t critique politicians by their platforms, because they’re all stupid, but more by their persona or the insipid things they say and do.

With that…

Ted Cruz

Pretty sure this guy ate a booger at one of the early debates. There is plenty of video available for those of you who are still considering voting for this snot-eating fundamentalist for proof. It’s really gross and I don’t recommend it.

Outside of the booger-fest, I really don’t know much about this guy except for he showed up for the prison release party for that fat, gritter-scag, Kim Davis, in Kentucky who was made famous for refusing to issue marriage licenses to gay people. This alone should demonstrate to most of the civilized world that he has zero understanding of the Constitution and is willing to pander to religious nutcases for votes at the expense of our liberties.

Not sure why but when I picture Ted Cruz I always see him in bright red lipstick. He reminds me a little of the guy who played the Tinman in The Wizard of Oz but more like if the Tinman were a crossdressing hermaphrodite.

Mrs. Ted Cruz, Heidi, is a managing director at Lehman Brothers which means she works for the people who lost all their money on bad investments and corruption in 2008 then sent the bill to the taxpayers. Ted Cruz makes the claim that he wants to audit the Federal Reserve? What are the chances of this happening while his wife’s company is manipulating him through the ass like a cheap hand puppet?

How is this guy even running for President anyway? I thought he was born in Canada? How come it’s okay to be President if you’re from Canada but not okay if you were born in say, Kenya? Hmmm, not too hard to figure if you think about it, I guess. What I’m insinuating is it’s okay with the racist, gritter faction here because he’s white. Oh, his mom was a US citizen, you say? So that makes it okay? Isn’t Obama’s mom a US citizen too? He wasn’t afforded that kind of reasoning because he’s black.

I hate Illinois Nazis.

As a wrap up, Ted Cruz eats snot, reminds me of and old, sad crossdresser, is a hardline fundamentalist who wants to force his beliefs down the throats of those who already have a set of beliefs already, defends people who make it their crusade to deny basic rights from other Americans, whose wife works for the devil himself and he isn’t even from the United States. What a great resume to be President! Did I mention that he eats boogers?

Enough about this guy. He’s totally boring and suffice it to say that I don’t like the idea of a pseudo Calvinist douche-bag in the White House.

Marco Rubio

Who is this guy anyway? I’m a pretty vigilant news hawk but even I don’t know anything of any substance about this idiot. What I do know is that there are photos making the rounds on the internet of him dancing in 80’s style gay foam parties. Now I don’t care if somebody is gay and would certainly never assume them unfit for office because of their sexual proclivities but I just don’t think I can support a presidential candidate who dressed up as the Indian from the Village People on certain Saturday nights. This guy has to stand his ground against Russia and Iran and I just can’t see him being able to hold his head up high to the likes of Vladimir Putin with this image in the playing on an endless loop in the back of his mind.

More than anything, I can’t stand the lying. If you’re gay, be gay because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, if there is even the slightest scent of you lying about something like this, the media wont rest until they’ve ripped you to pieces. Cut them off at the pass and put your cards on the table. No one is going to hear a word your saying politically until that elephant is out of the room.

Bernie Sanders

Mr. Sanders may be the most qualified for the job of POTUS but he doesn’t stand a chance mainly because he is a giant walking semantics disaster. This guy belongs to the Democratic Socialist party. Now, as I understand it, and I’ve done quite a bit of research on this subject, Democratic Socialism is a far cry from actual Socialism and even farther cry, how far is a cry anyway, from the Corporatism we have today or what we are told is Capitalism. The word Socialism on a ballot is enough to make people run screaming from the booth. Mention Socialism to my father or anyone his age and it’s enough to almost shock them into violent cardiac arrest.

This guy would have been better off labeling himself, Bernie Sanders the Child Molesting, Kitten Drowning, Druid instead of Democratic Socialist. Does he really expect that people are going to look up the difference between Socialism and Democratic Socialism? There are people out there still hoping that Ben Carson gets back into the race and he expects some personally responsible kind of research from them? Are you kidding me? I’m amazed that the majority of the people even remember to wake up and breathe in the morning let alone Google something of substance that doesn’t revolve around Kanye and Kim.

Another reason why I believe that this guy is a lost cause is that I’ve grown to taking pleasure in Google-ing famous people’s net worth. Not sure why but I’ve been wondering for some time now how Madonna can be worth over 800 million dollars? She’s an old, tired hag who hasn’t had a recognizable song since “Take a Bow” that came out when Obama was still a law clerk. One would think, and when I say “one” I mean myself, she would have burned through most of this cash on experimental antibiotics for the plethora of sexually transmitted diseases tearing at her wrinkled and yellowed flesh and/ or forking it over to some lunatic Kabbalist Maharajah but not so.

My point is, Bernie Sanders has been a servant of the public since he was the mayor of Burlington, Vermont in 1980. He served as a congressman from 1991 till 2007 when he became a member of the Senate. How in the hell is this guy only worth 105,000 dollars?!?! A U.S. Senator’s yearly salary is $174,000 and we all know that’s just the tip of the iceberg; seed money if you will. Even if we assume that Bernie isn’t corrupt like the rest of his colleagues, why doesn’t he have any money? I can’t get behind electing a guy who apparently spends his money like a sailor on leave. This guy’ll probably be hosting yard sales on the White House lawn by spring of his first term to raise some cash for the new Halo game. What’s next? Rent parties? If all that isn’t enough, I also think he smells like a hippy food co-op and sandalwood.

Hilary Clinton

My God haven’t we had enough of this family already? Why won’t they just go away? People should seriously have to take an IQ test before they are allowed to enter a voting facility. She’s being investigated by the FBI for possibly sharing sensitive and classified information through an unprotected email server. From where I sit, this is a major deal. Can you imagine if you went to a job interview with this hanging over your head? “Like, hey man, um, so, I know you’re going to run one of those background checks on me before you can offer me this gig so I kind of feel like I should be the one to bring to your attention that I am being investigated by the Feds for potentially sharing classified information with the enemy. I may or may not be indicted. Like I probably won’t be but just in case, I didn’t want you to just find out the hard way.” Except this isn’t about some stupid lame-assed sales job, this is a person running for President of the United States. What’s worse? No one seems to care!!

As I said, I don’t care about politics and it makes zero difference who wins because they are all bred from the same bloated, carnal pig but if Hilary Clinton isn’t the biggest douche-bag asshole, I don’t know who is.

Do I hate her because she’s a woman? Not a chance. I think a woman would make an ideal President. Some of the best people I know are women. My wife knows how to get shit done with just a look. We need that kind of “look” in the White House. Hilary is a wasted, used up old shrew and I seriously think she might have The Consumption with all the coughing.

Donald Trump

Enough has been said about Donald Trump and most of it political which mean that I don’t care. What is intriguing about Trump is his wife. I recently ate at one of those restaurants right off the freeway in rural Ohio and the paper place mat had pictures of every first lady all the way back to Martha Washington. Unfortunately the series ended with Hilary Clinton as a testament to just how old these things were. In every case, at our table, someone had gone to the trouble of poking out Hilary’s eyes and had drawn devil horns on her. The situation was the same at the other two tables I investigated.

Who goes to this kind of trouble to deface a placemat even if it is Hilary? Does the owner take a stack of these things home at night and defile her in some masturbatory ritual type frenzy of hate? My God, I know you live in the middle of nowhere and have nothing else to do and I don’t care for her either, but really?

Having moved on from my obsession with the thumbtack besmirched Hilary photos, I came to the realization that there has never been a good looking first lady in the entire history of the United States! Literally never. Michelle Obama isn’t a horrible looker but Barack could have pulled much better. He’s a good looking guy and he’s President of the United States for God’s sake. Now I realize that they got married long before he was POTUS but he was a lawyer back then and that’s still pretty good. I will give her credit though for making him what he is today. She probably rode him like a rented mule or he would still be a pot smoking d-bag hanging out at the local coffee shop bitching about one liberal cause or another and doing nothing about it.

Think about the ugly parade of tail that has resided in our country’s main official domicile. No matter how old or young you are, even if you’re a history buff and can look back semi-fondly on Edith Roosevelt, they are all, when all is said and done, hideous. Dolly Madison looked like she had some potential and I would totally bang her but her picture was a freaking drawing and she could have had that sketched in any way she wanted. “You draw me fat and I’ll have you drawn and quartered, boy! And leave my goiter out of it!”

Betty Ford was probably a hoot to hang around with back in the day, I mean, she does have a rehab clinic as her namesake, but good-looking? Afraid not. Nancy Reagan’s head was so big and her body so frail that she looked like a lollipop. Too soon on that?

I have a feeling that Andrew Jackson’s wife may have been a piece because in 1806 he actually KILLED some guy for besmirching her reputation. Killed? He was elected President about 20 years later so I guess things haven’t changed much.

Eleanor Roosevelt wasn’t just another unattractive First Lady, she actually may have been the ugliest person in the history of the earth. You mean to tell me that FDR, coming from monumental family wealth and being not a bad looking guy himself, couldn’t pull better tail than that? I just can’t vote for a guy with near-sighted judgement like that. How can I trust him to negotiate vital trade agreements when he finds something like her to be wife material?

What was the deal with Jackie Kennedy anyway? People say she was hot but I respectfully must disagree. She clearly carried most of the symptoms of fetal alcohol syndrome with the most prevalent being that her eyes were on the sides of her head. Her peripheral vision must have been off the charts. Her no-look passing abilities would have made even Magic Johnson green with envy. She was, by no stretch, Eleanor Roosevelt ugly but, c’mon. She just happens to be the best of the worst but that does not make her attractive.

You know who I don’t like? Jimmy Carter. It has nothing to do with his politics though he really was a putrid president. Remember interest rates of like 17% when this guy was at the helm? What makes me angry and by angry I mean to say making me feel bad about myself, is that this guy is like 90 years old and he’s out there building houses for people in need. What do I do for people in need? He’s busy hammering and nailing all the while trying to inspire others with his selfless efforts to do the same and the only effect it has on me is to resent him and deepen my own sense of self-loathing. Why do I need this? Eff him and his stupid peanut farm. Plus,his wife, Rosalynn seems kind of preachy. Like you’d have to listen to her cram Jesus down your throat while you’re trapped at their house for a dinner of boiled peanuts and stale evangelism. She had weird teeth too. They appear to be stubby little tusks with a weird purple polyurethane glaze on them.

If my grandson ever asks me what it takes to be President of the United States, my answer will be a simple one, be as corrupt and contemptable as possible, maybe leave a few dead bodies in your wake and marry the ugliest women you dig up out of the mud.

A Trump presidency, while we would probably end up with concentration camps planted across the US frivolously exterminating immigrants, at least we could end the drought on good looking first ladies.

John Kasich

This poor bastard. He may be the only one running from either party who is actually about real issues. I don’t give a care what he thinks, I just happen to notice him standing there in shock at the debates. Like a deer in the headlights, he looks like he’s wondering, “What the fuck is going on here? Is this really happening? I thought we were going to talk about education reform and this guy is talking about the size of his dick? Are you kidding me?”

So, there you have it, my assessment of the political landscape as I see it. And people ask me why I don’t vote. Are you kidding me?


The Top 5 Benefits of Hanging Around My Granddaughter

The Top 5 Benefits of Hanging Around My Granddaughter

As I may have mentioned before, our two year old granddaughter, Leila, lives with us. About the time my wife, Dana, and I figured that we had lived out our usefulness as parents of small children, we were dusted off and brought back into service. I’ve titled this essay as “hanging around MY granddaughter” and not OUR granddaughter because this Top 5 list is specific to me and the things I find remarkably useful in Leila. Dana surely has her own unpublished list but if she wants to write about it she’ll need her own outlet.

When our youngest went off to college our minds were full of things to do with our new found free time. We could eat out all the time, no more cooking heathy, nutritionally rewarding meals for a kid who subsisted off of chocolate and Pop Tarts anyway. Unlimited and spontaneous vacations would be the rule. Like I said, we had done our time.

Enter Leila. There is a quote I read not long ago that’s was attributed to Sandra Bullock. I couldn’t find the quote anywhere but I read it on the internet which means it must be true. Whomever spoke it, it resonated with me especially in my current living situation. It went something like this, “If I didn’t have children my wallet would be full, my house would be clean but my heart would be empty.” That’s pretty true. She has spent a few nights away from home visiting her Granny and those weekends, that we assumed would be full of bacchanalia and debauchery, were instead left empty and rather unfulfilling. Most of our conversation revolved around saying Leila-isms, like, “I do it self!” Or, “Piggy poop,” which is a term she uses to shift blame to the dog when she had pooped in her diaper.

Parenting at the age of fifty is different than when I was in my twenties. Leila would live outside if we let her, I hate going outside save for about eight or nine days of the year when I don’t sweat or freeze to death. Playing on the floor, for me, is, for the most part, an exercise in pain, an exploration of body parts that I haven’t used in decades. I do it but getting up and waiting for my left knee to unlock is an adventure in itself. Leila likes to play with trucks. She makes all the requisite noises as she shoves them across the floor but sometimes I have to use my foot to move my truck while I sit in my chair watching ESPN. It’s just part of what happens when your caregivers are old. I know the things I’m supposed to do it’s just that I’m not physically able or emotionally willing to anymore.

In the end, though, I wouldn’t trade a day with Leila for a vacation to anyplace in the whole world and getting up in the pitch black at 5 AM to slice kiwi in the exact shape she prefers is an honor and never a chore, besides what would I be doing otherwise? Sleeping?

All the syrupy stuff aside, I have found a few rather impressive side benefits to toting your granddaughter around with you that for some reason escaped me when my own kids were little.

Exposure to immunity from viruses

They say that you can only get so many colds in your life as there are a finite number of viruses that cause the common cold. I remember the number being something like 150 but I could be wrong and you know my policy on looking things up while I write. I feel like if you want to know so badly, you can just do it yourself. Having had four kids already, I have been exposed to and suffered through well over one hundred colds in my fifty years leaving me at least fifty more to get out of the way. While I have, for quite some time, assumed that these last vestiges of virus dwelled in some deep, dark jungle, Leila has kindly, yet unknowingly, volunteered to help me discover that I was wrong. In actuality, these viruses live in the dried snot on the toys in her school and in the noses of the other crumbsnatchers she calls friends.

While Dana and I work during the day, Leila goes to daycare, we call it school, and walking into that place you can actually feel the infestation climbing up your arms heading straight for your nasal cavities. In the first month and a half of her attending Typhoid Mary’s Petri Dish for the Young, I had acquired at least three colds and had seen my impressive twenty-three and a half year vomit streak come to an end.

The germs in the place are so big and virulent that you can actually see them crawling up your sleeve towards your nasal cavities! They have faces and they laugh at you when you try to sanitize yourself against them.

The way I figure it, by the time Leila has finished at “school,” Dana and I will have encountered and suffered through the last remaining cold viruses and in retirement, never get sick again. So, we have that going for us.

A Solid excuse for not going out

I’ve never been a “clubbin” kind of guy. I hate loud noises and dancing is stupid so I am left with dinner and a movie. A lot of our friends are twenty years younger than we are. I love them but, “No, I would prefer to not meet you for tailgating at 6 AM in the ten below wind-chill. Thanks though. And, no, I’m not a giant boring douche for not going, I’m actually much smarter than you as I will be warm in my house drinking good beer that didn’t cost me license to my first born. You have fun though and tell me all about it on Monday.”

When you have a two year old, you have a built in excuse for avoiding just about everything. “You say you’ve signed up for a “can’t miss” multi-level marketing ploy and you’re having a party to tell our of your friends about it? Aww, dammit! I wanted to be there for that but we don’t have a sitter. Sorry.”

What happened to Amway anyway? Is it still a company anyway?

“You say you’re moving and at the age of forty still think your friends are going to help you because you dangled some pizza in front of them? You are aware college ended like twenty years ago and there are companies who specialize in taking your stuff from the old place to the new one, right? I’d be there for you man but we have Leila and if I brought her she would just get in the way. Good luck with all that though.”

“Man, I’d love to come to your Pampered Chef party because there is nothing I like more than spending ridiculous amounts of money on pots and pans that I can get for half that at Walmart. Too bad it’s after Leila’s bedtime. So maybe call me the next time you get into a multi-leveled marketing scheme, cool?”

Stains on my clothes

Leila has no concept or the ability to know just how much I pay for my zip up Tommy Bahama sweaters that I wear just about every day in the winter. In fact, she couldn’t care if I’m wearing a torn up old t-shirt full of holes, it’s all the same to her. I knew this going in. Like I said, I have four kids of my own. What never occurred to me as a benefit to this was that I could blame food stains that I made out of my own carelessness on Leila and actually get away with it.

I obviously can’t wash a sweater every time I wear it and as I tend to have the eating habits of a fat, sweaty hog sidling up to the trough for my next unhealthy meal, I spill. Whereas I used to have to make some asinine excuse as to why there was a huge stain on my sweater, like, “Oh, I did that on the way to work this morning. Thanks for reminding me!” Now all I have to do is say, “Leila.” My disgusting stain instantly becomes cute! The disgusted looks I used to get have turned into comments like, “She’s so cute! How can you stand it?” Why didn’t I think of this before? I could be covered in grease stains and Pop Tart innards, from my own doing, of course, drop a knowing nod of Leila and all is forgiven? Brilliant!!

I am instantly attractive to women again

It didn’t take me long to figure out that Leila is a chick magnet. In fact, the very first time I took her with me to the grocery store, we had barely made it in the door before women started flocking to me like I was Brad Pitt. Now, let’s be clear here, I am not deluded enough to believe for one second that this attention had anything to do with me. I am well aware that I am old and well passed my prime. My hands are getting age spots, if I stay out in the sun too long I get age spots on my face that won’t go away, I’m over-weight, I’m not fun and I’m kind of crabby. None of those qualities are even remotely appealing to women. But take me and all of my grossness and add a cute baby and all of my blemishes disappear. No one notices my gut or that I walk around with a perpetual sneer on my face. In fact, I’m pretty much not there at all in their minds but at least they didn’t run away like I was the Elephant Man or something like they used to. She is like a delicious cherry on the disgusting poop sundae that is me.

I no longer need to hold back

On the list of funniest things to do to my children is to fart in public and blame them. Disgusting? Yes but equally hilarious. As much as I enjoyed doing it I can’t help but think that it may have left some residual emotional damage that they may not recover from without the aid of some deep therapy or until they can do it to children of their own. All of this leads me to the last but arguably the best reason to hang around with my granddaughter, farting in public and blaming her.

Most of this flatulence seems to go down when we’re at the grocery store. Not sure why exactly maybe because it’s one of the few places I’ll dare take Leila on my own. It’s usually a short trip and it’s close to home.

Who hasn’t been stuck in the precarious situation of having to unload a giant fart but can’t because there are people nearby. Even if you could somehow pass the gas silently, the odor would implicate you. I have solved this problem, bring Leila along, hold nothing back and unload on unsuspecting strangers. I have even used the line, “How embarrassing. You probably thought I did that.”

Who would have thought that there was so much more to being a grandfather?

The Top 5 Foods That Are Not Worth the Effort

The Top 5 Foods that are Not Worth the Trouble

Everybody today wants to label the food we eat. By that, I don’t mean labeling in a nutritional sense but rather how it fits into this or that particular diet. I’m a big Pinterest fan. I use it for just about everything but it is especially good for recipes. My friend Dave tells me that Pinterest is for girls and he may be right but as a cook, it is like having access to every cookbook ever written and it takes up no more space than my tablet. The point is that while you can do a search for favorite Italian recipes, say, you will produce, at least in my experience, a more broad return if you search for “low carb” recipes.

It’s no longer just Italian recipes at that point, it becomes a low carb smorgasbord from all four corners of the world. Besides, I don’t believe there are any low carb Italian dishes anyway so this might be a bad example, There’s “high-protein,” high-protein / low carb.” For those of you looking to spend more quality time in the bathroom there is “high fiber.” “Low fat,” “low glycemic,” “vegan,” “non-GMO,” “kosher,” ‘gluten free,” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

What the hell is gluten anyway and why have so many people all of the sudden decided that it’s bad for them? I looked it up:

Gluten refers to the proteins found in wheat endosperm (a type of tissue produced in seeds that’s ground to make flour). Gluten both nourishes plant embryos during germination and later affects the elasticity of dough, which in turn affects the chewiness of baked wheat products.

Wheat sperm? Had I known that, I would be allergic too.

For what it’s worth, my favorite food category would be the, “I don’t give a fuck anymore and want as much fat and sperm-less gluten as I can get, with a nice dose of sugar for good measure and please deep fry it for me while you’re at it.”

I like a good recipe. I don’t care if it’s complicated and comes with a shopping list that takes me to a couple of specialty stores. If it’s as delicious as I think it’s going to be then it’s worth the effort. Homemade vanilla ice cream that requires fresh vanilla bean? Worth it. I made a Baked Spanish Risotto that asked for Spanish Saffron that I had to buy on the internet because I couldn’t find it anyplace else. Totally worth it.

I make the best hummus you’ll ever eat and I painstakingly peel ever single garbanzo bean so that I can be sure that it will be creamy and delicious. My hummus is so good that any self-respecting Middle-Easterner would have no other option but to hang their head and agree. As I said, though, it takes hours to make. Like I need time alone after I finish a batch so I can recover mentally but it’s worth it.

There are foods, however, that I will not mess with. Stupid foods that, even in their most basic form, like right off the tree, require much but return little or nothing. These are foods we’ve all eaten but probably never to take a step back and say, “Man, this sucks and I just wasted a decent sized piece of my life preparing it.” Allow me, now, to save you some sweat and disappointment.


Why are these things so big? Yes, I am aware that they have genetically altered this god awful fruit into smaller sizes and even weird shapes but let me tell you something, you can have a stripper pop out of it when I cut it open and I still don’t want it. You drag this monstrosity into the house, cut it open, take one bite and you’re like, “Oh, that’s not what I was hoping for.” Now what? What am I supposed to do with it now? What is with all the seeds? Black ones, white ones, everyone is spitting. Disgusting.

I think people used to like watermelon back in the day but then Jolly Ranchers came along and set a flavor expectation bar that this poor pod just couldn’t live up to. Everyone loves watermelon Jolly Ranchers, they’re always the first ones gone from the pack. Nobody likes those light blue ones though, whatever flavor that’s supposed to be. The light blue ones remind me of medicine like a menthol cough drop or somethings which further spoils them. Can you imagine if you tasted the watermelon Jolly Rancher before the actual watermelon?

Wide eyed innocent fruit virgin – “Oh my God, that was so delicious and you’re telling me that the real thing is a twenty pound version of this?!?! Holy shit!”

Hardened produce veteran – “Well, kind of. I mean, yes, but in a really tasteless, watered down, seed-filled nightmarish kind of way.”

Watermelons are so enormous that people actually form them into serving baskets complete with a handle and jagged edges like the artist sliced it with pinking shears. Filled with disgusting chunks of other hellish tasting melon varieties like honeydew and cantaloupe, this basin of foulness is the fruit equivalent of a green bean casserole that nobody wants.

Dogs are supposed to like fruit. There are fruits you don’t want to feed your dog like grapes and things with seeds but on any list of things that I’ve seen of “what not to feed your dog” watermelon is absent. Okay, great! Sophie, our dog, loves people food, Let’s unload some of this eyesore on her. Mind you, this is a dog that eats her own vomit and yet will not even approach watermelon to even give it a sniff. It’s like, “Yeah, I saw that shit on the counter for the last few days and, no, I do not want any. Thanks though”

I can tolerate any culinary disappointment if it’s the size of, say, a Hershey’s kiss, but this thing weighs twenty pounds and is the size of a Buick. My kids wont even eat it. So it sits there until we throw it away or some genius puts it in the blender with some lemonade and vodka. End result of the watermelon? I’m either disappointed or drunk.


Not really sure when the mango was introduced in the Midwest United States. I think it fell sometime around the introduction of the kiwi. Back when we became bored with simple apples and oranges the produce door was left open for some foreign neophytes to make the scene. No doubt the kiwi has its own carving issues but not nearly as extensive as the exasperating mango. First of all, how are you supposed to get the peel off of this thing? It feels like human skin. Like old people skin. All loose and gross.

I am always astounded at how little fruit actually comes from mangoes. If they were sold by the pound, I would not be a buyer as most of it goes right in the trash. Between the rind and the gigantic seed there is little room left for any edible fruit. Even if you somehow manage to get the skin off, how are you supposed to extract it from the seed? I have yet to win a battle with a mango. In every case I end up with a handful of mangled, wet, yellow meat and a big dose of feeling like I’ve been sold a bill of goods.

I also believe that if you were to blindfold a person and give them their first taste of a mango, they would swear that you just fed them rotten cantaloupe. The mango has made some inroads into your salsa and chutney markets but even in those cases, the taste is so overbearing and out of the ordinary that it’s all you can taste.

It’s a very sinewy fruit too. Like it has ligaments and tendons or something. Couple that with it having human skin and I feel like I’m eating my grandmother’s rotten, severed hand.

Like the watermelon, though, mangoes go great blended up with some vodka and sour mix. You can’t really ever get rid of the sinewy texture in a mango either, no matter how long you blend it, which leaves you drinking what feels like a vodka flavored ball of yarn martini.


If there was an award for the most useless waste of materials in a given vegetable, why there would be such an award is beyond me but work with me here, it would be the artichoke. When I was a kid, my friends mom tried to sell me on dipping these rather cumbersome and disgusting looking leaves in butter and, using my two front teeth, scrape off the gelatinous sac of green material at it’s base then throw the rest of it in the garbage. Even at that age I thought, “This cannot be all there is to this thing.” It’s basically a disgusting vegetable manipulated into as a spoon with the sole purpose of ingesting melted butter. Why don’t we all just dispense with the artichoke and just fess up that we no longer require it to justify the eating of liquefied animal fat.

Apparently, the heart of this abomination is used to make spinach artichoke dip. I hate spinach artichoke dip. It smells. Bad. Like the worst smell of all foods ever. I wont eat it and just being near it makes me feel like I am going to throw up.

So, two substantial honors for the much adored artichoke, the biggest waste of space and the foulest smelling concoction made using said artichoke. These things aren’t cheap either. Disgusting, useless and expensive? Nice combo.


I must say that in comparison to the aforementioned botanical abominations, the pomegranate is really not that bad tasting. It has a nice cleansing flavor and it apparently really good for you. In spite of that, getting to the actual fruit of this thing is like trying to dissect a fluke worm. If there’s a place to slice into it initially that allows for easier access to the little juice pockets, I haven’t found it. Which partially explains charging seven dollars for a bottle of it at the grocery store. Cut it open and it looks like the tumor in that guy’s head in Fantastic Voyage.

I am quite sure that you actually lose calories eating a pomegranate. The effort involved in surgically extracting the bounty surely burns more calories than are in one seed. I’ve tried adding these juice pods to my smoothies without regard for the little wooden seed and ended up with a great tasting smoothie filled with sawdust. Fibrous? Yes but the health benefits were greatly outweighed by the time spent on the toilet picking splinters out of my tongue.

Pomegranates are colloquially, and when I say colloquially, I mean, some red-necked gritter racist made it up, known as Chinese apples. Have you ever noticed that anything labeled as “Chinese” is fucking hard? Chinese Checkers? Marbles coming from everywhere. Chinese Finger Lock? I have a hard time believing that the industrious Chinese people slid wicker tubes over the fingers of those they were looking to subdue but they are pretty difficult to wrestle out of. As for the Chinese Apple, it’s like the Rubik’s Cube of produce so I think aptly named, if you’re a bigot.


I don’t want to spend the entire time picking on, pun intended, raw fruits and vegetables when there is other more deserving artificially made fodder out there. Let me just state for the record that I love Pez. The delicious candy, Pez, is not the problem here. The issue is the frustrating process of loading these ridiculous shaped bonbons into the slots of the various character dispensers. Why do I feel like if I don’t load these things into the machine that I am somehow cheating myself? They just don’t taste the same.

Who is the Pez outfit anyway? I’ve never seen any other products from them and I kind of have the feeling that while they do make enchanting and colorful candy squares that they also dabble a little in defense contracting. Like they make missiles and cluster bombs and stuff like that on the side. Of course their missiles are shaped like Goofy and Santa Claus just like their dispensers and their grenades they manufacture explode off into little rectangular pieces of pastel colored shards of death. Like you almost feel good being killed by something like this.

Surely, in the end, there are many more products to add to this list but these are the best of the best, at least as far as I’m concerned. By the way, if anyone wants my hummus recipe, let me know. I don’t part with it easy. Kind of like you wouldn’t let a child molester babysit your children. Not that you’re a child molester. Not sure where I’m going with this exactly so I’ll just stop here.

Top Search Terms to Find My Blog

But first a word from our sponsor. FREE ON AMAZON FROM JANUARY 2ND TILL JANUARY 5TH. Many of you may find this offensive but, coming from me, what else is new but I have another book available for your reading pleasure.

So many stories from the Bible make absolutely no sense and I decided it was my life’s duty to compile them into one glorious volume of hilarity. I mean the material was practically handed to me and I couldn’t resist.

I offer my commentary on Lot, a pretty big deal with God, banging and impregnating his daughters. Like if there was a picture of Lot with God, God would be flashing a thumbs up at this guy.

God clearly hates women too. I have a whole chapter dedicated to God’s disdain for the fairer sex.

Available on Amazon. Just click on the book.


The Top Search Terms to Find My Blog

So I’ve been doing this blogging thing for almost a year now. It would be pretty cool if I weren’t about fifteen years behind the rest of the world but I’m old and slow to adopt. In spite of being behind the curve, I find this whole blogging thing fascinating. At first I thought it would be fun to just write about some of my Top 5 lists, for no other reason but to see what I came up with. Then people actually started reading this stuff and even more amazingly, digging it. Because I loved the reception, I decided to write about anything that came into my head and conjured up even a modicum of emotion. In reality, a lot of things piss me off and I enjoy complaining which provides me with a never ending fountain of material.

The most fascinating aspect of this experience has to be the list my hosting company provides me of search terms used to find my website. The list is rather extensive and you may or may not be surprised to hear that not one of them is even the least bit flattering.

Years ago I read an article making the claim that porn was responsible for 80% of the internet traffic. If that 80% figure was an accurate number back then, then today, based on what I see, in my own little blog world, that figure is 99%. 99% of the terms used to search the internet, causing people to stumble onto are porn related. I’m not sure why this is because I don’t write about porn. No doubt, knowing myself quite well, I have made mention of porn but I’ve posted no raunchy pictures nor have I gone into any detail on donkey sex in Tijuana. No, what I believe is going on here is that, like I said, 99% of the searching done on sites like Google are regular people, aka perverts, hell bent on a massive electronic poon quest. Sure you have your standard searches for “how do I get my husband to share his feelings” or “I want to know more about wine without becoming a pretentious douche,” but those are outnumbered almost 100 to 1 by, “how to get in my girlfriends butt” and “erasing my browsing history.”


I realize that I use this politically incorrect and offensive term too often in my writing and in my regular life but, let’s face it, it’s quite descriptive and funny at the same time. The number one search term in this category is “retard.” Okay, I get this one. I checked and I’ve used this word over one-hundred times in just under forty blog posts but most of the time, in my defense, it was quite apropos. Though the time I referred to Hitler as a retard may be construed as offensive to the actual retard.

In second place, “retard people” and “retard boy” are tied in some kind of race between grammatical troglodytes. The proper linguistic terms would be “retarded people” and retarded boy.” Duh. There is something strikingly ironic about an idiot Googling the word “retard” using improper grammar. Was it a hunt for self-help possibly?

Gary Dean Prewitt Money Laundering

I would have written this off as a simple mistake had it not happened over a dozen times. It’s not one of the biggest words in terms of sheer volume in finding my blog but it is by far the strangest. Who in the hell is Gary Dean Prewitt and why is he in my blog? I’ve never once mentioned him or money laundering. If I alone have over a dozen hits on the Prewitt guy there must be thousands of people on the hunt for the straight poop on felonious doings.

I Googled it and couldn’t even find anything so…


There are so many porn related terms used to find that to list them here would take more words than you have attention to give so I’m going to stick to the most prevalent, weird and of course, perverse.

The first smut password granting entrance into my blog is the confusing phrase, “song then porno.” What does this even mean and why does it find its destination in my blog so many times? What is the intent of this search? Near as I can guess, these people need to be transitioned into their hardcore porn obsession with a nice tune. A seamless transition with none of that annoying extra clicking that comes with so many other “song then porno” sites. Like, “I just want to hit this button once, hear a nice song, maybe some smooth jazz then go straight to my Asian midget anal fisting melange. Is that too much to ask for? Dammit!”

These next two are more specific to my name, which at least adds some relevance but are no less confusing. “Porno JP,” My first thought was that some people, hot chicks, of course, so enjoyed my writing that they immediately thought that they must see if there are any nude pictures of me on the internet. Kind of like when you do a quick search to see if there are any nude shots of the new Bond girl. Fortunately, there are no nudies of me out there. I’m a pretty snappy dresser so it’s best that photos of me are of the clothed variety. The sheer volume of ear hair that I have to wrestle with on a daily basis should serve as a harbinger to anyone looking for more of me to immediately halt all proceedings. Yet and still, I have no idea what “porno JP” means.

“shaver porno,” I think I can format an idea in my head as to what these people had in mind with this search because it also fell in with, “shaver box” and “shaver vag.” I think what horrifies me more than anything, including the references to porn in my name, is the atrocious grammar used by these desperately horny people to discover their odd form of electronic carnal pleasure. It’s “shave her porno” you idiot not “shaver porno!” I not too worried about my fine name being sullied by association with this crowd though as I’m pretty sure that when these “titans of wisdom” hit the first polysyllabic word on my site, they clicked out to rejoin their quest for shorn genitals.

I’ve saved my favorite one for last. It reads like a mother’s desperate and tragic search for help for her sexually maligned son. This phrase, “son couldn’t take anymore porn” has led to my website more than fifty times and, let’s face it, is not visited like say an would be. If over fifty people have stumbled onto searching for “son couldn’t take anymore porn” then there are a lot of hurting mothers out there.

What happened to this poor “son” who “couldn’t take anymore porn?” Did he spend so much time in front of the computer looking at porn so withdrawn from the world that his penis exploded? Did he turn into a zombie vegetable with a permanent erection? Something major happened to this poor kid and we are left to only guess at what tragedy befell him. Did he run away and join the French Foreign Legion hoping to outdistance his nasty addiction to smut?

I have a vision of this poor soul slouched in the corner of his dark room looking like a victim of late stage progeria, crooked beret awkwardly balanced on his greasy head, in full French military regalia furiously masturbating himself into oblivion until, in a desperate attempt to save his so called life, his mother bursts through his locked bedroom door and immediately commandeers his laptop and furiously Googles “son couldn’t take anymore porn.”

And as always, who doesn’t want to read about my vasectomy experience or the time The Beach Boys set my car on fire?