Got kids? No? Well, let me tell you one of the delightful side effects of parenting: manic depression. Oh, yes. I am officially fucking bipolar now. When around my child, I go from elated to violently angry at the drop of a hat. And this is because kids always take things too far. One second, you're playing happily. But then they always go and fuck it all up. As a consequence, I now have the emotional stability of Axl Rose. I'll be running around with my kid and I'll be like, "Whee! Yay! Isn't this fun? We're running! This has been such a great day, guys! Maybe we should all go out for ic… GOD DAMMIT, DON'T FUCKING POKE YOUR BROTHER IN THE EYE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
So, yeah. Manic depression. They don't put that in those "What to Expect" books. IT'LL HAPPEN TO YOU.
Anyway, time for your letters. Did you know all Dominican baseball players are crazy gay? IT'S TRUE!
I want to let you know about what many Dominican baseball players do when they first come to the US. In the Dominican culture, it is acceptable to have sex with another man. There's a bunch of stuff I'm not clear on about it, but from what I've heard the "pitcher" is not gay because he just needs a release, and the "catcher" isn't gay because he is just helping out a buddy. But in some cases, the "catcher" is gay if he enjoys it. I don't know, something like that.
Anyway, pro teams in the US have to spend a lot of time with some players to break them of the "habit" once they come stateside. Case in point: I did an internship about 8 years ago with a minor league team in Florida that was also a Spring Training facility.
This facility had a dorm. Team staff would literally have to go through the dorm each night and make sure that players were sleeping in separate beds (many times they were caught cuddling, but I never heard of them being caught in the act). There was also the case of a catcher (position on the field) who was a bigger guy and would literally just walk up behind smaller players in the shower and start going to town. It was to the point that this organization brought their HOF catcher to town to try to talk some sense into him. Apparently, he finally stopped and I think he made it as far as Double-A (I think).
I just wanted to enlighten you on something that a lot of people outside of baseball don't know. I still work in the game, but I'm at a higher level now so we don't have those issues here.
HOLY SHIT! Well, of course, there is some precedent to this accusation, yet I have so many questions. First of all, given their rules of what is "gay" and what is apparently "not gay," is it fair to say that the Dominican Republic is clearly some kind of island prison? If the catcher isn't gay just because he's helping a friend, how do we explain away the cuddling?
And what goes into de-gaying these players? Do they bring in one of those reformed gay Evangelical guys who is still CLEARLY gay, in fact gayer than ever? Do the coaches have buckets of cold water ready to deploy at all times? If a Dominican player gets horny, does the team have a stable of available pussy ready to deploy so that the horny player does NOT fuck a man? How many cocks has Sammy Sosa sucked? I bet he's sucked a BUSHEL of them. Do reformed gay Dominicans suck on bats to wean themselves?
And I'd like to know what "going to town" means in the shower, because that sure as hell sounds rapey. Wouldn't you know the Dominican guy is about to come up from behind and rape you in the shower, given the loud salsa music blaring out of his boom box? THASS RAYCESS!
This completely unsubstantiated email from Price demands further exploration. Are you a Dominican male? Did you bang any guys today? BE HONEST, FELLA. DID YOU? Don't worry. I won't think you're gay if you did. We're cool like that. I just wanna know. Email me to confirm.
Now I finally understand the massive divide between the American and Latin players in baseball. It's not about languages, or customs, or music, or putting your used toilet paper in the garbage can. It's all about the gay. I find this shit fascinating. You know those assholes who decry all the Tiger coverage and are always like, "Well, I don't care WHAT he does in the privacy of his own bedroom." Really? I do. I totally care. I'll never stop being intrigued by golfers banging porn stars and Pedro Martinez boning his midget. And you can eat shit if you think you're all above that.
Yesterday I was driving down the interstate when I got cut off by a giant car carrying semi. Of course, my immediate expectation was that the driver was about to start releasing the cars off the back of the truck. I knew I was going to have to set my cruise control, crawl out the sunroof and jump onto the truck. I figured I'd grab a tire iron and have some intense highway battle on the open carrier going 70 mph down the highway.
Evidently the truck just needed to get over to exit the highway though because he was gone a mile later. Real life is boring.
It sure is. Any time I'm driving behind an empty car carrier, I have the manic urge to see if I can drive ONTO the truck itself. The ramp is so tantalizingly close to the ground. I always see myself having to speed up to get onto the ramp, then immediately having to brake to keep from driving 80 while on the truck itself. Then I get out of the car, climb to the top level of the carrier, take out a guitar, and fucking blast the solo from "November Rain." And I don't even LIKE that song.
Any time I get behind a full car carrier, I have to drive around it because I greatly fear a car coming loose and bashing into my hood, causing me to skid, flip 700 times, and die in a fireball. I mean, sometimes those cars on board are bouncing like crazy. How I do I know Mr. Ephedrine Snorter in the front cab tied those things down securely? I don't. TRUST NO ONE.
I don't trust any truck with a clear and visibly loose payload, especially log trucks (I've seen that one Final Destination trailer too many times, which is why I also have a panic attack any time I stick my hand down the disposal). Ever gotten behind a gravel truck and it just starts firing pebbles at your windshield? TERRIFYING.
(One final daydream that involves GNR and motorized transportation: Any time I ride a train, I always immediately scope out the passageways between rail cars, in case I have to scale to the top of the car, take out my guitar, and begin playing "Locomotive". They never made a video for that song. I loved that song. I've had an entire vision for a video of it since age 15. Call me anytime, Axl.
I also wish every modern train had a real caboose, so that I could have a fight with a bandito in the back of one, ending with me kicking his ass down to the track, as my train rides off into the sunset. I am an odd person.)
What songs have you taught yourself to play on your kid's little xylophones and My First Pianos and shit? I've taught myself "Iron Man" on all of them. This is one of the secret joys of fatherhood.
It sure is. However, I find that many of these stupid toys do not have the flat and sharp notes required to play "Damage Inc." to my liking, which aggravates me. Instead, I end up playing shit like "Lean On Me," which is an awful song that always causes me to get the Club Nouveau version of it stuck in my fucking head. Goddamn Club Nouveau.
Do you ever get money out of the ATM and count it in the hopes that MAYBE, just MAYBE they gave you one too many twenties? I imagine it to be glorious…as I sit there counting my $120.00, I find an extra twenty, and I start kicking the crap out of the ATM and laughing and celebrating as if I won the lottery, when really, all I got was an extra twenty. This will never happen.
I blame Monopoly.
Way to not reflect the real world, Parker Brothers. AND I NEVER WON THAT BEAUTY CONTEST.
No, an ATM won't begin magically spitting cash at you, but you know what CAN happen? The ATM shortchanging you. No lie. It happened to me a while back. I was at a bar on the Jersey Shore (as always, I get what I deserve) when I ran out of cash. The bar had one of those horrible, non-bank affiliated ATM's designed specifically to wrangle enormous ATM fees from drunken bar patrons. I knew I was about to get fucked by this thing, but I needed a drink. So in my card went. I asked for $80. I got $60, with a receipt saying I had gotten $80. A LIE!
I went to the bar owner to tell him about this. He said the only thing he could do was give me fucking bar credit. Just as he told me this, the entire group I was with was preparing to go to some other goddamn place. And so I was left with a wooden coin with an anchor on it, noting that I had $20 free to spend at Guido D'Whateverthefuck's in Spring Lake. Fuck you, Jersey.
One day, they will make fancy phony ATM cards attached to pirate computer doohickies, just like the one Eddie Furlong and that other brat used in Terminator 2 to rob that ATM. And when that happens, VENGEANCE IS MINE.
How long is too long to keep a pair of gym shoes? Mine are about 3 years old and I have no desire to buy new ones.
My old rule used to be that I kept them until a toe was visible. But then I got married, and my wife was all like, "You have to replace them when the tread is completely worn." Well, that happens after like five days, missy! I don't need to buy shoes that often. What am I, a Filipino Prime Minister? Ridiculous. Anyway, I say keep those fuckers until they smell like your future corpse.
Pat the Bat:
When I'm pulling up to a red light, I'm always frantically looking at the cars next to me, secretly hoping that:
1) There will be a supermodel in one of them and
2) She will notice me, roll down her window, and invite me to the nearest motel with hourly rates
I feel like, as a man, this is an instinct, and I've done it for as long as I can remember. Has this actually ever happened to anybody? No.
I blame any number of Bugle Boy ads and Vacation for this. But there are those times when you do spot an uncommonly foxy woman in a car nearby, and that is always a troublesome development. Because you never get a clean glimpse the first time. It's always like, "Whoa hey, I think there was a hot chick in that fucking car!"
Then you have to VERIFY. That includes speeding up and slowing down and recklessly passing any number of cars to catch up and make sure you get verification that yes, the driver is smoking hot. But you can't just stare. I've made pains to get a second look, then failed to get a solid look because I didn't want to look like a creep, then had to go in for a goddamn THIRD look, nearly crashing my car in the process. This is all made triply complicated if, say, your wife and children are in the car with you. "Hmm, that car certainly had an interesting leather interior! Let's observe it in greater detail!"
The message of this is simple: If you're a hot woman, you really shouldn't drive.
Is there anything worse than spilling a snack that comes in many small pieces (e.g. blueberries, Skittles, etc.) on the ground? Of course, you're crestfallen from the outset, as you have spilled a delicious snack all over the floor. You sort of freeze for a minute, wondering if the proper course of action is a decisive cleanup or a moment of silent sadness for the lost snack (it's always the latter). Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, you have to bend down to pick them up. It's one of those times when you really wish you had a "Rewind" button.
It's horrible. You should see me the second I drop a package of M&M's on the floor. I sound like I've just been informed that my children have AIDS. And I always yell FUCK really loud the second it happens. "Oopoop! FUCK!!!!!" Berries are the worst because those little plastic tubs they come in are specifically rigged to pop open unexpectedly and cause shit to scatter all over the fucking floor. It would not kill the berrymakers of the world to put their product in clear Chinese food cartons.
Because I'm married, I do have to bend down and pick up everything I've spilled, which prompts a massive spell of pouting and swearing on my part. At least five of the pieces will go to corners of the kitchen that can only be reached via some sort of mechanical claw. Those nasty corners are like little Skittle vortices. Damn them to Hell.
Have you ever seen these people at the gym who drink coffee while working out? I don't know about you, but the last thing I want to drink when I'm sucking wind and dehydrated is a scalding hot liquid that makes me shit my pants.
What about the people who read the newspaper at the gym? The actual newspaper, with the sections and everything. Those fuckers are crazy. It's hard enough to read a newspaper while sitting perfectly still.
In fact, I went back to my folks for Christmas this year. They still subscribe to the newspaper and get it every morning. So I sat down with breakfast and tried reading it, and it's so obvious that part of the reason papers are dying is because the act of reading the paper BLOWS, no matter what Buzz Bissinger may tell you.
You get ink all over your hands. The fucking thing never folds properly if you're trying to fold it to one interior page. To read it comfortably, you have to lay it down on the breakfast table, which is difficult if other family members are annoying enough to be also eating at the table. My sports section needs to go right where Jenny's cereal bowl is, if I want a good read. She needs to fucking move her shit. Even then, the copy at the top of the page feels like it's a million miles away. I feel like I'm trying to read the Star Wars opening crawl just as it's on the verge of disappearing into space. And sometimes you get those dud pages where there's a random crease that renders the copy unreadable. Print newspapers are fucking FLAWED. And all of Tony Kornheiser's bullshit romanticizing of sitting down with a paper doesn't change the fact that reading it electronically blows regular newsprint out of the fucking water.
Also, I love those people at the gym who try and read real books while on the equipment. Lady, you are sweating profusely over that poor Danielle Steele novel. I'd be more comfortable knowing you took that book into the shitter.
There's only one real thing to read when you're at the gym: saddle stitched magazines. The kind that are stapled in the center. The ones that are perfect bound, with the glue in the center? Like Maxim? Fucked.
Why don't they make elevator buttons unlatchable/deselectable? I work at the patent office, and nobody can give me a straight answer.
Sweet Jesus, you just blew my mind. I… I don't know. This should have been made standard YEARS ago. I punch the wrong floor at least 30% of the time, dammit!
I hold the world record (unofficial) for longest urination - 5 minutes and 14 seconds. I suffer from slow pee. On average, my piss takes anywhere from 1 minute to 2 minutes, way longer in the morning or breaking the seal during a night out. There is no destroying leftover TP in the toilet, and I get scared when peeing in public (ie. a laneway outside the bar or side of the road) because it takes too long.
Also, I am constantly afraid of getting heckled by the next guy in line while going to the bathroom at a sporting event or bar where a line-up might form behind me at the urinal. I'm a younger guy and this shouldn't be affecting me yet. I have had all the medical tests, tried various pills and the last resort the specialist says is they could stick a tube in my pee hole to give me a chance to get a better stream. This seems very painful for a chance, so do I embrace the slow pee or go for the pain and a chance to pee like a normal man?
It sounds to me as if your meatus, or your dickhole, is too small. Possibly pinprick-sized. So it sounds like the catheter they want to shove up your dick will help to increase the diameter of your meatus. I assume you are given pain medication for this, so I would get over the squeamishness of the whole thing and go for it. After all, if it takes you that long to piss, what kind of backup do you get when you ejaculate? Are there globs that just won't pass? I know a Dominican dude who can help suck it out. HE'S NOT GAY, HE'S JUST THERE TO HELP.
Hut Hut In The Butt:
I spend literally 6 hours of my 7 hour day fucking around on the Internet. When I actually do work, I'll reward 5 minutes of progress with 30 minutes of web browsing and IM chat. Part of that hour I work is spent praising myself in the form of status reports and emails, which result in kudos from my bosses and coworkers. I routinely stretch projects out 4 to 6 times longer than they should take. Am I the world's laziest person? I also get pangs of guilt when I go to the store or fast food places where people actually have to work, although this quickly turns to scorn for them not being smart enough to get themselves to my position.
Before people started paying me to dick around on the Internet, I adhered to virtually the exact same schedule as you. I mean, I did NOTHING. And I suspect that many people out there with desk jobs waste similar amounts of time. After all, you're reading this right now. DURING BILLABLE HOURS.
I've always wondered, not terribly seriously, if this is part of the reason for that whole economic collapse thing. I mean, how productive can this nation be if many of us don't, you know, fucking do anything? This is the time of year when media outlets spew out some bullshit about how business are losing billions because of March Madness in lost productivity. I don't think those people dicking around with bracket pools were all that productive beforehand. In fact, I've grown to view filling out brackets as a menial task that takes me away from all my REAL dicking around.
Sometimes, I think this has to be exacting a toll. But then I watch Mad Men (which I treat as a completely reliable source of historical accuracy), and all they did was drink and fuck back then. So perhaps us white collar folk have ALWAYS spent most of our workdays not doing anything. I remember I watched The Pursuit of Happyness once, and it made me feel like complete shit because that guy busted his fucking ASS. I hope his kid ended up as lazy as I am. That would make me feel better.
Have you ever noticed or been mystified at the body's ability to close the trap door on a camping/hiking trip or Phish concert? I have had this discussion with several friends and all of us agree that it seems like the body just knows, "Hey, there is not going to be a porcelain pony to ride for the next 72 hours, so keep you shit together", and it does.
The bladder works this way, too. I'm notorious for my weak bladder. But put me in a car on a long car trip, and suddenly I can hold out like a champ. No clue why. It annoys me because it gives me a glimpse at my bladder's potential, which goes unfulfilled on day-to-day basis. It's a very disappointing organ.
Cooler: Pulling the shotgun/machine gun out of the box of flowers before making the hit, or pulling them out of a guitar/other musical instrument case? Mind you, it's NOT a guitar case-machine gun like in Desperado. I'd go with the box of flowers, as I like the flowers going everywhere as your firing off rounds, plus there's the added symbolism of placing flowers on the recently deceased's body. Those guitar case buckles might be harder to open in the clutch, too.
Yeah, but guitars + guns is more cool flowers + guns. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like the surprise element of the flowers. "Look at what I got for you! A box of beautiful red ro… EAT LEAD, MOTHERFUCKER!" But the guitar case is still cooler. Ever carry around a guitar case? It totally makes you feel like a fucking badass. You picture women throwing themselves at your knees with every step. ZOMG! HE HAS A GUITAR!
I took guitar lessons for a long time, and it was deeply satisfying to carry my guitar to and from my lessons. The actual lessons themselves were horrid. Playing guitar is a BITCH. But carrying one around? Easy AND fun.
Gonzaga has never done a god damn thing. I am sick and fucking tired of hearing these idiots on TV compare people to Gonzaga. They went to one elite eight 12 years ago. Nice fucknig accomplishment. Meanwhile, Xavier seems to go to the swet 16 every year and has been to the elite 8 in the past 2 years. They also beat the big boys when they play them. If you want to go even smaller, Butler is way more successful than Gonzaga. Fuck Gonzaga in their overhyped ass. That is all.
Yeah, but the reason people talk about Gonzaga all the time is because it's a fun name to say. Sounds like Godzilla's cousin. "LOOK OUT! GONZAGA! YOU MUST FLEE!" Also sounds like the name of a character in a Douglas Adams book. Or a fancy bleu cheese. You see the allure?
What would you say the level of infuriation is when you are trying to get a pan or pot out of that cabinet only to have all of them slide out and onto the floor next to your feet? This inevitably leads to someone you live with saying, "What's going on in there?" and you saying " I'M TRYING TO GET A FUCKING PAN OUT OF THE FUCKING CABINET!" and instantly starting some sort of domestic disturbance. You try to push them back in instead of rearranging them the right way so it wouldn't happen again but, the game of cabinet jenga may never be replicated and a relationship has been ruined. I don't care if my 74-year-old nana was walking in the room, she would get the same reaction.
Well, that about sums my life up in a nice tidy package. That's one of those instances that causes me to have a fit of completely unjustified roid rage. I just fucking go off on those pans. THESE FUCKING PANS, SITTING IN THIS FUCKING CABINET. WHY THE FUCK CAN'T THESE FUCKING THINGS JUST FUCKING COME OUT NORMALLY AND WHO THE FUCK PUT THESE LIKE THIS? WHY ARE THEY EVEN IN THE BACK OF THE CABINET? GAHHHHHH!!! GAHHH I HATE YOU POTS AND NOTHING I DID WAS EVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, DAD!!!!
Why do brownie mixes have a cakey recipe and a fudgy recipe? Given the option, would anyone ever choose a cakey brownie over a fudgy one? And why does this piss me off so much?
No clue why. I'm on record as being pro-fudgy. You want cakey brownies? Then have fucking cake. Also, any time I make brownies, I always add an extra bag of chocolate chips. It feels like the right thing to do. I had a brownie sundae the other day as a break from my diet. You should have seen me attack this thing. I looked like I wanted to make babies with it.
I don't know about you, but I absolutely love the feeling you get when walking up or down a flight of stairs, and you are one hundred percent convinced there is another step, so you go to take that step, and you encounter no more steps.
Yeah, but there's a flipside to that coin, which is when you go down the steps, and you think there's one more step, only there isn't, and so you jam your foot into the ground and nearly kill yourself falling over. Not fun.
How did you know your wife was the one? I've been with my girlfriend for about a year and she's an awesome cook, buys me clothes, says interesting things and still give me head regularly. What am I waiting for, right? Right?
Beats me. If you love her and you know you can always count on her, then put a ring on it, dumbfuck.
I would like to alert everybody to a crevice-cleaning problem that affects people...tonsil stones. If you are unfamiliar, tonsil stones are little bits of debris and mucus that calcify in the recesses of your tonsils. They usually just make you feel a scratching in your throat. But these little shits affect the public way more than that. They smell like piss/shit/vomit and, therefore, cause horrendously bad breath.
I discovered them by accident when I had a sore throat. I was looking for signs of strep and there was this little yellowish thing stuck to my tonsil. After realizing it was hard as a rock, I showed my mom and she told me what it was. I immediately started digging and struck gold. I was pulling those things out for 5 minutes. And ever since, I started cleaning them out every few days, and it has helped my breath to the 10th degree. It's not hard (unless your gag reflex is not up to snuff). A Q-tip and flashlight is all you need. And the public benefit of getting rid of the bad breath is tremendous. Also, since I clean mine out quite often I don't have much to show, but a simple YouTube search will upset your stomach fairly quickly.
YIKES! Looks like a damn pussy tooth.