Can you do a ranking of activities that you can’t do without a drink in your hand. I got the coals started on my grill tonight, and then ran out for a 6-pack because I realized I can’t grill without a beer. Similarly: bowling, pool, and recovering from a workout.


Like you, I also feel naked without a cold can of piss beer when I fire the flames up. If I’m grilling sober, I’m not really getting the full Grill Dad experience, and it wounds my soul. Here are some other activities I will not do unless I have my hand glued to a Natty Boh:



My wife recently informed me that I have a habit of serving the family cold food. I’ll openly admit that part of the problem is me. I’m a terrible multi-tasker, so I have a hard time finishing three different dishes at the same time. Any suggestions to fix either issue?


The easiest way to ensure everyone’s dinner is piping hot is to make a one-dish meal. That means soups, stews, braises, lasagna, GUMBO, etc etc. If you’re making a tradition meat-starch-veggie meal, you’ve got at least two things you need to serve hot, and those two things usually cool down very fast. It’s hard to coordinate all that food AND get your family seated at the table right when that food is at peak warmth. I have absolutely made a nice hot meal and then yelled at the kids because they were too busy dicking around to come eat when it’s ready. Then the pasta turns to rubber and they piss and moan about it being too cold and I want to throw them in a lake. IT’S NOT MY FAULT YOU WERE BUSY TRYING TO RIDE THE DOG, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS.

But that’s what I get for not making tuna casserole. It’s stupid to cook ambitious food when you’re feeding it to some 7-year-old. From now on, I’m only making chili in the winter and serving ice-cold italian subs in the summer. We’ll die of coronary heart disease but at least everything will be the right temperature.



Which take is hotter? “Thing that is bad is Actually Good” or “Thing that is good is Actually Bad”?


Oh, the former. People are much more passionate about stuff they hate than stuff they like, so when some contrarian looks up from his reading glasses and is like, “Actually, Limp Bizkit was good,” or “Actually, the prequels are the best Star Wars movies,” that is both riskier and more obnoxious because you’re inviting ridicule in addition to the standard helping of internet scorn. This is why you don’t see me offering my heartfelt opinion that “Right Here Waiting” by Richard Marx is a genuinely tender and beautiful song. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, dammit.

On a broader scale, I think the hotness of takes is mostly dependent on the TONE of the take, and less on the actual subject matter. Like, you’ll find absolutely nuclear takes in the comments section of any given YouTube post. But what makes a take special is when the critic responsible for it acts like he’s doing you a fucking favor by dishing it out. Like, when you’re self-absorbed to the point where you think your “Actually, Nazis are great” take is some grand epiphany you’ve gifted to the masses, that’s when Jordan Peterson takes you under his wing. You’ve got a future in this biz, you smarmy little shit!



What are the odds that someone was mid-shit on an airplane when it crashed? I just flew to Europe and back and noticed that there was probably someone in at least one of the bathrooms nearly every minute of the flight (roughly 250 passengers, 6+ bathrooms). So I would wager that there was definitely someone IN a bathroom if a plane crashed.


Are you talking about pushing one out right at the moment of impact? Because I’m sure that’s happened, but it’s gotta be pretty rare. For a sudden impact, you’d have to be flying low to the ground but also free to use the toilet, and that seems unlikely. I have never been in a plane crash (fingers crossed!), but I assume there’s a dreadful, noticeable period where you realize you’re going down, yes? That horrible moment when the engines fail and all you hear is the wind whistling around the fuselage before the oxygen masks drop down and you go into a tailspin? I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get that. That moment of horrifying anticipation is probably enough time to keep you from dying in the shitter.

So I think if a crash is imminent and the pilot has instructed everyone to assume the position, adrenaline takes over and you STOP evacuating your bowels. No one wants to die on the can, much less an airplane can. So I would go right into survival mode and stand up with half a log sticking out of my ass. Then I return to my seat and try to fire off a saucy tweet before bursting into flames. Tell the world I died like a MAN.



Would you rather get rid of snack foods or snacking? Either you can eat whenever you want, but no “snack foods” like chips or peanuts or whatever, or you can eat any food under the sun but only during meals. I think I personally would say snack foods, because I enjoy the freedom of eating whenever, and I could always just snack on pizza or pasta or some regular food. But, the prospect of never eating popcorn or BBQ chips or even Cheez-Its again makes me pretty sad. What do you think?


Snacking is incredibly bad for you, and I have already endeavored to banish it from my own life. Then pool season comes around and the snack bar has those little dollar bags of Cheetos that are just the right size and I fall off the wagon all over again. It’s awful. I’ve had so many good runs of Not Snacking fall apart at the sight of a tub of cheese popcorn, or a heaping bowl of cocoa almonds. It’s not fair. At this point, my only hope for staying on the straight and narrow is for the government to institute some kind of martial snack law. Only mealtime eating for everyone. Judging by the very wide men running this country, that’s not happening anytime soon. Papa John and all the Yum! brands c-suite executives will be the last free people in America when all is said and done.

By the way, it’s a genuine thrill to have snack foods as a side dish to go with an actual meal. Like when you get chips with your hot dog, all on one plate? That’s just great living. I’ll take chips as a side dish over a fucking cup of coleslaw any day. I have also had cheese and crackers as a full meal, and it’s deeply satisfying in ways normal meals are not.


Email of the week!


When I was a kid, my favorite restaurant to go to was one of those Japanese teppanyaki/hibachi places where they cook everything right in front of you and set the onion volcano on fire and flip shrimp at you. Fun for kids, and this one was more upscale than Benihana so my parents liked it too. And while this place had a kids menu, they basically gave everyone the same amount of food, so every time we went I’d leave the place with my stomach essentially ready to burst.

On one summer evening when I was somewhere around 10 years old, we went to the restaurant, left stuffed, and decided to head to a around a nearby mall to “walk it off.” Halfway to the mall, which I knew for a fact had some of the nicer bathrooms around, I announce that I have to shit. Not in a few minutes; now. I’m sweating, squirming, sucking wind from the open window. My dad emergency-stops at a Miltons, which is a local Boston-area suit chain. (The location in question no longer exists.)

We run inside, and my dad asks the employees if I - a sweating, panting, chubby 10-year-old - can use their bathroom. They say no, it’s for paying customers only. My dad starts running around looking for a pair of socks or a cheap tie to buy while I sprint outside to see if there’s another nearby store. The minute I feel the fresh air outside, my brain starts screaming at me that it’s now or never. I spot some bushes on the side of the store, drop trou, and proceed to paint an entire flowerbed with the most noxious and gloppy stream of diarrhea I’ve ever expelled to this very day (I’m 25 now). And it just won’t stop; every time I think it has to be ending soon, my body finds a way to expel more of my insides. I’m convinced I lost at least a dozen pounds and a pant size or two on this entire endeavor.

I should also note that I’m not an experienced outdoor shitter. I dropped out of Cub Scouts before any of the outdoor training started. Needless to say, it was everywhere. All over me, my clothes, and the side of the store.

I staggered back towards the Milton’s entrance where my dad was standing. They’d given him one of those black plastic suit jacket bags, which he tore holes into so I could wear as pants for the silent drive home.

I have no lessons for you or your readership other than the next time you need to buy a suit, for the love of all that isn’t shit-covered, shop Men’s Wearhouse.