Monthly Archives: July 2012

I like you, you can follow me home and sleep with my sister.

Mr. Special is in the hizzy.

This guy is a piece of work.

He has a trio of young ladies surrounding him in the mall Starbucks.

Let me paint you a picture.

Tall, dark curly hair, hip hop athlete.

The pant, when he came in, were hanging below his balls in the front and below his ass cheeks in the back.

It reminds me of the old guy who went on American Idol and sang his own song.

“Pants on the ground.”

It was a tribute to the stupidity of the mind set sitting in front of me.

Talks like he may be retarded in a “Yo, MTV Raps” kinda way.

A quick example of the verbiage being used.

  • “Ain’t nobody hirin’ a man in this mall.” (Man is a stretch here.)
  • “Those shoes is IT!” (Complete with finger snaps.)
  • “Dirty sprite, nicca mids nuffm.” (?)

After reviewing this, I want to apologies for anyone who can be classified as retarded.

You people are mentally ahead of the game as far as this guy goes.

And, update, I have heard two of the girls refer to him by name.

Are you ready for his name?

This is the biggest bombshell of the whole encounter.

His name is “Pwey”

That is phonetically spelled, by the way.

Anyway, Pwey and his chunky posse have decided to walk to Target to fill out an application for Pwey.

Two things.

Number one. Is anyone shocked that neither Pwey or the funky bunch has a vehicle?

Number two. Would you hire this little bit of something wonderful?

Maybe its not two things, it just one.

This kid is unemployable because he has no idea that he is useless.

He will get hired, some place has to be that stupid, and it will happen.

But he is destined to stay at minimum wage forever.

Pissing and moaning about what some “Wall Street Banker” took from him.

Really? What banker was that?

The one that pulled your pants down? Or the one that told you that you should leave them down for the job interviews?

Either way, somebody gave this kid the wrong info and it will nose dive his career for the rest of his life.

And I am voting for mom and dad.

How proud they must be.

But, all kidding aside, someone should be held responsible for inflicting “Pwey” on the world.

I don’t want to be mean, ok actually I do, but this kid has nothing to offer the world at this point.

The shelters are putting dogs to death because nobody wants them, how about switching out the next pitbull to be gassed for Pwey?

He might not even mind.

I keep trying to get away from ragging on this kid, and I just can’t.

I have found in the past that when I can’t leave something alone its because my mind thinks its just that damned important.

Pwey must die for the good of humanity.

Think of it as a human sacrifice for us all.

See if we can’t curry a little favor with the gods.

I’m a Catholic, but I believe in hedging my bets when I can, and I try to bank a little mojo whenever I can.

Pays to be careful. these days.



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Posted by on July 31, 2012 in Uncategorized


The book is OUT!!!

The reason I originally started this blog was because I saw something that I thought others would like, and because I wanted to promote a book.

And now the book is out.

Not the original book I had planned, but a book none the less.

And I want you to buy it.

Look over in the right hand column, there it is.

You can buy it by clicking there, or here. Caffeinated Humor Volume 1

If you love the blog, if you like the blog, even if you hate it but wouldn’t mind helping a new author, get the book.

If you don’t have a kindle, buy one, then get the book.

I would love to go into a whole spiel about this being art, and the money doesn’t matter.

But, at my core, I am a rotten whore when it comes to cash and I want to make a living at this.


Glad I got that off of my chest.

That being said, I am a little leary of the whole publishing thing.

Self publishing takes a little of the thrill out of the whole publishing mystique.

I mean, I didn’t have to meet with sleazy agents and do blow and get pressured into doing things that make me feel dirty in order to get the book published.

Not that I am looking for that, but you do have expectations.

I am sure you would feel better buying the book if there was some horror story accompanying it.

That way, when you told friends about it, you look benevolent.

“Did you hear about all the shit this poor guy had to go thru to get this thing published?”

See? Sounds like a story.

And I like the idea of you telling all your friends about it.

Lets get a little cult-like about this.

If its a choice between your rent getting paid or buying this ebook?

Well, if $4.99 is really a deal killer, you already have major issues, so you should definitely get the Ebook. Better to laugh as all hell breaks loose in your personal life.

Let me be your company during crappy periods.

I can’t fix your issues, but there may be a 1 in five shot that you read something I wrote that shoots coffee out thru your nose, so its all good.

And, just in case your life is not in the shitter, even better.

I am much better company when your life is going well.

Are you seeing a theme here?

It all boils down to a shameless demand that you buy the damn thing.






Posted by on July 30, 2012 in Uncategorized


You want a piece of me?

I usually say “Google it” when I mention obscure terms or people that I know are not common knowledge.

Today I will break that tradition.

Carl Von Clauswitz was a Prussian soldier and military theorist who stressed the psychological and political aspects of war.

He was brilliant and about a century ahead of his time.

That being said, here is todays post:

The first hit caught me in the kidneys.

It was light, any harder and it would have driven me to my knees.

I used to have a friend that thought it was funny to sneak up behind you and smack you, open palmed, in the kidneys.

Thats funny till the first time you piss blood.

Anyway, thats the panic that went thru me in the first nano seconds.

Then she stomped my foot.

You don’t expect to be attacked at the cream and sugar kiosk at Starbucks.

Its kind of the last place you expect to find violence.

I drink my coffee fairly blue collar.

A little milk, a little sweetener, it only takes a second.

The guy next to me is a local lawyer I know.

Dressed very well, he doesn’t take long to fix his coffee either.

The kiosk will accommodate 2 people at a time, comfortably.

I could tell the first moment that he got hit, his whole body flinched.

Somebody put a hand on my hip and shoved.

I am not lightweight, but catch me off guard and I can be moved.

The woman shoving her way into the middle of the kiosk is ancient.

Possibly 75? 80? I am pretty bad at guessing.

This woman takes no shit, you can tell that by the look on her face.

She subscribes to the Von Clausewitz concept of “Total War”, leaving nothing out, everything commited to the battle.

Go big or go home.


She puts her coffee down and reaches for sugar, white sugar, old school.

“Excuse me.”

She says this with the air of the victor surrounding her.

She owns us, and she knows this.

The “Excuse me” is like shaking hands across the net in tennis after you beat the shit out of your opponent.

Andrea Aggassi used to do this beautifully.

The man despised his opponents, that they would dare to challenge him.

So the handshake simply told them, “This is my world.”

He was arrogant, but a warrior.

Kind of like this little old lady.

So we gave her room.

There is a time and place to fight back.

And this is not it.

Even Von Clauswitz would agree.

I am fascinated with this woman.

She looks like my friend Newark Marie, just a harmless old lady.


But Marie never exuded the aura of menace that this woman does.

There is an old adage that broken field runners are born, not made.

It is a goddamn shame this woman was not born in a time when MMA for women was popular.

Her talent is being wasted.

She’s incredible.

She is woman, damn it, hear her roar.



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Posted by on July 27, 2012 in Uncategorized


The ballad of Tony and Maria

I am in an odd place.

Kind of a calm before the storm.

I am sitting in the outdoor patio of a fast food place, watching Mad Max on my Kindle Fire.

That thing is awesome for watching movies.

Mel Gibson, by the way, was badass.

Was is the key word.

Now he is a vicious drunk and an out of control rageaholic.

Mad Max is now Mad Mel.

But I am not writing about him.

I am writing about them.

Tony and Maria.

I have been writing this blog for well over a year now, and hands down, the most popular post I have ever written was one about two hispanic teenagers, that had two kids together.

It was called “I just met a girl named Maria.”

I theorized that they would have a lot more kids before they are thru.

An extended Cadillac Escalade pulls into the parking lot.

Its a big car, bright white, with spinners.

And then the door opens and the occupants begin to get out.

Child after child after child, exiting like a clown car.

9 children in all.

and then the parents get out.

Mid to late twenties.

Mom still looks good.

Dad doesn’t look like he is being destroyed by extreme overtime in the effort to pay for these kids.

As they walk around the front to order, the kids hit the seats.

This is one of the largest families I have seen in years.

The kids range in age from an infant being tended by twin 10 year old girls, to a 12 year old son, clearly the oldest.

I will go out on a limb and say that there is a child for every year from 3 thru twelve.


I have to say that I am impressed.

I am viewing this as the future snap shot of Tony and Maria.

And they are doing exactly what I said they would be doing.

But they look like they are pulling it off.


I don’t wish ill for anyone.

Well, some people I do, I can’t lie.

But I only reported what I saw the first time, along with some snide comments, but not a real opinion.

This isn’t them, But I say it is, and you don’t get a vote.

What I should have said in that first blog was my honest opinion.

Here it is.

You can have all the kids you want.

But you have to man and woman up and take care of them.

Looks like they have.

More power to you, kids.



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Posted by on July 26, 2012 in Uncategorized


And the winner is…

I do not make my living as a male model.

Don’t have the height, the looks or the metro-sexual vibe needed to look good in print.

There is a reason why I write.

The creative shit is where I make up on the points.

I had a friend once tell me something that really stroked my ego, and to this day, I still wonder if she was just blowing smoke up my ass.

She said I was like that hot chick that didn’t know she was hot.


Compliments are both a good thing and a bad thing.

It is nice to be on a pedestal every now and then.

Just don’t get used to it.

Stay on the pedestal for too long and your head inflates and then the bad stuff happens.

You begin shitting on people, maybe you start a blog.

That one hits a little close to home.

Sometimes, I knock myself off of the pedestal without anyone elses help.

Kind of like a few seconds of daylight and then its back to the coal mines.

And if compliments are on one end of te spectrum, then insults are on the other end.

You can disagree with me all you like, but I believe that insults should have a recommended daily allowance as well.

You got a Ying, you gotta have a Yang.

I got into a mini FB disagreement with someone who posted this paragraph that basically said that no matter who or what you are, you are beautiful, no matter what.

The phrasing was something you would see scribbled on a brown paper book cover from elementary school.

I made the comment that I disagreed and some people are ugly as sin.

And the argument was on.

Aside from it being a snide comment, I actually meant it.

I believe in being positive, but you should keep it in the realm of reality.

Its like school now days.

At graduation, everyone wins something.

You can be a slug on a goddam rock and win an award at an elementary school graduation.

And that is sooooooo wrong.

I know the self esteem theories behind it all, I just disagree with it.

Children raised without a solid understanding that winning something you have to work hard at and if not, you fail, grow up to believe that things must be given to them without achievement.

The occupy movement is pretty full of this mental sludge.

Because when a child is raised with this false view of how the world works all thru school, they enter the workforce expecting the same societal hand holding and many break.

Mental/emotional breaks can take a long time to recover from in some cases.

By the way, that whole concept is not from a psychology book, it just an opinion.

I happen to know of a Child/Family counselor, PHD and all, that years ago told me that my theories on child rearing were potentially harmful.

I later found out that his 15 year old had been in rehab.


My 16 year old is an honor student, and my 22 year old has an incredible job.

So clutch your PHD in either hand, pucker up and bite my ass.

Evidently, I am not wrong.

Surprise, surprise.

I think the problem has a lot to do with people waiting for other people to handle things for them.

Got an issue? Truly search your own head for the answer before you throw up your hands and hand the reigns to someone else.

Hard not to rave more right now without going political.

and, no, I don’t consider the occupy movement political.

They would have to be a little more on the ball mentally to do that.

Which means their just annoying.

But, hey, at least they got an award at their elementary school graduation.




Posted by on July 25, 2012 in Uncategorized


Don’t mess with the Puta

So, whats killing you today?

Nobody said that, I said that.

But someone had to.

There are two old men sitting at the table next to me.

And they are talking about their ailments and injuries.

Each one is apparently taking their turn and talking about a disease or break or affliction in its entirety.

And they have been doing it for the last 15 minutes.

I had no idea the human body could absorb that much punishment and still live.

For starters, they have both been shot in “The War”.

They don’t specify what war, just “The War.”

As I am a sucker for old veterans, I have decided these old guys are complete badass.

The top three ailments listed during this period:

  • A knife wound one guy got when he was a cop years ago in Chicago by “Some young punk.” (He is now ahead 1-0)
  • The other gentleman had his entire prostate removed a few years back. (Score is now tied.)
  • Got the Clap in the Philippines during the war. (I’m sorry, this one wins it all.)


I am of the firm opinion that these old dudes are classic old school……something.

I have yet to figure out what, exactly.

Let me think on it and get back to you.

The table next to them is occupied by the loudest Latin women I have ever heard.

They have to be speaking Puerto Rican simply because there are no other languages that flat-out fast.

They might be arguing, but there is no way to be sure.

Navy men, I knew I would figure it out. They are old school Navy men.

The shouting and talking over each other might be just the attempt to be heard over the other.

The finger pointing? I am kind of at a loss there.

There aren’t any societal situations that involve that kind of vigorous finger pointing that are not tense and angry.

All right, it has to be angry, one woman just crumbled up the bag her coffee cake came in and threw it at her partner.

Said partner is not pleased.

Its now on, the word “Puta” has been harshly whispered.

How is it that regular speech for these ladies is so loud, but now the argument starts and they are whispering.

Stage whispers, but none the less.

If I spoke Puerto Rican, I would have a juicy story to tell you.

But the gringo don’t hablo, so go fish.

Now, as mad as the two ladies are at each other, they both have time to chew their kids out for playing with the plastic thermal mug display.

A pyramid has been built.

Once the pyramid fell, for the third time, the women stopped whispering at each other and began yelling in unison at the kids.

And the kids begin furiously cleaning up like their lives depend on it.

And maybe they do.

Even the old veterans look a little spooked, and you would think that they would be immune.

Because you don’t want to piss off a Latin woman.

Their stereo-typical temper is the stuff of legends.

As well as their martial skill with a shoe.

Before you scream racist at me, I have known one proud Puerto Rican woman in my life. (She defined it as “Proud Puerto Rican.)

And she had hours of stories to tell about her mom, her aunts, and her legendery grand mother’s shoe wielding ability.

Evidently, a properly handled woman’s shoe  is deadlier than a katana.

And I would not want to face either one.




Posted by on July 24, 2012 in Uncategorized


Its not just a tea party.

What is it about the mall that seems to show me the oddest look in the wierdest situations?

I am looking at one hard dude.

Tatted out like its his job, some on his face. Shaved head. Big baggy shorts hanging past his ass.

Serious gang banger look going on.

And he is playing peek a boo with his daughter.

When you have a little girl, a part of you changes.

With a son, you can still play Mr. tough guy, but with a little girl, you will be baby talking at one point or another.

Kids do change you, and that is not a bad thing.

Change can be good.

And not that Hope and Change banner to fool the proles.

Actual change.

You understand what kind of change when you are squatted down on a tiny chair having a tea party with a little flower hat on your head.

You are Mrs. Nesbit

A man’s perspective about women change, one way or the other.

They either treat women differently or they become constant titty bar patrons that view all women as whores.

Although the word whore is a little passe.

Reminds me of the word slut.

That is from high school.

Slut is a term girls use to hurt other girls, and guys used in both a good and bad way.

Out of high school, I do not believe the term slut is valid.

Once a woman is an adult, she is empowered and knows what she wants.

However, Facebook seems to bring out the high school shit head in a LOT of people.

I actually had someone text me and ask if I had heard that someone was “Talking shit” about them.

Are you kidding me?

The statement in and of itself is something a 13 year old should be embarrassed by.

And yet, it was definitely not the first time I had heard it.

The really odd thing about it, is that people call it ‘being childish”.

But even children behave better than this.

I keep thinking about the little girl, playing peek a boo with her gang banger father.

She is better behaved than the majority.

So, if everyone starts out the same as children, what happened to all of us?

I wasn’t born this vile and cynical.

I got here, but I don’t know how I got here.

The question is, how do you get back to there?

If your kids are grown, how do you get back to being Mrs. Nesbit?

What is needed is a paradigm shift without a clutch.

Free your ass and your mind will follow.

Funny line, but whats it mean?

It means stop taking yourself so serious.

Stop and smell the roses.

For some, it involves finding out where there are roses in order to stop and smell.

I realize this sounds like effort, and some people hesitate at the thought of it.

The only effort they want to make is to post simple headed platitudes on Facebook along with a plea for reposting.

Never lose sight of the fact that charity begins at home.

Inside your own head.




Posted by on July 23, 2012 in Uncategorized


Can I help you?

I had someone email me after reading the blogs of the past week, inform me that I was not a part of the graduating class of 1987 (true), and therefore, not only should I not be blogging about this, but I should not have attended at all.


I agree totally.

I am the LAST person that should be at an event like this.

Everyone is friends, and friends are forgiving.

Me? And I apologize for this, I am not.

But do me a favor, before you send me a whiny “How could you” email, keep one thing in mind.

I don’t care.

Bite me.

That being said, welcome to the 5th and final reunion post.

There was only supposed to be 3 but somehow, I got locked into the thinly disguised Payton Place 25 years and counting.

And yet, some of the drama was not of ours.

Turns out the staff are people too.

Bartending is an awesome gig, as far as jobs go.

In terms of part time jobs that pay well, have a great atmosphere and every now and then you have sex with the clientele, this one rocks.

And while I have never been employed as a bartender for a catered event like a high school reunion, I get the feeling that it is not viewed as the desirable gig.

And the reason is the tip sign.

What is the tip sign?

The tip sign tells you that “Tip is included” in anything you buy.

Notice it doesn’t tell you how much is included.

And not that I am a cheap tipper, but I reserve the right to throw you a shitty tip if you suck.

Or, if you are an awesome bartender, or a really hot one, or an awesome bartender who is really hot?

I might throw hundreds at you.

But I digress.

The tip sign also gives the bartender some information.

It says “You are shit out of luck.”

Bartenders hate that sign.

Limiting tips is like telling them the are only allowed so much air a night.

Like I have said before, money makes the monkey dance.

I am not used to waiting in line at bars.

I tip like a fiend so after the first couple of drinks, the bartenders will walk on hot coals to get me a drink.

However, catered events always have lines.

I decided to blow off the line and obnoxiously stand at a open spot and glare.

It bugs the shit out of bartenders.

After locking eyes with two bartenders and getting blown off, the single female bartender leaned over and gently nodded towards the line with a smile.

In other words, I will not help you, get in line.

And then, the blonde showed up.

Dressed to the nines.

She leaned into the bar and held up a hand.

The female bartender saw her, and it looked like she was rushing to finish making a drink before she gave her the nod.

But, male bartenders develop a sort of “Hot chick” radar, and caught her immediately.

“What can I get you?”

If you paid attention, you saw the tightening around the female bartender’s mouth.

Home girl was pissed.

Out of guilt, the bartender took my drink order right after.

I hung out, I can always smell a tense situation.

It only took a few minutes.

They both happened to be at the register at the same time, when it started.

The tense whisper, hard to miss.

I caught several phrases that are not in the Mr. Boston book of bartending.
but the top one was a grab of the arm, slapped away hand, and a whispered, “Fuck you!”

I am not sure what role the third bartender played, but he was in the middle of it.

Time to stir the pot.

“Excuse me?”

All three stop talking, I was polite, but louder than expected.

I smiled.

“Can I get a couple of shots?”

The three of them looked at me blankly.

Then, slowly, the third bartender came over.

Back at the register, the whispered harshness continued.

As far as drama goes, not a huge amount.

But enough to make the evening interesting.

And we will not even go into the couple that was screwing in the parking lot when I left.




Posted by on July 20, 2012 in Uncategorized


And I didn’t like you in high school either.

Ah, the shit I say when I have a drink in me.

We are back at the high school reunion again.

I might need to watch the Shawshank Redemption to get some tips on how to get out of this mental prison.

I got a few comments here and there, along with a few emails, either praising/chastising/asking for clarification of some silly shit  I said/pulled/alluded to.

Good lord.

I was talking with a group of guys, locker room talk, nothing special, when an exceptionally leggy lovely came up and joined us.

Somehow, within the next 30 seconds, I mentioned how long her legs were and how I would like to wear them like a scarf. (Complete with hand gestures showing the “thrown over my shoulder” scarf move.)

Luckily, she laughed it off.

Which is good, because you can get tasered and/or maced for that shit.

The guys laughed, but that was not my worry.

I find it easy to offend people, call it a gift.

But I castigate myself for hurting feelings when I don’t intend to.

And then I ran into her.

One of the earlier Reunion posts was titled “Remember me, you hated me in high school.”

It was titled for my first thought when I saw her for the first time in 25 years.

I cannot stand that rotten type of phony personality that acts really happy to see someone they have shit all over.

And she did.

A girl that I really liked, really didn’t know that well, that I had just started dating when I had just arrived at high school was a friend of hers.

And she hated me for unknown reason.

My girlfriend even asked me if I knew why she didn’t like me.

In the end, she told my girlfriend that I had hit on her.

Not that I wasn’t capable of such things at that time in my life, I was, but I hadn’t hit on her at all.

So to have her waltz up and turn on the sugary sweet was a bit much.

“Will! OMG! So NICE to see you!”

It was like meeting a 12 year old, same delivery.

Two can play this game.

“Hey #####, been a long time. You look GREAT!”

She didn’t. But I am under no obligation to be serious with this bitch.

“Thanks, I have been working out for tonight.”

I know my cue for this one.

“Really? You look INCREDIBLE!”

If you go for saggy d-cups and eye bags.

“Thank you. What have you been up to?”

When she stayed on script and kept things friendly, I really am almost obligated to be nice.

Except that, I don’t play that way.

“Doing ok. I got off the drugs in prison, and then I found the Lord. I have a great job working part time at McDonalds. Married, my wife gets out on parole next month.”

And if you think that line is easy to do with a straight face, don’t kid yourself.

I could see the wheels turning in her head.

The easiest thing to spy was the satisfaction she had for my supposed misfortunes.

You could see that in her eyes. “I KNEW IT!”

Time to break her bubble.

“I’m just kidding. I’m a director for a local company, live and work by the beach, two kids, both grown. How about YOU?”

It would have been cool if her head actually spun around physically to match the mental flip flop.

“Oh, um, I’m married. My husband is over-”

We both looked as she trailed off.

There was only 2 people at the table she was pointing at.

A brown haired woman and the tall guy standing next to her.

With his hand on her ass.

I think I just came a little bit.

Some karmic moments are stunning in review.

Time to go.

“Alright, well, good luck with THAT.”

And I walked off.

It was an awesome night.


Part 4 of 5



Posted by on July 19, 2012 in Uncategorized


Do you really think you won?

This was going be the last reunion post.

However, there will be another one tomorrow, turns out that there was some staff drama and other stuff that no one saw but me and a select few others saw..

Now, despite the obnoxious focus of the previous posts, this one will be about the actual reunion business.

The official scheduled things that went on.

Normally, I don’t focus on that stuff, mainly because it is rarely upsetting or rude.

Unless of course you have a particularly nasty sense of humor.

All reunions have one thing in common.

Campy awards.

The kind of awards you groan when you hear them, but you fully expect to hear them.

Who travelled the farthest? Who has the most kids?

And why is it always the quiet timid ones that seem to have been in labor since graduation?

And why would someone who fled the vicinity after graduation and moved as far away as physically possible, come back to this place?

The highlight of the award ceremony were two awards for the same thing.

Unmarried, without kids.

The non-breeders.

The guy’s version was called the “Lonely Boy”.

And the award was actually, specifically useful.

A box of tissue paper and some hand lotion.


That is one of those things that everyone acts like it doesn’t happen.

Its a simple fact that adult men masturbate like absolute fiends at times, trying to tear it out by the root it would seem to the casual observer.

We do, and despite whatever your personal opinion might be, it is what it is.

The ladies are somewhat disgusted and the guys are slowly nodding their head with a sad look on their faces.

The ladies version of the award was even better.

It was called “Hey there Lonely Girl”.

And the prize?

A picture frame with cats on it, so she can have a nice frame for a picture of all of her cats.


The first thing out of the winners mouth was, “Oh, thats perfect, I have a good picture of my cats for this!”

Of course she does.

I often wonder what happens to people that go down that whole too many cats road.

I think they just keep getting more and more cats until they die alone and the cats eat them.

God I am a vicious asshole sometimes, but I just can’t quit laughing at that line.

Thankfully, I did not win the award for having lost the most hair, not because I haven’t lost that much, but because there are a few guy’s I went to high school with that have gone flat out bald.

Better them than me.

I do my best to avoid the people that have the most kids.

I have a hard time seeing any beauty in any children other than my own and a seriously hard time keeping my mouth shut about it.

Tends to make things a little tense with the old friend and it always upsets the wives.

Besides, I have nothing in common with someone who thinks trowling out 9 children is normal.

I mean, who does that?

I can’t even look the wife in the face.

If I did I am not sure I could stop myself from warning her that at some point her uterus is going to drop to the floor and scurry away like a rat.

And the husband is worse.

I always think that any man that keeps his wife that consistently pregnant is secretly trying to kill her.

The one thing that I found the most interesting was the fact that I, and I assume everyone else, were happy when they didn’t win an award.

Farthest travelled? I don’t know that I liked everyone enough in high school to trek cross country.

Most kids? I have a boy and a girl, declared the game over and got a vasectomy. Case closed.

Most Tattoos? I plan on getting more tattoos, but I notice the people with a lot of tattoos usually have a lot of junk ink that look like prison tats.

Never married, no kids? We’ve gone over this.

Lost the most hair? (Could also be called most divorces)

Most changed? Who gained or lost the most weight/Had the most surgery.

In the end, I won no awards.

And I am good with that.

Its kind of like the end of the movie Wargames. (1980-ish, Matthew Broderick)

The computer is going to end the world and Matthew teaches it to play a futile game until it realizes the only way to win,

Is not to play at all.


Due to circumstances beyond my control – 3 of 5 now.



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Posted by on July 18, 2012 in Uncategorized