Give it to me, I love it.

I like getting fucked over. In fact, it's the next best thing to getting kicked in the balls. Nothing makes my day more enjoyable than being asked to bend over and spread the brown eye for the screwing that is about to come my way. Fantastic, make it hurt please.

Recently I received an email from Kodak, the very name for pictures and picture related products. Good and divine Kodak who always loves its customers and would do anything to give them a good fucking like they deserve those lazy bastards.

To fill everyone in, I have a Kodak digital camera. I've had it for a number of years and have decently pleased with it. I would take spotless photographs of my supermodel children doing cool things like clogging the toilet with dirty laundry and then load these priceless treasures onto my computer.

But it would appear that I was not actually loading them on my computer. Nope, it doesn't work that way. What I was really doing was loading my pictures onto the server that Kodak runs. This is so they can constantly ask me if I want to order pictures, please order pictures, how about a coffee mug with a picture and if not that then how about a calendar of your child's destruction. I have done this on occasion but mostly rely on my Kodak picture printer to actually print off the pictures that I want to put in the album or send to the police.

Apparently, Kodak does not like this. They get pissed in fact.

The email sent to me stated that the free service that is basically a way to sell you stuff is now going to start charging. I have to order 5 bucks of prints every year or all the pictures that I have taken will be deleted. Their argument, and I am not making this up, is that people who have been paying for pictures have been SUBSIDIZING those of us who don't, and that's not really fair.

That's right, I am on picture welfare. My poor picture storage is on the public dole and is that really fair? They are in the government housing of picture services. Pretty soon, they will get their own picture social worker trying to work out their picture disability.

Let's just forget the fact that there are plenty of free services out there that I could use. Let's forget about posting pics on facebook, websites and through email. Let's forget about digital frames that you can beam your pictures to.

Obviously, those things won't last and the only way to survive is to go back to paper pictures and to radio as the TV is destined for failure as well.

As you can tell, I'm a little miffed at this email. Especially since they gave me a deadline, May 16, to order or they will be deleted from the services. My pictures range from the birth of Little Hoss to the grave of Jessie James. 3 years worth of child's birthdays, special moments and aborted attempts to get Hossmom a little more adventurous in the bedroom.

But I like Kodak, always have so I'm going to help them out by rewriting their email for them. It should get a much better response:

Dear Unvalued Customer:
We realize that in this economic downturn you have been taking quite a fucking. It's been hard and long but we must ask, has it been hard and long enough? We at Kodak have neglected our part of that fucking and we don't want that, we value you to much. We know when it comes to fucking we hope you always think of Kodak.

As a result, we are now holding all of your family memories hostage. Send 5 bucks by May 16th or the little ones get it. Don't call the cops, we will be watching. You may require proof of photo first and so we enclose part of the picture of an ear of your dog. We are serious, don't fuck with us on this.

We would have sent a picture of a dead fish wrapped in newspaper but unfortunately it has been deleted from our servers.

Not Sincerely at All
Your picture Overlords and Masters

Yup, that's much better and much clearer than the one I got. So I am going to spend the next 2 weeks switching all my pictures to my actual hard drive because a good fucking just isn't the same without some tedious task to come with it.


Make it or Fall

"Make it or fall" I ask Little Hoss and Bubba Hoss as they sit on my lap.

"Fall!" she screams

"Cracker!" Bubba hoss adds. That's pretty good for him considering that his vocabulary right now consists of only about 8 words. And check it, that's two syllables.

"Man, you are pessimistic. I bet he makes it." I tell them both.

2 seconds into the obstacle course, the challenger falls into the muddy waters of Mt. (insert Japanese word for mountain that I can neither pronounce or even remotely spell).

The next challenger steps up, a transvestite who has actually competed before and does pretty well.

"Make it or fall?"



She makes it and my daughter claps, Bubba Hoss has found something in between the couch cushions that interests him more.

This is part of thier minion training and a part that surprisingly they love very much. Once a day, if I have it tivoed, my minions and I will sit on the couch and watch Ninja Warrior.

This is a very, very odd Japanese show. Usually, I hate any Japanese TV. I'll admit it, I just don't get it. Maybe it's the subtitles, maybe it's the goofy sets, but I just don't get it.

But this one is different. This is a competition highlighting strength, endurance, balance and everything else you would expect from a show called Ninja Warrior. Basically, 100 people line up and try to complete the first obstacle course which has things like a rolling barrel over water that you have to hang onto and another called a jump hang which is exactly what it sounds like.

Normally out of the 100 people trying to complete stage one, no more than 10 actually make it passed the first round. They then go onto other rounds where that number is further reduced. Most episodes end when all contestants are eliminated before even reaching the final obstacle course. Believe me, it's a tough course.

And my kids love watching it.

It's a little weird as this is the only show that is not animated with a talking rodent of some kind that they actually do like. Sure, Little Hoss will watch some football with me every now and then but only because she likes to scream with me when touchdowns are scored. She has learned the phrase "you gotta make that play." and I am proud. She also throws in the occasional "god damnit."

But Ninja Warrior catches their attention, holds it in a hypnotic trance that can only be broken by raisins or a week old cracker stuffed in the couch cushions.

"Make it or fall."

"Fall!" She never, ever chooses make it. Ever.

"Shoe!" Bubba Hoss is currently fascinated with shoes. I have no idea why.

The challenger doesn't even clear the first obstacle. I wasn't surprised though as it was a very out of shape sumo wrestler and the obstacle involved jumping. Quite funny though.

"Make it or fall?"

"Fall!" She is right 90% of the time.

"Juice!" I have no idea where that word came from or why Bubba Hoss decided to say it. Perhaps he sees a danger of steroid abuse.

The challenger makes it and we all clap.

This is part of their minion training. They will learn how to evaluate opponents from strictly looking at them and them revel in their failures.

"Make it or fall?"


"Boobies!" my son says and lifts up his shirt. For the last time Bubba Hoss, you don't have boobies. Momma has boobies. You have a rock hard chest destined to bench press 3000 pounds.

"Boobies!" Sure fine, boobies it is. I'll love you know matter how you turn out.

I have also taken this time to show them the skills that they will need to complete before they reach full minion status. For example, I expect them to be able to traverse 20 yards by thier fingertips holding onto a one inch ledge. We are currently working on that at the playground.

"Make it or fall."


"Poo!" my son says.

The challenger hits the trampoline and grabs onto the ropes, safely pulling himself across the obstacle. Bubba Hoss then farts. Ok, I see what he was getting at now. I explain how a fart is different than poo and assure him that we will get deeper into this discussion as he gets older.

"Make it or fall."

"Make it!" That's a first. She likes it better when they belly flop into the putrid water below.

"Down!" my son says but when he says that word he say it like Arnold Schwarzenegger, as in "GET DOWN!" Of course for my son, this word also means "up" so you really have to be paying attention to get it's meaning. In this case, he's pointing at the TV because the challenger is climbing a ladder and we are not allowed to climb ladders yet, are we?

We do this 4 days a week. They both calmly share my lap, no one fights and we go through each contestant until the show is over.

It's one of the greatest things about being a stay at home dad. Hossmom would never do this. She has boobies.


The Friday Five

5 Reasons Why You Should Not Go "Green" And Instead Let The World Go To Shit And Kill Itself.

1. "Come on you apes! You want to live forever!"--Johnny Rico, Starship Troopers. Oh Johnny, could I have said it any better myself? Now let's see some more of Dizzy with her shirt off.

2. "Bring out the Gimp"--Zed, Pulp Fiction. I feel for the Gimp. What kind of life is this. No one would benifit more than the Gimp. Tell you what, show your solidarity and go to a gas station, buy a 64 oz cup of soda in a Styrofoam nonbiodegradabile cup, drink it and then throw it in the nearest forest that you can. Help a brother out. All gimps need their pain to end.

3. "That son of a bitch took my pants."--Derelict in the Alley, The Terminator. Think of a future when Skynet comes online and gains self awareness. It uses the NATURAL RESOURCES of the Earth to create cyborgs to come back in time to steal our pants. Are we going to stand for this? Hell NO! Where's my damn SUV. Suck it up or give it up. Your pants I mean.

2. "Let's Pinch this turd off" Snake Oiler, Speed Racer. Hands down, one of the worst films every made and one of the worst lines of dialog ever written. Anywhere. Including insults that 5 year old boys write to girls with cooties. We are all responsible for this. Every single one of us. And as punishment, we need to perform hari-kari. It's the only way to make amends for it. Go around your house and turn on every single light you have while prank calling Al Gore .

1. "Now let's just drop them pants"--Mountain Man, Deliverance
"I bet you can squeal like a pig. Wheeeee!"--Mountain Man, Deliverance
"He's got a real pretty mouth on him, don't he"--Toothless Man, Deliverance
I would rather sacrifice the entire human race than take the very small chance that I would ever be caught in the mountains on a rafting trip and run into some no good perverted hillbillies wanting to use my ass as target practice for the Deep Schlong Run 2000. Money says that I'm not the only guy that feels this way.


The Banana in the Entry Way

There is a banana sitting on the small table we have in the entry, or for you fancy people, the foyer.

I have no idea where the hell this banana came from, but it's just sitting there. It's all by it's self, just right in the middle of the table. I thought we were out of bananas.

It would appear that we have one more, perfectly parallel to the table edge. It's not peeled. In fact, it looks to about to be perfect. A perfect banana sitting in my entry way.

I feel like it is taunting me. Like it was put there as a warning. I know that the mafia sends a dead fish to you when they whack one of your family, so what does a delicious, potassium providing banana mean?

Today is Earth Day. Smart money says it's from Greenpeace or something like that because I don't drive a hybrid. I drive an evil SUV and I know that they hate me for it. Look guys, like I've said before, it's paid off. I don't have the money to buy me a cutesy little deathbox right now but as soon as I get the funds, you bet, one little green go cart with 2 horsepower will go right in my garage, I promise. Knock of the bananas. I get it, ok? You are going to pull the old banana in the tail pipe trick that Eddie Murphy trick in Beverly Hills cop. Message received.

Unless it wasn't them, which is a possibility. What about radioactive super monkeys. Don't kid yourself, they exist. The government starting experimenting with them in the 1950's. Trust me, I USED TO WORK FOR THE GOVERNMENT. It's common knowledge for all previous government employees. Right when we were really gearing up for the space race, they started the super monkey thing. It was a close call between the monkeys and the super intelligent raccoons but they went with the monkeys because Haliburtan was in on it.

No, the monkey's are busy right now dealing with Sarah Palin, so I think they are out.

But not the Vegans. This is exactly the type of crazy shit they would do, break into someone's house and leave a banana. A PERFECT banana. I mean look at this thing. It's a nice yellow color, no bruising. A lot of love went into growing this banana, picking it, shipping it and planting it. That just screams nature loving hippie vegans. I eat a lot of steak. I eat a lot of chicken. I eat a lot of anything that walks about on a farm. Lamb, pig, some sheep, a turtle once which wasn't half bad. I have a hippie friend who is a vegetarian. He assured me that he was ok with my meat love but now I think he was lying. Never ever trust a banana loving hippie.

Seriously, how did this banana get on the table in the foyer?

The most logical explanation is that Little Hoss is hording food again like a little squirrel and forgot where she put it. But where is the fun in that.

My money is on the man with one arm.


Let's Move

A friend asked me to help him move this weekend. You've got to understand, this is very big in the confines of a male hetero relationship. To best explain it, it's like a marriage proposal. While girls are always dreaming of how their guy will pop the question, if they will find Mr. Right, guys are thinking that their Mr. Right is the guy that will lug a big screen up a flight of stairs. Shhh, you had me at free beer.

Because that is the going price of having friends move you, free beer. And pizza. You've got to feed the natives before they get restless. Think about it, if your moving buddies are not fed and liquored up, they could very much leave you hanging with your sofa only halfway out the doorway. Oh, of course I could move it myself, I'm very strong. But others couldn't so you have to make sure that your tribe is well taken care of.

In this case, the wife did the taking care of. You could tell that she was very appreciative that her husband had some friends of any sort that would actually help them move. Sure, in the back of her mind she was thinking that she hoped these yahoos didn't break her shit and she was pretty sure one may have been in prison, but a free move is a free move. Those thoughts were right behind the one that swore she would chew her husband out for not hiring movers as he is a cheap bastard as soon as we either broke her refrigerator or took a dump in her closet. Because you know, that's just funny.

And as a wife that has to deal with complex relationships between women, she didn't want to offend us, thinking that we may be the same way. That is why there was a 20 minute conversation of what type of pizza we would want. So for all those other wives and girlfriends out there, let me make this simple. Guys like pizza. All pizza. Of every make and model, pizza just rocks. It's the bee's knees. Sure anchovies may suck, but hey it's still better than not having pizza. It's like sex. Any sex is better than no sex and we will always go for it, and for pizza. Unless of course the pizza has herpes. Then I won't help you move and I won't eat your pizza. But I'll probably still drink your beer.

Now there are a few rules when guys help other guys move. First is if you have a box of porn stashed somewhere, we would appreciate a glance at it. And if not, be prepared to be ripped on your lack of a box of porn. I don't know why this is, but it is. Second, please remove anything embarrassing from the house. Take it away ahead of time or stash it in the mailbox until we leave. Normally people keep these embarrassing things in the master chest of drawers. As a general rule I try not to be the one to move this. I don't even want to take the chance that a drawer falls open and out falls the KY. Awkwardness would ensue and then I would feel obliged to show you my fuzzy handcuffs and things would just get more weird from there.

On this occasion though, as I am very strong, I did move the master chest of drawers. But before I did, I very subtly asked if there was anything that might fall out and start jumping on the floor in a vibrating type fashion. "Dude, there's nothing in here that is going to make this weird is there?" Yup, I'm a subtle one.

But the friend I was helping was way ahead of me and assured me my 10 year old mind would be safe from any shock and awe and can we please go back to talking about the strippers at my bachelor party. They were so hot. But they whipped me with an actual whip, that wasn't so hot. But I was very drunk so that brings the hotness right back around.

You do learn a lot about your friends when you move them. For example, you learn all wives must dust every piece of furniture before it goes into the dirty, filthy truck. And you learn that family mementos are very fragile. And you learn that your buddy had a Don Johnson suit that he proudly wore and that wouldn't be so bad if it was actually 1988 but it is pretty damn funny that it was 2000.

And of course you learn that all their shit is made of solid wood. As every mover knows, solid wood is moving slang for "fuck that is heavy." You may mention this to your buddy such as "all your solid wood shit is heavy." To which they reply "That thing? That was my dads from when he was a kid and we just use it for storage." Of course they completely gloss over the fact that it is made of maple, a very solid wood (use previous explanation), and that it has to go down two flights of stairs to the tune of O God my forearms are burning please don't me drop this on grandma who is cleaning.

I'm a little bit of an amateur woodworker as well. So as I was moving the 4th armoire (that's right I said 4th) I took the time to notice the hand cut dovetails. I noticed that the mission desk was authentic and had mortise and tenon joinery, and I noticed that they had a Victrola.

Ok, I had no fucking clue what a Victrola was when we moved it. But I do know the cabinet that was part of it was made in the Queen Ann style. Me smart. According to Wikipedia a Victrola is the name given to a cabinet that housed a phonograph and was most likely made by a company called Victor Talking Machine Company. What Wikipedia does not state is that they are cumbersome, have fragile legs and are made of SOLID WOOD. No worries though, we moved it without any damage that I'll ever admit to. The mission desk on the other hand is going to require some repair work.

But the truly weird part of all this was that we, 4 guys, we're having a pretty good god damn time. I know, it sounds weird. But we are all stay at home dads. And while we were moving, we had no kids. We had no one hanging onto our jeans. We had no one running to us every second with an b0o-boo. We had no one that threw a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at the dog and of course missed and hit the carpet instead. Grape jelly stains, by the way.

So for us, this was a little bit of a vacation. Shit, I'll do this all day and every weekend. Beer, pizza and the ability to cuss as much and as often as I want to. Fuck shit fuck this was awesome.

The remainder of the day passed and things were good as we continually ripped our buddy for being the biggest pack rat we have ever seen. For the last time, I'm not, on principal, moving 5- gallon buckets that actually don't contain anything. I'm not doing that, shit no. I will move your fridge, I will move your kid's SOLID WOOD changing table, I will move your left over pieces of door trim. But I draw the line at empty buckets.

Unless of course they are needed for the Victrola because I have no idea how that thing works.


The Friday Five

We are going to start a new Friday article today. It will appear every Friday just to give you something to think about over the weekend. It's a list because who doesn't like lists. Everyone has a list about something. But my lists are going to be more awesome. And as every list, I hope this sparks debate. Enjoy and add your two cents.

Top 5 Most Awesome Stripper Outfits Seen in Movies

5: Ms. Jupiter in the Watchman: camel toe never looked so great or so latexy. But I gotta really ask, what superhero would actually wear those kind of things to fight crime. I would think that you would want to be able to move and that's just not what I see in latex. If I was a superhero I would wear sweet pants. And I would call them my "action pants" which would really mean I'm just freaking lazy and waiting until my next nooner with a hot fan.

4. GI Jane: stick with me on this one. Shaved head, doing one armed pushups in that little tank top and shorts. She can beat me up and then have her way with me. Ma'am, Yes Ma'am!

3. Rebecca Romijn as Mystique in Xmen: I love blue. I love blue in the morning. I love blue in the evening. I love blue when the sun shines. I love blue when the moon waxes. I love blue when it covers a model with pasties.

2. Princess Leia: Do I really need to explain this one. Hair buns never looked so good.

1. Salma Hayek in Dusk til Dawn: Sweet Jesus, lord above I can't get enough of that strip she does. I don't even care if she is a vampire that would rip my face off, I would still go to that strip club and tip her a dollar.

Notice I didn't bring in Flashdance, Striptease, or showgirls. If you comment and try to make a case for any of these you are not allowed to visit my blog anymore. Maybe flashdance, I could see that a little. But not the other too. Those weren't even good porn.


The Moose.

Sure, we're messy. An afternoon with my kids is like getting a first hand look at the destruction that would occur if you locked a moose in your house.

A big moose.

A big radioactive moose.

A big radioactive moose that has a devious hunger for sugar corn pops. And, in this scenario, the moose is smart enough, because he's radioactive, to undo the child proof safety locks on the pantry to get to the sugar pops.

As you'd expect, moose are not that coordinated. They don't have the manual dexterity to get perhaps a bowl and a spoon out. Nor do they understand that that milk is usualy essential to a balanced breakfast. So the only thing that they know how to do is to turn the entire box of cereal, full I might add, right on over and dump the entire contents on the floor. But of course the moose are smart enough to wait until good old dad the hunter is on the crapper taking his morning glory.

Silence in a house is never a good thing when you have children. Which I find very ironic considering that is about the only thing that dad ever wants.

So I was shocked when I got out of the bathroom and saw my two moose squatting perfectly over the carnage of the sugar pops. I'm pretty sure I'm going to stroke out before my daughter reaches the age of 5. I just keep thinking to myself--does she have to destroy everything? What is she, a little mini king kong? Is her little brother Mothra and have they teamed up to beat the helpless civilians?

It should give you a clue on how dirty our house can get with my little critters when you walk and and don't see a vacuum cleaner. No, not in this house. Vacuums are for nice little suburbian folk who's kids dress in tweed and wear knickers. Perhaps they have a scrabble night and come up with amusing anagrams.

Instead you see my shop vac in the corner of the kitchen. This is something that I think only a dad would do. Sure I could get down on my hands and knees and sweep it up. Maybe get the house vacuum out and see what pieces it could suck up. But a better idea is to get my big 20 gallon wet/dry vac out and make this a quick pickup so I can get to the rest of the disaster area. It got to the point where Hazmat was called in. They walked up to the house, took one look inside and said "Fuck no." It's gotta be bad when Hazmat turns you down.

And this time I had a better idea, mostly because I was pissed that I couldn't even take a dookie without the minions raining down hell. This time, they were going to pick every single bit of this crap up.

Little Hoss is 3 so she understands picking up. The plan on this one though was that I was going to be a total dick about it. Every little scrap, every little pebble, every little dust mite of cereal was going to be picked up.

I handed Little Hoss the nozzle to the shop vac and told her to get cleaning. She just kind of looked at me, in those cute little girl eyes that say "Me daddy? I'm to cute to do manual labor."

Suck it kiddo and get to vacuuming.

Of course I didn't see the mistake in my plan. You see, my daughter is being raised daily by her father. We try to keep it sweet and nice but most days we end up rough housing. She's a hoss, no doubt about it.

So it might not have been the best idea to give my daughter free range over a power tool.

I turned it on and she jumped. That's right, this is your punishment. Cleaning up with a big scary machine.

Then she started laughing. Laughing like a little escaped con from the mental asylum. It was like she was just given the power over life and death, over right and wrong, over clean and unclean.

In short, she enjoyed the shit out of it. This not supposed to be enjoyable! This is punishment! I'm teaching a valuable life lesson here, about consequences of your actions. Stop thinking this is great!!!!

She not only cleaned up the cereal but also go the living room before things got out of hand. She started to vacuum her brother, which he thought was funny. Then of course the toy box. She sucked up dominoes. They are gone forever, I'm not going in after them. Next she made a bee line to the curtains, the nice flowing curtains.

Ok, it's time to put a stop to this.

Only I couldn't get there in time. Oh, I tried. I took 2 whole steps before I stepped on a hot wheels little car that oddly appeared. Seriously, it was like something out of Tom and Jerry.

Put sliding toy on hardwood floor right in front of dad. Dad takes giant leap and foot comes down on said toy. Toy scoots forward, dad's knee gives out. Big fat man comes crashing down. This is something that they write in a really bad kids movie, like teenage mutant ninja turtles. This is not supposed to happen in real life. Instead of a hot wheels car, it might be a banana peel. It might be a skateboard. In my case, it was a toy car. Again, this is not supposed to happen in real life.

But it did and my knee did give out. But not before I did a little split action and heard my chode go ouch. Nothing like a self administered episeotomy.

By the time I caught up with my daughter, and her brother who was her number one cheerleader, she had lost control of the shop vac hose. It's quite powerful. It was slowly inching its way up the curtains like an anaconda swallowing a deer.

And both the kids where just laughing manically in the best punishment ever.

The best part: The day was just getting started.

To be continued.........


Are You Prepared

I ask you, fellow fathers, are you properly preparing your children for the future. Sure, we have all given up valued careers, late night dinners with clients (where someone else cooks the damn steak!), possible liaisons from the office ho-bag. Yes, we have made our sacrifices for the good of our children.

But have we done enough, have we actually prepared our children from the single most terrifying threat that is coming? Oh yes, it's coming. It may be 20 years from now, but it is coming.

I am of course referring to zombie attacks.

Have you thought about what tactics you are going to teach your kids for that faithful time, when the zombie hoard comes to destroy us all?

Let me guess--you are perhaps teaching your kids how to use some guns. Hopefully a wide range of assault rifles, hand guns, perhaps even a harpoon because the horde will follow you into the ocean as well. We all know this.

And then maybe you are teaching them some survival techniques. Like what plants you can eat, how to set bear traps and the value of a meal cooked of dog. Not bad.

And finally, I would bet you are teaching them proper barricading techniques. Things such as how to board up windows, proper placement of punji sticks, which buildings make the best last minute forts. Hospitals are good. Gas stations perhaps, but only if they have an assortment of Slim Jims. But never a rest stop, the facilities are never clean enough.

But my friends, my dear ignorant friends, I declare you wrong. Yes, wrong as the day is long.

You are wrong because none of these things will ever work. We all know it. We've all seen it. I've seen just about every zombie movie out there. I have played just about every zombie game. And I've even read a ton of zombie books. And what have they all taught us?

There is no safe haven. There will be no great place in the country of western Kansas that will be free from the horde. There will be no government compound. Because all the movies and games tell us the same thing: it will all be over run. You can't keep the zombies out. They are relentless.

I have taken a different approach with my children. It's more passive, but I do believe it's ingenious. The only way to beat the zombies is to live with them. The only way to live with them is to convince them that you are ONE of them. Yes, you read that right, ONE of the undead. Without being undead of course, only acting like the undead so that they are not attacked by the zombie horde.

I have spent the last two days teaching both of my minions how to act like zombies. Sure, they are young ( a one year old and a 3 year old) but the lessons that they learn today will be the survival skills of tomorrow.

All I have to say is "How does a zombie go?" and immediately both of my kids spring into action. They snarl and they claw at the air, much like an inferi does. It sounds really good and I'm a quite proud father knowing that this is just the beginning. My son looks very good doing the zombie, he even slobbers a little. He may be teething but I take it to mean he actually understands the importance of what I'm teaching.

We are working on the zombie shuffle but that's not going so well at the moment. It's more stomping on the dog than shuffling for brains kind of thing. But we'll get there. I think we are making good progress. I made them do it for everyone at the gym today and I actually heard some screams in the background. Of course those screams could have been for me because I was all glistening in sweat and hotness, but I think it was for more the accurate portrayal of my zombie minions.

I realize that we have a lot of work to do, but we'll get there. And when the zombie horde comes, my kids will slip seamlessly into their ranks to gradually wait them out. Natural disasters should wipe a good number of zombies out. And I'm assuming that some will walk off cliffs and things because let's face it, zombies aren't that smart. And I'm sure some of your kiddos will take a few down before being over run. My kids will just sit back and wait, acting like zombies when necessary, scavaging for food when possible, and always praising the name of their father.

And in case you're wondering: I also taught my kids how to take a fake punch and then fall, how to do a three point stance, and how to say "Gigidy" like Quagmire from Family Guy. My wife is a very lucky woman.


Pander to Me!

In Hossmom's effort to keep me up to date on the pop culture world, she will on occasion bring home what I call a "trash magazine." Such litery clasics such as Us weekly or Cosmo. I won't touch Cosmo no matter what but Us weekly makes some pretty good bathroom material. I just find it fitting that is where that magizine always ends up.

This last week she brought another home and I was reading it in bed. Because I am an extremely boring man. Sure, the blog makes me sound like a domestic 007, I like my milk shaken, not stirred. But when it comes down to it, I just really want to end the day in bed with a book.

This magazine had recaps on all the shows, music and other pop culture stuff. I was reveiwing the top 20 shows from the week before and I became concerned. Out of the top 20, I only watch 2 of them. And of those two, I only watch one of them religiously. I'm an Amazing Race fan. I've got it in my head that one day Little Hoss and I will go on that show to compete for a million dollars.

We would be hardcore. We would make no friends and intentionally screw everyone over but yet, you won't be able to help it to love us. Seriously, she's cute and I'm Dad of the year. Heart warming and ruthless. That's our plan.

Now of the rest of the shows, I don't watch them for shit. American Idol--can't get into it. Grey's Anatomy--St. Elsewhere did it first, ER did it better. CSI (all 12 of them) I actually know a little of science and find it complete and total crap. I could go on and on here.

This disturbs me. Why? Because I'm still in the targeted demographic that advertisers are always trying cater to. I'm in the 18 to 35 year old demographic, the king of all demographics. I'm a car buyer, a music listener, father of a little girl that wants everything. So where are my shows?!

In short, why am I no longer being pandered to?

Shows are supposed to be made for people like me. So how is it that I only watch 2 of the top 20? Shouldn't the majority of these shows go off the air because the nirvana of demographics and it's representative (me) not watch them? I'm not getting it. So I asked my wife who is in advertising. And yes, you have most likely seen her commercials. All I say is that I enjoy Pete and TJ.

"Honey, you don't exactly think like that demographic." she said.

What the hell is that supposed to mean. Sure, I'll admit that I have taken the less traveled path by being a stay at home dad, but I'm still a man. I like to blow shit up, I like a good fight. You people read the blog, I cuss all the god damn cock time. Cunt. See, I just wrote a dirty word right there.

Is she saying that I am now to refined to be swayed by the public masses? I'm putting my money on that.

"Look at the top 20 book list, how many have you read or plan on reading." she asked.

15 of them. I won't read the "secret" though, I think that's crap. I don't have a vagina.

"Do you have an Iphone."


"Do you have a facebook page?"

Yes, but I never do anything with it and I only have it because you made me.

"Do you know who Lady GaGa is?"

English royalty.

"What is your ideal day with the kids?"

Civil war battlefield with a history lesson, maybe even a fort. Maybe following the Chisholm trial.

"Honey, you have grown out of that demographic. You are not a part of the trend setters anymore although I doubt you ever where."


I get it. I'm to highbrow now. I'm penalized because I think for myself! And you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that now I'm bitter because I'm aging out. Christ, I'm only 34, I'm not dead.

But do you know what people do when this happens? What is the revenge? We turn into serious voters. Hell yeah! That's right, we vote like motherfuckers. Young people don't vote. Oh, they'll say they'll vote but they won't because it's either go vote or take one more bong hit and the bong hit always wins. And here is the secret of this that is just now dawning on me. I'm going to vote for everything that will piss off the 18 to 35 year old demographic.

Let's see:

1. The next time someone tries to outlaw baggy pants, they get my vote. In fact, let's just go ahead and do a dress code at all schools and colleges. Sure, I don't believe in any of it but I know it will piss off some young people. Screw it, go watch your CSI in some tight fitting khakis.

2. I think our county should no longer sell beer and wine. We should go dry. The whole country should go dry except for scotch. That's an old guys drink. So scotch it is.

3. Without a doubt we should increase the national debt. Your American Idol is going to cost you a cool trillion 18 to 35 year old demographic. Suck on that.

4. We don't need the environment. I hope your CSI was worth it.

5. Everything should be beige. Tyra would insist on it.

6. Police officers should hassle everyone who drives at midnight and has a cap on backwards.

I'm starting to dig this old white guy image. I could get used to this. So don't pander to my highbrowed intellect! We will rule the world!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch South Park because it's about qweefing and it is the funniest thing I have ever seen.