Wrong things to say to a trick or treater

God I hate Halloween. Teaching kids to beg for candy really goes against my teach kids to beg for pussy mantra. Something about this Halloween made me snap, it could have been my first two Sam Winter Lagers of the season before I got home, it could have the two Narragansett half pints I had while dealing with these little fuckers.  Who knows, but by far the lowest and snappiest I got this evening was when a four year old ignored me and walked up my steps even though I was sitting on the bottom step:

Me: Don’t ever sneak up from behind me and ask me for candy, that’s how you get shanked, prison style…

How the little fucker’s father didn’t drop the gloves after that, I’ll never know.

A new case of the Mondays…

I don’t know about you, but I like to find myself on a Monday morning rooting for the newly crowned world champions, a fresh, hot cup of coffee on a cold day, and a few ounces of my dna in the mouth of a very attractive young woman. I can not imagine a scenario in life that would make a Monday morning more acceptable.

The Backhawk

Excerpts from an email I had with The Wingman:

Me: Forget about shaving the AC/DC logo into my back, I want you to shave a single stretch of hair down the center of my back, a ‘backhawk’ if you will.

Bob: From what I’ve seen you could do it. You’d have to take your shirt off for full effect when we’re out on the town.

Me: If I had a backhawk you couldn’t keep a shirt on me…

Being there for someone you care about

I met the Girlfriend for coffee this morning. She knew I was having a hard time because the night before my Dad called to tell me that my Uncle was dying and it was quite inevitable. Between the death of a loved one and the divorce, I was going through the two most stressful personal issues of my life, at least according to the counselors at the ‘divorcing parents’ seminar. It was a very somber moment. I spilled my guts to her, she held me and I’m not ashamed to say it, I cried. I was overwhelmed in the moment.

Girlfriend: God I wish I could make it better…
Me: Yeah, well…
GF: Would it help if I gave you a blow job?
Me: (after about 10 seconds of reflection about my Uncle) Yes, yes it would…

He would have wanted it that way.

The fashion industry is more retarded than we thought…

I’m sure you’ve noticed the trend towards ’sassy’ clothing, with catchy sayings and stupid shit written on them to show ‘attitude’. The best example I thought I ever saw was when I looked at The Prodge and read ‘I thought I was a good idea at the time…’ when it actually read ‘I though it was a good idea at the time…’ One letter really changes the meaning of a sentence, maybe if we got that letter right I wouldn’t be heading towards divorce court. Anywho…

I must implore the makers of such shitty clothing to use their common sense. I saw the soon to be ex wife in her pajamas and there’s no need to make PJ’s that say ‘dream on’ in XXL. The only thing a pair of XXL PJ’s or larger should say is ‘A hang over isn’t the only bitch you’ll be dealing with in the morning…’

A douche by any other name…

Spent the night with the girlfriend last night, we hung out, had some ridiculous sex, got into a ridiculous fight (something about her being hurt that her ass isn’t the first I put a finger in, I really wish I could make this shit up) and went to a local townie to catch the latest and greatest regional sporting event. In the span of 15 minutes, I had a pint of Molson, 3 shots, and ordered a pitcher for us. My liver had the day off until 7PM, it was going to pay in spades. At the townie bar we realized we were surrounded by the dictionary definition of douchebags and skanks, it was outrageous. The giant hair on the skanks, the shiny foreheads on the douchebags, it was like we were at the living embodiment of hotchickswithdouchebags.com. It was a great time.

During one of her many bathroom breaks I was left working on the pitcher in the happy solitude you feel when left alone with an excessive amount of your favorite alcoholic beverage. As I’m standing there by my lonesome I get a whiff of ass, someone in our vicinity blew ass and left the rest of us to enjoy it. Asshole. I end up in a conversation joking around with a group of Douchebags and the gaggle of skanks they are trying to pick up. Nice, even I can socialize with the retarded. Then the mood turns. Two really old skanks walk into the bar and I look at the leader of the douche and joke:

Me: Dude, Is that your mom?
HeadDouche: What?
Me: (still being clever) Dude, I think your mom just walked in…
HD: What? You think you can say shit about my mom?

Holy fucking crank.

Me: (As the Girlfriend rejoins me) You’re fucking kidding right? You do understand the concept of a joke right?
HD: Yeah, I do, but you shouldn’t joke about people’s moms…
Me: So…should I joke about how I fucked your grandmother?

HeadDouche wears a look on his face that can only be described as mildly offended and bordering on bloody rage, but fuck him. He and his 2 buddies got me by numbers and size but I have no qualms about punching each and every one of them in the balls in order to get out of there alive. I pour myself two more beers out of the pitcher and decide I need to go back to the hotel and try to stick a finger into someone’s ass, preferably not mine.

Fucking douchebags…

Wow, talk about a fucked up conversation…

My sister in law called tonight, the sister of my wife, talk about an awkward conversation. We bullshitted for a bit before we got down to brass tacks.

Her: I’m sorry to hear about you guys…
Me: Yeah, you know, ultimately we tried but we didn’t work out, we tried (totally trying to take the high road)
Her: Yeah, but I think it’s what’s best for you…
Me: Wow, that makes me feel great about it
Her: Yeah, but sincerely, I think it’s what’s best for you…

Fucking hell, I wish women could say what they are thinking. If you want to call me a cheating whore, that’s fine.  If you want to call your own sister a silent bitch who couldn’t communicate her way out of a paper bag and also gained 50 pounds in 10 years while I lost 45 pounds and got ripped and jacked in the last 3, that’s fine too, but don’t fucking confuse me, I’m not smart enough for this shit. Ok, maybe I’m just not sober enough for it, but now we’re splitting hairs…

Fucking cupcakes…

I don’t know about you, but there are three things on god’s great earth that I love: beer, puss and chocolate – not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, I can only get 2 of those at home, hence the name of this blog. Evidently though, I can only get one of those, because the soon to be ex-Wife couldn’t bake a truck full of illegals stopped at the border.

Anywho, she decides she’s baking chocolate cupcakes for The Boy’s birthday, and they are fucking horrible. I never knew paint thinner was an ingredient in cupcakes. I can literally take only one bite before I want to lick my own ass to get the taste out of my mouth. She even frosted them, but it only made it taste like chocolate covered shit. I mean, these aren’t from scratch, they’re from a fucking box yet they are offensive tasting. How the fuck could she fuck them up so bad? I mean, all you have to do is read the box and follow a few very simple instructions and… never mind…

Reason # 836 I’m getting a divorce…

Toots, you’re working the wrong room…

Went to another ‘divorcing parents’ class the other night. We were supposed to get there early so we could leave early to go home to our loving families…oops.  Anywho…

Because of traffic, a bunch of people started rolling in late, after the doors were locked. One of them was the past her prime trophy wife (to picture her, picture a generic hot blond with exaggerated features drawn by MAD magazine…now draw extra wrinkles…) She’s standing outside the large door knocking. We can all see her, but, you know, that’s like 50 feet away. Suddenly, the guy who’s wife left him with the kids so she could bone some new dude, leaps to his feet and trots over to the door. I look around the group to see if anyone else can smell the desperation. He lets her in and they both walk over and join the group.

As she sits down, the old twat mutters, ‘At least there’s one gentleman in the group…’

Before I can stop myself, I reply ‘My dear, if you were looking for gentlemen, you obviously came to the wrong divorce class, I signed up for the bitches and assholes class, I got exactly what I wanted…’

You’d be surprised how much the truth hurts in this situation.

Cashing an expense check…

After taking the team out to a barely eventful dinner and lunch (granted I explained the difference between the pink and the stink to my boss, but that’s just another day at the office) my boss had me pick up the check so he could just approve it and it would be paid out. I got the check and brought The Admin, our admin and my life student, with me. The following conversation occurred:

Old teller broad: Don’t take your money just yet, I noticed that the check was drawn from a Bank of America account.
Me: Yeah I know, that’s why I came here to cash it.
OTB: You know, you could save yourself a lot of time if you opened up a checking account with us and had it direct deposited.
Me: Well I already have a checking with my wife at a different bank.
OTB: But you could get your checks direct deposited here…
Me: First off, I already have direct deposit of my paycheck in our checking account, she already sees that. This is my expense check, I don’t get them that often and I don’t want her to see this money. This is the money I hide from my wife.
OTB: Well… Well… Well…
Me: (as I’m picking up my money) Thanks, you have yourself a great day.

As we are walking out and I’m laughing my ass off:

The Admin: Dude, why on earth did you say that?
Me: Notice it got her to shut the fuck up…