19 Things I think I know (Reprise)

Time to revisit one of my favorite posting formats, the things I think I know.

1. My ability to play pool is directly related to the amount of alcohol in my system.
Sober = Average skill level. I win some, I lose some. I play methodical and calculated.
Buzzed = I become Paul Newman in “The Color of Money”. Everything I hit finds a pocket. Combos, bank shots, behind the back, jumping balls all become routine shots.
Hammered = I become a 12 year old girl with no concept of the game. I take impossible shots with reckless abandon. I become more interested in playing air guitar with my pool cue than making an attempt to sink a ball. I increasingly use monkey dust and distraction techniques to keep my opponents from making shots. The filter between my brain and my mouth disappears and I become an inappropriate chatter box.

2. The Steelers lack of an offensive line will cost them in the playoffs

3. I am not a 70-year-old woman, so I need to find a better breakfast than peanut-butter crackers and tea.

4. My daughter has begun her journey to accidental funny land. When we read her Blues Clues book she calls the main character ‘Steve’ a bitch. I don’t think she can pronounce his name and calling him a bitch isn’t even close, but it is accurate.
Me: Say buh-bye Steve
Moo: Buh-Bye Bitch!

5. No matter how many times I try I will never be able to fold a fitted sheet. Luckily, I am married to a woman with professional folding skills or else there would just be several large balls of cloth in the bottom of my linen closet.

6. I haven’t seen a single Oscar worthy film all year.

7. Trying to squeeze my truck into a small parking space to avoid walking in the rain wasn’t worth scraping it against a brick wall. Bitter!

8. As of next month, the odds of Moo having a sibling are slim and none and I think you know who just left town. Give it up for one and done! (And no I’m not getting snipped…yet.)

9. My daughter’s journey to accidental funny land continued when she looked at my Playboy and shouted Elmo! I said to her “Moo, if those were eyes I would’ve gotten into a lot less trouble over the years.”

10. Live x-mas trees drink a lot of fucking water!

11. I think I might take some pictures of my brother and his family driving my SUV and drinking from plastic bottles when they visit this week. Then I’ll post them on his Scream 2B Green blog calling him a hypocrite and a disgrace to the Green movement. It would be a dick move, but funny nonetheless.

12. Golden Oreos are the bees knees.

13. I love getting gift cards for x-mas, but I find it nearly impossible to keep track of the amount when I only use a portion of the balance. They need to add a button on them that will give you the remaining balance. (Computerized Voice) “You have ten dollars and fifty-one cents left on your PF Chang’s gift card. I’d go with the lettuce wraps if I were you.” Thanks, gift card!

14. My wife is a much nicer person than I’ll ever be. I know, total shocker on this one. She does things for other people that I wouldn’t even do for myself, and that’s saying a lot.

15. I used to fear going to movies, concerts and dining alone, but as I get older I’m starting to prefer it. No compromises, no judgments and no bullshit small talk. God, I sound like an old curmudgeon, maybe I need to lay off reading so much Bukowski.

16. You can’t be king of the world if you’re slave to the grind, and it’s starting to look like my future status as king of the world is in serious jeopardy.

17. I have a new sales pitch for the old SNL skit “Bad Idea” Jeans: I think that the American public will buy Tom Cruise as a Nazi. Bad Idea. To make it even more authentic we’ll give him an eye patch. Bad Idea. There really haven’t been enough movies made about WWII, this is really going to fill a niche in the market. Bad Idea.

18. From what I just saw on Blues Clues I'm pretty sure I'd hate Ramadan. You fast from sunrise to sunset and then at the end you gets dates and milk. Great holiday. You don't eat anything and then you basically take a natural diuretic. I think I'll stick with presents, cookies and alcohol. Feliz Navidad!

19. It's so cold out that I woke up with my testicles in my neck. That can't be a good thing.

That wraps up this edition of the Things I Think I Know. I hope you all have a great holiday season, and if I can get out of the food and alcohol coma for a few minutes I'll try and get in one more post before 2009.

Ronald WTF?

I was at Whole Foods yesterday getting a sprout salad with fat free dressing and some whole grain bread, then, I realized that my balls were actually attached and I headed over to McDonalds. After I finished my meal I got up to get an apple pie, because apparently a 900 calorie lunch wasn’t enough for me, and this is how the interaction transpired:

Me: I’ll have an apple pie
Clerk: That will be $1.07
Me: No, I just want the one pie
Clerk: That will be $1.07
Me: How much are two pies?
Clerk: $1.07
Me: So I can get one pie for $1.07 or two pies for $1.07?
Clerk: Yes sir.
Me: How much is a cheeseburger?
Clerk: 99 cents
Me: How much is a double cheeseburger?
Clerk: $1
Me: What color is the sky in the world where your pricing department works?
Clerk: Excuse me?
Me: Nevermind, cancel the order bucko!

There is some stupid shit out there that I just don’t get, and while I’m on the subject of bashing Mickey D’s, whatever happened to the two cheeseburger value meal? That was my go-to order, and then one day it was just gone to make more room on the board to promote some slab of sweaty ass crack like the McRib. Don’t even get me started on those new chicken sandwiches and biscuits that they stole from Chik-Fil-A right down to the goddamn pickle? Your marketing team must have worked overtime to come up with that one.

You know what else chaps my ass? The soda deals at the grocery store. Yesterday at Safeway there’s this big sign, ‘Buy Two 12-packs and get Two Free’. I like soda as much as the next guy, but I don’t really need two cases of the stuff. Look, I get it, you want me to spend more money and take more product off of your hands, but I have a kid, and carrying four 12-packs and a 19 month old into the house is like one of those strong man events on ESPN at 2:00 in the morning. “Do you need some help out to your car sir?” No, but I’d love some help getting all this fucking pop into my house. Can I borrow slow-Charlie from register 6 for an hour?

While I’m ranting about food, let’s turn our attention to restaurants. You know what I want? Smaller portions at smaller prices. I’m looking at you Cheesecake factory. I don’t need a sandwich the size of a drunken midget for $19. How about just offering me something the size of a drunken midget’s hand for $5? Hey, you, Five Guys hiding in the corner over there, what’s up with the mountain of fries you dole out with every order? I don’t need a bag full of grease for $4, how about just a handful for $1.50, or maybe you just let me just lick one for a nickel?

I think we have a new record for most sarcastic questions asked in a single post. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to schedule 3 Guys and a Truck to come help me carry in my leftovers from the Maggianos.

Top 50 Songs of 2008

If you are too lazy to check out albums, here are my top 50 songs for 2008. I kept it to one song per artist to spread the love around. This will be my last music post of 2008, so we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.

Sometime Around Midnight – Airborne Toxic Event
Rocky Took a Lover – Bell X1
These Stones Will Shout – The Raconteurs
Come On – Panderers
A-Punk – Vampire Weekend
Shine On – The Kooks
Get-Well Cards – Conor Oberst
Orange Blossoms - JJ Grey and Mofro
Street Corner Preacher – Amos Lee
Comin’ Home - Murder by Death
So Many Nights - The Cat Empire
In Step – Girl Talk
Wontcha Come Home – G. Love
Get On With It – Val Emmich
Out of Time – Jason Collett
Ghost of Goodbye – Ford Turrell
Handshake – Tristan Prettyman
That was Just Your Life – Metallica
Lost Coastlines – Okkervil River
Troublemaker – Weezer
Long Division – Death Cab for Cutie
Matt Costa – Mr. Pitiful
A Heady Tale – The Fratellis
I Wrote a Song About Your Car – Mike Doughty
Bitch Went Nuts – Ben Folds
I Remember (It’s Happening Again) – Griffin House
Song to Bobby – Cat Power
Supernatural Superserious – REM
Sequestered in Memphis – The Hold Steady
Lady from Baltimore – Jesse Malin
Sex is on Fire – Kings of Leon
A Dustland Fairytale – The Killers
Your New Man – Mason Jennings
No Baby, I – Old 97’s
Why Do You Let Me Stay Here – She & Him
Handlebars – The Flobots
If I Had Eyes - Jack Johnson
The Richest Kids in Town – This is Ivy League
Born Into a Light – Ryan Adams
Winter Birds – Ray LaMontagne
Them Kids – Sam Roberts
Locust Street – Black Crowes
Rooks – Shearwater
Life, Love and Laughter – Donavon Frankenreiter
Anyone but You – Counting Crows
Why Do You Think You Are – Brett Dennen
You’re Gonna Go Far Kid – The Offspring
A Little Bit Of Riddim – Michael Franti and Spearhead
I’m Yours - Jason Mraz
Shout – De Novo Dahl

enjoy!

Top 10 Albums of 2008

Through the magic of iTunes I calculated that I worked my way through 52 albums this year (ranked below), and dabbled in several others. My music geek status is still in check, which makes my inner rock star stand up and…Shout! Shout! Shout at the devil!

My top 10 is ranked solely on the albums I enjoyed the most in 2008. I did not factor in album sales, number of plays, weeks on the charts, length of time in a certain playlist or any of that other bullshit that makes the lists in magazines a bunch of garbage.

This year’s list might be my most eclectic of all time and it features some ‘rock out with your cock out’ shredding guitars and ‘wuss out with your puss out’ Sunday morning chick music. I am not going to offer any analysis or key tracks, just the list. If you want more details let me know because I talk about music like pyromaniacs talk about fire. “All day all night, you feel, my heat. Feel, feel, feel, feel my heat”. (Give yourself 10 bonus points if you can name the movie that is from.)

1. The Raconteurs – Consolers of the Lonely
2. Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend
3. Metallica - Death Magnetic
4. Okkervil River - The Stand-Ins
5. Girl Talk – Feed the Animals
6. The Kooks – Konk
7. Hold Steady – Stay Positive
8. Conor Oberst – Conor Oberst
9. Tristan Prettyman – Hello
10.Mike Doughty – Golden Delicious

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Cat Empire – So Many Nights
G. Love – Superhero Brother
The Fratellis – Here We Stand
Bill Burr – Why Do I Do This? (Comedy)
Old 97’s - Blame it on Gravity
Ray LaMontagne – Gossip in the Grain
Matt Costa – Unfamiliar Faces
Ryan Adams – Cardinology
Jack Johnson – Sleep in the Static
Airborne Toxic Event – Airborne Toxic Event
Death Cab For Cutie – Narrow Stairs
This is Ivy League – This is Ivy League
Ben Folds – Way To Normal
Kings of Leon – Only by the Night
The Killers – Day & Age
Murder by Death – Red of Tooth and Claw
Kimya Dawson – Alphabutt (Kids)
Amos Lee – Last Days at the Lodge
REM – Accelerate
Barenaked Ladies – Snacktime (Kids)
Bell X1 – Flock
Black Crowes – War Paint
Griffin House – Flying Upside Down
Sam Roberts – Love at the End of the World
Cat Power - Jukebox
Counting Crows – Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings
Mason Jennings – In the Ever
Donavon Frankenreiter – Pass it Around
JJ Grey and Mofro – Orange Blossoms
Coldplay – Viva la Vida
She and Him – Volume One
Flobots – Fight With Tools
Xavier Rudd – Dark Shades of Blue
The Whigs – Mission Control
Sia – Some People have real Problems
AC/DC – Black Ice
Weezer – Weezer (Red Album)
Michael Franti And Spearhead – All Rebel Rockers
Widespread Panic – Free Somehow
Lucinda Williams – Little Honey
Beck – Modern Guilt
Jason Mraz – We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things

On My Way to San Jose

Just after 5:00 AM here in San Jose, and of course my internal clock is still on the East Coast, so I am awake and bored. This is day three of the conference I am attending and I am ready to head back to Virginia. Here are some things that I observed over the past few days.

I was checking out the hotel, looking for the bar and other ammenities, when a woman stopped me and asked me to take her picture. Nothing strange about that, but the hotel has approximately 10 Christmas trees and she wants her picture next to the most welfare one in the place. Even Charlie Brown would have said "Dude, that tree fucking sucks, lets keep looking". Do you think that Chuck would say 'fuck' in real life, when he isn't doing holiday specials? I think he would, especially after Lucy jacked him up with the old football trick for the thousandth time. I digress.

So, I oblige her, but before I can take the photo, she says she wants to be holding her laptop and that the picture is for her mother. I can only assume there is an inside joke at play here, but she didn't seem like the inside joker kind of gal. She gave off more of the bat-shit psycho girlfriend slash stalker kind of vibe. Her first camera dies before I can get the shot, and of course she has a backup camera. See what I mean about the stalker vibe, who carries two cameras with them? I finally take a couple of shots and she goes on her way.

I was in the convention center yesterday people-watching as the hundreds of sales and marketing folks strolled by talking on cell phones, sending email on their Blackberry's, and talking shop with colleagues. None of this impresses or phases me, I am more interested in sizing people up, because deep down inside I am a 13 year old girl who is contemplating doing some cutting due to body image issues. Here is my personal assessment of folks based solely on physical appearance after three seconds of viewing.

Is that guy my size? Nah, he is way bigger than me. I bet that chick spends more time 0n her knees than a Nun on Easter Sunday. Dude, I know you think that scarf and artsy glasses makes you look sophisticated, but really you just look like, how should I say this without being too harsh, I know, 'Fucking retarded'. Really? An overweight brother with a blue-tooth headset in his ear. Shocker. Looks like somebody's cold. Wow, I thought that pony-tail guys were extinct, but I guess you proved me wrong. Is that a guy or a girl? It looks like she-he has tits, but that is clearly a mustache that a Mexican teenager would be proud of. Is that guy my size? Maybe. Lady, your business suit screams uber-bitch power broker, but your camel toe just says ewwww. There's the close talker I met last night, don't make eye contact. Look away! Look away! Whoa, if your skirt were any shorter you would need two hair-do's. XYZ-PDQ. Yo bro, I know you think no one's watching you over in the corner, but I see you going knuckle deep into your nose and then examining the treasure on your finger like it was the fucking Rosetta Stone. Mr. I think I'm the shit guy', could you talk a little louder on your phone so that everyone knows you're a douche. Hey grandma, it must get really annoying pulling down the zipper on your pants to adjust your bra?

God I love people-watching. Well, only a couple more hours until the sun comes up, I guess I'd better head out for my morning run. Yeah right!

Making a List and Checking it Twice

The five day work weeks between Thanksgiving and X-mas are total buzz kills. The joy of the long Turkey Day weekend is a distant memory, and I struggle to get through these doldrums of winter before I can enjoy the back-to-back five day weekends I have coming up at the end of this month.

Of course before I can revel in this time off, I need to do some X-mas shopping, attend holiday parties, fly to California and back, watch the Steelers win the AFC North and get ass fucked by the furnace guy and the car guy and the electronic black-jack dealer guy,whom I swear is a 60 year old Asian woman. Those old Asian dealers always work me like a fifty-cent-a-day, soccer ball making, favella living, Guatamalan bitch.

While I love the holidays, with all of the alcohol consumption and the constant grazing on cheeses, nuts and cookies, I feel like my bank account gets hammered like my Uncle on dollar beer night. As adults at what age do you stop giving each other gifts? My brother and I haven't given each other a X-mas gift since the 80's. The wife and I did away with the practice a solid decade ago, and while some may frown upon this practice and decry Bah Humbug, it works for us. I'm an adult if I need or want something I buy it. I don't wait for my birthday, or a holiday, or the chick to prove she isn't a cop, I just take out my wallet, whip out some coin, and go about my day.

Now, don't get me wrong I am all about presents for the kids, but my X-mas list has become ridiculous, because I don't need or want anything. Last year I asked for an ant farm, a bubble gum machine, a lava lamp and a breathalizer. This year I am asking for a laser pointer, a Jack Lambert fathead, a snowboarding Wii game and a new liver. As my wife says "How old is the guy who made this list? 12?!". I've reached an age where I ask for stupid shit, because it's the only thing left that I wouldn't mind having, even though I would never buy it for myself. I cruise the Sky Mall, Spencers and Brookstone websites regularly this time of year. Jealous?

So as you sit there reading this, mocking my x-mas list choices, let it be known that I got more enjoyment out of watching my ants dig tunnels in an illuminated gel for six months than I ever did out of the 100th Navy sweater I got from a distant relative. And on x-mas morning when you are opening your adult gifts of boring clothes with little polo players on them, or if you're cheap some non-descript man, animal or random mythological creature stitched just above your left nipple. I'll be burning my sister-in-law's cat and my daughter's retina with a laser pointer and trying to blow twice the legal limit into my new breathalizer. Livin' the Dream.

*Slams cover of laptop, does a crotch-chop and yells suck it bitches. I Rule!*

The Trouble with Dreams

Recently, I have been buying a lot of books but for whatever reason I can’t seem to actually read them. I used to be an avid reader, before Tivo and the internet came along and stole my soul. In high school I wanted to be the “well-read” guy, because being an average douche just wasn’t good enough for me, I wanted to be the ultimate douche. You know, the guy who quotes authors and poets and revels in a giant well of douchiness that only impresses other douches. I finally came to a place where two roads diverged in a wood, and -I, I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference - Robert Frost. I guess you can take the boy out of the douche, but you can’t, well you get the idea.

So last night I decided that I am going to spend 30 minutes a day with my face in a book to try and get my mind away from the computer and TV and back to the written word. I’m sure this will last as long as my diet, but a boy can dream can’t he? Or can he?

Randy Pausch came to my attention last spring when I watched his “Last Lecture” on YouTube. After he passed away I picked up his book, and that is what I started reading last night.

The big theme of the lecture is achieving your childhood dreams, so I started to think about mine, but I could only come up with two; playing professional soccer and working as a Latino motorcycle officer for the California Highway Patrol (C.H.i.P.’s). I didn’t have the size and speed to be a professional soccer player and I wasn’t a big enough dick to be a cop, so those dreams met an early demise. Today, I play soccer in my living room with an Elmo ball and the only handcuffs I use are to keep Moo locked in the basement while I drink and play Wii.

Pausch had five or six dreams, and in one way or another he achieved his goals, he was a doer, a go-getter, an over-achiever. I am a slacker, the kid who always got the note on his report card “Erik would excel if he would just apply himself”. There in lies the rub, I’m not very good at applying myself, because I have very little passion for anything. Is that bad? I guess at some point I should throw together my bucket list of things to do before I die, but the things that used to seem cool, now just seem like a big hassle, ie…traveling in Europe, sky-diving, two chicks at the same time. Ok, maybe that last one is still worth the effort.

I hope that everyone has a good turkey day, and maybe Bruce and I will get hammered and double team a Butterball, so that I have a good post for you next week. Now there’s a dream I’m pretty sure Randy never achieved.

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Father Knows Best

Ok, so I am going to be a single Dad for the next three days, but the thought of hanging out with my daughter this week brings up one of my biggest pet peeves, the portrayal of men in society as completely incompetent when it comes to anything dealing with kids or the home. Well kiddies, fasten your seatbelts and keep your hands inside the ride at all times, because it’s time for a rant!

Nobody has ever said to me “Hey Erik you’re headed out of town for a few days, who is going to watch your kid?” No, they assume that my wife will be handling the situation. But my wife goes out of town and the first thing people ask is “So, who are you going to get to watch your daughter?” Like my wife’s going to say “You know, it would be nice if my husband could handle it, but since he’s borderline retarded, we’ll probably have to bring in someone more qualified.” Qualified, meaning someone with a vagina.

I’m sure there were movies before Mr. Mom that made men look like complete fuck-ups, but I’m placing my blame squarely at the feet of Michael Keaton, Teri Garr and the rest of the people who worked on that farce. Since this movie was popular, we now get to see it made over and over and over again. The basic plot is that a man is somehow put in charge of the kids and the house either through a layoff, a divorce, a sudden death or unknown paternity. See Three Men and a Baby, Daddy Daycare, and any family sitcom that has aired over the past 30 years. The new Dads then proceed to use unconventional means to handle everyday chores like cooking and cleaning. Oh let the hilarity ensue.

So today I am here to stand up and say it is time to put an end to this stereotype. It is no longer socially acceptable to show blacks eating fried chicken, slurping on watermelon, dealing drugs and slapping fat white chicks around with their giant cocks. It is not cool to show Asians doing Calculus, playing the violin, mispronouncing their L’s and R’s or driving like the others cars on the road are imaginary. You can’t show Mexicans getting drunk, crossing busy highways in packs of five or more and hanging out at the 7-11 all day. So why is it still acceptable to show fathers dusting with leaf blowers, burning a simple dinner or completely unable to figure out the diaper changing process?

All of you competent fathers out there stand up and unite! Let it be known that we can separate the colors from the whites (I’m talking about laundry here), we can properly wash a dish and vacuuming is not outside of our skill set. (This is where the slow clap starts to build to a crescendo) Can you smell what the Craw is cooking? That’s right, its chicken parmagian bitches and its going to be fucking Matchbox 20 money!
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Hit Me baby One More Time

What is going on peeps? I feel like I haven’t been getting the words to the page recently, but hopefully I can turn that around. The main reason is just a lack of material. I watch sports, I raise my kid, I work and that’s about it. All of those topics have already been covered here, which doesn’t leave me a lot of stuff to talk about unless I go all “A Million Little Pieces” on your asses, and that wouldn’t be too cool. Today I am just going to throw out my State of the Nation address, sans all the partisan clapping, and give some quick updates on the Life of Craw.

The Family – I have to give big props to the Mrs., because I’m still married, although I’m not sure how that is. I look at myself in the mirror and it’s just a horror show. Good thing chicks aren’t as superficial as men, or I’d be sleeping on someone’s couch trying to figure out how I was going to afford child support. I’ve applied a Survivor like strategy to my marriage. I’m the guy who works hard at camp, doesn’t rub anyone the wrong way and flies under the radar to win the million bucks. Like Sam Jackson says in Pulp Fiction, “Personality goes a long way”. Yes, it most certainly does.

As for the little one, she is showing signs of inheriting my antagonistic genes, and she’s learned the word “no”, which like most women, she says but doesn’t really mean. Am I right? Am I right? High five for date rape! I’m kidding, I’m kidding, date rape is way too much work, who wants all of that hassle when you can just as easily take care of your own business. Kleenexes don’t press charges, enough said. Wow, this paragraph took an unexpected turn at sweet daughterville and headed straight down felony lane into DNA Sample Township. Maybe we better move on.

Sports and Gambling – As I mentioned in a previous entry, I have entered the world of online gambling and it has become a little bit of an obsession. Before I get any further into this post I want to go on record as saying that the NFL owes me some money for last Sundays, Steelers/Chargers debacle. Fuckers! Anyway, I went 2 for 5 on Saturday and 1 for 5 on Sunday games, so I don’t think I have a bright future in the world of sports gambling. I may need to announce my tearful retirement at the end of the season. (But I’ll probably pull a Favre next fall)

Blackjack on the other hand is another story. I tried for weeks to stay out of the casino portion of the site, but the apple tree in Eden was just too much and I decided to take a bite. I won back in five minutes what I’d lost on football games all weekend and then some. Dealer has a 6 and I have an 11, double down bitch. Winner, winner, chicken dinner, can a Nigga get a table dance? Shake it up , shake it up, wooo, shake that thang!

TV – As bad as TV was this summer, it has made a solid comeback. Entourage, Californication, Dexter, The Life & Times of Tim, South Park, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Celebrity Rehab, Top Chef, How I Met Your Mother, Survivor, Amazing Race, The Office, The Daily Show, The Soup etc… My Tivo is in the zone, and working harder than a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader on CMT. Every night after Moo goes to bed its like Christmas opening up the “Now Playing” list and seeing what the TV Gods have left me. What’s this 27 Dresses bullshit? Amy, you gots some ‘splainin to do!

So that’s your Life of Craw update, hopefully some funny or annoying shit will happen to me this week, since I will be a single Dad for the next three days. Moo can you say “hit me”? Good girl.
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Teenage Wasteland

My boss came in today and asked me what she should get her son for his 16th birthday. I went through the usual guy gadget checklist and pop culture stuff, but none of it felt special enough for the big one-six. So, I jumped on Google and started researching lists to try and come up with something cool. I found this site with the usual Family Guy, Office, Wii and iPod stuff, but mixed in with these goodies were a few items that didn’t really fit the category "TV & Pop Culture Fan Gifts for Teen Guys"

Hillary Clinton Gear
When I think of gifts for teenage guys the first thing that comes to mind is Hillary Clinton schwag. As a teenager, nothing impresses the ladies more than having a life-size cardboard cutout of the New York senator in your room. I just hope that the new 2009 Nancy Pelosi comes out soon, so that my teenage gift recipient can live out his ‘Democrats Gone Wild’ fantasies.

Elvis Presley Christmas Duets
I’m pretty sure that even teenage guys in the 50’s were like fuck the Elvis Christmas Duets album, buy me some Jerry lee Lewis. If you want your teenage son to think you are the most out of touch Mom in the world, then by all means order this via rush delivery. While you’re at it, pick up the Barbara Streisand Hanukkah duets CD and make it his best Holiday season ever! “Dude, Jay Z sucks ass, check out this version of 'O' Come, All Ye Faithful'. When Olivia Newton-John and Presley are singing 'O' Come' with everything they have, it just doesn’t get any better than that.”

Instant Incognito Sunglasses
These are the epitome of cool, although, the pain in the ass Mormon girl in this photo-shoot didn’t adhere to the script. The correct way to wear these glasses is on the beach with your tongue sticking out, and an expression on your face that screams “DUDE! I’m totally incognito!”. Maybe she was ok with being incognito, but found the tongue wag a bit too risqué for the LDS. You know these glasses will start a streaking epidemic in high schools across the country. “Johnny, there is no way they can identify you, if you are wearing these bad boys”.

Paint Your Own Lantern
When I was a teenager I’d seen some other guys at school painting their own lanterns, and even though I knew it was the gateway craft to scrapbooking, I wanted in. I wanted that feeling of rebellion and belonging to a group who didn’t care about how society viewed them. Hook rugs and paint by numbers were ok in middle school, but now that I was in high school I was ready for something edgier. I met the guys behind the bleachers after 3rd period and scored my first lantern. I painted that bitch, and the craft high I got was something I’d never felt before. I was free, I was an outlaw, I was a lantern painter and I was hooked. Everything was great until my Dad caught me painting a lantern in the garage. We got in a big fight and I jumped on my bike and headed straight for Michaels. If he thought that painting lanterns was bad, I was going to show him. I bought a scrapbook, and never looked back.


Rock n’ Country Rebel Teddy Bear
Yes, you heard me right, Rock n’ Country Rebel Teddy Bear. I mean, a Rock n’ Country Teddy Bear would have been sufficient, but throw in the ‘rebel’ part and I’m sold. This James Dean of the hard ass stuffed animal world totally means business. He even has a heart tattoo on his left arm so you know he’s a bad motherfucker. They should have called him the Rock n’ Country Rebel Bad Motherfucker Teddy Bear. The only way this bear could be more awesome is if he had a pair of Instant Incognito Sunglasses.


My sarcasm runneth over today, but it just amuses me that someone invents this stuff, then gets the money to mass produce it. They hire a bunch of kids in China, who are probably saying to each other in Chinese "I don't have enough money to eat tonight, but some stupid ass American will spend the equivalent of my yearly salary on this shit?". Then someone else pitches advertising for it and finally some douche bag buys it. Capitalism Rules!

One last thing, I just had douche bag as one word and I got the dreaded red underline indicating a misspelled word. I figured it wouldn’t recognize it because of the nature of the word, but no, it just wanted to let me know that douche bag is indeed two words. Thanks Microsoft!

Wanna Be a Freak and Sell It on the Weekend

Where do the weekends go? Friday night, I went to Outback and ordered my standard issue meal, the 9 oz. Victoria filet, cooked medium, the French style green beans and a house salad with mustard vinaigrette As usual, it was crazy delicious, but the next thing I know, its Monday morning, time to jump in the shower and head out to work.

To me, weekdays go by like sex minutes. You feel like you’ve been working hard for hours, then you look at the clock and it’s been like nine minutes. Then you get to the weekend and it goes by like a kick ass TV show. What do you mean Entourage is over already, they just got through the opening credits!

I really think that more companies and schools need to consider the four day work week. It would save gas, cut down on traffic and more importantly, allow me to feel like I actually had a weekend. It would also decrease the number of shirt and pant combos that I would need to stock in my closet. I am currently rotating about eight shirts and five pairs of pants, I could easily cut this down to six and four respectively, opening up more room for my kick ass religious apparel collection. Goodbye blue and white striped button downs and hello “Worship the Best or Die like the Rest!” and “His Pain Your Gain!” t-shirts.

Fortunately, I was able to squeeze in a little fun this weekend. I met up with the rest of the funky bunch on Saturday night to appreciate the comedy brain droppings of Mr. Bill Burr. I love comedy clubs, because I usually end up laughing so hard that I look like a pepper spray victim. Tears stream down my face, I can’t catch my breath, and I’m doubled over like I was just gut punched by Glass Joe. Saturday was no exception, at one point I was laughing so hard I had to pause to make sure that I didn’t rupture my spleen. Thank you, Mr. Burr for the 45 minute abs workout.

Election

What a day. Who are you gonna vote for? Who will be the next great leader? Who will turn this whole thing around? Tracy Flick or one of the Metzlers? Carver High Schools future hangs in the balance. Sure, it’s been nine years since this movie came out, but Election holds up. Broderick delivers some of his best work since Ferris Bueller and Witherspoon is perfectly cast as the over-achieving perfectionist. I know you’re thinking, Crawford, WTF? Do you think you’re a movie critic now? Two thumbs up? Why don’t you take those two thumbs and jam them up your ass. Hey, hey, easy folks, I’m just blogging here.

I decided to grab a couple slices and a soda at lunch, and tune in to some election coverage on CNN. Holy shit, these 24 hour news networks sure are grasping to fill time. “Let’s go to Deborah in Florida, how are things shaping up in America’s penis state?”. “Well Chad, there was a minor hiccup this morning when the administrators went to a polling place in Tallahassee and someone had changed the locks. It took them 20 minutes to get them open. Haha. Then, in Boca Raton, one of the 24 machines went down, so now they have to fight through the day with only 23. I talked with several voters who let me know that they voted for either McCain or Obama today. One voter, a Mr. Wong, said that he’d been waiting a long time for erection day. Did I just say erection? I meant election. Oops! That’s it from down here, I won’t leave you hanging…Chad. Get it, hanging Chad, like in 2000, when the ballots had chads hanging, *crickets* Is this thing on?” This is the kind of inane banter went on for the entire 20 minutes I was at lunch.

Luckily, I avoided the Tuesday rush and voted last Saturday. The thing with absentee voting is that you have to declare a reason for voting early, and unfortunately “To avoid long lines and the pain in the ass of voting on a weekday” isn’t one of the options. I’m pretty sure almost everyone there lied on their absentee ballot, because none of the people I saw fell into the categories for early voting. Not me of course. I am officially working an 11 hour day today, including my commute, although I was tempted to check the box for “Confined to a jail pending arrest or trial”.

Me: Yes ma’am I’m voting early because I will be in jail awaiting trial on Tuesday.
Election Officer: What did you do?
Me: I lied on my absentee ballot in the primaries
Election Officer: That’s ironic
Me: Don’t you think? A little too ironic?
Election Officer: Yeah, I really do think
Me: Thank you for playing along with my stupid 13 year old Alanis Morissette lyric game
Election Officer: No problem, who are you voting for?
Me: You, You, You, oughta know!
Election Officer: I see what you did there.
Me: Yeah, once I get started I just can’t stop. One too many?
Election Officer: Probably
Me: Ok, I’m going to vote now.

I hope that everyone gets out there, votes, and has a great election day! If you see me and I have one hand in my pocket, then the other hand is probably distracting you from watching my game of pocket pool.

Pittsburgh Porn

Amy and I saw a movie yesterday. Yes, an actual movie, in a theater, with other people, and it was a porno. Kevin Smith’s new brainchild Zack and Miri Make a Porno to be exact. Amy likes, but does not love, Kevin Smith films, which is a bit strange because she basically lives with his doppelganger. Kevin likes dick jokes, I like dick jokes. Kevin likes chicks in hockey sweaters, I like chicks in hockey sweaters. Kevin likes showing Jason Mewes naked on the big screen, I like chicks in hockey sweaters, and we both have a thing for girls who say aboot.

In the opening scene, Elizabeth Banks gets out of bed wearing nothing but a blue Penguins throwback jersey, and then Seth Rogan is seen in front of a Penguins Stanley Cup Banner. Awesome! The city, the Penguins, the Monroeville Mall and Iron City beer, or Iron Shitty as the natives call it, all get a good amount of screen time. The movie has enough laughs, but underneath all the tits and sex jokes it’s essentially a formulaic romantic comedy. It’s worth renting, but not quite strong enough to see in the theater.


Kevin Smith Film Ranking:
1. Clerks
2. Chasing Amy
3. Dogma
4. Zack and Miri Make a Porno
5. Mallrats
6. Clerks II
7. Jersey Girl

It Was a Graveyard Smash

Halloween bitches! Some people love it, some people hate it, I fall somewhere in between. As a kid, of course I loved it. Dumping out my pillow case full of candy and as always there was the one old crazy lady who would give you fruit. "Hey lady, thanks for the orange, it's just what I needed to cure my bad case of scurvy." There was also the house that gave out change. Really? Change? As a sugar-craving six year old, I want to thank you for the 35 cents in nickels and pennies that you just dumped into my bag. Fucker!

After sorting through the citrus and dimes, it was time to start sorting the good stuff. The candy that your parents would steal after you went to bed. Snickers, Reese's cups, Nestle Crunch, Hershey Bars, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Twix, Kit-Kat, Pop Rocks, M&M's and Butterfingers. These were the top tier candies. Then you'd get to the second level, Tootsie Rolls, Sugar Daddy's, Clark bars, Skor, Peppermint Patties, Now and Laters, Lemonheads, Skittles and Starburst. Finally, you'd hit the bottom of the barrel, Mounds, Popcorn Balls, Oh Henry, Laffy Taffy, Charleston Chews, lollipops and Bit-O-Honeys. With your loot laid out in front of you, it was time to start trading. "I'll give you two packs of Bottlecaps and these fancy wax lips for a Snickers and a pack of candy cigarettes." Done.

In my teens, Halloween became less about treating and more about tricking. Growing up next to a corn field, the big thing was to take pillow cases full of corn and dump it all over someones porch or car. So two weeks prior to Halloween I would wear the top layers of skin off my thumbs shucking kernels of corn into a case. Then, Halloween night would come and I'd throw my two weeks of work onto someone's porch and run. Kind of weak looking back on it now.

In my twenties Halloween was all about the parties. There's nothing more dignified then getting hammered, while dressed up as a chick. Walking in heals is a bitch when you are sober, after a dozen beers, I stumbled around like I had two broken knees. I looked like a white trash tranny with lopsided fake tits and smeared lipstick. I don't know how you ladies do it everyday. One night dressed as a chick was more than enough for me. The make-up, the clothes, the shoes, it's all an exercise in masochism if you ask me. I did have some sweet tits though.

Now that I am in my thirties, Halloween is all about the Moo. I've traded my costumes for a lawn chair and cooler full of alcohol. The wife parades the little one around the neighborhood, and I get to sit back, relax and wait for the candy to come to me. I am officially a Halloween pimp. "What, this is all you got for me? Bitch, get back out there and don't come home until you have at least a dozen Take Fives! Before you go grab me another 40 out of the cooler.".

This is totally unrelated, but I laugh everytime I think about it. Here are Amy's quotes of the week:

“It took me like four minutes to realize that I was stuck in the middle of an instrumental Rush song, why is that even on my iPod?” - Amy Crawford 10/29/08

"Your company is bringing in burgers, just for the guys, and then you are getting mystery envelopes? Do you work on some sort of sexist game show?" - Amy Crawford 10/30/08

Wontcha Be My Neighbor?

Sorry non-breeders, but it’s time for another installment of Maggie Moo’s Neighborhood. I try to keep posts about the fruit of my loins few and far between because my wife has this angle covered in her blog, but she always uses a soft focus and a silver lining, so every once in awhile I like to keep it real.

Moo is becoming the queen of the catch phrase. She is the Kenny Mayne of Cosworth Terrace. Her big phrases are “Alright Da-Da”, which she says relentlessly, and “Ohhhh Nooooo!”. Of course she has that cutesy little voice that makes everything sound so sweet. She called Barbara Walters a stupid twat the other day, but the way she said it, just made you go aaaaaaah you’re such an angel.

I will admit it is kind of nice getting reassurance from my daughter for everything I do. I make dinner, I get an “Alright Da-Da”. I use the bathroom, I get an “Alright Dad-Da”. I call the opposing team’s quarterback a fucking date rapist, I get an “Alright Da-Da”. That’s my girl!

While the “Alright Da-Da” is money, the “Ohhhh Nooooo!” sucks sweaty, monkey balls. She thinks she has the right to be a total asshole, as long as she says “Ohhhh Nooooo!” after it. She’ll throw her milk off the table for the tenth time “Ohhhh Nooooo!”. She’ll rip pages out of a book “Ohhhh Nooooo!”. The other morning she broke my glasses, just ripped them apart while I was in the shower, and all I heard was “Ohhhh Nooooo!”. Maggie, WTF? “Ohhhh Nooooo!” is not the “Bless Your Heart” of the South. You do not get immunity for your actions by saying “Ohhhh Nooooo!”. I wish it worked that way, because I would immediately ram my car into the jagoff who comes to a dead stop in a merging lane, then I’d rip out their eye balls and skull fuck them. When I was done, I would just go “Ohhhh Nooooo!”, and then go about my day.

Moo is also starting to put together words and actions, especially when it comes to songs. When we play “The Wheels on the Bus” she goes through the various dance moves that go along with the song. (I am using the term “dance moves” very loosely here.) She rolls her arms, rubs her eyes, waves her hands and shushes us, right on queue. This is cute, except when the 69 Boyz “Tootsie Roll” comes on and she grinds out her booty dance to the howls of the brothers singing “Let me see that tootsie roll”, then she pours a little milk out of her sippy cup onto the floor as if it were a 40oz. “This is for my homies who can’t be with us today.” Maggie your 18 months old, I’m pretty sure all of your homies are doing just fine. Besides, it’s kind of hard to do a drive-by while being pulled in a Radio Flyer wagon.

Finally, Moo has a new favorite TV show, Blues Clues. Apparently, Yo! Gabba, Gabba is sooooo last summer. When Steve or Joe, depending on the episode, comes on, she sits on the floor, yells boos coos about a thousand times and then sways to the music, like a stoned hippie at the original Woodstock. If you haven’t seen the show, the host goes around and collects three clues that will solve the mystery for the day. The mystery usually centers around something that Blue (the dog) wants to do. The host has a note pad to keep track of the clues, and then he sits in the thinking chair to figure it all out. So if the host has a picture of a camel, a woman, and a table support, they would conclude: Blue wants to hump Mommy’s Leg today. Hey! “We just figured out Blues Clues, because we’re really smart!”

Which reminds me that it’s time for me to go and hump Mommy, I just hope that I get an “Alright Da-Da”, and not an “Ohhhh Nooooo!” when I’m done.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I don't sleep that well in hotels, so here I am at 6:30 am on a Wednesday morning banging away on the keyboard. The place we are staying at is nice enough, it's one of those deals where they take an old rundown chain hotel, bring in some fabulous Top Design prodigy and turn it into an uber-chic, too-cool-for-school joint. Then, they can charge you double what they used to, because you have a better mattress, some abstract art and a flat screen in your room.

I don't have a lot of tales from the road so far, but I did find myself in a bit of an uncomfortable situation last night. Because we are in Boston, we ate dinner at Cheers. By the way that place is full of shit, there was no Norm or Cliff and I'm pretty sure that no one knew my fucking name. Anyway, we knocked down some burgers, beers and foo-foo drinks. The girls flirted with the waiter and bartender, Bob and Steve respectively. I was hoping for a Neil and Bob or an Adam and Steve, so that I could make a bunch cliched jokes all evening, but no such luck.

As we were leaving I decided to shake the dew off the lily and when I entered the mens room there was a guy at the sink with his belt open and he was wet around his "region", and then there was another guy taking a piss and spitting a lot. They were both in there 50's and I felt like I'd just walked in on the after glow of a lemon party. (If you don't know what a lemon party is you can do some internet research, but I will warn you that it will scar you for life, and you'll never look at grandpa the same way again.) I went immediately to my urinal, kept my eyes on the wall in front of me, drained the main vein, and headed for the door. As I was leaving, I started singing to myself:

---

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name

and they're always glad you came

On the way out of the mens room, there was a scale where you can pay to weigh yourself. I found this kind of odd, it's not like there were a bunch of jockeys or boxers around who needed to make weight. I can't imagine an instance in a public bathroom I would need to know my weight. "Hmmm, well I weighed 220, then I ate a 1/2 pound burger and I just took a big dump, I wonder how much I weigh now? Wow, 220, I guess my dump and that burger weighed the same amount, I'm really glad there was a scale in here to provide me with that knowledge."

Time for me to jump in the fancy shower and try to wash last night's ick off of me. Hopefully, the maid won't find me curled up on the shower floor in the fetal position, like Elizabeth Shue in Leaving Las Vegas after she'd been gang raped.

Wicked Awesome

I'll be in Boston all week learning how to be the best demo specialist ever, so no posts until the week of Halloween. And one last thing, yoah retahded if ya don't think the sawx ah frickin awesome. Go Rays!
---

Dear God, It's Me Erik

I've tried to stay away from religion, politics and the persecution of the Jews in this blog, because those are the three things you're not supposed to talk about in mixed company. Well, those three things and why slavery was such a good idea. Religion, politics, Jews and slavery, I think that's it. Oh wait, and porn. Religion, politics, Jews, slavery and porn. The five things you shouldn't talk about in mixed company. I know you're thinking what about the plastic surgery game your uncle played with you in the basement, where he drew all over you with a purple marker, then you fell asleep and woke up the next morning with a bloody stool. Damn, this list is getting longer. Religion, politics, Jews, slavery, porn and bloody molestation poo. The six things you shouldn't talk about in mixed company. Fuck, I forgot about my zooligists taboo subject, rhino clits. Religion, politics, Jews, slavery, porn, bloody molestation poo and rhino clits. Ok, I think I could probably go on until I had the 12 days of Christmas covered. "Fiiiiiivvvvveeee rhino clits, four uncle rapes, three porn stars, two persecuted Jews and Jesus nailed to a tree."

Wow, if there's a VIP section in hell I will be sipping Cristal champagne with Hitler, Cheney and Spencer from The Hills, while we watch Paris Hilton and Martha Stewart get some scissor sister action going. That's Hot!

Getting back on topic, I watched this debate on the internet today and it was nice to finally see two people intellectually discuss the issue of God's existence. Most debates between the religiously inclined and those who choose reason over fantasy, usually devolves into a bunch of moronic mudslinging. (Ok, maybe there's a little mudslinging) So whether you say "Oh God" on your knees while you genuflect or you say "Oh God" on your knees while swallowing a sword, this debate should make you think.

Religion: Touch Gloves and Come Out Fighting

Politics: Sam on Sarah

Rhino Clits: Safe for Work

Sorry to those of you who come here for your weekly dose of dick and fart jokes, today I am aiming above the neck, even though I did throw in one dick joke and some bloody stool for you sick fucks.

The Chief and Ryan’s Dad

There’s this woman at Maggie’s daycare that I call the Chief. I call her this because she reminds me of the Chief in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. She has that big potato head, shiny black hair, and she is always sitting in the same chair. If she can’t do it from her chair, it doesn’t get done. She used to be Maggie’s teacher, but now that Maggie has moved up a level, I only have to see the Chief when someone is out sick.

Yesterday, I went to pick Maggie up and they were all out at the playground, and there she was sitting on a bench. I’m not exactly sure how she got from the classroom to the playground, but that is another tale for another time. I say thank you and she just gives me that stoic, dead-in-the-eyes look. I expect that someday I will come to pick up Maggie and see that a water fountain has been thrown through the front window, and I will immediately know who was responsible.


Last week at daycare, the class of three year olds were all lined up ready to go outside and this smart ass ring leader looks at me with a shit-eating grin and goes “Hi, Ryan’s Dad”. I just smile and wait to get past the crowd. Then, he looks at me again with that wink-and-a-gun smirk on his face and goes “Hi, Ryan’s Dad”. I look at him kind of laugh and say “I’m not Ryan’s Dad”. Apparently, Mr. ring leader isn’t taking no for an answer today, he says “Yes you are!”. Then, this little girl behind him wants to get in on the action and she starts in on me, “Hi, Ryan’s Dad”. I tell them again that I am not Ryan’s Dad, and then the whole class starts calling bullshit on me. “Yes you are!’ “You are Ryan’s Dad!” “Hi, Ryan’s Dad!”. I’m totally getting heckled by the toddler mafia. WTF? I wanted to pull the ring leader aside and say “Listen kid, I’m Maggie’s Dad, not Ryan’s, but if you see Ryan’s Mom and she’s a total MILF, then let me know and I’ll be happy to play the part of Ryan’s Dad.”

That was my week in daycare drama. Next time I see the Chief on the playground, I will be sure to teach her how to dunk a basketball. And as for that little Hitler, I won't hesitate to give him a titty-twister if I can catch him when the teacher isn’t looking. "Say my name bitch, and it better not be Ryan's Dad!"

Doctor Doctor Give Me the News

Over the years I’ve taken minor ailments and thought the absolute worst, so Amy is convinced that I have hypochondriacal tendencies. I don’t think that hypochondriacal is an actual word, but the hypochondriacal tendencies would be a kick ass name for a Jewish punk band. “Did you hear that Marc Goldstein got the Hypochondriacal Tendencies to play his bar mitzvah last weekend? They did a great cover of the Thompson Twins Doctor Doctor”.

This post came about because I was feeling completely exhausted yesterday. I could have closed my eyes and fallen asleep at any point. By the time Amy came home from work, I was convinced that I had a full blown case of chronic fatigue syndrome. However, I feel better today, so I must have had TNSCBSFF24HS. (The not so chronic but still fatigued for 24 hours syndrome) Not only do I self-diagnose my own maladies, but I also project my worse case scenario medical expertise onto my daughter. She had a cough for a few months and Amy thought it was asthma or allergies, but I was convinced it was Cystic Fibrosis.

As a side note, if you want to see a really fucked up documentary check out Sick. It’s about this guy with cystic fibrosis who is a crazy ass masochist. He would cough up jars of phlegm everyday, and then for kicks he'd take a hammer and put a nail through his dick. Which begs the question would you rather have CF or a nail through your penis? After watching this film, I’d take the nail. CF is a mother fucker, not that a nail in your junk isn’t, but that shit will heal, CF is permanent. Sorry I got a little side tracked there. My dreamed up fatal illnesses aside, here is a look at my actual doctor approved injuries over the years.

There you have it, my medical history, both real and imaginary. I think I'd better go call in sick, because I'm pretty sure I feel a nasty case of the plague coming on.

They Call Me the Working Man

We are getting our cars washed at work today, so I started thinking about the jobs that I would never want to do. Washing cars, moving other people’s shit and basically anything involving manual labor is totally out for me. I would be the worst Mexican of all time! Day laborer? Nope. How about a day loiterer? You can pay me to just hang out. Ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper, I would always turn manual labor into a game. If this were Scrubs or Family Guy this is where they would insert a cutaway of me working in a field with other Mexicans. “Hey essay, you seen Rico? We really need to get these apples harvested.” “I think I saw him in that tree over there throwing rotten grannysmiths at the birds on the fence”. El trabajador peor nunca!

In my youth I had a grand total of two manual labor jobs. The first was working construction when I was in high school. We stayed at this pay-by-the-hour motel, four guys to a room, and we got up at 6:00 AM to work in and on an over-sized storage shed all day. I was so tired by the third day of the week that I almost put a nail through my foot. I was on the roof putting up shingles, when I fell into a sleep-deprived trance and set the nail gun on my foot and pulled the trigger. Luckily, I pulled back at the last second preventing a full puncture.

If only the Romans had nail guns back in the day, they could have made the crucifixion business much more efficient. (Insert cutaway to an ancient Roman courtroom) “You are hereby convicted of adultery and sentenced to crucifixion. Ch-chunk, ch-chunk, ch-chunk, ch-chunk…Next!”

Later that week, the boss caught me grabbing a quick nap in a big pile of insulation. Who knew that sleeping on the job was frowned upon in the construction industry? Finally, on the last day, I got food poisoning, because like an idiot I ordered shrimp scampi from a shitty dive bar in bum fuck Pennsylvania. It was definitely, one of the longer weeks of my life.

Lessons learned:
1. Pay by the hour motels are sticky
2. Nail guns fucking hurt
3. If the bar you are eating in considers Coors Light an imported beer, you might want to steer clear of the seafood.

My second manual labor job was during the summer after my freshman year of college. I worked from 7:00 pm – 2:30 am in a bulk mail facility loading huge trucks with shit like catalogs, and QVC merchandise. Keep in mind this was the height of the BMG and Columbia House CD clubs, so I spent a good six of my eight hours throwing boxes of CD’s around. It was hot, sweaty and a good workout, but it was also monotonous and mind-numbingly boring. When it’s 2:00 am on a Tuesday and you are up to your ankles in George Michael and Janet Jackson CD’s, you get a little attitude going.

The old-timers were all union, so they sat around and read the paper, while the young turks, like myself, did all of the work. (Insert cutaway to a bulk mail warehouse) “Hey young turk get this truck to L.A. filled by midnight, and pass me the sports page. Man, that Barry bonds would be great for the Pirates if he could just hit a home run once in awhile.”

The only job I liked at the facility was working in the pit. It was a round area surrounded by conveyer belts and you would sit there and sort packages by zip code, 46219 – Indiana, 25568 – West Virginia, 80129 – Colorado. I was a mail sorting maniac on the floor, and I was sorting like I’ve never sorted before.

Lessons learned:
1. Working nights sucks balls
2. CD’s make good Frisbees
3. Knowing the zip code for Fargo, ND does not impress the ladies

There you have my impressive manual labor resume. If I ever get my dream job of scraping road kill off the highway I’ll add it to this list. For now I’ll just celebrate being a card carrying member of the Rhythm Nation. It’s Erik, Mr. Crawford if you’re nasty!

It's Just a Fantasy

If you have a vagina or a life you can skip this post, as it will contain fantasy football and gambling content. However, if you are big on schadenfreude, then you might want to stick around to enjoy my Sunday debacle. Rant time bitches!

There are a few situations in fantasy football that will make you crazy.
1. You drop someone, who then goes on to have a big game for another team
2. You start someone who is a game time decision and they end up not playing
3. You start someone who gets hurt before they can produce
4. You play the best team in the league and your top players are on a bye

Then you have my fuck up from yesterday, benching players who have outstanding games. I know what you’re thinking; “hey we’ve all benched players that have big games”. But did you bench players from the team that you follow religiously? I’ve only missed three Steelers games since 1994, so I probably should have some insight into my team. Right? Au contraire, I decided to bench Hines Ward and Ben Roethlisberger in favor of Matt ‘I put the ass in’ Cassel and Eddie ‘oooh I have a sprained ankle’ Royal. Of course both Ben and Hines had great games, and to compound my ass raping sans reach around, I lost my fantasy game by less than 6 points. Bitter! ---

For all of you ladies who stuck around, let me try and put this in your terms. Say you love Steve Madden shoes, you wear them everyday, you brag about them to your friends and you constantly show them off to your disinterested significant other while he’s watching Family Guy. Then you walk into Nordstrom and for whatever reason you are wearing your fuck-me, knee-high, Marc Jacob’s boots, when an employee says for the next five minutes we are giving away $500 gift cards to anyone wearing Steve Madden pumps. Bitter!

So that was my fantasy football hall of shame moment. Now, let’s talk about these fucking no talent, ass clowns known as the Colts and Broncos. Last week Mr. Bruce introduced me to the wonderful world of online gambling. I know, bad idea, but I love football and I love gambling, so if you put the two together I am like a pig in shit. I decide to pick three games that look like a lock: Indy giving 4.5 to Houston, Chicago giving 3.5 to Detroit and Denver giving 4.5 to Tampa.

The Bears did what they were supposed to do, so they can leave this conversation. The Colts, who are supposed to be an elite team in the AFC, started strong but then choked on Rosenfels dick for most of the day, before he gave them the game in the fourth quarter. Coming off a bye week, in a game they really needed to win, against a team that for all intensive purposes lost to the Steelers by five touchdowns in week one, the lowly Colts had lady luck give them a gift and then they fail to cover. I want to punch Peyton Manning in the face with a cobra, then give his Mom a Dirty Sanchez, while his brother pisses all over the UT flag.

Ok, now let’s turn our attention to the defensively challenged Broncos, playing at home against the Bucs. You are up by 10 points with 2:08 left and you give up the touchdown that let’s them beat the spread. You couldn’t hold out for 128 seconds more to hook me with some coin? Hey Shanahan, maybe you should spend less time in the tanning booth and more time working on your prevent defense. I know that you and your giant capped teeth enjoyed a big juicy steak at Del Friscos after the game, while I had to eat PB&J because those sorry ass, scrotum-kissing, rim-jobbers you call a defense couldn’t be bothered to actually stop someone from scoring.

So week 5 in the NFL was a disaster for me, I guess I’d better go fountain diving for some change to bet on next week’s games. Has anyone seen my Steve Madden pumps?

An Open Letter to October

Dear October,

I wanted to thank you for the many gifts you bring; cooler weather, great sports, Halloween and Cypress Independence Day. I was thinking with the first part of your name being “Octo” that you would be the eighth month of the year, but somehow you ended up in the ten spot. After further investigation I discovered that you used to be the eighth month on the old Roman calendar, but got demoted when January and February were added to the new Gregorian Calendar. (Thanks Wikipedia!)

You open with the internationally celebrated Cyprus Independence Day. I mean without Cyprus being a free and democratic society we wouldn’t have, hmm, ummm, uhhh, yeah, well at least it’s not Lesbos Independence Day, right? That place is full of lesbians, wait, that would be great. What I meant to say is fuck Crete! Hey, this isn’t an open letter to Cyprus, so let’s move on.

By the way, great job cooling off the weather. As all the women over 30, or under 150 lbs, break out the scarves, sweater sets and desk heaters, I am finally comfortable. Gone are the days of sweating like George Kennedy in Cool Hand Luke when my toe crosses the line from air-conditioning to the outside world.

October, you are truly a sports panacea. The NFL and NCAA are in full swing, the NHL starts this weekend and baseball is in the playoffs, making it possible for me to actually watch more than one inning without changing the channel. Plus, the NBA season is still a little ways off, so this is the only time during the year when I can actually enjoy ESPN. This reason alone makes you better than the other 11 months.

Finally, you close with Halloween, the second candy giving holiday of the year, but the only one without a dead guy coming out of a cave after three days and an over-sized retarded bunny. (I’ll save my Halloween appreciation post for later.)

In closing I want to say thank you October for being the best you, you can be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take the “Fuck Crete” bumper stickers and flags off of my truck.

In a Funk

Something's been going on in my groove thang lately, and I'm not referring to my previous post, I'm talking about my latest addiction to funk. It started when I watched the documentary Standing in the Shadows of Motown. For those of you who aren't up to snuff on your funkadelic history, the Funk Brothers were a group of studio musicians in Detroit in the 60's and early 70's who were responsible for a plethora of funkified hits, some of which ended up in the film that got white people dancing around the dinner table, The Big Chill.

Anyway, Jus' hang loose, blood. She gonna catch ya up on da' rebound on da' med side. Whoa, I'm not sure what that was, but let's face it the bruthas know how to play bass. When you're the bass player in a group of bruthas, you know you gots special chops, and James Jamerson provided much of the genius behind these hits. Shit man, that honky mus' be messin' my old lady... got to be runnin' cold upside down his head. Sorry, I don't know where that came from, but now that you've been edumacated, lets get back to my funkalicious addiction.
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Now, I'm not going all Bootsy Collins and dressing in futuristic bright purple sequined jumpsuits and over-sized Elton John glasses, but I have been doing my best white man overbite while standing on my sub-woofer, much to Amy's embarrassment. Hey you can't spell embarrassing without bass and ass right? Am I right? High five! Low Five! Around the back, I want my money jack! A week after having my Funk Brothers cherry popped, I find myself once again going to the funkadubious well, and picking up some rump-bumping Sly and the mutha-fuckin' Family Stone. ---
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Hey home, I can dig it. You know he ain't gonna lay no mo' big rap up on you man. Wow that just kind of erupted out of me, I think I must have Jive Tourettes Syndrome, and there's only one cure for JTS...MORE BASS! These two albums should keep me in a funkin' good mood for awhile, and if you want to get your moneymaker on the clock, I recommend these three collections:

The Funk Brothers - Standing in the Shadows of Motown
Various Artists - The Big Chill
Sly and the Family Stone - Greatest Hits

Cut me some slack, Jack! Chump don' want no help, chump don't GET da' help!

Please help cure Jive Tourettes Syndrome, because a kick ass bass line is a terrible thing to waste.

Sick

My ass is running like a fire hydrant in Harlem on the 4th of July, my butt is exploding like Amy's Facebook page. My stomach is tumbling like an under-age Chinese gymnist. I'm tossing more cookies than Mrs. Smith. I'm blowing more chunks than Corey Feldman at a Goonies reunion. The house smells worse than a port-o-potty at an Irritable Bowel Syndrome retreat. I hope that gives you an idea of my Saturday, and my cock-strong simile skills.

It is so bad that Amy and Maggie had to leave the state. They went to Maryland to celebrate my birthday with the family, while I stayed home to fend for myself. They are dining on steak and lobster, while it took me 75 minutes to gnaw through most of a stale McDonalds hamburger. They are drinking beers, playing wii, shooting pool and jamming to tunes, while I am watching The Soup. It's Miley! They are cracking jokes and jonin' on each other, while I am trying to decide which of my armpits smells worse. Do you feel bad yet people?

I'd better go now, because I just had this great idea for a tattoo...

37

Tomorrow is my 37th birthday, which is the same number of dicks sucked by Dante's girlfriend Veronica in Clerks, that is if you include Dante. Tomorrow I will wake up at the same time, take a shower at the same time, drive to work at the same time, where I will kill eight hours workin' for the man, before I head home, watch TV, and go to bed. Hooray! Every birthday between 21 and death is just a reminder that the bell will be tolling for thee sooner than you think, especially the way I eat and drink. I was going to add merry to that sentence because it completes the phrase, but I'm not sure I've ever truly been merry. I've been excited, I've been happy, I've been fucking over the moon after a couple vicodin and some wine, but I don't think I've ever described myself as merry and I'm ok with that.

Some people want death to come quickly, so they don't have time to think about it. I want a nice long drawn out illness to pre-empt my demise, so I have some time to do some fucked up shit first. Here's my top 10 list of things that I would do if I got some jacked up terminal illness:

10. Run onto the track at the Kentucky Derby after my horse loses, and punch the jockey like Joe Pesci did in Easy Money.

9. Get on the Price is Right and bid $2.50 over the highest price every time, so that someone is always getting fucked.

8. Two chicks at the same time, and I'm pretty sure that make-a-wish could hook that up for me.

7. Go to Amsterdam and order a Royale with cheese.

6. Fly on an airplane and leave my unapproved electronic device on during takeoff and landing. I know, I'm crazy, you can't stop me, you can only hope to contain me.

5. Play Russian Roulette Deer Hunter style. Just me and a bunch of crazy asians in a backroom down in Chinatown.

4. Travel to Utah, knock on all the Mormons doors and ask them if they've accepted that Kirk Hammett is God. I will probably need a partner and a couple bikes to get this done. Damn, make-a-wish you put me in a tight spot. I now have two wishes.

3. Pick a random animal from the endangered species list and see if I could make them extinct before I died. The Darwinian race is on bitches!

2. Streak through a Church on Easter Sunday after taking a viagra, yelling "He has Risen!"

1. Live in a Costco for three days while I shoot up a fuck ton of heroin and crack.

Finally, I looked up '37' in Wikipedia and here is what I discovered:

• Spinal Tap has had 37 Drummers. I hope to be #38.
• Shakespeare wrote 37 plays. I’ve written approximately 0.
• 37 degrees is the normal body temperature in Celsius. Too bad I use the Kelvin scale.
• The 37th president was Richard Nixon. I am neither a dick nor a crook, and I don't have a crooked dick, but I do like the song Crooked Stick by Stu Stone and Jamie Kennedy.
• It is the first irregular prime number. I suck at math.

Sorry, I've been crazy with the lists lately. I work in PowerPoint so much these days that I tend to think in bullet points. Actually putting a paragraph of cohesive thought together takes extra effort. Plus, I have been knee deep in the hoopla of learning a new conferencing product, so I've had to purge some of my writing skills, to make room for stuff like figuring out how conferencing software gets installed on a server behind a firewall. Only so many brain cells to go around, folks, 37 to be exact.

19 Things I Think I Know

1. Regardless of how hard I try, I suck at texting and driving

2. The Wii Fit is cooler than I thought it would be

3. The iPod Touch is as cool as I thought it would be

4. Being overweight sucks, but not as much as the process necessary to lose the weight

5. A good bottle of wine can do wonders for your mood

6. Cashews are to nuts what an orgasm is to sex

7. Texting 'is' on my cell phone always comes up 'IP' and that chaps my ass

8. Metallica is back with a vengeance. Death Magnetic lives up to the hype.

9. Midgets are just reincarnated people whose parachutes didn't open in a previous life

10. The Office and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia are back tonight. (See #5)

11. Tomorrow is 70's day at the office (don't ask) does this mean I can go in stoned and listen to Pink Floyd all day?

12. The Steelers are better than I expected

13. My Dad is shocked that I will be 37 next week, he mentioned that his life was pretty much over by then. I'm fucked.

14. When the urologist asked how often I felt my testicles for irregularities, I said weekly because I thought that hourly would be too much information.

15. As much as I love music I will never be proficient at an actual instrument.

16. I saw the kid who keeps fucking with my lamp post this week. He pushes the sliding rod all the way to the right which aggravates my OCD, because it's supposed to be in the middle. I think I need to buy a paint ball gun and jack him up. Is that too aggressive?

17. I've only worked four days and I'm already out of clothes to wear.

18. My last statement was ultra-gay

19. It's a strip mall world and I live smack dab in the middle of it.

There you have my lazy Thursday post. If you wonder why I went with 19 instead of 20, it's because when I exaggerate anything I automatically use the number 19. For example at my Mom's house I might say something like "Holy shit there were like 19 dildos in her closet", when in fact there were only 5 or 6. Now if you'll excuse me I need to get back to my testicle inspection.

I did a search for "Paintball Kid" and this came up, so enjoy your Friday "Moment of Zen".

Word Up!

The halloween costume hunt is on, and Amy is leaning towards a butterfly or a cow but I want Maggie to be Gene Simmons or a lawn jockey.

$10 for black face paint

$5 for a plastic lantern

$20 for a red and white jockey outfit

The look on your neighbors face when they open the door to a 17 month old dressed as a lawn jockey saying "Trick-O-Treat Mammy"...priceless. Some things money can't buy, for everything else there's Mastercard.

OK, that may be a bit over the line racial acceptability, so I'm guessing that she'll end up being a princess or some frilly shit, which is cool, but not as funny.

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I seem to get new jobs in the fall which coincides with my birthday and halloween, two things that are awkward to celebrate with new people. When I was in Nashville I had just started this gig at a copier company and they had people wear costumes for Halloween. Of course I went to work dressed as Alex from A Clockwork Orange. However, the jock needed some sprucing up, ala Cameo, so I decorated it with with red glitter and a bunch of little eyes. Needless to say I was immediately pulled aside and sent home to change. Who would of thunk that long underwear and a bright red jock strap highlighting my package area wouldn't be acceptable in the bible belt. Maybe I should have just gone as Jesus in the latest version of the Village People.

I'm Stuck in Folsom Prison

Ever get that feelling like you just fucked up big time. I got that feeling at my new job today, and I am hoping that it was just the first day jitters. For starters, I am officially on lockdown. The new gig blocks the usual sites like Myspace, ESPN and Facebook, which isn't too unusual, but they even block Gmail. No personal email and they frown upon IM. WTF? Couple that with the fact that I sit across from my boss who can see everything I do, and my glory days of downloading music, finding new bands and blogging are in serious jeopardy. I was in the chocolate factory, but my curiousity got the best of me and the oompa loompas took me away.

Oompa Loompa doompadee doo

I've got another puzzle for you

Oompa Loompa doompadah dee

If you are wise you'll listen to me

What do you get from a new position?

A pain in the neck and the Spanish Inquisition

Why don't you try simply doing some work?

Or are you just being a jerk?

You'll get no...You'll get no

You'll get no...You'll get no

You'll get no... personal e-e-e-e-mail

Oompa Loompa Doompadee Dah

If you're not lazy you will go far

You will live in happiness too

Like the OompaOompa

Loompa doompadee do

Also, my new job is just one big blast of culture shock. As I got the tour of the facility, complete with introductions to every single person, I felt like it was Rush week on campus and I was hoping to get a bid to the fraternity of my choice. The introductions were an exercise in deja vu, this is Matt he's 24, white, and likes the Dave Matthews Band. And here we have Ryan, he's 23, white, and loves Pearl Jam. Here's Greg, he's 26, white, and loves Radiohead. Ten years ago this would have been a dream job, but today I've traded happy hours for dinners with a few close friends, doing shots in the clubs for playtime with my daughter and lap dances for laying on the couch watching football. Call me old, call me boring, just don't call me to come out drinking on a Tuesday night.

Hopefully, I can rally, adapt and make this situation work. I am just trying to hang in there long enough for the free trip to Jamaica in January. Mr. Marley play me out of this post..."Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing gonna be alright."

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I Don't Like Talking About My Flare

So far this week I did nothing. I did absolutely nothing, and it was everything that I thought it could be. Ok, so maybe I did a few things like changed out a lightbulb on the back porch, cleaned up the garage, sold some shit on Craigslist and did some shopping, but mostly I laid around the house watching TV, taking naps and basking in the glow of having zero work responsibilities. Some people say that being home all the time would get old, and maybe it would, but this week has been care free and it has been glorious.

My only setback has been not being able to find Journey's "The Party's Over (Hopelessly in Love)" to download for less than $.99. Everytime I listen to XM while I play Wii I hear a new Journey tune that I don't have on my iPod. It's really an odd phenomenon, it's like they have this storage of hits that were big on the radio back in the day, but completely forgettable. Then, out of nowhere they pop on XM and some dusty unused Steve Perry synapse in my brain is triggered and bam I am on the computer trying to scratch an itch I didn't know I had.

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So here I am with two days of complete freedom left and while I know that the party's almost over, I really must go and check out this chick on channel 9 who looks like Peter Gibbons girlfriend.

Who'll Stop the Rain?

The opening weekend in the NFL means that it is time for my yearly pilgrimage to Heinz field. Tropical storm Hannah is taking a monster dump outside, so I am drenched after throwing my backpack, pillow and jersey into the truck. Nothing like a four hour drive in soaking wet clothes. I settle in, start my trek up 15 North and it is just pissing rain, you'd think I ordered the super soaker car wash down at the wax-n-wash. "Um, yes, sir, excuse me but I ordered the four hour traveling soak, you know the one where you can't see shit out of your windows and the person in front of you just stops for no reason because they think they see standing water on the road, when in fact it is just a reflection of light against the wet pavement. Yeah, the wash where your wiper blades are going back and forth faster than coke addict on a cell phone call to his dealer at 3:00 AM. If you don't mind could you also throw in a tractor trailer rollover so that my rain-soaked clothes really feel great, while I am at a dead stop on the highway watching The Incredibles on the DVD in the mini-van in front of me. Finally, if you could have me hydroplane every 15 seconds or so just to keep me on my toes, I'd really appreciate it. I'd hate for my heart rate to drop below 170. Thanks!"

So that was the start of my trip. After Breezewood, which is about half way between Virginia and Pittsburgh, the weather started to clear up a bit, but not before I got to have my fun on the road to hell, they call the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I'm rolling down the highway doing about 70 and I look to my left and there is a cement wall two inches from my truck. Then, I look to the right and there is a huge semi two inches from my side mirror. Then, I look in the rear view and some douchebag from Ohio is two inches from my bumper. The rain is still coming down and if I make even the slightest error we will be playing Ford Explorer pinball. Like Luke Skywalker attacking the Death Star, I used the force, pushed the accelerator down and prayed for the best. Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus fucking Christ, I make it past the semi and immediately merge right. Yeah bitches, suck it! Luckily, my Mom had a crowbar in the garage, because I needed it to loosen my grip on the steering wheel when I got to Pittsburgh.

The rest of my trip was rather uneventful. I got spend some time in the land of mustaches and jean shorts watching da Stillers whoop up on the lowly Texans, before returning back to Northern Virginia. I am off this week, so hopefully I'll conjure up a few posts, but I really need to work on my Wii Mario Cart skills and sell a bunch of shit on Craigslist. Priorities people. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go jam to Bob Seger in my living room and then find some pants so that I don't get arrested at the grocery store.

There's a Football in the Air

Here is a look at my 2008/2009 NFL predictions.

AFC North

1. Steelers (11-5)

Another AFC North title for my boys. Kenny and Bruce you guys will both owe me $5.

2. Clowns (9-7)

Anderson is no longer a surprise, and the inability to stop the run will cost them some close games this year. Plus, they are the brownies, they always find a way to lose.

3. Bungles (7-9)

A lot of proven talent, but no team chemisty and a lack of defense will plague these perennial underachievers.

Toss up: Will they have more arrests or TD's this year?

4. Ratbirds (4-12)

No QB = No Hope. Enjoy the basement fuckers!

AFC EAST

1. Patsys (12-4)

Not perfection this year, but strong enough. Hate 'em, but they are good.

2. Billies (10-6)

Lee Evans has a break out year mainly because he is on my fantasy team.

3. J-E-T-S, Suck! Suck! Suck! (7-9)

Improved, but even OFF (Old Fuck Favre) can't get them to the playoffs.

4. The Fish (4-12)

Parcells is making a bunch of changes, but Miami could still be beaten by most top 25 college teams.

AFC South

1. Dolts (11-5)

Marvin Harrison catches tons of TD's, or else he'll ride the pine on my fantasy team.

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2. Jagoffs (10-6)

No superstars, just a solid team year in and year out. I'm still reeling from Garrard's 32 yard run on 4th and 2 last year. I hope he breaks his liver in the first game.

3. Texans (7-9)

Marked improvement, but not a threat to make the playoffs especially after getting thumped in week 1 by my boys.

4. Oilers (6-10)

If you can name a Titan player other than Vince Young, then you're doing better than me.

AFC West

1. Super Chargers (12-4)

LT is back and so are the Chargers. Does anyone East of the Mississippi notice?

2. Haters (9-7)

Break out year for Russell, but not enough to crack the top 6 in the AFC. Just an observation, but is every Mexican a Raiders fan?

3. Donkeys (8-8)

Up and down like a $2 hooker.

4. Chefs (5-11)

Enjoy the BBQ, because that will be the only good thing in KC this year.

NFC North

1. Mini-Vikes (10-6)

Winner by being the least sucky in this welfare division

2. Fudge Packers (8-8)

No Favre, No Playoffs. Should have welcomed him back with open arms. Idiots!

3. Squares (6-10)

Name one great Bears QB and I'll give you $20.

4. Lions (6-10)

Tatum Bell stole Rudi Johnsons bags this week because he was pissed at being cut. This is the best story that will come out of that shithole they call Detroit this year.

NFC East

1. Cryboys (12-4)

Great team, shitty conference. It is amazing how much T.O and I look alike running on the beach.

2. Giants (10-6)

No repeat, but good enough to be in the mix at the end of the year.

3. Beagles (8-8)

I will only watch one Eagles game this year, and that's because they play the Steelers.

4. Mutha-fuckin Deadskins (7-9)

No QB means they will lose a lot of 3 point games. If you love low scoring, boring football, you will love the 2008/2009 Redskins.

NFC South

1. The Ain'ts (11-5)

The pieces are in place for a great year, but they have to avoid bad losses, hurricanes and George Bush's hatred for black people.

2. Black Panthers (10-6)

Hey, they put up 47 on the Redskins in pre-season. Good enough for me to rank them in 2nd place.

3. Tampa Gay (6-10)

Their offense gets senior citizen discounts at Denny's when they are on the road. Six wins is a prayer for these jokers.

4. Falcons (3-13)

Vick's dogs will chew up more yards than the Atlanta offense this year.

NFC West

1. Squawks (11-5)

They play so far away from everything, they may as well be in the CFL.

2. Red Birds (10-6)

I know they have a great stadium and that's pretty much the extent of my knowledge of this team.

3. Rammers (8-8)

Stephen Jackson's broken leg while river dancing in his shower during the bye week dooms their season.

4. 69'ers (4-12)

Bryant catches 12 TD's under my fantasy tutelage, unfortunately those are the only points they score in their 12 losses.

AFC Playoffs

Steelers over Jags

Colts over Bills

Pats over Steelers

Chargers over Colts

Chargers over Pats

NFC Playoffs

Seahawks over Cardinals

Giants over Vikings

Cowboys over Giants

Saints over Seahawks

Cowboys over Saints

Super Bowl

Chargers over Cowboys

There it is in black and white. We'll revisit this post in February and see how incredibly right I was. Now, I have to go pack up the truck for the trip to Heinz field this Sunday. Then, I need to practice running my victory laps.