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Monster Movies: Six and Sassy

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Monster Movie: STINK

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Monster Movies: Drops of Heaven

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A Complete Rant Of What The Snake Brings In 2013 And What You Can Expect From This Big Sexy Bastard…

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Resolutions, revelations, restitution, ruminations, I can never remember what we are supposed to promise for the New Year. It’s the year of the snake and that alone makes me want to make and keep a great number of promises because I damn sure don’t want a big creepy Chinese snake slithering into my bed in the middle of the night interrupting my dirty dreams with Anne Hathaway and Betty White to remind me of of my poor follow through. So what promises should I surely break this year? They have to be good ones. I promise I will yo yo my weight. I promise to stop smoking, easy enough since I don’t do it but dang it I say it counts. Work makes me nuts and want to smoke but I purge the urge so that is in my favor. Don’t judge me. I promise to stop enticing all you women with my stellar ass. It is a thing of beauty that Rodin himself could have not sculpted quite so perfectly. It just is not fair that I create such lustful wanting especially in church. So thats another guaranteed winner winner chicken dinner. I promise not to make a million dollars because with all this fiscal cliff talk I need to share the wealth. I am a giver folks. A giver with a dreamy ass. I promise to only pick my nose in public and in full view. I really should not keep secrets and I will feel much better if everyone sees this weakness. Nose picking is work and I whistle when I work so if you hear me whistling look the other way. I promise to stop crank calling Kanye West telling him that it was actually Kermit the Frog that knocked up Kim Kardashian. He has a long standing feud with Kermit. I am on team Kermit. Kermit is better behaved and a better rapper. I promise to sleep less at work. While it is efficient in having a better personal life I really get tired of cleaning the drool from my desk. I also am tired of explaining the sleep talking. My co workers are going to eventually have me committed when I continuously sleep talk about being Rapunzel’s personal hair dresser. I think I will make this the year I wear kitten heels on a regular basis, leopard print kitten heels. Fashion is important to me so I am brining back shoulder pads in polo shirts. I want to look strong. I am also going to have extra low cut Polos. I promise my neck line will plunge to my belly button. This will be convenient because I often store my lunchtime turkey sandwich in my belly button. Some people are fashion forward but I am fashion functional. I also promise to lose weight by only eating foods that were blessing by a Rabi named Paco while wearing assless chaps in a Build a Bear. This should prove to be effective and I am saying now to the millions of readers at home that I solely hold the rights to the blockbuster diet book that will follow. I am such a brilliant person sometimes.

What I really promise is to try and be the best me I can be. The best husband and father I can be. To never settle for good enough and to thrive to make all I touch smile. I cannot be more than I am. If I am destined to be a big man so be it but the heart that lies beneath wants everyone it touches to be happy and healthy. Happy New Year friends. I love you all.

Come Fly With Me

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I am 35,000 feet in the air, hung over from more travel than this tubby bastard is use to without his beautiful wife, and I am listening to Chantal Claret sing “Real Girls” and that only makes me want to find the turbo charger on the plane so I can watch my “Real Girl” as she sleeps. Damn I think my wife is hot. She will argue with me about the last statement but then again she can be so silly for such a very smart women. This blog is not about great music and greater women it’s about observations of the casual business traveler. I could make the blog simple and short and just say some folks are dumber than a second coat of paint but that would be no fun.

I’ll start with getting on the plane. It is always a joy dealing with getting into an airport. The TSA does a great job but people still want to challenge them. The TSA is like a bad ex-wife you owe support to and you need to shut up when she annoys you to avoid those monthly payments going up. You piss off the TSA and you don’t fly anymore. Hey maybe that is how I can get out of work travel. Sorry boss I ain’t allowed on to fly because the TSA guy got mad when I grabbed his ass and started singing “It’s Raining Men” while tossing edible condoms to all the people waiting in line for their personal massage before getting on their plane. People complain in line for the TSA. They bitch that it takes too long and that it is evasive. Get over it because the option of some underwear bomber jumping on the plane is worth the trade off of a genital X-Ray. Just once I would like to have the nerve to stick a large phallic object in my pants as I stroll confidently through the X-Ray. I would simply smile and so would they.

You are on your chariot to other places now and people just cannot seem to find their seat. Knuckleheads stand in the aisle putting eight different bags in twelve different overhead storage spots. I patiently wait for the inconsiderate space hog to sit down in his aisle seat and I adjust my computer bag over my shoulder and absent mindedly let it smack him in the grill as I squeeze down the aisle. Oh sorry about that sir. You are in your seat and the lottery begins. Who will the lucky badger be that gets to sit next to me? I always pull for a fellow big person. I want to be snug in my pairing of seats with a wildebeest like myself and for good reason. If two large and in charge folks are sitting in a plane they get locked in each other’s gravitational pull and their asses suction together in their seats. This is very important because if the plane goes down we will not only not fly out of our seat we will cushion each other on impact and that is a good thing. I love the part when they tell us to put our seatbelts back on during landing and I look at my big neighbor and think to myself we were lucky to have got them to lock in the first place so I sure did not take them off during the flight.

The pre take off direction is always entertaining. They say when cabin pressure drops a bag drops from the ceiling and only after you get it on your face you should help others. Listen if that happens I will get mine on but then I am sucking the life essence out of everyone else’s bag so no worries about helping thy neighbor. The next thing they say is that your seat can be used as a floatation device. Can you imagine that circus if it ever happened? You have a mask on and you could barely get in the seat in the first place to be belted in and now you are going to do some mile high Cirque Du Soliel act where you flip around and yank your seat out to go swimming? You know the flight attendant would come around and tell you to store your seat cushion under the seat in front of you anyways. I would probably hang myself on my air mask before I got the seat cushion. Let me tell you something, if that plane goes down the first thing I am doing is taking my pants off and shaking what my Daddy gave me because it doesn’t matter now even though it could prove to be awkward when the pilot pulls us out of our death drop. The next safety issue the flight attendant tends to is asking the people sitting on the wing if they are going to be able to help the passengers when the plane goes swan song? She then tells them if they are good with helping out they can find further instructions in the comic book of a safety manual they leave on the plane. If I am going to take that responsibility I want a free flight. That is a heavy duty job to take on the fly with no training. If you go to a restaurant does the waiter ask you if you could be a pal and unplug the bathroom toilet because your table is near the loo? I call shenanigans.

Children on planes are fine. I have no problem with it. I had no problems with it before I had a daughter. Sometimes kids cry on planes. They may cry because their ears hurt, or they are bored, or they are sitting next to me but they never stop crying because assholes turn around to give the parents a dirty look. Why would you do that to a parent? They want the child to hush too. Looking once is okay and natural because maybe you are just checking on the kid to make sure no Penn State coaches are on the plane. When you look the second time maybe you want to see if you can help. The third time you look is two times past rude. Do you want the parent to look at the child and scream shut your face before I boil you? All the time you are eyeballing the already embarrassed parent you are selfishly reclining your seat back on my lovely and large self. You my friend are the demi-god of assholes and you deserve a toilet crown.

Let’s get off this hell ride now. The plane made it without boiling babies and my pants are securely on. Now all the turtle brains want to stand in the aisle and try to beat you out the gate by two tenths of a second. Please drop your bag on the old lady because you can’t wait to wait. Oh yeah buddy, how’s your eye?

As I finish up Led Zepplin is humming “All My Love”. This is perfect because I can’t wait to see my loves. Fly safe. I love you all!!!

My Baby the Future Pothead

When I was a child cartoons were pretty simple. Tom Chased Jerry, Schoolhouse Rock introduced us to “I’m Just a Bill”,  we laughed at Elmer Fudd’s speech impediment (okay that is not so good), and Mickey Mouse was king. The stories were easy to follow and there was no work involved. You never worried that Wiley Coyote would catch the Roadrunner because you just knew it would not happen. Flash forward a couple decades and I have a daughter that I affectionately call Stink. I watch Nick Jr with her and I can’t help to wonder sometimes if my childhood friends are making the acid trip cartoons we joked about as teens. I watch Yo Gabba Gabba with her and there are crazy colorful creatures running around, dancing to trippy modern rock and basically scaring the nacho cheese out of me. There are sequences on this show that could be in Pink Floyds The Wall, Yellow Submarine, or more recently Heavy Metal. I just know that subliminally as my daughter watched this they are telling her “Pot isn’t just for plants anymore”, “Put make up on your Pops when he sleeps”, or maybe ” The dog would look so much better painted green”. There are some good shows that try to teach kids Chinese and Spanish but does it take a walking, talking back pack to do this?  I look forward to see what the cartoons my grandchildren watch are like. Maybe it goes retro and Hong Kong Phoey makes a long needed return to the American Child Public.

Love you mean it.

She’s A Hurricane, I’m a Tornado

My wife and I were talking about our daughter, Stink, and her bad temper. My wife loves to blame or is it lie or maybe tell it like it is? Okay for the purpose of shortening the blog she said Stink got her temper from me. I laughed because she seemed to forget that she has a temper as well. My temper can be compared to a tornado. One minute I am eating a pork chop and jelly sandwich watching Dirty Jobs in my Sponge Bob Square Pants Speedos while prank calling Abe Vigoda and the next second I…..Did I mention that I love Dirty Jobs but I started watching it purely by accident. It was late one night and I was perusing the viewing guide on the TV when I came across this enticing show titled “Dirty Jobs”. My wife was sleeping and I thought to myself maybe Dirty Jobs is about dirty jobs (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I had visions of  watching a show about this guy works for Playboy and he has to approve all the thought provoking photography before it hits the magazine. On Tuesdays, the models have to give him neck massages while serving him crackers dipped in potted meat. I switch the channel over to Dirty Jobs and find out that it is about jobs in which you may find dirt. I love that show. I even love Mike Rowe’s car commercials. So anyway now that the subject of potted meat has been brought up I have a question. Who in the wide world of full contact nude curling came up with that idea? Meat smushed to the point that it can be spread on a cracker. What kind of animal is potted meat and how mad is God at them that She gave us the idea to make them into potted meat. The marriage has gone south when your wife says , “Honey, no pork chop and jelly sandwich tonight. We are having potted meat and three day old guacamole dip.”  ….the next second I explode like a tornado. I get real mad real fast and hop around like Donald Duck and just like a tornado I calm down almost as quickly. Mad one second and laughing the next with a mouthful of pork chops, bread, and jelly.

My wife’s temper on the other hand comes on like a hurricane. Hurricanes have warnings and when they hit your town they hang around for hours unlike a tornado which is more of a hit and run in nature. So it happens a little bit like this. I am sitting in the guest room eating raspberry flavored gummy lobsters, listening to Mel Brooks sing his hit single you never heard called “My Idea of Fun is Watching Midget Pole Vaulting”, and scratching my kneepits. I hear things getting set down loudly and hard. This is known as a Hurricane Warning. Have you ever wondered why they named a hurricane Peppy. Maybe no one would take Peppy serious. Maybe name them after serial killers or possibly American Idol contestants. If hurricane Manson or Hurricane Aiken was coming then you can guarantee folks will listen to the warnings and leave. Another gummy lobster consumed and the “Hurricane Watch” has begun. My wife starts to say things out loud and when you ask her what she says she sharply says nothing. She may say something like,” Strawberry Shortcake is a bitch”. This is where it gets entertaining unless she is mad at you. This will go on sometimes for the entire day, much like a hurricane. So She is a hurricane, I am a tornado. Our daughter? Officially she is perfect, for now. As for my wife and I, it is our differences that make us so strong as a couple. I just hope a hurricane and tornado never hit town at the same time. Did I mention I have ADD?

Love you mean it.