....Can't Live Without 'em

I'm a modern man.

I'm all for that equality among the sexes stuff.

Especially when it comes to watching sports.

There is a certain element missing without the female perspective.

Sometimes, it's like having a first class seat on the "ignorant express".

...and you should just enjoy the ride.

I mean, most women know that David Jeter plays for the Yankees. Even though most don't know what position he plays. Personally, I like the Yankees. They have a shortstop named Derek who's pretty good.

They also are smart enough to know that if you gotta go during a hockey game, you should wait until halftime. Which is why more women should enjoy hockey. The men play through three periods and there are two halftimes for peein.

I've also learned from women that if you're betting on the big game, scientifically, the team with the cuter mascot always has the edge. This is very valuable info if you're a gambler, because all those records and statistics could cloud your judgement.

However sometimes they need some help.

And I'm always here to help...

Yes, it's called the outfield because if you hit the ball there, you're out.

There are only four innings in football.

Skeet shooting is only done in the summer, 'cause that's when skeet are in season.

Cagefighting is fake, wrestling is real.

And yes, Dale Earnhardt Jr. gets free Budweiser.

I even came to the rescue this weekend.

I had to explain to my girlfriend that the "Pats" are the New England Patriots, and that they weren't playing the Tigers in the Superbowl.

After I was finished laughing , she pointed out that she meant to say "Lions."

I'm so glad she realized the Tigers are Detroits' baseball team.

Imagine the embarrassment of showing up to the superbowl party, ready to cheer for the Tigers instead of the Lions.

If only I'd had a jersey to loan her.... GO LIONS!!!

HAPPY G-HOG DAY

February 2.

Only the most important weather predicting day of the year.

By far, the stupidest thing on my calendar.

As far as I'm concerned, if I don't get the day off or at least some crappy gift, it ain't a holiday.

Yet some podunk, backwoods city in Pennsylvania spends the whole year prepping for this little beaver thing to schlep out of its' hole.

Ceremonies are planned, guests are invited, there's probably a tent rented, and everybody dusts off the ol' tophat.... for an event that takes about 6 seconds. Unless the little badger doesn't emerge on his own and they have to drag his furry ass out. Thus only adding to the joyful bliss of this momentous occasion.

This is a lot of pressure for a groundhog.

If he's right, they feed him for another year.

If he's wrong, I think they eat him.

Isn't that what "ground chuck" is?

Turns out that the National Climatic Data Center rates the accuracy of the bucktooth little furball at 39%.

That kinda sucks.

But it's still better than the local weatherman.

And the woodchuck doesn't have a doppler radar. No Viper 2000. No stormseeker 800. No thermometer. No nothin.

He's workin with the sun, a hole, and a cloud.

So some slack is due.

'Cause suns, holes, and clouds ain't easy to work with.

send ME your dollar

Over the weekend, ABC news had a poll.
For .99 you could call in and have your voice heard.
Small price to pay, ...less than a buck,...what a bargain.

A chance to take part in the political process.
To possibly help mold the future of our great nation.
For less than one dollar.

What a country.

They posed the question:
If the Presidential election was held today, who would you vote for?

Seems innocent enough.
Think for a moment, choose your candidate, push the phone digits, give your reply.

The results were tallied and pie-graphed at the end of the program.
36% for this schmoo, 29% for that schmuck, 16% for the hillbilly, 8% for Mayor McCheese, and 11% undecided.

Heh, um, what did I miss?
I was careful not to bring any common sense to the old politico table, but 11% of the callers were actually undecided?
The call was a dollar!
What brain-dead political science major makes a .99 phone call and doesn't have a vote?
Say Scooby Doo for a goof.
Vote for Dee from Good Times just for laughs.
But to plunk down your Big-Mac money just to say you don't know?

Picture it;
Hello, ABC news polling line. Who would you like to vote for?
Der, uuuuhhhh, I uuuuhhh, mmmmm, well I am just ahh uhh, not sure.
Thank you for callin in, Gomer.

I do believe I've seen the future America.
And it ain't good.

MATH PROBLEM

Typical day at work on the construction site;

4 finish carpenters.
5 frame carpenters.
3 stone masons.
2 tile setters.
2 dock installers.
5 painters.
2 plasterers.

1 portable toilet.

That's bad math.
Potentially infectious, possibly disastrous, assuredly odorous, bad, bad, math.

But our shining knight, with his 650 gallon capacity, silver tanked steed, and his p.t.o. driven, on-board suction hose, gallops to the olfactory gland rescue every Tuesday and Friday. Never a complaint, sometimes a grumble, but always dilligent about his doody.

It makes me wonder.
Is outhouse cleaner is a career goal for some people? I don't recall any booth at any job fairs. My high school guidance counselor never brought it up as a possible future for me. (If he did, I would have smacked the crap out of him - .......pun intended). I also don't know anyone who has applied for the gig. Maybe they are raising a whole clone army of crapper suckers in an underground bunker? Who knows?

The way I figure it, this guy cannot possibly get paid enough. I don't know what kind of qualifications this job would require, or what port-o-man cleaner brings home after taxes, but I'm glad someones doin it. ..and I'm glad it ain't me. 'Cause if you work in a pizza place, you go home smellin like pizza. If you work in a fish market, chances are you're smellin like trout. But this job would require you be married to some noseless Muppet. And Muppets scare me.

Seriously, I think I would have to charge $10,000 for each port-o-can service. I figure once a month I'd don my hazardous material suit and gas mask, do the dirty deed, collect my 10 g's per, and be livin on easy street. Or, I'd count and rate all of the quickie-marts and fast-food joints within 2 miles of the job-site, and proportion my fee accordingly.

For example:
# of convenient stores within 2 mile radius - - - 4
# of fast food restaraunts in same radius - - - - 3
average overall gut wrecking rating - - - - - - 255
cost of gas mask filters - - - - - - - - - - - - - - $15
stinkability factor (constant) - - - - - - - - - - 100

So in this case;
4+3( 255/15 ) x 100 = 7 (17) x 100 = 119 x 100 = $11,900 per.

.....and that's math I can live with !

DREAM ON

I am happy to join with you here today in what will hopefully bring sanity to parents across this great nation of ours.

For I too, have a dream.

I have a dream that one day Kool-aid spilled from the glass of a toddler, will not stain my carpet. So as to ease the relationship between clumsy youngsters and rug-scrubbing fathers.

I have a dream that Crayola crayons will not melt in my dryer, ending forever, the practice of testing Daddys' pocket checking abilities at laundry time.

My dream is for the future leaders of our country to eat their vegetables, without the fuss, so we may never again speak the words, "then just sit there, until you do."

I dream of baby-sitters by the hundreds, lining up at my door, to tend to my children, free of charge, so Daddy can get drunk at a hockey game and scream at the referees.

I have dreampt of a time when the mutant kids next door, will lay down their water balloons, and never again plot an unprovoked attack on my newly washed truck.

I dream of a day when day-care centers do not close for every holiday on the calendar that I am not off of work for. Causing family and friends who do have the day off, to spend it with my kids.

I have a dream of barefoot children, not biting their toenails.
And of walking barefoot myself, into my sons room, without the m-f ing scream that can only come from stepping on a matchbox car or a lego.

But alas, I awake from my slumber only to find it is only a dream.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day.

PARDON THE FRUSTRATION

Another week in the tank.
7 more days of my life I'll never get back.
Good ridance.
Turn the page, close the book, shelve the book, then burn the shelf.

Between the 3 day de-programming my kids require after a weekend at the beasts house (that's the X , for newer readers) and the apparent "who can piss me off the most" contest at work, I've had it.
Kids, we've been over this before. Just wake up in the morning, have your pop-tart, and remind yourself that Damon is always right. I promise your day will slide by with the dazzle and glee one might only expect to find at tiger feeding time at a Segfried and Roy show. In other words, do what I say and no one gets hurt.

As if it's not tough enough trying to get my little monsters to behave, the morons who work for me decided this week to forget everything I asked them to do. But I am no stranger to repeating myself. After all, I am the reigning "did not - did too" champion of the house, and when the opportunity arises, I plan on de-throning my daughter in the " nuh uh - uh huh" competition.

The way I figure it, if I'm gonna have to babysit these "adults" all day, I should be able to punish them when necessary.
Give the tile setter a time-out.
Put a carpenter over my knee.
Send the stone mason to bed with no lunch.
Or get 'em all with one swoop and unplug their radios.
Yeah that's it. I have power over the power.
Just remember that this is going to hurt you, more than it hurts me.

THE GROCERY STORE

For whatever reason, my kids love the grocery store.
Maybe it's the slim chance daddy's lost his mind, and will fill the cart with Ding-Dongs and Twizzlers.
Perhaps it's the free cookie provided by the bakery lady with the hairnet.
Possibly it's each childs' notion that it's their turn to pick the Pop Tart flavor.
But as with all outings, we try to make our own fun.
With my daughter, the challenge is to get as many things into the basket without the old man spotting her. She is getting craftier as she gets older and uses package size and the little brother distraction technique like a seasoned veteran.

For my son, it's always some new way to attach himself to my wiggly-wheeled chariot without actually tipping it over. There's the 'side-cart hang and grab'. The 'front of the ship arch and perch'. The 'mine-cart simulator'. The 'don't let the catamaran tip over - lean and grasp'. And my favorite, 'the hood ornament'.

Each week we make our way through. Each of us selecting our weekly menu items. Trying to not crash into anything or annoy anyone too much. Keeping in mind that if it says anything but microwaveable, we could be in trouble.

The trip also begins with the knowledge that Daddy is a sucker for those toy vending machines at the exit. A ring. A compass. A glob of goo. That sticky stretchy hand thingy. Or do I dare, perchance to dream, that ever elusive mini-spy camera which has taunted me since my own upbringing.
We stare in wonderment at the possibilities of what the machines promise to spit out.
Clear little balls with multi-colored caps. Each filled with one of the potentially gratifying prizes displayed on the goodie filled glass jar.
But our hopes turned to skepticism.
For this is what we got.



Such joyful toys for the kiddies.
The gangsta, goateed, prison-hardened clown, legs crossed atop the 8 ball, scares the crap out of my 4 yr old.
And the poker chip will surely teach my 11 yr old the importance of hard earned money.
--The spy camera still eludes me.