Signs That You Are Your Parents Least Favorite Child.

When you visit your parents’ home, you can’t help but notice your old bedroom has been converted into a  “Hobby Room” while your sibling’s bedrooms remain perfectly intact…Almost like shrines to them.

Your parents really don’t mind that you plan on never having children of your own, in fact they encourage you not to have any, all the while they keep asking your sibling’s when they are going to make them Grandparent’s.

You can’t make it to Thanksgiving, and your Mom sends you photos of the great time everyone is having without you…They all seem oddly elated.

After an eye-opening conversation with your friends one night, you learn that it is not customary for the oldest sibling to get the hand-me-downs.

Your parents call you once every three months to make sure you are still alive, while discussing at length your sister’s new book deal and your brother’s new car. Your life as a community organizer just doesn’t make the cut.

Your parent’s have renamed you without your knowledge or consent…You think you might now be named Horace…But you don’t know for sure because you have to wait two more month’s for their phone call.

Your parent’s visit you once every couple of years and while there, they spend most of their time on Facebook admiring photos of your sibling’s.

Your parent’s ask you why your husband isn’t “providing” like your sisters husband is…You have to remind them that you are not married and are a straight male.

You got a promotion, your parent’s jump on Facebook to swiftly congratulate you before writing a sonnet about all the features of your brother’s new car.

During one drunken night with your Dad, he tearfully confesses that he sold your gaming system when you were eight so that your brother could take a summer writing class at the youth center.  He had so much promise, and anyway, you couldn’t get past the first level on Mario.

You receive a birthday card and it reads:


Hope you are having a terrific birthday. We were so excited when you came into the world and remember the day like it was yesterday.


Mom and Dad

(This is conformation that your new name is actually “Horace” and your birthday isn’t for another four months.)

You finally decide to leave Facebook all together because you are sick of watching your parents salivate over your sister’s new book deal and your brother’s new car. Your parent’s immediately call you concerned that you are about to kill yourself, because to them, leaving Facebook is synonymous with death. After convincing them that you are not spiraling into a black pit of despair, they make sure you know that you are loved, regardless of how uninteresting you are.

Dear Twitter Trolls…You Win!


Dear Twitter Trolls,

Good For You!  Congratulations, You did it! You succeeded! Your irrational screaming via caps lock, profanity-ridden diatribe hurled at me on an article I tagged a friend in really helped me figure out that I was in the wrong. You were right.

But you aren’t alone, there are many, thousands of you, lurking in every corner of the Internet primed and ready to fight everything that you possibly can. Your exchanges between others who are also lurking, but are usually there for enjoyment, are greatly appreciated. It is especially liked when you pull random items together to try and insult people, for example:  “Kittens? Who the fuck likes kittens? Probably the same assholes who enjoy eating crackers and drinking juice for an afternoon snack. MORONS!”

I don’t believe all the people who are like that are actually bridge dwellers, like they are so aptly named, but I do believe that they could probably use a hug. Maybe some crackers and juice to help ease the inner turmoil in their tummy. Yet they continue on their crusade to berate and undermine anyone with a different opinion.

Now, make no mistake about it, if I’m in the wrong and you have facts to prove it, I appreciate it being pointed out to me. A blow to the ego is better than living ignorantly. However, if I comment on a post about putting peanut butter on the bread first or jelly, and I write peanut butter, there is no reason for you to tell me that I am what is wrong with our country. That it is my generation and the way we think, act, and spend that is the downfall for humanity. Did you hear me?! If only I decided to put jelly first then I wouldn’t be responsible for all of the wrong in the world.

If on a fun post that asks who was my first celebrity crush, when I answer Farrah Fawcett, maybe don’t attack me about conspiracy theories, and which country is colluding with which that day. Now is not the time nor place. Let my love for Farrah Fawcett remain as pure as the driven snow. I don’t need your car tires dragging tracks of shit through it. I will not click on the link you reply with that talks about how (insert: whoever is currently hated the most in the country on any given day) was actually at the helm of the Mayflower and IF I WOULD JUST OPEN MY EYES I could see it; but, alas, my eyes will remain shut to your rant. They will stay focused on Farrah’s ice blue eyes and a time when life was lived more easily, with less people telling you every idea you have is wrong because it does not agree with their beliefs.

You keep trucking on though, dude, and keep replying. Someone, somewhere out there will be persuaded when you call them worthless because they believe in stupid things like science and proven data. They will click on the link to your blog where they can read every entry you make all the way from the Mayflower post right down to the list of items and ideas you have deemed acceptable. You will make a difference. You will convince someone that you’re screaming at on an unrelated topic that, oh shit, their entire life is a lie and all it took was someone on the Internet with no friends or pictures to make them realize that they don’t know anything. It will be a sad day for them, but it will be the victory you have been striving for since you made your first fake account on some Internet forum with the intent of just being a ladle to stir a shit pot. Here is your shiny, Internet medal. You did it! You won!



If You Underestimate Me You Will End Up Like The Elk…Murdered!

As I get older and perhaps less threatening looking I really feel like people tend to underestimate me and lately all I have been doing is proving them wrong…I truly am a Bad Ass MoFo!

For example, do you see that thing over there next to my coach, that brownish looking thing covered in cat hair…

No…Not that one

Yes…that’s the one

Well, I totally licked that thing yesterday

I truly am a Bad Ass MoFo!

What? I swear to God I will come over there and spank you on the ass Sir!..I swear I will!

Why did I lick it? Because at the time it reminded me of a field trip I took in the 6th grade, I was sitting on my couch naked watching re-runs of Friends and I saw that thing and had a flashback to that field trip I took…It made me feel a bit nostalgic.

You know what happened to the last person who underestimated me? His name was Chris, and he used to pick on me in elementary school. One time he tried copying the answers off my test, and when I told him to stop he stabbed me in the arm with a pencil. At the time I played it cool. I didn’t retaliate. I left him to his own devices so he could live his life in blissful ignorance; unaware of the fact I was meticulously plotting my revenge.

Then, about twenty years later I saw him. I walked right up to him and stabbed him in the shoulder with a pen. “REMEMBER ME CHRIS?!?!”  I screamed as I stabbed him over and over until his family and a few pallbearers pulled me away from his casket.

That’s how I roll, baby.

Look at me for Christ sake!  At first glance you wouldn’t think I’m a generous, caring lover would you?  But, don’t underestimate me my friend. I am known across five continents for my prowess in carnal ingenuity. I have absolutely no problem getting ladies in the sack. Seriously, you should come to my house sometime and see all the sacks full of ladies I have.

One night while attending an orgy in the Congo I came across a tribe of Pygmies called The Hillarioo Clintosees and over the course of the evening I befriended their chief. Her name was Chelsea, and we became very close. In each other we found kindred spirits, and even though we didn’t speak each other’s language we somehow connected psychically. She grabbed me by the hand and brought me across a beautiful field of grass. There was something familiar about it to me. It reminded me of home, and as I stood there naked under the starlit sky I began to feel a bit nostalgic.

But soon my comfort turned to fear when I realized why they brought me there. Chelsea took her club and pointed it to the sky at a gigantic yellow monster. I turned to face the gentle Pygmies, and I realized that these people were counting on me to save their village.

“I CAN’T DO THIS! I’M NOT A HERO!”  I screamed, but then I turned around and looked into the eyes of a tribe of adorable, hairless little Pygmies who believed in me. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I dropped to my knees and started weeping because they saw a hero in me when I couldn’t even see one in myself. I had underestimated myself my entire life up until that point, but now the time had come for me to be the hero I was always destined to be.

I took the club from Chelsea and charged at the monster as fast as I could. I started beating it with the club until I grew sore and my legs couldn’t carry me, but eventually I subdued the monster with sheer determination, and the undeniable strength of the human spirit.

As the Hilarioo Clintosees swarmed me to celebrate, the mescaline started wearing off, and I slowly started coming to the realization that I wasn’t really in the Congo at all. I was in Helena the whole time, being escorted out of Walmart by security.

All I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Just because somebody looks a certain way doesn’t mean they are that way.

Consider the elk.  The elk roams majestically across the plains and hills of Montana. The elk doesn’t concern itself with what others think. It doesn’t care about motive, or its place in the world.

And this is what makes the elk so easy to murder.

The elk underestimates.

What I Learned This Halloween…Trick or Treaters Who Are Clearly Too Damn Old To Be Trick or Treating!


If a Trick or Treater does any of the following they are clearly too old to be Trick or Treating:


  1. They are carrying high-end Gucci Trick or Treat bags


  1. They are carrying signs that say“Fuck Trump”and

“Snowden Is A Hero”  then they begin protesting on

your front lawn.


  1. They are smoking a cigarette and have facial hair.


  1. They are driving a nicer car than you own.


  1. They try to sell you Herbalife products.


  1. They are dressed like Bill and Hillary Clinton, but it’s

actually Bill and Hillary Clinton.


  1. They ask if you have a drive-thru.


  1. They ask if you want to be in a movie, dressed as Harvey



  1. They are dressed like hookers, then they tell you their



  1. They ask if you have any beer.

I Love Haters!


This letter is for all my haters, and I’m sure there are plenty… For my haters old and new, weak or strong, rich or poor, hairy or super-smooth and lubed up with body oil. That’s right, this damn letter is dedicated to you.

For the hater who kicked me when I was down, straddled me, pinched my cheeks, and spit into my mouth as if I was a baby bird. That’s right I haven’t forgotten about you…You made second grade a living hell.

For those who said it couldn’t be done… “It”  being Victoria Beckham, “those”  being her husband and bodyguards, “done”  being enter into physical contact at a red carpet event. I was only going for a European-style greeting, Victoria…That was all.

For those who called me crazy. Not the ones who said, “You’re crazy,”  with a long vowel sound and a smile. The one who said,  “You really are crazy,”  during a fight. And then later, when things had calmed down, drove me to a Starbucks that turned out to be a Starbucks in the lobby of a mental hospital. I wanted to let you know I’m feeling better, and ready for you to cancel our divorce.

For everyone who has rejected me, especially Chase Manhattan Bank. Maybe my credit wasn’t so hot a decade ago, but look at me now. I was an early bitcoin investor, and I still don’t know what it does or is.

For every HR department who stamped  “No”  or  “Crazy Person”  on my résumé. Let’s not forget you can’t spell hater without  “HR”  and also  “ate.”  Which is all I’ve seen HR departments do: hate and eat.  Allow me to be clear, trespassing on Girl Scouts property isn’t what it sounds like. If society calls connecting with nature  “indecent exposure,” then maybe society should feel what it’s like to lay on a sun-warmed boulder, hear the birds chirping while having its genitals caressed by a cool breeze. I had no clue Girl Scouts were knitting potholders or doing whatever they were doing below. This mistake should not preclude me from gainful employment.

Speaking of genitals, this one’s for Becky Schultz, high school classmate; in many cultures, a crooked penis is not weird at all but quite desirable.

For those who killed my dreams, my actual dreams, the ones I have at night. I’m speaking about my children. Stop crying about how you need a blankie and generally threatening my rest. Wah, wah — I’m cold, too.

For the Youtube executive who said I’d never make it as a viral star. Guess what? I already came up with a new content series, which involves becoming the first human to document a 365-day juice cleanse. I forget what day I’m on, but I’ve already lost 87 pounds and my belly button has become translucent. So suck it, okay?

For the naysayers, I urge you: stop speaking in Old Norse.

For those who don’t like the way I look, talk, dress, smell, walk, tick my head back and forth rhythmically, floss in public, tell my coworkers to  “have fun with it”  even though we work at a funeral home, insist on paying for everything in bitcoins, create frightening CGI porn involving wombat-like creatures, wear a dream catcher as a necklace, always refer to 6th Avenue as Avenue of the Americas, and smoke comically gigantic cigars, I will dedicate the rest of my life to helping you understand why people like me are so amazing.

Finally, this is for the hater who once hated the player, until the player convinced them to hate the game. I was only trying to salvage our friendship, and I regret ruining Monopoly for you.

On second thought, I would like to take back dedicating this to the strong haters. Unless it really upsets them…Screw it, this is for all of you, yes…YOU!

Things To Ponder



Have you ever wondered why Tarzan never had a beard?


Have you ever wondered why Superman could stop bullets with his chest but always ducked when they threw the empty gun at him?


Have you ever wondered why banks charge you a fee due to insufficient funds when they already know you’re broke?


Have you ever wondered why we press harder on the remote control when we know the batteries are weak?


Have you ever wondered why it is that when someone tells you that there are a billion stars in the universe you believe them but, if they tell you there is wet paint you have to touch it to check?


Have you ever wondered why did Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?


Have you ever wondered why it is that if we evolved from Apes that there are still Apes?


Have you ever wondered why there isn’t a day that mattresses are on sale?


Have you ever wondered why people constantly return to the fridge with hopes that something new to eat has magically materialized?


Have you ever wondered why people run over string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it back down to give the vacuum one last chance to redeem itself?


Have you ever wondered why no plastic bag will open from the first end you try?


Have you ever wondered why those dead bugs somehow get into those enclosed light fixtures?


Have you ever wondered why it is when you attempt to catch something that’s falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?


Have you ever wondered why during the winter we try to keep the house as warm as it was during the summer when all we did was complain about the heat?


Have you ever wondered why you never hear Father-In-Law jokes?


Have you wondered why YOU are even reading this garbage in the first place?

You Are My Facebook Friend And I Think I Hate You!


So I am pretty sure I have  “Self-Triggered”  myself over the implied meaning behind your last Facebook post. Therefore I have written this ridiculous post as a response, tagging you, so that your spouse, your drama loving friends, your boss and anyone else who would bother taking the time to read random Facebook responses of more than ten words will all be briefed on the fact that I am extremely pissed off by what I think might be the implied meaning behind your last Facebook post.

I will admit that with everything that is going on in our country I have been looking for any reason to target someone on social media and unleash holy hell on them, even at times going to the point of egging people on by calling them Commies and Un-American pieces of shit, in hopes of causing them to unleash a Leftist diatribe on me, that way I would look justified for going off on them. Again, I blame this current unstable thinking of mine on the potent combination of adverse weather; the current state of American politics; and the plot twists in this season of Game of Thrones. Nevertheless, because it is out of my power to change any of those, I have chosen to assume that your last Facebook post has a hidden implied meaning and therefore place my anger squarely on your shoulders my Facebook “Friend.”

In fact, even though we have known each other since our days in High School, I hereby disown you entirely. Later today, after I have read all of the responses that our mutual friend Tonya will post to this tirade, and pose a few rhetorical questions and logical fallacies in response, I will destroy all reminders that our lives have ever intersected in any way. If this means burning my copy of our high school senior yearbook, changing my son’s middle name, and serving our parish priest with a cease-and-desist order so that he no longer asks me how you are, so be it. What I think you may have implied in your post is more upsetting than doing all of these things. You Sir, are dead to me.

The depth and vigor of my response may be surprising to you, especially since I have entirely and completely misinterpreted what you wrote, failing to grasp the tone, substance, and point of your post. Yet I hope you will understand that in these trying times, it is extremely important…nay, it is of utmost importance!  That I be allowed to jump wildly to a conclusion that is not supported by the facts in any way. Further, instead of being abashed by Tonya’s replies, which will point out that I am  “completely wrong”  and possibly “did not read the status the whole way through”  and might even be  “in need of some serious downtime, like, get offline, friend-o,”  I intend to use them as further proof that everyone is against me in every way and that I have nothing in common with any other human being on this planet. I will then post a meme quoting the great Abraham Lincoln.

That I will try to connect your post to my growing concern about my ability to protect my children’s health and well-being (emotional, mental, and physical) must be allowed without comment, at least if you hope that we can ever be friends again … which we cannot, at least until a year goes by, and Facebook shows me this posting as a memory. Then, I’ll re-read your original status, and it will make me chuckle, because now I will finally get the joke, and then I’ll realize, Oh, Lordy, I completely got the whole thing wrong last year, and I’ll wonder how I could have ostracized one of my oldest and dearest friends even to the point of burning my National Honor Society pin because we were inducted together in our junior year (and which, by the way, was not easily set on fire, so it ended up burning me pretty badly on my right finger in a way that still hurts from time to time). Full of remorse, I will reach out to you to say I’m sorry, and you’ll be like, “Well, everyone was crazy at that time because of the president,” and I’ll say, “I’m uncomfortable with you using the adjective ‘crazy’ so cavalierly,” and you’ll say, “But seriously, weren’t you crazy?” I will really want to push the point about the importance of thoughtful language choices, but I won’t. I’ll decide to just let it go, and we’ll grab a beer at Village Inn Pizza  just like we used to and things will almost be back to normal because a relationship based on trust and loyalty can withstand even my needing to unleash holy hell so badly I kinda deliberately misunderstood your harmless Facebook post.

But! In the meantime, we’re all stuck here in this miserable cesspool that is the current epoch in American history, so I’ll conclude this onslaught by saying that I have never been so outraged as I am by my partial reading of your post and I wish you ill, based on the extreme hurt you have not actually caused me, but which I caused myself by wildly misunderstanding your post.

In conclusion, I’d also like to take this opportunity to blame your Facebook post for the fact that I will be a little brusque with my children tonight, and that I’ll be upping the stakes on my commute to the gym by driving 5 miles over the speed limit, because I already suspect, as I near the end of this tirade, that writing this is actually not going to make me feel better in any way at all.

Now that I am done, I see that it did not. I blame you…Honestly, you are a horrible friend.

Dear Monday Afternoon Nap…I Miss You!

Dear Monday Afternoon Nap,

I am pretty sure it was twenty two years ago when we first met. It was a rainy October afternoon, I remember I had a lot to do that day but you showed up and changed my life for the better. You were a wonderful ray of sunshine on that rainy day, a respite from the challenges I faced that Monday in October…You totally changed my outlook, you left me refreshed, mind, body and spirit.

But I have been in shock, perhaps a little disheartened these past few Monday’s when you haven’t shown up, did you forget about me? Did you have something better to do? Maybe you simply moved on to a better place, if that is the case I have no doubt you will be welcomed with open arms by your new family, maybe they are unemployed, or have a new baby, or a kitten that is wearing them down. Regardless of where you land I want you to know how much you have meant to me over the years.

I will never forget the time when my cat and I cozied up to read my new book  “Winning at life, even though life is kicking your ass”  that I had just gotten earlier in the day. My cat ended up falling fast asleep on my lap. Monday Afternoon Nap, you must have sensed I needed a break because you lasted five and a half hours. I ended up missing my doctor’s appointment and picking up my kids from school, I even missed an important phone call causing me to lose my job. You were like an angel sent from heaven that day, I have never felt as refreshed as I did that day.

Then there was that time my family and I were on a road trip to Yosemite National Park, you came early that day and surprised me as I was driving. All I remember was listening to my wife complain that I needed to find a job and that she was sick and tired of supporting my lazy ass and then it happened…You decided to give me a much needed break from my stress, you lulled me into a trance, perhaps it was the rhythmic sounds of the road markers chattering away letting me know I was drifting off course, whatever it was it worked. When I awoke from my slumber my wife had stopped complaining…thankfully! She was thrown fifty feet away as the car rolled into that ditch, that nap changed my life, it was just what I needed at the time.

1 Corinthians 15:51 tells us, “Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed.” Monday Afternoon Nap, My life will be forever altered now that you have moved on. You were with me for most of my adult life, and those years were delightful. Without you, Monday Afternoon Nap, my Monday’s are sometimes long, and at times, relentless. When 1:30 PM rolls around, the witching hour begins and chaos ensues. It is during these times I miss you most.

I know with challenge comes opportunity. Now that you have moved on, I have been able to leave the house on Monday afternoons to go to Walmart. While at times nice, the consistency of my Monday Afternoon Naps was a welcome friend I will always cherish.

I will miss you Monday Afternoon Nap, but know you will forever be regarded with honor and reverence.


Tired In Montana

That’s Right Bitches…It’s That Time Of Year Again!


Alright…I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking pine cones and dried leaves so I can arrange them in a wicker basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of pine cones and leaves. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BAM! Check out my fucking decorative pine cones, assholes. Guess what season it is…fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of pine cones and dried leaves.

I may even throw some chestnuts into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking pine cone necklace for myself. People are going to be like,  “Aren’t those pine cones hurting your neck?”  And I’m just going to thread another pine cone onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply,  “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”

Raking leaves in my yard sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-pine cone reenactment of an episode of Friends… specifically the one when Ross, Joey and Chandler experience a homosexual threesome with each other. Well, this shit just got real, didn’t it?  Threesomes and Pine Cones have one very important commonality: they’re both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that’s upsetting, but I’m not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore.

The next thing I’m going to do is get my  “Arts and Crafts”  on some of the bigger pine cones and turn them into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I’m going to do lines of pre-workout off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; its fall, fuckers.

Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well then you’re going to fucking love my house. Just look where you’re walking or you’ll get KO’d by the gauntlet of sap-covered, spikey, brown pine cones swinging from above. And when you do, you’re going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned.

For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel muscle shirt, some tattered gym shorts, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer.

Welcome to Autumn…Bitches!

Top 25 Reasons Why That Millennial Is Crying While Sitting At Starbucks


1. There was a 10 minute wait for the Pumpkin Spice Latte.

2. The Barista didn’t use the proper gender pronoun.

3. Because Trump is on the tv…the horror!

  4. Their favorite seat is taken by a white male, clearly “White Privilege” is in play.

5. Because there are no safe spaces in the real world.

6. They took a Buzzfeed quiz that guessed their gender correctly.

7. They see someone wearing a #MAGA t-shirt.

8. They forgot to take their Celexa but remembered to take their stool softener.

9. Again, something Trump related.

10. They got a call from their parents asking them to move out of the basement.

11. The guilt of supporting a free-market economy.

12. They accidentally swiped right on a Conservative’s profile.

13. Bernie still isn’t President.

14. They spilled coffee on their new “Che” t-shirt.

15. Misplaced their medical marijuana card.

16. They are starting to doubt that they are actually  “hip”  enough to be a “Hipster”.

17. They found out what Socialism actually means.

18. Wants to join ANTIFA but parents won’t let them.

19. Wants to use violence to stop free-speech but knows they will get beat up.

20. Couldn’t recall the difference between further and farther.

21. Whole Foods rejected employment application…yet again.

22. Wondering if that Liberal Art’s degree was actually worth it.

23. Keeps unsubscribing to the NRA emails but they keep sending them and now it’s starting to feel personal.

24. Heard that Reese’s may discontinue Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

25. Feels like they are trapped in a middle-class prison of their own  creation.

Bonus:  Again, something Trump related.