Halloween is a lot like going to the bar for children. You dress up, eat about 8,000 calories worth of candy and then end up on the floor with dilated pupils swearing that you’ll never eat another piece of candy again. Halloween is also like hitting the kid lottery. I filled up a pillowcase one year and seriously considered retiring. But as the days of November creep along, your Halloween candy stash begins to dwindle. You start rationing like a world war has broken out. One piece of chocolate here, a cherry Jolly Rancher there, until you start only biting a half of a Butter Finger a day in a desperate attempt to make the stuff last until Christmas. No one ever makes it. You cave like the selfish sugar addict all children are. And then you hit rock bottom. Nothing left in the till except grape anything and Atomic Fireballs. Next to the apple that one jerk always hands out, the Fireball is the worst Halloween candy. They linger like black mold in your candy basket. You know they are there, but you avoid them until you have no choice. Throw them away? Never. They are still candy. But you eat them begrudgingly, like broccoli, because you have to. Continue reading
I like to dedicate these pages to my bitching about important things like cheeses I think stink, knitting, classical music and being fat. I’d like to thank you all for your interest in me complaining about these subjects. But, I have written something about the Carolina Panthers, of which I am a big fan. I didn’t post it here because I didn’t want to alienate my fans in Lithuania. So, I asked a friend of mine to put it on his more local Carolina sports blog. You know, a blog unlike mine that has a purpose and a subject. He graciously accepted. If you’re interested in this sort of thing, please check it out. If not, please carry on. I’ll be complaining about something mundane shortly.
Sitting here in my Charleston, SC apartment, looking out the window at an overcast but otherwise pleasant day, I can’t help but have a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I think the cause is pent up douche chills that will inevitably flow on this, the worst American tradition, April Fools Day. I think in the distance, you can hear the cries of an unborn child who doesn’t really exist because some woman thinks it’s funny to fake a pregnancy and end all trust she shared with her partner because it’s the first of April. Continue reading
Well, here it is. Wedding season again. Doesn’t it seem like we are spending an exorbitant amount of money on things with an over 50% fail rate? Not your wedding of course, OTHER people’s weddings. Anyway, it is that time again to dust off the tux and pray the fibers hold steady so your cummerbund doesn’t sling shot off of you and nail some old lady mid-matrimony.
Try on All Your Clothes
Seriously, you don’t want this to be you. My grandfather, “Big Daddy,” made this mistake before my parents’ wedding. He neglected to try on his rental and they had mistakenly given him a 30” waist pair of pants. Needless to say, Big Daddy could only get one leg into a pair of 30”-ers. Continue reading
None of these suggestions are intended to treat or cure any disease. Don’t listen to any of it. The FDA hasn’t reviewed them either. Those are the same morons who gave us the “Food Pyramid” that made us all fat in the first place.
About two months ago I was online ordering some even larger pants and I came to the conclusion it was time to maybe reevaluate my lifestyle and diet. I didn’t do it for New Years because a few years ago I made a resolution not to make any more resolutions and it’s the only one I’ve ever stuck to. No, I did it because I got tired of feeling like every shirt I own is really a sausage casing. And I like breasts but I don’t really like having a pair of my own. So I decided to try and stick to a lower calorie diet and exercise more often than the “never” I was doing before. So, here are some tips if you are interested in a half-assed diet plan to hopefully cut your ass in half.
I woke up this morning suffering from a bout of seasonal depression. It’s like clockwork (haha, boo) every year about this time I become depressed because winter is a terrible time of year. They call it the “dog days of winter,” I think, but I like dogs so that should be changed to something else. How about the “Ebola-ridden skunk days of winter”? That’s better.
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Looking back on my younger school days, I can remember the lame way we were taught about the first Thanksgiving like it was a wholesome party on top of Plymouth Rock. They ignored the fact that the Pilgrims had no business being there and the Native Americans would have been perfectly within their rights to shove a hot spear into thou’st rectums; but they didn’t.