Let Me Be Frank With You

At the adult Thanksgiving dinner table, the old family favorite joke was slightly modified (as seen below) in an effort to freshen things up a bit and stay with the times.

Old Joke:

Q: Have you ever smelled moth balls?

<joke receiver says “Yes”>

A: How’d you get their tiny legs apart?

Freshened Up Version:

Q: Have you ever smelled goth balls?

<joke receiver has to say “yes” to humor the joke teller and be a good sport>

A: How’d you get their skinny jeans off?

I think we’ll probably shift back to the old family favorite sooner rather than later on account of the ultra disturbing visual the updated version gives off.

I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror after returning from taking Aaron to school. I wonder if any of the kids saw us and think that Aaron got a ride from Khalid Sheik Muhammed this morning? (You know, that fat terrorist with bed head who looks kind of like John Belushi?) I think it’s the stretched out neck hole and messed up hair that does it.

We had a fire pit party in our back yard tonight with about fifty to sixty of our closest friends. It’s kind of crazy and you might not be able to see this but if you look closely at the fire, you can almost see the silhouettes of two horses – each on their hind legs. The horses appeared just moments after I led the group of party-goers in a spirited singalong rendition of the song Rawhide. Also, absolutely none of this is true.

I’d like to thank each of you in advance for mentioning my blog to your family and friends on Thursday evening as you lay on your couches among your respective Thanksgiving crews all bloated and uncomfortable with your pants undone searching for something to say.

“Subscribe to his blog. He’s weird and mildly amusing,” you might say as you concentrate on keeping your flatulence silent.

To those of you who are annoyed by my electronic drivel; I’m sorry, it can’t be helped, I was born this way.

It is my belief that one of the perks of getting old are having your bruises get really big and purple and horrible looking when they really don’t hurt that bad.

I just saw an ad on TV for something called Purpurex which aims to rid the bruise of its magnificent purple hue. As for me, my living will is going to include a clause about not treating my purple bruises. This purple bruise of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that asking the convenient store clerk if I could expect to dance with salmonella after eating one of their chicken breakfast sandwiches that may or may not have been under the heat lamp for a week would be deemed offensive to the clerk.

It’s a pretty offensive question to the guy who made the sandwich, I guess. What I didn’t explain to him was that I’m so hungry that even if I were guaranteed to be poisoned by that sandwich, I would still have choked it down. By asking the question, I was simply trying to figure if I needed to change my schedule for the next few days to accommodate the soul-coughing and frequent/furious diarrhea that salmonella brings. Also, trying to jokingly gauge how long that sandwich had been sitting there in the hopes that he’d see me grab one and then say, “no, don’t take that one. The fresh ones are here behind the counter. Take one.”

That’s all my question was about. No harm, no foul.

While driving around with Jason this morning, the song Sail by AWOL Nation came on the radio (a song that we both really like). I told him that if I could feature myself in a music video, it would be to this song.

The video would be of me walking at a steady pace down the various hotel hallways that I’ve stayed in. I would be dressed in my business suit with a dead-pan look on my face and periodically and violently swinging a wooden baseball bat at various doors, light fixtures, exit signs, etc to the beat of the song.

Jason understood where I was coming from and thought it was a great idea. My sons get me.

(The setting is in the family room of a modest Midwestern suburban home at approximately 12pm. The father descends the staircase, freshly showered and wearing his garnet FSU sweatsuit.)
Father: How do I look?
Son: You look like Ron Burgundy after he lost his job.

It’s a little early for this, but I do like to plan so that I have a solid list for December 31st. Here’s my list of top 10 things I do not intend to do in the new year (tentatively):

1) join Al Qaeda
2) put my career first
3) jump Snake River Canyon in a homemade rocket
4) take up ‘cutting’ to relieve emotional pain
5) become active in my community…sexually
6) officially change my first name to Nigel
7) introduce ‘Domestic Violence Night’ every Friday night in my home after a 12 pack of Milwaukee’s Best
8) get a Brazilian wax and strut around in a pair of tight plum-smugglers at the neighborhood pool
9) get you comfortable enough with me to tell me your political and religious viewpoints then explain how you have it all wrong
10) eat more black licorice

If you’ve been with me on Facebook for some time, you have most likely seen this work of art. I spend a significant amount of time alone in hotel rooms and try to make my own fun (in the case below, taking inspiration from the interweb putting my own spin on it).

This picture was taken at a hotel room in Baltimore a couple of years ago. I call it Bloated Dead Guy in Chair. I left my sculpture for the housekeepers to appreciate after I checked out. I haven’t been back to Baltimore since.