Glitter Bitches!

Glitter is evil.

A year after the wife and I moved into our first home she invited a former roommate to visit.

A day later we’re throwing a neighborhood bash in her honor. Beers are flowing. The grill is smoking with orgasmic fumes of cooked dead animal flesh.

I’m hanging out in a chair, laughing, trying to be funny, and enjoying many a beverage.

That’s when it happened.

I look up to see the wife’s former roommate standing before me, unnaturally interested in the rambling mess spewing from my distorted lips.

Then a pause.

Then, she screams “glitter bitches!!!!” as she unleashes two handfuls of glitter all over every inch of my person.

Head to toe, in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth, contaminating my beverage….everywhere….glitter.

It was absolutely brilliant. The fact she even waited more than 24 hours upon her arrival to pull this award-winning prank made it even that much more respectable.

Since then, I’ve had an undying hatred for glitter.

Almost three years later we moved after two ankle biters graced our presence. Upon opening a couple boxes we still found glitter.

Fast forward to the X-mas holidays of 2011….

I finish volunteering in the boy’s 3^rd-grade classroom holiday party and take a slow jaunt down to the daughter’s 1^st-grade class to see if the wife needs help wrangling the little bastards around Ole Saint Nick projects.

When I walk in the classroom my sights lock immediately on a gaggle of desks jammed together in a U-shape. Kids on one side. One lonely, helpless woman on the other.

And in-between…glitter hell.

The kids’ activity was to turn a cup upside down, cover it in glue, throw glitter on it, and BAM!!! an ornament guaranteed to hit every household trashcan the second it’s pulled from the book bag.

Everything around me blurred as I watched on the kid taking handfuls of glitter and dumping it on the kids head next to him. Another was putting handfuls in his pockets. Next to him a girl sneezed, wiped her hands across her face leaving a fantastic handlebar mustache of glitter.

Volunteers throughout were completely ignoring this one table, hurriedly making themselves look busy as glitter overtook the station like a sand storm.

It was absolute and total hell on earth.

Being the jackasses the wife and I are, we jumped in to help as best we could. And glitter has re-entered our lives yet again.

Bad things happen in threes, or so they say. The third time glitter overtakes my life, it better damn well be in the form of dollar bills, strippers, or Goldschlager.

Do they even make that shit anymore?

How Santa Will Make My Son An Episode Of Intervention

It’s the holidays!

And you know how I know?

Because everyone’s becoming just a bit more of an asshole than they normally are. Even the kids! Hell, the dog has even gotten into the holiday spirit by gnawing on the strap of my man-purse I carry to work every day.

He’s never done that before!

Ahhh the holidays. When people pepper-spray you for buying video games at half-price at a Wal-Mart instead of doing what you should normally do at Wal-Mart….bring your best camera and search for great pictures to upload to www.peopleofwalmart.com.

I found a catalogue over Thanksgiving weekend the daughter had taken a liking to. Upon opening it I thought, “oh cool, she’s circled a few things in……oh…oh she’s circled everything in here.”

The son is still an incredibly devoted believer in Santa. Which sucks for two reasons…

1) It’s gonna break his heart and be rough as hell on him the day he finds out that fat bastard is really his MILF mom tossing extra un-wrapped gifts under the tree late at night while his drunk dad stands naked next to her whispering loudly, “just look at it…I’m making it look like helicopter blades!!”

I can’t help but see an episode of Intervention 20 years from now when my son’s all cracked-out, crying on national TV saying his addiction started when he learned Santa wasn’t real.

2) He thinks he can get whatever in the hell he wants. All “I gotta do is ask Santa!”

It’s like a huge middle finger being jammed in our faces when the boy asks for an iPhone, we rightfully say no, and he responds with that. It makes me want to out Santa right then and there.

But then we wouldn’t get away with my favorite phrase which keeps him in line, “really? You’re gonna give your sister a swirly in that toilet while Santa’s watching? Wow man…you’ve got balls of steel.”

Then there comes the wife. I procrastinate. I’ll occasionally look at commercials showing other rock-star husbands blowing the socks off their wife with cars, jewelry, vacuum cleaners and more. I can’t afford a new car, the wife sells all the jewelry I buy her and I might as well cut my own throat before buying her a vacuum cleaner.

So I wait. And wait.

And wait.

Until a couple days before Christmas and decide to fight the crowds. Bitching the whole time about finding no place to park, the long lines waiting to check out and the check-out ladies being rude because I had the gall to actually purchase something from them today.

I bitch about not being thanked as I hold the door for some jack-wad whose arms were full and mumble angrily to myself as I get stuck in endless shopping traffic.

And it’s at that last stoplight that I realize….the holidays and I need each other. Like my future cracked-out son needs his drugs, I need the holidays to be angry about something. I thrive off the rush of anger that I got on December 22 and 23 when I’m last-second-shopping for my wife. It makes me feel alive. It makes me…

LOVE THE HOLIDAYS!!!

Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

Tomorrow at 5 a.m. our lovely, adoring, sweet little family will sleepily pile into the over-stuffed car and head south from Chicago to North Carolina for Christmas.

Presents will be packed amongst suite cases, games, and high hopes that Santa will make this THE most bestest Christmas EVER!

Me? I’ll be in the driver seat clutching a large cup of joe looking at the open road thinking “bring it bitch! Let’s do this.” And, I’ll have full intent of making the trip in no less than 14 hours.

Come hell or high water, this car will drive into the in-laws’ driveway by 7 p.m.

Want to make a bet? No?

Well, here’s something you can bet on!

The Top 10 Things That Will Be Heard During Our 14-Hour Car Ride South

1) Grayson: “Macy, stop looking at me. Stop. STOP!!!! Mommy…Macy’s looking at me!!! Can we leave her at the next McDonalds we pass?

2) Macy: “Ewwwww….what’s that smell? Eww…skunk.”

Wife: “No dear…it’s your father.”

3) Me: “So, I says to the guy… ‘that’s what she said.’ Hahahahahahaha”

Wife: “honey, I think you’ve had enough coffee for now, mmmkay?”

4) Grayson: “Mommy can you hear this bell ring? If you can it means you ‘Believe’ in Santa.

Wife: “Yes, yes I can.”

Grayson: “Daddy, can you? Daddy? DADDY!!?”

Me: “I believe in the fact that Indiana is the worst state to ever drive the fu..”

Wife: “STOP! No cursing sweetie. No cursing.”

5) Grayson: “Daddy, is it true that Justin Bieber is a horrible singer and just a pawn of a major music corporation to sell a well packaged, innocent looking young man singing over-produced music to the mass general public in an effort to get rich quick?”

Me: “I love you Grayson. I really really love you.”

6) Wife: “HONEY!!! WATCH THE ROAD!!!  You can Tweet later!!”

7) Grayson: “Daddy I have to go boom boom!”

Five minutes after we stopped for Grayson to go boom boom:

Macy: “Daddy, I have to go boom boom.”

8) Macy: “Mommy, where do babies come from?”

Grayson: “Yeah, good question. Where do they come from?”

Me: “Wow…that IS a good question. Honey, where do babies come from?”

9) Wife: “Oh look, a town named Grayson! Let’s stop!”

Grayson: “Really?!!! Cool, yeah let’s stop!!”

Me: “Next person that speaks dies. It’s that simple. Words come out of your mouth and you stop living. Less speaky, more sleepy!!”

10) Grayson: “Daddy? Where is mommy?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Grayson: “She’s not in the car daddy. I just woke up and she’s not in the car. Where is she?”

Me: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It should really be a fun trip! Happy Holidays readers!



A Day In The Life Of Our Elf On The Shelf

Until a couple weeks ago I had no damn clue what an Elf on a Shelf even was.

Once I found out I figured, holy-leverage-over-the-kids’-awful-behavior-patterns-recently, it’s time for me to partake!

So, I ran out, bought the little shelf-bastard, and made it known “kids…Santa’s watching!!”

Then I kinda gave it no thought. Until a day ago when I noticed the little bastard wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, there was a note that read, “I can’t take it anymore…I…I just can’t!! Merry Christmas sickos!”

Scratching my head and trying to put the puzzle pieces together I noticed the dog chewing a tiny little book.

I immediately ran over and yelled, “DROP!!!”

Picking-up the drool-drenched book I immediately began to flip through it and quickly realized it was the Elf on the Shelf’s one day diary of his time in our house. In fact, he didn’t even make it a full day.

Here’s how it read:

Day 1. 5:13 a.m.

Dear Santa…did I really just see what I thought I saw. The dad just came downstairs, buck-naked, made a cup of coffee, got on the computer to announce he was going to go for a run then walked by me expelling some of the most horrific air ever!

Where are the happy children?

Day 1. 6:42 a.m.

“Drop, drop…DROP me damn it!!! He said ‘DROP!!’ Do what your master says and drop me!!!” That’s what I would have yelled at the dog if we were allowed to talk.

I’M NOT A PUPPET you stupid dog…..I’m an extension of Santa damn it!!!

Day 1 8:00 a.m.

OK, the boy’s gone to school and it’s just me and the daughter.

Day 1 8:11 a.m.

Elf on the Shelf does not get touched or dressed up for a tea party with Barbie!!!! Didn’t these rat-bastards read the book about me?!!! OK…sorry..I should not have spoken that way. I’m sorry Santa.

Day 1 10:42 a.m.

Awwww…the daughter has made me her “BFF.” She’s such a sweetie. Love little girls at this age.

Day 1 10:58 a.m.

I’m going to throw-up. Apparently the daughter picks random toy “best friends” to join her when going “boom boom” on the toilet.

How can something so tiny and innocent create smells so horrific?!!!?

Day 1 12:02 p.m.

Second kid’s gone to school. The two adults are working in their separate at-home offices. Dog is asleep. I’m so….so very exhausted.

This job seemed so much more glorious on the commercials and in the brochures.

Day 1 1:46 p.m.

Hey, very cool. Right on! The husband seems to be giving me a tour of the house! I shouldn’t have complained so quickly!

Day 1 1:48 p.m.

Hey, here’s the bedroom. Nice…they have a small, but pretty cool bedroom! I like it.

Day 1 1:49 p.m.

Wait!!! Wait!!! No!!!

The husband just told the wife, “hey, let’s see what Santa thinks of an afternoon quicky!”

Why are they doing this with me on the pillow next to them? Why…WHY!!!?

Day 1 1:53 p.m.

OK, that was sad. Really? Four minutes? Santa, I know what this guy wants for Christmas.

Day 1 2:01 p.m.

Do I look like a post-sex teddy bear to snuggle with? Oh you bad-breathed, bearded sicko…I want my mommy.

Day 1 2:21 p.m.

He finally woke up to shower and left me here on the bed and guess what? Yeah…the cat’s cleaning me like I’m some damn kitten.

FUCK YOU SANTA…FUCK YOU!!!

Day 1 2:34 p.m.

I feel so dirty. All I want to do it strip naked and cry in a warm shower.

Day 1 3:11 p.m.

I think I passed out for a while. But now, I’m back on my shelf.

That was some horrific dream I just had.

Day 1 3:13 p.m.

Where in the hell is my left leg and why can’t I see out of my right eye? It wasn’t a dream was it!!! Oh my dear lord the dog is chewing on my detached leg. I think I’m going to be sick…

Day 1 4:20 p.m.

Hey, quick question.

What is a bowl and why would the husband be asking the wife if she thinks “the elf on the shelf could possibly work as a make-shift bowl?”

Day 1 4:21 p.m.

Just Googled “bowl” on the elf iPhone. I’m fucking outta here!!!!

____________________________________________

And that’s it. That was all he wrote.

We’ll miss that little bastard. He was fun while we had him.

And hey, if you make it to the pole, tell the bearded fat man I want an iPhone.

Come on…I’ve been good this year…hook a brother up!!

Rock on Mr. Elf On The Shelf. We’ll always have your leg to remember you by.



This Oughta Help You Through The Holidays

If you’re anything like me, you experience a shit-ton of questions around the holiday time.

I know, I know…it’s only September. But you know what? Target already has its Halloween candy out and my kids are obsessively talking about what they’re going to wear for this coveted candy-filled nightmare of a holiday, so deal!

The holidays always bring a slew of questions from the little ankle biters that leave us scratching our heads, looking around the room for an escape trap, or diversions like “hey!!! Who wants a $5 bill?!!!”

So, since I love you all from the bottom of my heart, I thought I’d go ahead and tackle some of the tough questions you’re bound to get from a young excited child, and provide what I believe to be the best answer you could give if I were to be drunk, speaking truthfully and the worst parent on Earth.

These Q & As have been approved by the parental guidance committee of the great United States of America.

Q: Why is Santa so fat?

A: Because Santa eats the elves that are assholes.

Q: Why do the Pilgrims wear such funny hats?

A: Why are you wearing a douchey Izod t-shirt? Are you scared to be a clothing trend setter? Are you really my child, cause if so I’m very disappointed.

Q: What are you gonna wear for Halloween this year dad?

A: Well, if I get enough beers in her, your mother. But we know how those cards will fall, so I’m just gonna probably throw a sheet over my head, go to parties as a ghost and randomly bump into scantily-clad women for my shits and giggles.

Q: Why do we eat turkey at Thanksgiving?

A: The pilgrims and Indians originally had ice cream and cake. But then they finished and jointly decided they wanted every kid in the world to be miserable every fourth Thursday of November. So shut your pie-hole, eat and let daddy finish watching Dallas get their asses beat!

Q: If we’re at grandma’s house for Christmas how will Santa know where to deliver the presents.

A: He won’t. Now go to bed and cover your head with your pillow so I don’t have to listen to you cry.

Q: Why doesn’t Santa bring mommy and you presents?

A: The longer you live the worse life becomes. One day you’re opening presents and singing Christmas carols to strangers, the next day you’re steeling wi-fi from the next door neighbor while drinking Jack Daniels and cussing the electric company for turning your power off on Christmas Eve. Now open your damn present and get daddy some more ice for his drink.

Q: Daddy? Why does your stocking smell like poo?

A: Because your mother put dog shit in it.

Q: Did that man who you went into the garage with you for five minutes show you the smoke machine he plans on using for Halloween? Is that why the garage smells like that?

A: Yeah….yeah, that’s what it was. Now who’s got the munchies?

Q: When you were a kid did you used to get what you wanted for Christmas?

A: Yeah…cause I’d go to bed praying I’d wake-up to my dad passed out in a pool of puke under the tree surrounded by empties of Miller Lite and a stocking full of Lark cigarettes. Now run go get me another beer and stop asking so many damn questions.

I honestly hope these help you through the holidays. It’s a tough time! Money’s tight, everyone’s on edge and children’s heads are running rampant with questions about it all.

So, next time you hear that high-pitched voice start tossing out a holiday question that’s sure to have you looking for the next liquor store…know I’m here for you and always willing to help.