My 2012 Bucket List

Yesterday I had a guy come up to me and ask, “are you ready for 2012?”

Looking around to make sure someone was witnessing this insanity, I quickly said, “Ummm…yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’ve saved-up a few bucks so I can afford to see the flick.”

“No…the REAL 2012. We’re all gonna die. You know that you will die in 2012, right? We all will. You, your family, your neighbors, all the countries…literally millions will die. Humankind will be nothing but documents and badly done museum exhibitions.”

Then it clicked…you know, I COULD actually take a dirt nap in 2012. Maybe the Mayans had a little something something going on with their magical mystery calendar.

Twenty minutes later my man finished shoving my brain into the depths of depression and allowed me to frantically sit down, digest all that was said, and conclude: “I need a fucking 2012 Bucket List!!!”

So…without further adieu:

Yo…It’s My 2012 Bucket List!

1) I’ve got to spend at least one day wearing adult diapers. I mean come on…those things were engineered by wizards from another world. Un-cloth-like thingies that wrap themselves around your entire torso allowing you to wiz all day long without having to stand, lift lids, or aim for urinal cakes. AND they’re disposable!!

2) Huge fan of the Kinks. I won’t lie. I’d like Jager, a keg, and a karaoke machine rigged to place me on stage in front of 20,000 rowdy friends all singing “Lola” at the top of their lungs.

3) Is there really a place on this planet where you’re asked if you’d “like a happy ending?” I’d love to lie on a massage table just once and be asked “you want happy ending?”

4) Take Sarah Palin on the Maury Show and do a paternity test to reveal who the real “baby daddy” is for Trig. We all know how that’s going to turn out…

5) Drink a beer with Bobcat Goldthwait. But only if he uses his old-school “Police Academy” voice the whole time.

6) Start making love to a Porn Star, then get all Gordon Ramsay on her ass and scream, “it’s like crap, served up with crap, with a side of crap. SHUT IT DOWN!!!”

7) Walk through Grand Central Station singing “come on ride the train…hey ride it! Whoo woo” until I get at least a 100-person train going.

8) Find Erno Rubik (inventor of the Rubik’s Cube) and beat his ass to death with his puzzle.

9) Hear Super Nanny tell me to “get on my naughty step.”

And the final, most amazing feat I’d like to pull off before all human life as we know it rots into this sweet sweet rock in space in 2012…..

10) To go on a shopping spree in Victoria’s Secret with Jennifer Aniston then have her do yoga in front of me while wearing that Cheerleader outfit she wore in that one episode on Friends.

The-to-the-End

I Need You Maury Povich!!!

Yesterday I was changing out of my work clothes in my room, when the boy came in and said, “daddy…I looove math.” I immediately got tears in my eyes, fell to my knees, and started sobbing. I knew right then and there….he couldn’t be my child.

I mean...just look at us both side by side!!

I rest my case.

So, I collected myself, rose to my feet…gave him a huge hug and said, “I’m proud of you. Keep it up…not everyone rocks like you do at math.” Then I walked passed him to find that hussy wife of mine.

She was on the computer in the basement…or should I say, her love communicator machine….when I found her. I said, “woman, we need to talk.”

She looked annoyed and said, “please stop calling me woman…and broad…that’s just so..”

“Look, this is more important right now. Tell me who the real dad is damn it,” I interrupted.

She shook her head and went back to what she was doing. “I’m serious!!!,” I yelled.

“What the hell are you talking about now?!”

“Grayson just said he likes math,” I belted out.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“You know, for years people have asked me, ‘where does your son’s red hair come from,’ and I’ve always joked saying, ‘the mailman I guess.’ And now he comes to me saying he loves math when I still think 2 + 2 = 3. What gives? Who’s the boy’s pop?”

“You seriously need help,” she said while giving me a dramatic pause, death look, followed by a “you’ve got 3 second to disappear before I fucking cut you” look.

I ran upstairs, kicked the cat out of my way, grabbed a beer, opened it and threw the bottle cap at our framed wedding invitation, snagged the laptop and immediately typed into Google, “Maury Show.” I was determined to get answers and if anyone could knock out a paternity test, Maury Povich could.

As I started plowing through the Maury website, desperately trying to figure out how to send that daytime TV god an email, Grayson came walking by and sat down to watch TV. I glanced up at him, then back at the screen…then back at him. He had those kick-ass freckles all over his cheeks and nose. It reminded me of when kids at school made fun of my freckles and would try to draw on me like they were connecting the dots. I smiled and chuckled cause the little bastard just couldn’t sit still…kinda like me. Then he did his little thing he does with his hands, something I spent half my childhood doing.

He could feel I was looking at him, so he looked at me and that’s when I saw those massive ears…the ones I clearly genetically burdened him with. That’s when it clicked…..my wife didn’t bang the mailman. She didn’t wanna keep me from ever duplicating any part of my idiotic self and hit the sperm bank. This little punk was mine…all mine!

I threw the computer off my lap, stood up and hugged the little guy. “I love you man,” I said.

As I put him down, the daughter came walking through with a stick doing some weird throwing motion. I said, “whatcha doin’ baby?”

“I’m playing lacrosse daddy..I love lacrosse!,” she said.

I immediately fell to my knees, started shaking….and crying….then got up and stormed back down stairs….