If I Could Lick My Own Crotch

OK, let’s get the obvious out of the way.

I’m a dude

I have a wee wee. (At least, that’s what the wife calls it for some reason.)

If I had the backbone of my puppy and could reach my “Johnson,” well…you better believe my life would be completely different than today.

Oh sure, dudes talk about it. Ladies bust other guy’s balls saying they wish guys could do it. But when you have a puppy, and you see that little rat-bastard go to town on himself…I don’t care what kind of guy you are, you take a brief moment to just embrace the thought, “what if I could participate in that holy batch of awesomeness?”

Well, I took more than just a brief moment and jotted down the top 10 things I’d do if I could lick my own crotch.

Number 10

I would have been in diapers for 1 day and 1 day only. Which…probably would have made my parents rich for having the first kid ever that could bathe his own junk and poop in a toilet.

Number 9

Go to yoga and drop an epic shock-n-awe campaign on all the ladies as I bundled myself up all pretzel-like. OK…maybe 90% of the class would run out screaming and throwing up, but the other 10% of you…well, you know who you are and you know you’d totally watch.

Number 8

Well…I’d lick my own crotch. On Letterman. On The View. On The Today Show. And, on Oprah. Actually, I’d only do it on Oprah if Tom Cruise would jump on her couch afterwards in joy and she agreed to give away “Why Is Daddy Crying” bumper stickers under people’s chairs.

Number 7

I’d self-finance myself to appear at every talk Sarah Palin gave just so I could attend the Q & A at the end and start licking my own crotch in front of her. Plus, I’m sure her husband would be my biggest fan because we all know that sack of dumbass hasn’t had his crotch licked since his last hunting trip. Let’s move on shall we?

Number 6

I’d give classes on how to lick one’s own crotch, charging $39.99 for the first hour, resurrect Billy Mays, then hire him to sell them for me on street corners.

Number 5

I’d sell a logo of myself licking my own crotch to the Tea Party to use as their logo.

Number 4

I’d probably look like George Burns by the time I’m 40 years old. Actually, now that I think about it…his cigars did look an awful-lot like…

Number 3

Oh wait…my mom reads this blog. Mom!!!! STOP READING NOW MOM!!!! GO WATCH CIS OR SOMETHING!!!!

Number 2

I’d go on American Idol and do a rare but unique number where I have Mike Tyson pour sugar on me while I lick my own crotch and hum along to Def Leppard.

And now…the Number 1 thing I’d do if I could lick my own crotch like my disgusting little puppy can?

I’d never do any of the other 9 things on this list and simply spend my days in my basement licking my own crotch.

(Side note...I just read this blog post to the wifey before posting it and this is what she said Click Here.)



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 Refudiate You!!

A few days ago the one and only Sarah Palin decided to patriotically step outside the English language and start creating her own words. She flat out “refudiated” the hell out of a proposed Ground Zero 13-story, $100 million Mosque to be constructed.

Ok…so Ground Zero sentiments can definitely knock us off our game enough to allow us to make up stupid words. So let’s all apologize, laugh about it and move on.

No…Not Ms. Palin. No…she adjusts her balls and goes another step further and covers-up her made-up word by comparing herself to…..Shakespeare!!

The master of the English language and storytelling. Yes…the man himself. Mr. Shakespeare is who Palin compares herself to.

But it’s OK. Fortunately I have an open mind and decided you know what? If “refudiated” is possibly Shakespearian, then damn it…I’m going to start using it.

So….here’s what’s going to happen. I’ve poured a nice full stout and will now use “refudiated” in a number of sentences, and then I will ask you Dear Reader, to please use “refudiated” in your own sentence in the comments of this blog post.

Refudiated:

Me: “Hey uh…I’m gonna go put the kids to bed, why don’t you ‘refudiate’ yourself in the basement and I’ll be there shortly?”

Grayson: “But dad, I just ‘refudiated’ Macy, I had no clue it would do that to her!!!!”

Macy: “Aaaawwww…I don’t wanna ‘refudiate’ my room dad!!! Geeze!!!”

Wifey: “Did you forget to ‘refudiate’ the toilet again Grayson?”

Me at Work: “Hey, I’m going to need you to take this and ‘refudiate’ it immediately!”

Me Driving: “Nice!!! Real freakin’ nice!!! Go ‘refudiate’ yourself why don’t ya!”

The Wife & I Having Relations: “Please tell me you did NOT just ‘refudiate’ that quickly!!”

It is pretty damn universal! So hey, why don’t you try now! Leave a comment using the word “refudiate” and lets see what you’ve got!



I Fantasize About You....

So a few months ago I started “following” on Twitter this ballsy, cunning, and very funny lady named @IEatMyKidzSnack. She’s kind of like a mix between a sleeping lioness, a unicorn spewing Skittles, and that chick from college who did nothing but take bong hits and spew phenomenal one-liners that had you pissing your pants in laughter.

Her Tweets are hilarious but if you choose to talk directly to her, you better buckle-up and get ready. She’ll tell it like it is, wrapping up her 140-character response with one of her many endearing patented adjectives like “lover” or “assjacket.”

Anyway, enough about her (oh, she has a blog too. Go check her Electrical Box.)

One dark and dreary day I got a tweet from her that read:

“I fantasize you do ‘jazz hands’ after you orgasm.”

Anyone who knows me understands that when you drop a bomb on me like that…I’m gonna obsess over retaliation. So I thought…and thought…and then dropped on her:

“I fantasize about you Googling something and it returning 100,000 ‘go fuck yourself’ results.”

From that point on a vicious “I fantasize about” match has ensued.

So I throw it to you World…read the top 20 “fantasies” below, and then comment and let us know who you think is dominating the battle. (pppssssttt….. over here…come here… Hey, if you pick me I’ll give you a giraffe and my kids for the summer. Just sayin’!)

And now…..the top 20 “Fantasies” between @ieatmykidzsnack and @whyisdaddycryin:

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you getting wet every time Pinocchio tells a lie.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize asking you to play rock, paper, scissors and you bringing me crack, rolling papers and lesbians. You are sick.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you getting a colonic and 7 gerbils, 2cats and Gary Coleman come out.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize your wife telling you she wants Stove Top Stuffing & you waiting in the kitchen with your pants down all day.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you running a prosperous business smuggling families of Mexicans across the border in your vagina.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize going on the Amazing Race with you and trading your passport for weed.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about swapping your bong water out with cat urine.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize that you keep Snausages in your boxer briefs so dogs lick your crotch.” 

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize that you make Susan Boyle look like Jennifer Aniston standing next to you.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you drunkenly pissing in your Neti Pot and forgetting before you use it to clear your sinuses.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about Octomom and Justin Bieber getting restraining orders against you?”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you taking too many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop and it falling asleep.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you running down a flower-covered hill like Laura Ingalls only with 3 bears & a giraffe chasing after you.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going for acupuncture but end up getting gender reassignment surgery.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you calling Sarah Palin's daughter regularly for life advice.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going to Chuck E. Cheese and getting shanked with a spork by a 3 year old.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about you going in to the dentist & them reading your chart wrong & stapling your vagina shut permanently.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you going on Fear Factor & having 3 minutes to eat a bull’s testicles & time running out with one bite left.”

WhyIsDaddyCrying: “I fantasize about your therapist giving you up for Lent.”

IEatMyKidzSnack: “I fantasize you needing a taint episiotomy.”

OK world…judge us.

Wifey & I Discuss Olympic Curling

I’ve been waiting for Curling to come on TV so I could let the kids see this glorified old-folks game of shuffleboard on ice. Secretly I also want to see the women wearing short skirts, squatting, and yelling passionately at each other…oh shit, did I say that out loud?

Anyway, so it comes on and I’m all, “sweet…kids come check this out.” The family gathers and we settle in to watch some Olympic goodness when all hell breaks loose:

Wifey: “Why are they brushing in front of that stone thingy?”

Me: “You know you’re the reason our daughter talks like Sarah Palin and ends all her words with “y.”

Wifey: “Is it some kind of static electricity thing that helps the stone?”

Me: “Who, Sarah Palin?”

Wifey: “Yes, moron…I’m asking you if Sarah Palin uses static electricity to move the stone thingy along the ice.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but how do you get static electricity on ice? And how would that help the stone move on ice? You think this is the Olympic version of the Hairy Gary game?”

Wifey: “I don’t know…I was just asking.”

Me: “It’s a brush that smoothes the ice out so the stone thingy goes further…SEE!!! Now you’ve got me talking like thaty withy the “y”eee.

Wifey: “And why are they yelling at each other?”

Me: “The Denmark women-folk are telling the American women-folk their douchebags, suck at this sport, and are going to dry hump their brothers. Curling is a big shit-talkers’ sport.” (the kids had left the room by this point out of sheer boredom.)

Wifey: “You seriously have so many issues it’s ridiculous. Why can’t we talk like a normal couple?”

Me: “Oh…I have issues. You’re the one that thinks those magical brooms they’re holding weld super static electric powers that allow the stone thingy to go where they want.”

Wifey: “You said “thingy” again.”

Me: “SHIT!”

Wifey: “I could totally do this sport.”

Me: “Oh, I have no doubt. Hell, just last night you were crouched down in the kitchen while holding a broom, pointing and screaming, ‘really!!! I JUST swept and already there’s pieces of crackers, cat hair, and a grape on the floor!’”

Wifey: “I’ve got good aim, and it would be one hell of a leg workout.”

Me: “You know what else would be one hell of a leg workout?”

Wifey: “You walking up the stairs backwards so I can watch TV in peace?”

Me: “You wanna have sex don’t you?”

Wifey: “No…and will you promise me something? Promise me you didn’t get that breath from eating out of the cat box?”

Me: “Rawr…feeling feisty aren’t you? I’m gonna go brush my teeth, slip out of something comfortable and get ready for your sexiness to join me.”

Wifey: “You do that slugger. I’ll be right there…”

Me: “Don’t forget to put on that sexy thingy I like.”

Wifey: “You said ‘thingy’ again.”

Me: “SHIT!”