A Glimpse Into The "Man Bible"

Many of you wives out there may not know this but there is an actual “A Man’s Guide On How To Act Around Your Wife Behind Closed Doors.”

It’s a ratty, beaten-up old book that’s holding on by a thread. The pages have been taped into place and over 184 varieties of beer can be found stained throughout.

It is THE Bible we all live by and must obey or our balls will drop off for good.

I mean literally fall off.

The reason I’m talking about this is because the ladies need to know. They need to know we have no choice in this matter.

The way we interact with you behind closed doors is not a decision left to on to us.

Let me just toss out there a few examples from the Man Bible.

Page 28, Part C – When walking by your wife stare at only her breasts while saying “Damn…just…just damn those are fine.” If no one is near, feel free to lift your hand cautiously but with urgency to make sure they feel the exact same as they did the last time you walked by her.

Page 36, Part A, Section 2 – Entering the bedroom after a shower whilst only wearing a towel only to find your wife reading a book is one of the most coveted times of a man’s life. One must quickly thank the gods with a double bump to the chest and then spring into action with one of the following moves:

• The Helicopter – grab the base of your manly bit and begin swinging it around like a helicopter propeller while looking excitedly pleased at the wife.

• The Pose – shanty on over as close as you can to the wife, lift a leg up on whatever is near, lean down on your knee with your elbow while dropping your towel in one smooth motion. Follow this up with a sly “hey, I uh…gotta a little something for ya there sugar plum.”

• The Urgent Parent – immediately act as though you both had previously agreed upon a “quicky” and urgently shut the door, drop the towel, grab the lube and head straight for the bed while saying “OK hun, the kids are watching TV so we’ve got about 7.5 minutes to knock this out. Let’s do this!!”

• The Pool Boy – walk over to the closet, throw on some boots, drop your towel, grab hold of your dangly bit and walk towards the wife whilst uttering, “I uh…found a sturdy hose. You ready for me to give your pool a good scrub-down?”

• The Ride Em Cowboy – this is purely an old school technique used to visually attract the wife to you. Simply drop the towel, put a huge smile on your face, act like you’re mounting a horse, then with one hand slapping the fictitious horse’s ass and the other holding the fictitious horse’s reigns flail around viciously so that all your sexy attributes are bouncing and slapping to and fro as you scream “yee haw mother fuckers!!” as though you were leading a pack of bad-ass horse-ridin’ cowboys.

Each one of these moves is guaranteed to win her physical affection.

Page 1, Section 1 – Always rip the shower curtain back when the wife is bathing and repeat “You want me to get your backside?”

Page 49, Section 4,528 – Late at night while the wife is watching Hoarders, slip into a pair of her underwear whether you fit in them or not. Then, after sliding on a pair of your fanciest black socks, slowly tip-toe down the stairs. Get a running start and then slide across the floor into your wife’s view and just wait for her amazed and aroused response.

So, that’s all I’ve been sanctioned to share with you ladies. But I hope it’s enough for you to understand that we, by law, MUST do these things or pay the devil his due.

So bear with us. Continue to love us.

And know that we have nothing but your best interest in mind!

The Truth About Parenting Acronyms

So, there’s a ton of new parents out there in the world today trying to muddle their way through the management of their little ankle biters.

As the proud owner of a 6 and 8-year-old, I feel it’s my duty to impart upon them just a sample of the parenting acronyms they might encounter on playgrounds or during play-dates.

Much like government agencies, parenting is riddled with acronyms that at first seem to sound like simple words…but really mean something entirely different.

Come with me…let’s take a quick gander at just a handful…

DAMN

Diapers Are Most Negative!!

KIDS SUCK

Karate In Daughter’s Sunday School Usually Changes Karate

I FEEL LIKE MY WIFE WILL NEVER SLEEP WITH ME AGAIN

I Forget Every Evening  Little Leopards Intuitively Kill Elephants Mostly Yearlings While I Feel Lonely Lethargic Nervous Even Vigorously Ravenous So Listen Equally Even People We Intelligent Thespians Have More Equal Agnostic Gains As Iguana Nightcrawlers.

I HATE PREGNANCY

I Have A Terrific Energetic Passion Regarding Early Gestational Notions Around Nurturing Child Yolks

YOUR KID SUCKS

Your Obnoxious Ridiculous Kid Is Doing Significant Sucky Uncouth Cock-o-mainy Krazy Shit

I LOVE YOU

I Love Only Vaginas Even Your Orange Undergarments

POOP

People Often Ooze Poo

Those are just a few of the many many parenting acronyms that exist. So, next time you hear me tell my wife “I LOVE YOU”….well, you’ll know what I’m really saying.



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.



Oh How I Dread "The Talk"

This past weekend I’ve been doing the pool hardcore-style.

School starts Wednesday for the little bastards so I figured I’d try to get into the wet-stuff as much as I possibly could. The pool that is...

As I slide my white-assed self into the pool waters and started tossing the little nippers around I quickly noticed…holy shit, there’s a lot of teenagers around here. And like being thrown into a warp-speed, throw-your-head-back kinda light-year geeky TV-effect I was projected to 2020 - my daughter’s 15, wearing a bikini, at the pool and I’m in the corner clutching a beer crying while thinking, “I really really need to have ‘The Talk’ with her.”

I’m scared shitless of “The Talk.”

I’ll never forget my dad giving us “The Talk.” I was 12 (I think), which would have made my brother 14.

My dad was all liquored-up and probably felt it was time for my brother to hear about the birds and the bees so shit, why not the younger brother too?!

Long story short, for the next year or so, I was confident sex was when a man lays next to his wife, places his penis inside her, then they both go to sleep. That’s right…with the penis still inside her.

And I remember I had two HUGE questions.

1) What happens if the dude has to go pee in the middle of the night?

2) What the hell does a jack-o-lantern have anything to do with sex?

To this day when someone says jack-o-lantern I suddenly become 12 again and hear my dad say, “and then the man jack-o-lanterns into her.”

A part of me feels like when it’s time for “The Talk” I should just find a picture of a penis, hold it up in front of the kids and wait two minutes till everything in the room feels really awkward.

Then I’ll turn to the girl and say, “this is a penis. Boys have the penis. If a boy shows you his penis, I’ll kill him. If a boy talks about his penis to you, I’ll kill him. If you touch a penis, I’ll kill you and him. There is no need for you to see, touch, talk about, experience, or go near the penis until you graduate college.”

Then I’ll turn to the boy and say, “if your sister sees, touches or comes near a penis, I’ll kill you. If you see or hear-of anyone coming near your sister, thinking of your sister, or dreaming of your sister with their penis, tell me and I’ll kill them.”

Then, I’ll buy them both some new music, hug them, and send them on their way.

OK, I’m exaggerating…but I’m also kind of not.

I’m thankful to have plenty of time to plot my war-plan to protect my kids’ innocence as best I can, while making sure I arm them with enough knowledge so that when they do fuck up, it’s not life altering.

In the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy tossing them around in the pool and watch them fight with all their might to come right back to my open arms.



I Sleep Naked

Grab your puke buckets kids cause it's true.

I sleep naked.

Call it being sexually hopeful mixed with trying to be comfortable and add a dash of hating to wear clothes and walla! You’ve got a 35-year-old douche with back-hair his wife won’t shave for him who occasionally gets sweaty-ass syndrome when he’s nervous sleeping like a neurotic bear.

I remember in college when my roommate used to go home for the weekend I double and triple checked the door to make sure it was locked, slid out of my boxers, climbed into bed, and dozed off into slumber land with a huge stupid grin on my face.

When the wifey moved in with me I spent a few months being hesitant about revealing my love for sleeping naked.

“What if she thinks I’m gonna try and molest her in the middle of the night and gets all Lorena Bobbit on me?” I thought.

Shortly after, I dropped trou and never looked back.

Then we had kids.

When they were babies all was good. They had no idea at 2:16 a.m. as they screamed and cried while I changed their diaper and the wife dropped a boob in their mouth that daddy’s ding-a-ling was swinging free.

As wee toddlers they’d come in the bedroom but were too small to actually make the long-distance journey to the peak of the bed which gave me ample time to do a pillow tuck and cover.

Then…they got older.

This past weekend I woke-up and followed-through with my religious morning routine which encompasses time alone kidless and wifeless as they lay slumber above my head. A couple hours later as the wife came to life she said, “you really need to start wearing underwear when you sleep.”

I was all, “over my dead body woman!”

“Well, your daughter came into our bedroom last night and you were laying buck-naked on top of the sheets, on your back, with your entire package presented for the world and your daughter to see. And she saw… She saw it all.”

And that’s when it hit home. Sure there’s the occasional turn the corner while daddy’s getting out of the shower and see a split second of his pecker before the towel blocks the horror. There’s the walking in while daddy’s just finishing pulling up the undies and seeing a milla-second shot of his ass before boxer-briefs do their job.

But nothing. NOTHING. Is like the scaring of a young girl sleepily walking into her parents’ bedroom at 2 in the morning and finding her father counting sheep with his “sheers” laying flaccid for the world to see.

Well…I guess the only other worse scenario is if she caught her daddy actually using those “sheers” on mommy.

So chalk-up another long-loved comfort gone out the window. I now sleep clad in cotton and am none-to-happy about it.