Romancing the Bone: A Lonely Love Story

We’re having a baby! (Hey, congratulations!) Thanks inner monologue guy, haven’t seen ya in a while. (Yeah, well, you've only written three articles in the past year, so….) Fuck you, I've been busy. (Oh, right. The whole “summer address” thing. Read it, last year…not that impressed.) Anyway, yeah, my wife and I are having a baby.

PRACTICE SESSIONS

So a good while back I was drinking (What? When did you fall off the wagon?) and my wife said something along the lines of, “Let’s have a baby!” Which I understood to mean, “Do you like cookies and cream?” To be honest I fucking love cookies and cream; and like any sensible man who knows he’s about to get ice cream I said, “Fuck yeah!”

Eventually I started paying attention to what she was talking about and realized I had been tricked. They trickstied us, sneaky little hobbits! Yes Sméagol, they did. (Stick to Star Wars, asshole.) But after some pep talks and booze nights we both agreed that we were “ready” to start a family.

Using the formula “Sex - Contraceptive = Baby” we began “trying to have a baby.” The first few months were all fun, but after a while longer than that, the formula didn’t seem to be working. So we finally decided to talk to a specialist. Although we ended up getting pregnant the good old fashioned way (drunk), our mission to confirm my potency through modern technology was not without plenty of experiences I felt I needed to share with you.  

THE COLLECTION 

I strive to provide you with a pleasant and comfortable environment while reading my articles, so for this next topic I’d like to take a few moments to talk about masturbation.

The first step of our science project was a semen analysis. Unfortunately for the tightwad receptionist at the doctor’s office she came to discover that I often use humor as a coping mechanism when I get nervous …and damn this receptionist had no sense of humor. She was lucky, too; on the way to the office I stopped at the restroom and washed my hands. I thought about dipping my hand in the bottle of Jergens soap, wiping it off on her clipboard, and saying, “Here ya go, analyze this!” But I decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable lecture from the wife, so I went to the receptionist’s desk like a relatively normal person.

Receptionist: And what is the nature of your visit?

Me: I’d like to make a deposit in my spank bank (grinning like an idiot).

Receptionist: (no expression)

Me: (still grinning like an idiot)

Receptionist: (no expression)

Me: (lowering my head in shame) Uh…I have a semen analysis at 2pm.

Receptionist: Fill out the clipboard.

Me: OK. (I should have done the soap thing.)

I took a seat in the waiting room where shortly afterward a nurse opened the door and asked me to come back with her. She directed me to another, smaller waiting room. Apparently there is a special room for dudes who are about to choke their chicken. I took a seat three chairs away from another man.

Me: I’d shake your hand, but I know where it’s been. (grinning like an idiot)

Him: (no expression)

Me: (noticing he’s playing on his phone) Um, would you mind tagging me when you check-in on Facebook? (grinning like an idiot)

Him: (no expression)

Me: (Damn, everyone here is too wound up. Just rub one out, you’ll feel better. Bwahahaha.)

The nurse returned and directed me to follow her. We walked into a dimly lit room about 8 foot by 10 foot, with a sink, leather chair, mirror, trash can and end table/magazine rack. She instructed me to collect my sample, fill out the information on the clipboard, and meet her at the nurses’ station when I finished. She then handed me the collection cup, which appeared to be no smaller than a 64-ounce cup from QuikTrip. “There is a minimum sample amount required to run your test, so as long as you have an average discharge you’ll be fine.” Average? You know, just the other day my friends and I were flogging our dolphins in my garage and I remember thinking to myself, Hmmm, it appears I have a sub-par amount of semen. Maybe I should get that checked out. Average? Look, I Wikipedia a ton of shit, but average semen amount? Nope, never researched that.

The nurse then pointed out the Playboy magazines and asked, “Is there any other material you’ll be needing?” Uh…a Chili’s menu would be great! Mmmm…you dirty fucking southwestern eggroll. You’re a slutty bean and chicken filled little thing, aren’t you? What…you brought your friends? You little slut! Hello Tripple Dipper. Looking good spinach dip. Boneless chicken wings, hey girl! Damn chicky wing, you’re not going to be boneless for long! (What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?) Okay, I didn’t really say that, but I also get hungry when I’m nervous. 

The weird thing is, in a Porta-John in the middle of Kuwait, doing hand-to-gland combat was no problem; the only difficulty was finishing before passing out from heat exhaustion. But in a doctor’s office there is something strange about trying to put Mr. Kleenex’s kids through college. Have you ever tried doing the five knuckle shuffle while being paranoid that you’re about to get a shot? Yeah, it’s kind of hard to make love to yourself to the smell of rubbing alcohol.

But there I found myself, standing in the middle of my own private whack-shack weighing my options. Let’s see, there’s a leather chair--no thanks. As appealing as sitting on a leather chair crusted with other dudes’ taint sweat sounds, I’ll pass. There’s a mirror on that wall, which begs the question: at some point in this fine Do-It-Yourself Brothels occupancy did someone actually say, “You know what really gets me off, watching myself get myself off”? Then I couldn’t help but think, Are they watching me? So that side of the room was off limits. Eventually I felt the safest and most sterile place was the corner…as if I was masturbating in time-out.

As I began liquidating my inventory I slowly drifted away to my happy place. (Taco…. Jedi…. Ferrari.... Princess Padme…. Guns…. The cast of Friends…. Aw, David Schwimmer. Damnit, damnit, damnit…. Focus…. Princess Leia…but not Carrie Fischer Leia, um, Giada De Laurentiis Leia…. Metal bikini and chicken parmesan…. Leia…. Chicken…. Did I have Taco Bell today and yesterday?.... Padme…. Guns…. Aoili Sauce…. Mark Hamill…. Mark Hamill? Get outta here…. Jessica Alba….Cookies and cream…. Cookies and cream in the shape of Jessica Alba…. Padme…. Hmm, there really are only like two women in all the Star Wars movies…. Princess Padme in a whipped cream bikini…. YES!) And there I was; six inches away from giving myself a pearl bracelet, holding a warm cup of Joe (well, 50,000,000 Joes +/-).

Average. Is this average? Fuck…I don’t know. Should I add some soap? Why is the g*ddamned cup clear? I don’t want to walk through the hall with this sample size collection. Or is this a lot? Am I part horse? Calm down, dude…breathe. I wonder if they’d be upset if I pissed in the sink? Why is there no bathroom in here? I always have to pee after I play closet Frisbee….why wouldn’t there be a bathroom? Average…fuck. Why is the fucking cup clear? Oh, ho-hum, don’t mind me, just walking around with a Protein Shake, doe-dee-doe-dee-doe. Why am I so nervous? Why am I sweating…oh yeah, I always sweat. Wait, am I too out of shape to masturbate? Did I just get winded doing the Hans Solo on Vader's helmet? How is it possible to be in an air-conditioned room and get this hot warming up dinner for the Boy Scouts? (ENJOY HELL, ASSHOLE!) Why are my pants still off…well…it does feel kinda good.

All in all the process wasn’t too bad, taking just under two hours. Well it took Pandora about 8 minutes to find the Aaron Neville song I couldn’t remember the name of, but the “collection” itself took about five minutes, then I took a crap and fell asleep. When I woke up it was time for the paperwork.

Question 1: Is the sample provided your semen?

Answer: Has this been an issue in the past?

Question 2: What was your method of ejaculation?

Answer: Peanut Butter and my furry little friend here.

Question 3: Did any ejaculate not make it in the cup?

Answer: Trust me, it’s not hair gel.

Question 4: At any point did the penis come in contact with the cup?

Answer: Kinda; I poked the bottom of the cup to see if it was into that sorta thing.

Question 5: Do you allow us to disclose the sample you provided?

Answer: Well…disclose with whom? I mean, you’re not putting this on Twitter. 

@Nut-in-a-Cup: DAYUMN! We got ourselves in a sticky situation here (yay, a pun!).

My intimate afternoon by myself was finally over. I walked down the hallway with my paperwork and the cocktail (see what I did there?) and went back to the nurses’ station. To my delight, the jovial receptionist was working there. Let the fun resume. 

Me: Someone order a cup of Man Chowder? (grinning like an idiot)

Receptionist: (No expression…but in her eyes I could read “you again.”)

Me: Whew, got a cigarette on ya? (grinning like an idiot)

Receptionist: In about five days we’ll get your results back.

Me: (Noticing the other samples she had) Paying our way through college?

Receptionist: In about five days we’ll get your results back.

Me: Do you do parties? (grinning like an idiot)

Receptionist: (no expression)

Me: Okay, I’ll leave. (Damn these people are drier than a glass of gin.)

About five days later my results came back. To my delight I have healthy and strong little swimmers! No scratch and dent seed here. But it got me thinking, I’m trying to have a kid…did I just deposit the next Mark Zuckerberg into a cup? I mean, I have no problem shooting the next Stephanie Meyer into a sock, but what if that’s Michael Phelps swimming under a microscope? Shit, I guess we’ll just have to find out.

Questions that often cross my mind

Why are there really only two options for delivery food? 

Predominantly, we only have the option between Chinese or Pizza.  I’ve had so much soy sauce this past year my asshole can practically speak Chinese.  Why isn’t there Mexican delivery?  If you think about it, Mexican delivery makes the most sense; you’re already in loose fitting clothing and you’re already nearby your favorite bathroom.  And lets all be honest here, nobody leaves a Mexican restaurant saying, “Well, I think I’ll hit the gym for a little then come home and work around the garage”.  No, two minutes after leaving a Mexican joint the only thing you’re thinking is “glad I have leather seats”.

Why do people (non work related) wear Bluetooth earpieces?

Homosexuality has been around for thousands of years.  Headsets have been around for about 80+/- years.  Bluetooth technology has been around for roughly 17 years.  So, that has given us about 17 years to design some really f**king gay looking wireless headsets.  The first time you saw someone with a Bluetooth headset you probably thought, “What, you work for Star Trek or some shit?”  You’d think by now we’d have some Jack Bauer adhesive skin tone colored little speaker you could hide in your ear.  I see the convenience of a hands free environment while working or driving, but when you’re walking down the f**king street you look like a clown.  “What’s that babe, 2% milk….not skim?  Got it”.  Whoa, watch out, this guy must be important.  He’s got so much shit to do he doesn’t even have the time to hold a f**king phone to his head.  I hope your Bluetooth morphs into a Decepticon and stabs your brain (Enough.  You already have plenty of StarWars references; we don’t need obscure Transformers jokes too). 

Why are anonymous comments so angry? 

“I WILL FIND YOU, AND KILL YOU!  I f**king hated that!  That was so f**king stupid I want to beat you to death with a mason jar full of bacon grease.  Do you have a cat, do you have a f**king cat?  ANSWER ME!  By God I hope you have a cat, ‘cause I’m going to put that mother f**ker in a microwave!  I hope you get hit by a station wagon full of Nickelback fans, then get tossed into oncoming traffic only to get hit by a guy on a f**king Vespa.  Then when you get to the hospital they switch your charts and give you medicine you’re allergic to and you get your stomach pumped.  And then when you get released from the hospital as a paraplegic, I hope you get home and have the most uncomfortable itch that you cant scratch and cant tell anyone about because you cant talk.  Now you can’t write f**king stupid shit like this anymore.  I f**king hate you!

But, I do agree about the part on Twilight, that shit is so gay yo!

Posted by Anonymous

Why is it f**king impossible to re-fold a roadmap correctly?

(Wait….where the hell did you just come from?  It’s 2012; you don’t have a GPS, or a smart phone, or built in navigation, or Google maps, or mapquest?)  Sure, but I still use conventional roadmaps.  But really, it’s like they have a little China man (that’s racist) locked up in a closet who’s sole purpose is to fold shit in a manner that is impossible to re-do.  It’s like buying a fake Christmas tree then trying to put it back in its box.  It starts off 6 foot by one foot by one foot; then magically on January 1^st the f**king thing is like trying to fit a bowling ball into a film canister (what is this film canister you speak of?).   Now my glove box now looks like I’ve been storing Quasimodo’s origami.

Are all vampires Christian?

(This excludes those sparkly Goth queers from Twilight).  Think about it though, “the cross”, it’s like all traditional vampires are Christian.  Is there a Jew vampire in New York that freaks out over the Star of David?  I mean, how f**ked would you be if a vampire approached you and you pulled out a cross and he was like, “Silly mortal, I’m Muslim.  DRACULA AKBAR!”. 

What the F**K is fancy ketchup?

I want answers!  Was there a time in the late 30’s when the Waldorf Astoria introduced “Fancy Ketchup”?  Try our new Fancy Ketchup, it’s the beez knees!  Sure, there’s whiskey, then there’s 18 year reserve whiskey.  There’s steak, then there’s Kobe beef; but ketchup?  “Our ketchup is made from the finest dry aged tomatoes, grown and hand picked in the most fertile soil from the Champagne region of northern France”.  Also, I want to go to someone’s house and be served “non-Fancy Ketchup”.  Then while driving home we can laugh about how poor they are.  “Did you see when Henry pulled out the ‘regular’ ketchup?  I wanted to say, didn’t know dinner was brought to us by the Dollar General, Ha Ha Ha Ha”.  “Oh Clancy, you’re just being a bluenose”. 

Why is it trendy to hate Apple products?

Ok, lets face the music (no pun intended (actually, pun intended)).  Apple revolutionized the portable music player and the cellular phone.  What they did for these two devices was at the time, and still is ground breaking.  When the iPod/iPhone hit the market people were selling children to get one.  But now there is this spawned generation of Anti-Apple people who talk about Apple like an ex-lover.  “Does Apple talk about me?  You saw iPhone last night, did he look good?  I hope iPods new girlfriend looks like Mark Hamill.  Sometimes when I’m sad I just drive by iPod’s house at night”.  “THE NEW DROID DRAGONCOCK vII!  COMING THIS F**KTOBER TO A RADIOHACK NEAR YOU.  IT’S AN IPHONE (iPhone looks weird in all caps) KILLER!”.  Sure, it’s an iPhone killer; until they release a new one….and it makes your Droid Dragoncock look like a f**king kitten licking an ice cube. 

Why don’t people use turn signals?  

Come on people, just use the f**king signal.  Look Obi Wan f**king Kenobi, the force isn’t with me; so while you ride next to my front quarter panel traveling the exact same speed as me, don’t flick me off when I pass you causing you to get in behind me because I couldn’t receive your telekinetic requests to get in.  Actually, you’re right.  I know God**mned well what you want, but like they say; play stupid games, win stupid prizes.  And people come up with so many f**king excuses “I figured I had enough room.  I thought they’d notice me.  Jesus Christ was in the back seat holding me at gunpoint”.  Bullshit, you lazy pretentious prick. 

Where do you draw the line between art and f**king idiots?

(Another pun!)  Recently I saw someone on stage reading want-ads from a newspaper claiming it to be a form of art.  “It’s spoken word, performance poetry”.  F**k you.  I could eat a bowl of SpaghettiO’s and shit a better argument than that.  “Oh what a moving piece!”  What, you gotta shit?  “No, it’s Neo-Minimalistic.  The artist is expressing his desire to be accepted, but not loosing his identity either”.  ….It’s a f**king black square painted on canvas.  “Yes, but it’s his eccentric guise that makes it work”.  Ok.  So.  If I shave my eyebrows, wear a Venetian Collar and paint question marks with my pecker, what does that make me? 

Why are there so many options for laundry detergent?

Consumers are faced with options, which is good.  However, there are some products that are a little over the top; for example: laundry detergent.  I could understand if the choices were scents of Lavender, Jock Itch or Tilapia.  But to have a whole f**king aisle at HOLYSHITMART dedicated to laundry detergent is ridiculous.  I expect one thing from my detergent, and that is to make my shirts smell like a cigarette didn’t just sodomize a bottle of Jameson.  But when I watch my wife decide between ‘Mountain Air’ and ‘Valley Breeze’ I feel like going postal.  “Oh I just don’t know; I mean I love mountain air in the fall, but something about running through a valley of hay softer than a Care Bear’s pubes just makes my lady-bits giggle”.  

The State of theHaitian Address, Summer 2011

I haven’t blogged bitched online in a while, so I figure it’s time for a quick something new.  Today’s format won’t be as well constructed as my usual poorly constructed rants, but f**k it I’m lazy.  So the question nobodies been asking is, just what has theHaitian been doing lately?  Well, I’ll tell ya.

I quit smoking.  Except when I drink, that’s a gimme.  “You’re always drinking!”.  Yea….we’ll tackle that one in 2012.

I’m back in school.  Again.  School by the way drives me f**king insane.  For instance, who the f**k names these buildings?  “And on the right is the Dennis Anderson Grave Digger Monster Truck Hall”.  Oh neato!; and what do they teach there?  “Botany”.  Ahhh, that makes sense because he drives on dirt, and flowers come from the dirt.  “Over here we have the Percy Cockington building”.  Who is that?  “Percy Cockington donated a vast sum of money to the school….so we gave him a building”.  I’m a simple creature; for me I’d just rather see SCIENCE BUILDING, MATH HALL, GYM.  Instead when asking directions to your next class you get, “go past Dingleberry Hall, make a left at the Jean Grey Library for Gifted Youngsters, when you pass the Carlos Hathcock cafeteria you’ll be facing the Jeffery Skilling School of Business Ethics building and there you are!”  I really don’t know if I just got directions or participated in a murder mystery game.  Also, tell me this isn’t a f**king scam; these ridiculous books.  How the hell is it we used to do a full year in high school with one damn book per class that cost around a hundred bucks, but for college I need 4 books that cost upwards of 150 each for 3 months of one class?  “Ok, this semester we’ll be using Calculus, Calculus: Graphs and Charts, Calculus: Lab Exercise and Scratch Paper 4^th edition”.  Wait, what was that last book?  “Scratch Paper 4^th Edition.  It’s scratch paper but at the top of each sheet in cursive it says ‘Scratch Paper’”.  You’re a f**king idiot, you know that?  “Sir, would you please excuse yourself from the class!”  F**k you, I’m going to roll your house with Toilet Paper 2^nd Edition.  This also drives me bat shit crazy.  I had an eighth grade teacher a few semesters ago.  I have no problem with eighth grade teachers, and I have no problem with eighth grade teachers who also teach night classes.  But don’t teach the f**king class like we’re in the eighth f**king grade.  Next to my wrong answers she’d put a “frowny face”.  Look Mrs. Whisker Biscuit, if you’re going to draw this shit all over my test then don’t be shocked if I come to a problem I don’t understand and I draw a big middle finger as my answer. 

About a year ago I made a comment about how all my friends were having kids.  Since then all my friends who didn’t have kids at the time read that and said F**k you!, we’re having kids.  And this is fine.  But don’t refer to a newborn as a “new addition”.  A new addition is a climate controlled sunroom off the back porch.  “Awww, Precious Sweet Baby Travis is a perfect new addition.”  Precious Sweet Baby Travis?  That’s a weird name for an assault rifle.  A new addition would be the purchase of a miniature spoon with an artist’s rendition of the tourist trap on the handle.   “We were walking through Target and they had the most adorable babies on clearance.  We just had to get one; it’d make such a nice addition to the guest room”. 

On the topic of shit you need to stop saying, quit using this expression: Look at the bright side.  Look at the bright side is like saying, thank God I didn’t get f**ked like you just did, so let me offer some trite optimism to further infuriate you.  Sorry you lost your job, but look at the bright side, you didn’t have to turn in all those company polo shirts!  Oh great, now I have 13 ‘Bobs Bacon Bungalow” shirts to wear while searching for jobs.  It’s like I can wear my resume on a shirt!  Sorry your house burnt to the ground, but on the bright side of things you had your iPhone in your pocket….so…you can still play Angry Birds.

When God closes a door, he opens a window.  Wait….are you being robbed….by God?  What the f**k does that even mean?  Do you not have central air conditioning?  Do you live in a hut in Botswana?  (P.S.  The Sound of Music sucks)

Been working like a dog.  And just what the hell do you do for a living?  Puke up grass and lick your balls?  Strippers are the only people who have a profession similar to that of a dog, because only strippers and dogs dry hump you while you’re still wearing jeans.  Oh, I get it; you’re a Seeing Eye Human.

This pisses me off.  I don’t want to degrade myself into doing poop jokes but I’ve already done gay, Asian, Black, Latino, cyclists, paraplegic and fat jokes….so, here we go.  If I am doing my business at the office, and someone else walks to the urinal, DON’T F**KING TALK TO ME!

  “Hey there, Martin!” (silence) “I see your shoes, that’s how I knew it was you, lolz” (silence) “Hey, what do you think of Sargento cheese?” (silence)  “I love it” (pause) “but honestly, it’s not that much better than store brand” (silence) “I like it finely shredded…mmmm” (silence) “Hey, do you have cat?” (silence) “You’re awfully quiet.  Whacha doing for lunch?  Wanna go play badminton Sunday?  What’s your favorite extinct marsupial?  LOLZ, I’m wearing a black sock and a navy blue sock.  What would be the first question you’d ask a dog if you could talk to dogs?  My breath smells like antifreeze.”   “Good talking to ya.” 

Look, if your bare penis is 3 feet from my head and I’m not wearing pants….. don’t f**king talk to me…you’re throwing off my intense Bejeweled game.  It’s simple bathroom etiquette.

The Infantry Marine, and His Many Shapes and Forms

I am contractually free from the Marine Corps (f**k you Gunny Errrrah!) and I figured it’s about time I wrote a true Marine blog.  I'm not going to write about my time in the Marine Corps, that would be too short.  (89% of the time it sucked, 10% was awesome, and that 10% made up for the 89% suckfest.  1% of the time was trying to find creative ways to masturbate without lube in the desert and not rip the flesh off.....nevermind)  Do you remember that commercial in the movie theaters with that asshole climbing mountains and shit, then fighting dragons with a damn sword?  Then it wraps up with this ass clown standing on a f**king mountain in dress blues?  Yea, well that’s a bunch of horse shit, so I figured I’d describe the “real” Marines.  The come in a few different flavors.  Here they are:

 

The “this isn’t what I signed up for” Marine

“F**k yea, I’m a Marine.  F**k yea, I look good in dress blues.  F**k yea, I got money”.  Shut the f**k up boot, we’re deploying in 2 months.  “Deploying….uh…where?”  Well just where the f**k do you think?  Have you never seen the damn news?  Jesus Chesty Puller Christ, it’s even on MTV; now shut that cock holster you call a mouth and quit your bitchin'.  Oh, and we’re going to stop at AP Hill for a month before we leave. 

It’s not like they didn’t know what the hell was going on.  I know your dumbass is only 18 but what the f**k were you expecting joining Marine infantry post 9/11?  They’d station you in Miami Beach and women will just trip on your pecker?  

The “I’m so f**king motivated all the f**king time” Marine

This could quite possibly be the most obnoxious thing in the Marine Corps (aside from every other Marine not in your Battalion).  Every now and then you meet one of these f**kers who is just too damn motivated.  There is “esprit de corp”…then there is “if the Marine Corps was a dude I’d butt-f**k it ‘cause I’m gay like that”.  I’m talking about the second kind of person here.

“Bro, this is like, sooooo much better then high school; I love the Marine Corps”.  That’s great and all, and I certainly love the Marine Corps too, but it’s the fucking weekend, now leave me the f**k alone.  And I swear to Christ, if you say Oorah one more f**king time while playing Ghost Recon I am going to beat you like a red-headed step child. 

These are the guys that wear the most ridiculous Marine t-shirts walking around their hometown mall that say shit like “We Put Kittens in Microwaves and Kill Babies and Drink Our Coffee With Sugar and Napalm.  Then on Saturday We All Drive Monster Trucks Over To Our Buddies House and Eat Bacon Flavored Barbed-Wire Wrapped in C4 Which is Then Wrapped in Bacon.  Oooo-Bacon-Rah! ”.  These assholes listen to Marine running cadence in their damn car too.  “Up in the morning with the Carolina sun, gonna run all day ‘til the running’s done”.  Ok, first, God invented the car so we don’t have to f**kin run all day.  Second, on the topic of cars, drive us into an oncoming school bus so I don’t have to hear this shit anymore.  You can easily spot these f**kers on the road.  They have bumper stickers that say shit like “My Other Car is a HMMWV”, or “OORAH!  It’s a Marine Thing”.  Seriously, have you ever seen a road cyclist with a bumper sticker that says “Sore Assholes; It’s a Cyclist’s Thing”?

  

The “aren’t you an illegal alien” Marine

Que?

The “my daddy was a Marine, and his daddy was a Marine, and his daddy’s Pa was a Marine, and his daddy's Pa's daddy was too” Marine

…..well your still a f**king boot.  Look, there is no 'Marine Corps Alumni'.  Once a Marine always a Marine, so consider your dumbass still serving with them.  Nobody gives a shit.  Seriously, what do you think you’re entitled to, a raise? 

The “back home I’m somebody important” Marine

“Mang, f**ker, you don’t even know.  Back home I gots like 7 cars, my pops owns a few nightclubs and I used to run them for him.  I produced albums for some local rappers.  I was rollin’ in money, dog”. 

So why the f**k didn’t you stay your ass at home?  Every now and then you’d run into this jerk-off.  Elaborate stories of models he’s f**ked, cars he’s owned, celebrities he knows, and as you sit there and listen you just want to ask: “You wouldn’t be lying would you?”.

The “I’m so racist” Marine

“Man, f**k all these wet-back mother f**kers, dude.  I’m sick of hearing all this trumpet and bongo shit!”.  Yea, I guess.  Is it really that bad?  “F**k yea it is, this Puerto Rican above me keeps blastin this banana boat shit all through the f**king night, every time I’m trying to beat off he’s got some damn rice and bean convention going on”.  Hey dude, you do know I’m half Cuban?  “Man, f**k that, you look white”.  Right…but…never mind.  “Yo Ramirez, you going to chow?  Yea!, wait up dog”.  Wait, I thought you hated Latinos?  “Nah man, its Ramirez, we’re cool, we went to boot camp together”. 

Some skin head wannabe who spends his free time tying nooses, listening to hate metal, drawing swastikas on his helmet and all sorts of other shit ends up the best man is his black room-mates’ interracial wedding.  Gotta love it.

The “don’t tell me how to spend my money” Marine

“Dude, after this deployment I’m going to be like f**king Jay-Z rich”.  Oh yea, on Lance Corporal pay?  “Hell’s yea dude.  Man, the first thing I’m going to buy is a Bugatti watch, then I’m gonna take all my boys to the club and get a VIP room and buy all the drinks.  Then I’m going to buy a flat screen for the barracks, and a f**king Ford Mustang”. 

Look asshole, the watch is ridiculous; when the hell are you ever going to wear that, in the field?  And a flat screen, this is the damn infantry dude, when the do we really have time for TV? and you KNOW that shit’s gonna get stolen.  Last, why buy a f**king  mustang…they’re issued at CIF……and let me guess, you got a V6? 

“Dude, chill bro.  I got this……Can I bum $20 ‘til we get paid Friday?”.

The “I start every sentence with ‘f**kin’, and end every sentence with ‘and shit’” Marine

These always made me laugh; it was pretty much an easy way to spot someone who repeated the third grade. 

“F**kin, all right….dag gone, were gonna f**kin head to the armory and clean our f**kin weapons, and shit.  F**kin, then uh…f**kin, we’re gonna roll to the motor pool and PM the f**kin piece of shit trucks, and shit”. 

The thing is you stand there in formation listening to this crap and the only thing you can think is “this dumb son of a bitch is going to get us killed one day….and shit”. 

The “I come up with the weirdest ways to describe shit” Marine

“Hey dude, doesn’t he kinda look like Ernie, from Burt and Ernie, but like if Ernie was a lesbian”.  Huh?  “You don’t see it?”. 

“Man, I swear Peter looks exactly like if Lt were to f**k a Persian ferret while taking hair growth supplements, that would be their kid, right?”. 

“F**k me man, it’s hotter then two queer Wookies f**king in a fleece insulated sleeping bag in the middle of Kenya in the summer heat after they just got done running 13 miles in fire retardant suits”.  What the F**K are you talking about? 

The “I’m a f**king Corpsman and am more a Marine than you” Corpsman

I gotta give a shout out (did you really just use “shout out”?  MAS PUTOS, HUE!) to the Devil-Doc’s, and you know who you are.  The simple truth is all the average Seamen does is pass out Motrin and tell us to drink water.  But every now and then you get a Doc who stays right in the thick of the shit with us; standing fire-watch, carrying an M-16, driving our trucks, firing our mortars and being just as much a Marine as any other one of us.  Shit, sometimes I’d look at the shit heads we’d get from infantry school and think to myself, just go the hell back home and send us another squared away Doc.  Then again, sometimes you’d get a complete piece of shit Doc, the kind you’d rather trade for a warm diet Mountain Dew.

The “Back when I first got in” Marine

“Back when I first got in we all had to do pullups with our teeth”.  Uh….That’s not possible.  “Shut the f**k up boot or I’ll drop kick you in the brain-housing-group.  F**king weak-ass, pussy-ass, bitch-ass, ass-ass, boot.  I was slaughtering mu-f**kas during Desert Storm when you were still shittin’ boot-camp breakfast”.  Oh really?  Saw a lot action, huh?  “Back when I first got in we rode horses into battle.  Back when I first got in we didn’t have GPS, we used the f**kin stars”.  Well Whoopty-F**king-Doo,  back when you first got in is called history, and there’s a channel for that.  This is the f**king present; nobody gives a flying f**k how hardcore it used to be, or how rough your life was then.  Adapt, overcome, and get the f**k over yourself.  There’s nothing wrong with nostalgia, but shut the hell up.

The “Look at me, I’m so f**king smart, and always have an answer for everything,  and I always have the wittiest come backs, yet there’s no way in hell I can manage to do 2 pull ups, and everyone looks at me like, ‘how the f**k is he getting promoted to corporal?….he smokes when we run’, he even orders dominos when we’re in the field training, and half the time he’s not even that funny, and what’s with him talking from the perspective of his conscious, like’s he part of the cast of ‘Scrubs’; what a f**kin weirdo” Marine

(Wait…where are you going with this?) 

Why Being a Halfie Sucks

I’m a halfie.  (Nobody cares about your libido, buddy)  What’s a halfie you say?  Well, my mother is Cuban and my father is American.  I’m not brown, I’m not white….I’m f**king khaki.  And it sucks, here’s why:

First and fore-f**king-most, nobody believes me.  “Dude, you’re white.”  Yes, I know I’m white in appearance, but my mom’s Cuban.  “Yea?  Say something in Spanish.”  What….I’m not a f**king cocker spaniel you asshole.  “I knew it, you’re not Spanish.”  Dude, yes I am half Cuban.  But I don’t feel the need to prove it to you like I’m some kind of dog.  “Say something in Spanish and I’ll give you a piece of cheese.”  …..Cheese?  Come pinga, mamahuevo.  “NO WAY, what’s that mean?”  Eat a dick, cocksucker.  “Well f**k you, no cheese!”  It’s true; I look white, sound white, act white, so I can understand people being mislead.  I mean I get it, have you ever seen Desi Arnez wearing Mossy Oak camouflage hunting bibs?  No.  So yea, it’s understandable where they’re coming from.  However, there is some fun in this; I can hang out with a group of rednecks and blend in just fine.  “You know what’s rurnin’ this country?  Spics, I tell ya.”  Yea!  Spics and Affliction!  “Hell yea….what’s Affliction?”  But, it doesn’t stop here.  I get f**ked with by fellow Latinos as well.  “You’re white, bro.”  Yes, I know I’m white in appearance, but my mom’s Cuban.  “Yea?  Speak in Spanish then.”  What….I’m not a f**king cocker……never mind.  Yea, I’m f**king white.  “Told your ass, puto.” 

Here’s another thing that sucks, I have no f**king idea what my kids will look like.  I could end up with one that looks like Hitler’s Youth, or I could have one who looks like he should be waiting outside of a Home Depot.  Honey, have you seen Carlos?  “Yea he’s harassing men in pick up trucks at the Chevron.”  But the truth of it is one side of my family is going to be disappointed.  If I bring a red haired green eyed kid to South Florida…..HA!  Are you f**king kidding me?  “OK, joo know wha we gonna has?  We gonna has the lechon, arroz y frijoles, y we gonna has platanitos, y un guayaba con cheese……y un Peanu-butta y Helly for el gringo”.  Seriously, if I bring Sebastian WhiteyMcWhitester down there they’ll handle him like they are playing hot potato, but instead of a potato they’re passing around an exploding AIDS grenade.  On the flip side if I go up to Iowa with Ernesto Don Chicharrones I’ll probably hear “can he use a rake yet?”  No Godd**nit, he’s not raking up the f**king leaves.  “Oh…well then whatever will he do for fun?”  What would be great is if I have twins, one brown and one white.  Hahaha, oh the looks my wife would get. 

The real kicker is this; I can’t even f**king take advantage of my ‘hispanicness’; it does me no f**king good on an application.  If I check ‘Hispanic’ they’ll for sure flag that as fraudulent.  I can see it now in an interview: “Here at YadaYada, LLC we like to have a diversified workforce, Mr…..Story….am I saying that right?”  Actually it’s ‘Estorya’, and I’m kind of in a hurry, I double parked my raft.  “Look, Mr. Story, I do not doubt your heritage…..but you’re white.”  Yes sir, but my mother is half Cuban.  “But you were born in America.”  So are black people!  “…….We don’t like to go there, sir.”  (Yea asshole, don’t go there)  But come on, if black dude “A” was born in America, as were both parents, and white looking dude “B” was born in America, but one parent was born in, oh I don’t know, let’s say F**KING CUBA!!!…..then white looking dude “B” is more of a minority.  “No, I understand that.  But you look white.”  Ok, so if I dyed my f**king skin red, then what?  “Well, then you’d be a Native American.”  Holy shit, all you see is color.  “We also see statistics.”  Oh, well that’s f**king solid.

I have pretty much figured out that the only part of me that resembles anything Latin is the portion of my body from my neck to my waist.  Aside from the Frankenstein, I can’t dance for shit.  The only thing I salsa is chips and phonetically meringue has “gay” in it, so I see little appeal in doing that.  (Homophobic, are we?)  Talking like Yoda, you are......anyways, I can’t hold a tan to save my life; it’s either lobster or Casper.  I think it’s safe to say I lack the “suave” personality.  My only pick up line when I was single was: Damn, you’re so hot you’re making me sweat…..but I did have Italian….so….that makes me sweat too.  Can I borrow an ice cube to rub on my forehead?  I’m theHaitian….um….damn my glasses keep sliding down my nose….is it just me or is it kinda greasy in here?  Hey, where are you going?  Is that your boyfriend?  Oh, well you look like you know him…no?  Yall just met….wow, would never have guessed that.  Ok, see ya.  Damnit.  But, I’ll tell you where I am Latin, my stomach.  If it has the potential to kill you then it tastes great to us.  “Hey, you know what we should do with this roasted pork…flash fry it!”  “What should we do with this flank steak?”  Uh, how about we fry it, serve it with a fried banana (because healthy fruit is gay) but first we’ll serve a ball of fried mashed potatoes stuffed with ground beef with a side of ground up fried ham sticks!  “We’ll need something to drink.”  How about a thick sugar-packed milk shake?  “Maravilloso!”  Ask yourself, how many thin Latino’s you see walking around?  Exactly.  Well there is an exception and they’re called Puerto Ricans….and we don’t like their kind. 

Authors Disclaimer:

Just kidding Puerto Ricans, ya’ll are ok.

Things 2011 Needs To Work On

Another year is almost down.  It amazes me that with the ability to do what we can today, you’d think by now shit like this would be a thing of the past.  But, I stand here disappointed.  Ok 2011, below are some things I need you to work on.



We’d Have a Cure for the Common Cold
So let me f**king see if I understand…..you’re telling me if I take these three pills twice a day for forty-five days, my cholesterol will be normal, I’ll mysteriously shed 35 pounds, I’ll be able to crush catsup (nobody spells it like that) packets with my pec’s, I’ll go back to having “regular” movements, and my cock will be able to do 17 pull ups …..but you can’t figure out a cure for the common cold?!  It sucks because whenever you feel miserable I believe you have the right to bitch about it.  But the truth is, it’s just a cold.  It’s not like you can bitch about having a cold to a cancer patient. 

Guy with a cold: “Man, you have no idea how I feel.  I had to back out of our bowling league practice last night I was so sick.  This has to be the worst feeling ever.”
Cancer Patient: “Are you f**king serious?  Did you just f**king say that?  You have a f**king cold, uh-oh, watch out, this guy could drop dead at any second now.  Shut the f**k up; so you get to spend two days in a robe watching Oprah, f**k you!  Pussy.”
Guy with a cold: “Man, cancer patients are jerks.”    




Cruise Control Would Function Properly
I’d figure by now cars that are smart enough to park their damn selves could be equipped with a computer that can figure out when it’s going up a f**king hill.  But no matter what, if you go up a hill with cruise control on, your 2009 Nissan Pathfinder sounds like a damn Ferrari running the 24 hours of Le Mans in first gear.  And it makes you feel like an asshole because all of a sudden your vehicle charges forward like a dog whose tail just got stepped on, then you realize your going half the f**king speed of light and hit the brakes; now everyone on the highway is looking at you like you’re the biggest asshole in the world.  Oh well, screw ‘em.  What the F**k are you looking at, you’re driving a f**king SmartCar!




Meteorologists Could Actually do Something Right
Well here’s a good one, WHY THE F**K CAN’T WE PREDICT THE F**KING WEATHER?  Shit, at least get a f**king ball park estimate.  “Tomorrows going to be a beautiful day; high’s in the 70’s, sunny, not a cloud in the sky”.  So when I go to the park to throw the Frisbee (what are you, gay?), and I’m standing in a waste deep river looking up at the sky thinking to myself “Is that hail?  Sure looks like hail.  Maybe I shou f**k.  Ow, f**k.  Damnit!”, well Mr. Weatherman, don’t be shocked when the lead anchor is reporting on some unidentified sniper taking shots at the dickhead in front of a blue-screen.  Here’s a little trivia for ya; the word meteorologist comes from the Greek words: ‘Mete’ (I am f**king full of shit), ‘orol’ (But these f**king idiots will listen to me because), ‘ogist’ (I have a fancy f**king sounding name).  





Gas Pumps Wouldn’t Take Forever
Ok, now I realize that driving a full size truck will take a while to fill with gas, but for f**k sake, does it have to take that long?  You could have a one gallon red gas container and it’d still take you 4 minutes to fill.  What the f**k is in this piece of shit pump?  It’s like they have a f**king emphysemic midget with a hose sucking the gas up from the holding tank.  Yet, I can go to the disgusting restroom in the gas station and the sink will put out water at a rate rival to any f**king New York City fire truck.  And you wonder why I drive like a Godd**ned maniac.  Well, it’s because I had to wait half an hour to fill my truck, got gas on my hands because the f**king backflow sensor broke, then I washed my hands off with the f**king riot control nozzle in the bathroom….oh, and it looks like I pissed all over my self.  




Checking Out Wouldn’t be a Bitch
You’d honestly think by now there would be more efficient ways to check out at a store.  Take Wal-Mart for example.  They have unbeatable prices, and they have damn near everything.  I need shotgun shells, plaster of Paris, a jar of gypsy tears, caviar, underwear, all the seasons of ‘I Love Lucy’ on BlueRay and a fifty gallon caldron.  “Aisle 3, 12, 1 next to the dragons-breath aerosol cans, 4, 14, by the Tv’s, and aisle 9.”  BUT, when it comes time to check out you go to a bank of 15000 registers and only two are open.  The self checkout, which is always a f**kin riot, is usually occupied by some hillbilly with a mullet in jean shorts sporting a Bob Seger cut off sleeve shirt scanning 300 quarts of motor oil one at a time, has a second cart with 30 gallons of Mountain Dew and ‘How to Spit and Not Hit the Side of the Truck, For Dummies’ on paperback, all the while trying to pick up the woman behind him with the classic line “I’d like to tongue-punch your fart-box”.  OR, the second register is being operated by ole Miss Daisy.  “Is there a price on this?”  Right there ma’am.  “Is there a price on this?”  Right there ma’am.  “Is there a price on this?”  Right there ma’am.  “Well this one won’t scan.”  That’s because you’re using a returned stick of deodorant as the scan gun.  “Oh…gee, I’m getting’ old, ya know?”  No ma’am, old people are getting old.  They buy Buicks, move to a time share in Orlando and spend their days walking around Disney World.  You on the other hand, you’re getting Jurassic; the Smithsonian should have you on exhibit.  




Movie Prices Would be Lower
Two adults and one child for Brokeback Mountain II; Booty Log Jam, in 3D please.  “Well that’ll be $392.  Or, we can break it up into six easy payments of $72.  However, if that adorable child of yours can stitch Nike logos onto soccer balls for seven Saturdays in a row, we can knock off eighty bucks.”  The appeal of going to the movies simply isn’t there anymore.  An over priced ticket, over priced crappy food, all to sit in an auditorium with sticky floors and obnoxious people who think actors can take their direction as they yell at the screen.  We live in an age where we can either On Demand, or DVR, or stream via Netflix, or for the more rebellious, illegally download; so tell me why I want to take out a loan to see “Twilight XVII; Rise of the Zombie Vampire Transformers”.  “Why wouldn’t you?  Like, OMG, Edcob-bot is so totally hot!”  Who the f**k is Edcob-bot?  “Like, do you live in a glass house or something?”  Um, I don’t think that’s how it’s used.  “WHAT-EVER; like, Edward and Jacob both die defending Bella and then some witch doctor sews them together and gives them life again, but they like, can transform into a Prius; so like Bella is now with both men she loves, but they’re like as one now, and she has an eco-friendly car.  It’s sooo sweet.  Stephanie Meyer is like the Jane Austin of our century.”  ….I hope you get mauled by a coyote.  




Cell Phones Wouldn’t have Shitty Reception
Ok, if your closest neighbor resides in the farm 15 miles from your farm, and his biggest claim to fame is passing legislature allowing him to f**k his livestock, well then I can understand having shitty cell reception.  However; if in your neighborhood you see at least three minivans with these f**king queer little stick figure family people on the rear window, then there is no excuse to never have cell reception.  You see, I live in the Peoples Republic of Roswell and it’s a great place to live (especially if you don’t mind driving 7 mph behind a string of cyclists), but there are a few spots where I always loose reception (on multiple carriers).  So once the call drops you begin to play the call back game, where both parties insist on calling each other at the exact same moment, so both phones default to voicemail.  Then you both decide not to call and let the other person call, so both phones are silent for a few minutes…..then you both call each other back at the exact same time….and we’re back to voicemail.  So here I am with a phone that has an app that will turn into a set of lips and blow me while playing the newest song 2-Pac wrote from the grave, all the while updating my twitter feed (#thehaitianactual @blowjob2.0forHTCEvo: must be cold, huh?  LOLZ), but I can’t make a f**king phone call.    




Healthy Food Wouldn’t Still Suck
Real Coke taste, zero calories.  (Oh shit!  They’re gonna sue us now!).  Yea, real Coke taste my ass; real Coke doesn’t have an aftertaste of cough syrup and squirrel shit.  “All right gents, we’re going to launch this mini remote controlled monster truck 35 to 250 million miles away to Mars, attach a bazillion mega-pixel camera to it and take some f**king high-res snapshots of dirt”.  Look, that’s super-neato and all, but I’m probably going to have a stroke within 5 years, and I get an erection whenever I here cellophane being unwrapped….mmmm, taco….or is it a crunchwrap…..ooooh, maybe it’s a chalupa.  My point being, lets focus not so much on particle acceleration and pissing off the Pope, but rather on trying to make food relatively healthy…and not suck.  (It’s called discipline, buddy).  F**k you!




Checkbooks Would be Obsolete
When you’re behind someone in line who’s writing a check, don’t you just want to grab a heavy blunt object and beat them to near death?  “What’s today’s date, sonny?”  Well ma’am I’m not f**king sure, I left my phone in the car, but it ends with 2010…so get with the damn program.  I’d like to look in their cart.  Just what the hell does a check-writing person shop for?  Hmmmm, lets see here, oooh, rock candy, elixir, forty pounds of salt, I guess Pa’s gotta cure some meat before the winter freeze sets in, and oh, what’s this…..a ball of twine.  Can’t ever have enough twine.  Even the Amish make fun of people who use checks.  “Jebediah, did you see that old maid writing a check?”  “Sure did Papa, that ole bizzle was crizzle for shizzle.”  “Word, my son.  Word.”  Oh crap, this is my last check; better telegram the bank and order some more.





Delivery Wouldn’t Take so Long
“Thanks for calling Mr. F**king Pizza, there are no specials tonight and you’re our first caller!  What can I get you tonight?”  Yea, I’d like a large pizza.  “Ok, that’ll be 13 bucks and will take about 20 minutes.”  Actually, can I get pepperoni and sausage on it, please?  “Sure, that’s 33.95 and will take just over 2 hours.”  Two f**king hours, are you kidding me?  Riddle me this Batman, how the f**k is it that the Chinese can get my dinner to my door before I’m done reading off my f**king credit card number, yet this shit takes forever?  OK, so in the unlikely chance that your pedaling a f**king unicycle backwards up a hill the whole damn way, then I can understand.  “Yea, all of our drivers took vacation on the same day, hahaha, what are the odds?  The only two drivers we have available are Carl and Moe.  Carl is from Ghana and drives a 1993 Ford Escort about 10,000 mph, but he’ll end up zipping up and down your street about 200 times passing your house.  Or there’s Moe.  Moe is a paraplegic ferret.”  Then they get butt-hurt when you don’t tip.  Look pecker-head, I ordered a f**king pizza, not a frozen, petrified, pizza-looking paperweight.  Maybe if you hadn’t stopped at 15 f**king houses first like you’re on a damn paper route I might be eating pizza rather than using this to patch a hole in my sheetrock.




We’d Have TV Programming Worth a Damn
So there’s basically a zillion f**king channels, and at least half a zillion HD channels, but the fact is, there is never a f**king thing on worth watching.


Discovery Channel:  “Look it’s a Monster….nah, Just Kidding”, “Look it’s a Ghost…nah, Just Kidding”, “Have you seen my Ghost?”, “This Haunted House is Scaryish”, “Holy F**k, Look at that Monster Someone Videotaped with a F**king Camera from 200BCE so you cant make out a Godda*ned Thing”.


HD Theatre:  “Africa, in HD”, “Antarctica, in HD”, “Nature, in HD”, “Close-ups of a Blade of Grass, in HD”, “Hey Dipshit, Stick your F**king Head Outside Instead of Watching This Bullshit, in HD”.  



TLC:  “Family with 8 Kids”, “Family with 15 Kids”, Midgets with Kids”, “Kids with Midgets” (they like to be called ‘little people), “Little People with Midgets”.  


CBS:  Hahaha, nobody watches CBS.  They could show hardcore anal porn and never get reported.


HGTV:  “Look at this F**king House”, “Shit for your Husband to do”, “What a Fun Project for Him”, “Easy Shit you can do, if you’re a F**king Engineer”, “How to Turn your Coat Closet into a Spaceship”.


History Channel:  “Nostradamus Effect”, “Nostradamus Prophecy”, “The Nostradamus Hoax”, “Did Nostradamus Ever Wear Shorts?”, “Nostradamusitus”, “Nostradamus does Dallas”.  


ABC:  “Grey’s Anatomy”, “Grey’s Anatomy spin off”, “A show just like Grey’s Anatomy, but not in a hospital”, “Lovey Lovey Love Love”, “Family Woohoo Love Tree Acoustic Guitar Starbucks”.  


MTV: “17 and Pregnant”, “16 and Pregnant”, “15 and Pregnant”, “Preteen and Pregnant”, “Pregnant Babies”, “Pregnant Babies with Rabies”.  


E!  “Crazy Bitches”, “F**king Crazy Bitches”, “Bitch, you Crazy”, “Deese Bitches Trippin”, “Some Homo Talking ‘Bout Crazy Bitches”, “Bitch, WTF RU Wearin?”.   


Bravo:  “Queer-Gear”, “2 Queers and a Beer”, “This Queer Old House”, “Queer-Food”, “Kathy Griffin, I’m Queer”, “Top Queer”, “The Queer Househusbands of Key West”



….Ah, f**k it.  I’ll just watch Star Wars again.










Authors Disclaimer:
Thanks Nick, that’s a classic.

Christmas Music...isn't it just Grand!

Now, I’m not the kinda guy who ‘gets into’ Christmas.  I don’t hate Christmas, it just isn’t my thing.  I do however love sleeping and not working, and Christmas gives me two more days to do more of both; so, Yay Christmas!  However, what I do hate is Christmas music.  Christmas music makes me appreciate silence that much more.  When I hear Christmas music against my will it makes me feel like I’m being held hostage in a damn Hallmark store.  On top of that, Christmas music gives every f**kin stupid singer the ability to release their own “oh-so-unique” renditions of these ‘classics’.  Ke$has’ Kristmas Partay; this oughta be good.  So, in true Haitian fashion let’s analyze some Xmas tunez.

“Santa Baby”

Yup, even Christmas can sound slutty.

“Let it Snow.  Let it Snow.  Let it Snow.”

I’m sure the Northeast loves this one.

“Do You Hear What I Hear”

So….the wind tells a lamb, who tells a boy, who tells a king, who tells the people….  This is like that game ‘telephone’.  I bet the wind didn’t say anything like what the king is saying.

“All I Want For Christmas is my Two Front Teeth”

Well, aren’t you f**king modest.  All right kid, cut the ‘cute’ act, what do you really want?  Well….I’d like an iPad, PS3, LED 3D Tv, all the ‘Chappelle Show’ seasons on BlueRay, and an iPhone 4g. 

“Go Tell it on the Mountain”

Quit yelling!  Do you not have a Twitter account?

“We Three Kings”

So, let’s see.  He is going to die for our sins and you give Him a gift card, cologne and arthritis medicine? 

“Christmas Time is Here”

….Also called Black Friday.

“I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause”

Look kid, either you just saw the beginning of what’s about to become your new brother, or your Mom’s a slut.  Does Daddy work a night shift?  If so, get prepared to start having two Christmas’s. 

“Feliz Navidad”

I said “1” for English!

“I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”

Well now, one little f**ker just wants some dentures, but your punk ass wants a hippo, huh?  Here’s a Barbie doll and a sweater, how ‘bout that.  Aim small miss small.

“Mary Did You Know?”

The better question, Joseph did you know?  I’m pretty sure if he knew he’d die a virgin but still have a kid he’d have married someone else. 

“It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”

Ahhhh, you must be at ‘Target’.

But, my favorite of all:

“The Twelve Days of Christmas”

A Partridge in a Pear Tree.

“Oh!  A f**king bird and some fruit, brilliant!  This is great, now once I am fed up with cleaning feces off all these f**king pears we can cook this pheasant sized bird and possibly feed a quarter of our family.” 

Two Turtle Doves.

“Oh how cute!  Turtle doves…..so…were the pretty white doves too expensive?”

Three French Hens

“More Birds!  Wow…So, look’s like we’ll be having Pot Pie this week.”

Four Colly Birds

“ENOUGH WITH THE F**KING BIRDS!  And what the f**k is a Colly bird?  Oh, this little black thing?  You do realize these things fly here all the f**king time, right?  I mean, it’d be like me giving you 4 bushels of pine straw.”

Five Golden Rings

“Now we’re talking!”

Six Geese-a-Laying

“Oh….neato….another bird.  So, are you trying to tell me you want an omelet?”

Seven Swans-a-Swimming

“Ok, Mister.  Don’t come bitching to me when there’s bird shit all over the carriage.  This is starting to get out of hand.”

Eight Maids-a-Milking

“Servants, how thoughtful.  Can they do dishes too?  Oh, just milking….well, ok then.”

Nine Ladies Dancing

“You’re on the couch tonight for that one.  Wait, no, you’re sleeping with me tonight, I don’t trust you.  Is…..is she Pop-Lock and Dropping it?  Where did you find these women?”

Ten Lords-a-Leaping

“Is there something you want to tell me?  Have you been hanging out at Swinging Richards again?”

Eleven Pipers Piping

“Oh, cause this won’t be annoying as hell.  You do know I have an alarm clock.  What the f**k could I possibly do with this?  Great, the only song they know is ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’, there’s no way this could get old”

Twelve Drummers Drumming

“Hey, drummer guy, what songs can you play?”  “Little Drummer Boy, ma’am.”  “What else?”  “That’s it, ma’am.”  “Well, won’t you just be so useful for 25 days.  Now, for the other 340 days you why don’t you go and shove that drumstick sideways up where the sun don’t shine!”

…..Later on during the evening of the 12^th day of Christmas……

JESUS CHRIST!  We have half a f**king marching band in the living room, 30 queers that won’t stop frolicking around in the back yard, 76 useless whores, unless you want milk or a lapdance, 184 f**king birds shitting all over the place, and our back yard is covered with rotting f**king pears.  What the f**k do you expect me to do with all of this shit?  Remember when I said I really wanted a new gown for the ball, it meant, I really wanted a new f**king gown for the f**king ball.  But….I do love the jewelry.”

Halloween Humor

Part I: How to f**k up Halloween

Mini Vans

As you drive behind your kids in a f**king minivan, don’t be shocked in two years when little Timmy is 4 feet tall and 4 feet wide.  Are you telling me that on one night in the year walking around your neighborhood is just too exhausting for you?  And don’t give me this “I need the car to put all the candy in, the bags get heavy”.  Bull shit.  What, is little Timmy holding up all these houses?  “Trick or mutha-f**kin treat.  Now give me all your candy or I’ll blow your f**kin head off!”.  Yea, didn’t think so.  Why not carry a backpack or pull a wagon….but a car, really?  (…..“really”.  You sell out.)  Halloween should be as follows: Kids trick or treating, and parents WALKING behind them pouring beer into ‘Solo’ cups. 

Home made costumes

“Dude, check it out, 2011 Camaro.”  “Sweet.”  “Oh f**k me, that’s a Transformer.  That kid is f**king Bumble Bee!”  “No f**king way; kid, where the hell did you get that costume?”  “My dad made it.”  When talented and creative parents make their own costumes for their kids it can be pretty cool.  It’s parental bragging rights, and there is nothing wrong with teaching your children to be competitive.  But usually when parents make their own costumes for their kids it plays out like this:  “Trick or Treat!”  “Oh, hey kid.  What are you supposed to be?”  “I’m a Git-R-Done Ghost.”  “…What?”  “I’m a redneck ghost!”  “…Right.  Um, that’s just a plaid table cloth draped over your head with eye-holes cut out.”  “Nuh-uh, I’m a redneck ghost!”  Look, if you are creative and can come up with something badass or witty, then by all means, show it off.  However, if you think writing in cursive is a form of art then f**king go buy a costume.  We won’t judge.

Lawn decorations

Adding some holiday decorations is a cool way to get into the spirit of the occasion.  But when your front yard looks like the Ghost of Halloween Past puked all over it, then you’ve gone too far.  “Ok, let’s put the giant inflatable bat on top of the giant inflatable spider.  Um, then put the spider on the inflatable pumpkin, which we’ll put on the inflatable fake fire.  Then put the fire on top of the inflatable haunted house.  Then maybe NASA can take some pictures of it from space!”  There’s a significant difference from “Oh look, they have a fog machine and a skeleton....cool”, to, “Oh my, they have all the extras from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” music video.  What the f**k…is that Willem Dafoe in their front yard?”

Treats other than candy

If you wake up on November 1^st to find your fake flamingo sodomizing your lawn gnomes, then there is a good chance your dumbass gave out apples and dental floss for Halloween.  If there is one socially acceptable day to give kids candy (Dude, not from a conversion van.  Remember why we can’t go to Six Flags….yea, no shit.), then obviously Halloween is that day.  Don’t ruin it with your self righteous healthy living shit.  “Here ya go young man, here’s some Scope mouthwash for when you’re done eating all of that nasty candy.  Now your teeth will be clean and healthy.”  If I had the mindset I have now back when I was kid I’d have said, “Oh, and here ya go dipshit, let me quickly pinch off a loaf on your doorstep.  Now whenever you pull your f**king head out of your ass you’ll still be able to remember what it smelt like.  F**k you.” 

Part II: Halloween for Adults

It’s fun for us for two reasons.  One, men get to act like idiots for one day without spousal judgment.  Two, women dress like whores.  Seriously.  “I’m Cat-Woman”.  Sure ya are, if she was in heat.  “I’m a pirate!”  Just because your skirt has the same amount of material as an eye patch does not make you a pirate.  “I’m a nurse.”  A nurse that does ass to mouth?  Thought so.  But what isn’t fun are adults who use children themed costumes.  For instance, adult dressed as:

Batman.  Not cool.

Batman with Rabies.  I could work with that.

Power Ranger.  Gay

Power Ranger after 6 years living in Key West.  Gay, but potential to be funny.

Ninja Turtle.  Not so much.

Ninja Turtle on Meth.  Likin’ it.

Anything that carries a sword.  Lame, now go back to your ‘World of Warcraft’.

Anything that carries a rubber dildo.  Already laughing.

Another way adults take the fun out of Halloween is by dressing up their animals in costumes.  “Look, Mr. Snuggles is a cowboy.”  If Mr. Snuggles could speak I know the first thing he’d say is, “Get me out of this, bitch.  You’re so f**king lucky I don’t have opposable thumbs or else I’d stab you in the f**king throat while you sleep!”  Here’s a general rule to keep in mind; whatever is able to lick its own genitalia is morally obligated to not wear outfits.  It kills me because my wife loves to dress up our creature (technically it’s a dog, but creature is more fitting).  The best part is when shopping, we finally go to the register to check out and my wife mysteriously disappears.  So there I stand at checkout when this dude pulls out a ‘Doggy French Maid Outfit’ from my cart.  Do you realize how f**king embarrassing it is to stand there by myself ringing up a f**king ‘Doggy French Maid Outfit’?  “Hi, I’m Martin.  My penis is fake.  This just cracks me up.  It’s so silly.  Tehehehe, Oh my God, I’m so overwhelmed with estrogen right now.  I’m gonna drive 75 miles per hour through the parking lot to go put this on the f**king dog.  She’ll look adorable…..wow, I really need a hobby.”

Part III: 10 Reasons why nobody ‘Trick or Treats’ at my house anymore

In 2008 I forgot to take the chain off the chainsaw.  (In my defense I am pretty sure that kid didn’t have a shot at professional sports.)

Chocolate flavored condoms are not candy.

Fog machines are better for visual effects then flame throwers. 

Public urination is still illegal in your own front lawn. 

Real blood is interpreted differently than fake blood.

Candy purchased from a sex shop is not socially acceptable.

Some parents feel uncomfortable when a guy with a ball-gag hands their kids candy.

When used as spooky background music, violent pornography is not OK.

“And just what the hell are you little f**kers supposed to be?” is not an appropriate response to “Trick or Treat!”

Apparently “Boy Scout Leader with No Pants On” is an offensive costume. 

Authors Disclaimer:

1.)    Yes, that is my [wife’s] dog.

2.)    Quit f**king laughing at the f**king dog.