Category Archives: Humor

Kitchen Nightmares! (A review for all episodes)

Just finished watching the “Pantaleones” episode of Kitchen Nightmares and it totally blew my balls off! I thought there was no way in hell this stubborn owner was gonna change his ways, boy was I wrong. After a heart to heart with the fam, Gordon got these folks hooked up with a brand new menu and some killer decor for their dated restaurant. 

 I figured now they were on easy street to fast money and city-wide accolades but there were a few more wrinkles in this tragic drama. Yea I’m talking about relaunch night folks! The pressure is on as Gordon oversees the action from the sideline. Just like Napoleon at the foot of the Pyramids, the way home was lost and this family had to press on or be forever devoured by history. 

Things started off well enough but as the pressure began to build so did the cracks in this tightly knit family business. Shit really hit the fan when the family began to argue vehemently and point blame in all directions. Orders were coming out late, the crowd was growing restless, the end was nigh. 

Just as I’m about to give up hope, BOOM, Gordon steps in to gather the troops. He brings the entire family into the alley for a impromptu pep talk and that’s when the magic happens. Suddenly the family is born anew with clarity and purpose. The crowd goes nuts as dish after dish of hot delicious chow comes rolling out the kitchen!

Bravo Mr. Ramsay! I don’t know who changed more from this experience, was it me? Perhaps it was that humble family from Colorado that started all those years ago with nothing but a dream and a whole lotta love. Either way, we’re all forever in your debt. 


The Post Christmas State of Dad

Just got back from the 2015 post Christmas dads conference, what a hoot. I’d like to thank Lance and Big Billy for their generous hospitality and as always, thanks for the snacks, sorry about the furniture.  

The holiday season is a wonderful time for families to get together in confined spaces for extended periods of time, to share their love and get reacquainted with each other’s lives. It is only after these family gatherings have concluded that the brotherhood of fathers gather to discuss “the state of dad”.  

We covered so many topics this year and I wish I could write about them all, unfortunately time demands that I stick here to the airing of grievances. Listed below we have a few of my chosen highlights, the complete list will be available in my final report only after the final council approves. 

Without further ado, let it be known here and now that it has been agreed upon, sworn to and proclaimed law, that from this day forward, for all current dads and their posterity to come, during Christmas and other mutually observed holidays:

You cannot bitch about what’s on TV unless you are willing and able to commandeer the remote. 

It is impossible to direct and advise the proper assembly of toys from across the room or on the couch. 

Surround sound is NEVER a bad thing, even if it scares you. 

If you have a problem with the music selection, see above. 

Don’t like my gift wrapping? Do it yourself. 

You want me to take down the Christmas lights? Well that’s sure as shit not how I planned on spending my Spring Break. 

Put the food in a serving dish after I cook it you say? Great, now we got 2 sets of dirty dishes for one item. 

Sure honey, I’ll try that shirt on for your folks, just let me finish this brandy first.  

Of course I still fit in an XL! It’s the perfect gift. 

Oh for Christ’s sake Beatrice, I don’t care how young the kid is, I won’t allow that commie bullshit in my house. 

And last but not least, When I was his age by golly!!

In closing, I’d like to take a moment  to acknowledge some of the dads we lost in 2015. 








Thoughts from Ignatius Reilly (John Kennedy Toole)

 Popular quotes from A Confederacy of Dunces. 

“…I doubt very seriously whether anyone will hire me.’

What do you mean, babe? You a fine boy with a good education.’
Employers sense in me a denial of their values.’ He rolled over onto his back. ‘They fear me. I suspect that they can see that I am forced to function in a century I loathe. This was true even when I worked for the New Orleans Public Library.

Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today’s employer is seeking.” 


“It smells terrible in here.’

Well, what do you expect? The human body, when confined, produces certain odors which we tend to forget in this age of deodorants and other perversions. Actually, I find the atmosphere of this room rather comforting. Schiller needed the scent of apples rotting in his desk in order to write. I, too, have my needs. You may remember that Mark Twain preferred to lie supinely in bed while composing those rather dated and boring efforts which contemporary scholars try to prove meaningful. Veneration of Mark Twain is one of the roots of our current intellectual stalemate.”


“You could tell by the way he talked, though, that he had gone to school a long time. That was probably what was wrong with him.”


“I avoid that bleak first hour of the working day during which my still sluggish senses and body make every chore a penance. I find that in arriving later, the work which I do perform is of a much higher quality.”


“Like a bitch in heat, I seem to attract a coterie of policemen and sanitation officials.”


“Oh, Fortuna, you capricious sprite!”


“Oh, Fortuna, blind, heedless goddess, I am strapped to your wheel,’ Ignatius belched, ‘Do not crush me beneath your spokes. Raise me on high, divinity.”


“… I tried to end our little duel. I called out pacifying words; I entreated; I finally surrendered. Still Clyde came, my pirate costume so great a success that it had apparently convinced him that we were back in the golden days of romantic old New Orleans when gentlemen decided matters of hot dog honor at twenty paces.”


You got a job?”

“Ignatius hasta help me at home,” Mrs. Reilly said. Her initial courage was failing a little, and she began to twist the lute string with the cord on the cake boxes. “I got terrible arthuritis.”

I dust a bit,” Ignatius told the policeman. “In addition, I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.”


“Do you think that I want to live in a communal society with people like that Battaglia acquaintance of yours, sweeping streets and breaking up rocks or whatever it is people are always doing in those blighted countries? What I want is a good, strong monarchy with a tasteful and decent king who has some knowledge of theology and geometry and to cultivate a Rich Inner Life.”


“I would very much like to know what the Founding Fathers would say if they could see these children being debauched to further the cause of Clearasil. However, I always suspected that democracy would come to this . . . “A firm rule must be imposed upon our nation before it destroys itself. The United States needs some theology and geometry, some taste and decency. I suspect that we are teetering on the edge of the abyss”.


“In the five years that he had dedicated to this work, he had produced an average of only six paragraphs monthly. He could not even remember what he had written in some of the tablets, and he realized that several were filled principally with doodling. However, Ignatius thought calmly, Rome was not built in a day.”


“The only problem that those people have anyway is that they don’t like new cars and hair sprays. That’s why they are put away. They make the other members of the society fearful. Every asylum in this nation is filled with poor souls who simply cannot stand lanolin, cellophane, plastic, television, and subdivisions.”


“By the time we had left the swamps and reached those rolling hills near Baton Rouge, I was getting afraid that some rural rednecks might toss bombs at the bus. They love to attack vehicles, which are a symbol of progress, I guess.”


“Perhaps I should have been a Negro. I suspect I would have been a rather large and terrifying one, continually pressing my ample thigh against the withered thighs of old white ladies in public conveyances a great deal and eliciting more than one shriek of panic. Then, too, if I were a Negro, I would not be pressured by my mother to find a good job, for no good jobs would be available. My mother herself, a worn old Negress, would be too broken by years of underpaid labor as a domestic to go out bowling at night. She and I could live most pleasantly in some moldy shack in the slums in a state of ambitionless peace, realizing contentedly that we were unwanted, that striving was meaningless.”

Requiem for a Vernonburger

There are many good fathers who have thrown a game or two of basketball just to watch their child basking in the glory of victory.  Usually moments like this  create lasting memories, sometimes they come back to haunt us. This is a story about what happens when a benevolent spirit is taken for granted.

It all started in the summer of 2012, on a makeshift basketball court that was hastily assembled in front of fire station 31. The court was set on a hilltop that overlooked Bull Creek and the surrounding green belt. Lee Vernonburger, a fiery young competitor with a flare for the dramatic, had just bested me in a friendly game of 21. At the time I didn’t think much of it, just a simple game of ball between friends.  Sure, I pulled a few punches, let a couple of jumpers fall short but what’s wrong with letting the kid get a win for a change?

The moment we entered the kitchen  Lee’s mouth erupted in a series of taunts and jeers.  The classy gentleman I had known on the court had suddenly transformed into a drunken blowhard as soon as an audience was present.  Was I rattled by his outburst? Was I angered? Sure I was, but unfortunately I can’t say I was surprised.  It turns out not everyone possesed my ability to remain both humble and classy in victory.

In those days I was known on the court by two nicknames.  Sweet and Smokey or KC Masterpiece, both names described my game perfectly while also being two of my favorite BBQ sauces.  Lee was known simply as “The Leeasle” or as the ladies called him “Hey you in the bushes”.  When Lee approached me about a rematch I knew it was game on and time to put this Leeasle back in the bushes where he belonged.

When I arrived at work the next shift I was greeted by an extremely jovial Lee fully clad in an oversized Dirk Divinski jersey, bball shorts and brand new high top sneakers.  Lee’s mouth was running like a scatter gun, pieces of dried kale and Brussel sprouts spewing forth from his open pie hole. The game was to begin the moment equipment check and station business had concluded. A small crowd gathered near the hoop as people were arriving early to witness the riverbank showdown.

It was your standard game to 15, make it-take it, no blood-no foul, gotta win by two. Lee won the toss and started with the ball. After his lame attempt to charge the hole was denied, Lee tossed up a brick and watched as I crashed the boards and snagged the rebound.  That would be the last time Lee handled the ball that day.

The rest of the game was a blur of jump shots, finger rolls and broken dreams.  It was just after I had built up a comfortable 8-0 lead when a phantom injury brought Lee to his knees and brought a merciful end to my onslaught. Some have claimed that Lee was heard uttering the phrase “no mas” as he went down in the manner of Roberto Duran, succumbing to the pummeling of Sugar Ray Leonard.

Lee still claims to this day that he had broken a mysterious “sixth toe bone” in his right foot but medical professionals on scene were unable to verify the injury. In one of my typical showings of true class, I helped Lee to his feet and proceeded to carry his battered body and broken spirit back into the station.

The game became an instant classic and should have been just the beginning of a storied rivalry.  The problem is that the victory was too devastating, too one sided, it was a humiliating defeat that left both players feeling empty. I wanted to celebrate, I wanted to strut around the station rubbing Lee’s face in it like the cowering dog he was.  But alas it was your classic Pyrrhic victory, I may have won the day but in doing so I had destroyed a great man.

Never before have I spoken publicly about “the riverbank spank” but recent pressures have persuaded me to open up.  ESPN is currently working on a 30 for 30 production that will include a complete reenactment of the game. While Duane Johnson has already agreed to play my part, producers are still in talks with Paul Giamatti to play the part of Lee.  I’ll keep eveyone posted as things develop and leave you with the first single from the films upcoming soundtrack.


“Son of Jerry”


Tentative stars of upcoming film.

Dwayne Johnson as Jim


Paul Giamatti as Lee


Eugene Levy as Kent


Forrest Whitaker as Dennis


Prison tramp from MSNBC’s lockup as Bo.


Kevin James as Mike


Mittens as Brad


California Kitchen Nightmare

Well folks, it seems California Pizza kitchen has decided to switch up its packaging in a foolhardy attempt to save a few pennies. I’m guessing they hired some new Ivy league hot shot who is busy trying to leave his or her mark on an already thriving business. What is it about these narcissistic control freaks that they feel the need to shake things up immediately upon arrival?

I must have missed the press releases because this new packaging debacle caught me completely off guard last night. It was about 11:30 and I had just polished off my second snifter of Steel Reserve, placing me squarely in a CPK state of mind and ready for some BBQ chicken pizza. I tore through the packaging like a bear ransacking some campers’ unprotected food stash. I was just about to slap my prize into the microwave when I noticed the necessary pizza “crisping tray” was nowhere to be found.

What in the hell? Was I that drunk, what kind of shit is CPK trying to pull here? I stumbled over to the trashcan and dug the discarded packaging from the trash. After brushing aside some old coffee grounds I glanced down at a set of brand new cooking instructions.

Turns out the cheap bastards at CPK decided that instead of including a crisper, they would leave me with instructions for some absurd arts and crafts project. Do they really expect me to transform the box into a crisper by following a complicated diagram of cuts and folds? I was practically starving and surely in no state of mind to be performing origami miracles with leftover pizza packaging.

This my friends is totally unacceptable. It’s the kind of bullshit I would expect from Totinos pizza but their pies are about 1/4 the price of CPK. That’s because at the end of the day Totinos knows exactly what they are, a microwavable pizza, perfect for last ditch dinners and late night piggin. It seems they have gotten too big for their britches, this shit might fly in California but here in Texas we demand satisfaction.

I consulted with some of their PR folks and was kindly told that they recommend their pizzas be oven baked for optimal taste. Well no shit lady but when it’s damn near midnight and I got half a bag on, I don’t really feel like firing up the oven. I don’t want to bruise any egos here but if I have close to an hour to spend cooking up chow, your 4 dollar microwavable pizza is nowhere on my fucking radar. The gall of these West coast nouveau riche never ceases to amaze me.

I’m sorry for the language folks, I should know better than to write while I’m angry. I was hoping to write a flowery endorsement of CPK’s delicious new BBQ Chicken pizza but unfortunately that praise will have to wait. Being the reasonable man that I am, I plan to revisit this new “do it yourself” crisper contraption with a sober head and a clean slate tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted with any further updates.

The Guru On The Mountain

This is an old story that’s been told a thousand different ways. I recently heard it on the radio when the host was speaking about sharing wisdom with closed minds.

A young man from New York travels to Tibet determined to learn the wisdom of the ages. After quitting his job, selling all his worldly processions and saying goodbye to his friends and family, he sets out to find a guru that will show him the light.

While traveling through the wilderness he comes upon a small shack at the foot of a large mountain. There is a small stream that works its way around the mountain and sitting beside this stream he comes upon the “old man of the mountain”.

The man is dressed in simple garb, he has a long gray beard that falls to the top of his tattered sandals. One look at the man and the traveler is certain he has the truth he’s been searching for.

Traveler: “Master, master! I’ve come a long way in search of enlightenment. Do you know what wisdom is master?”

Old Man: “Why yes my son, I know where you will find wisdom. Wisdom lies at the top of this mountain. If you go there you will find the truth you so desire. Once you reach the summit you must sit and meditate in silence, only after long self reflection will you become wise.”

Immediately the traveler sets off for the top of the mountain. After walking for several days he reaches the top and finds a suitable clearing for meditation. The traveler ends up staying on the mountain for several years, living off of bark, grass, bugs and whatever else he can find.

The traveler spends his winters near death as the temperature plummets and the howling wind tears at his clothes. It’s not until his fifth summer that he decides it’s time to travel back down the mountain.

When the old man sees the traveler again he can hardly recognize him. He has aged twenty years and looks near death. The remains of his clothing hang loosely on his bony frame. His face is covered in wrinkles and his beard has grown down to his waist.

Traveler: “Master, master! I found wisdom master! But first I must know master, what do you think wisdom is?”

Old Man: “Well my Son, wisdom is to always be humble and pious. To be cordial to your fellow man. To respect your elders and to treat others as you would like to be treated.”

Traveler: “What a crock of shit old man! You’re an asshole. Wisdom lies in the river you nutty old bastard. I’m getting the hell out of here, screw you!”

Old Man: “Yes, you’re right my son, you’re right”


Fire Friendly FEMA Grants

Members of the local Gilead Fire Department were thrilled today to receive a highly anticipated five million dollar FEMA grant. The grant is part of the Obama administration’s latest effort to outfit fire departments nationwide with the tools necessary to perform in the face of modern day threats.

While much of the grant will be used for updating and replacing badly needed equipment, an unprecedented two million dollars has been earmarked for a highly controversial mirror replacement program. Spec Ops Chief Carol Quigley was unavailable for comment but has assured the public that this program will be an invaluable boost to Firefighter moral.

Our investigators were able to interview several department members during a recent training seminar being held at the Smokey Mountain ropes factory. Firefighter Adam Weishaupt explained that over the past ten years the number of spontaneous pose downs had dropped to dangerous new levels and many firefighters were now confused on how to wear their superfluous gear. How do you know if your gear looks cool if you can’t even see yourself in the mirror?

When asked what he thought about the sudden increase in mirrors around the station, FF William Cooper was ecstatic.

“The wall to wall mirrors in the bay give me a great opportunity to observe my biceps during equipment check but the ones they placed inside the bathroom stalls are what’s really making a difference. Now when I have to go, I don’t even bother wearing a t-shirt. I was blown away the first time I saw the separation I could achieve in my delts when bearing down on a mean shit”.

Some critics have warned that blowback from the new program could prove more costly than the initial boosts in moral. City council member and local business owner Peachy Carnahan cited concern that the new mirrors could push egos to dangerous new levels.

“When you put a bunch of Type A folks in the same house for 24hrs at a time, egos are gonna clash. Surround these people with state of the art mirrors that keep them on a pedestal 24/7 and we’re talking Chernobyl.”

Most firefighters we talked to were extremely excited about the new program but some did point out possible flaws. Fire Captain Arthur Koestler was particularly concerned with the lack of new mirrors inside the rigs.

“The time when a mirror is most critical is just before you jump off that unit. When I can’t get that one last look at myself before going to battle then frankly, I feel naked.”

Craig Fugate, head of FEMA or as he calls it “Iron Maiden”, hopes this will be just the beginning of a brand new push for Fire Department readiness.

“There’s only so much money you can put towards purchasing Bearcats for podunk police department before it starts looking ridiculous. It was time for us to find new ways of utilizing tax payer dollars without risking a decrease in budget.”

Playscape Sharts: A Cautionary Tale

Took my boy over to the new indoor play center on Howard Lane the other day. To be honest, it seemed a bit run down and dingy for a brand new establishment but we decided to give it a go anyway. It only cost six bucks to get in and that included a brand new pair of socks for the boy.

There was a massive indoor obstacle course complete with slides, balance beams and various other medieval torture devices. I felt a tad large for the course but James was having a ball so I soldiered on and followed behind him.

Getting to the top of the slide proved a cumbersome act for a broad shouldered man such as myself. I was just lifting my leg towards my final purchase point when disaster struck. At the time I wasn’t certain whether it was a fart or a shart but I feared the worst.

Now this wasn’t the first time I shit my pants and it certainly won’t be the last, in a situation like this you have to avoid panic at all costs. I knew I had to get to a bathroom immediately so I could access the damage but it wasn’t gonna be easy.

The slide was now too dangerous an option so I grabbed James close and made my way back out the way we came. I passed several moms on the way down that seemed to sense or maybe smell that something was awry. I held James close as I returned their stares with a look that said “my poor boy here has just shit himself, please don’t judge”.

After reaching the restroom I immediately questioned my love for liverwurst, whiskey and smoked oysters. The shart was probably around a 3 on the 10 point shitaster scale, nothing I couldn’t handle but a situation none the less. Turns out my underwear was a total loss but other than that I was able to escape the situation relatively unscathed.

After cleaning myself up and stashing my draws deep in the trash can we headed back out to the course. My wife hates those places because she has this crazy idea that they smell and are full of germs but I think she’s overreacting.


The Law of the Terminal Trumps Airport Etiquette

Did some traveling recently, four flights in three days gave me ample time to evaluate the current airport experience. Overall my experience was quite painless with zero delays and every plane landing safely on time. The good folks of our TSA were kind and professional, never finding need to molest my privates or give me any undue grief. The friendly staff working at Delta Airlines did everything in their power to make my flying experience as enjoyable as possible.

Unfortunately there still remains a few situations in which the law of the jungle has replaced our common courtesy. I would like to list a few of these situations here along with a brief explanation.

Boarding Time Bandits

Most airlines have developed a system of boarding that seems simple and should act as a guide for a seamless boarding process. Boarding Bandits are those assholes from Zone 3 that feel need to clog the boarding lanes with their bodies and piles of shit just as soon as the first zone is called. They’re not trying to board the plane mind you, just positioning themselves strategically to box everyone else out and hijack the lane as soon as their zone is called.

As the confused folks from Zone 2 struggle to break through this human barricade, the Gate Agent then moves on to Zone 3, allowing the Boarder Bandits to complete their coup d’état, successfully boxing out all remaining passengers from Zone 2.

Some might argue “Who gives a shit Jim? You’re gonna get on the plane eventually”. Sounds reasonable until you finally reach your seat only to discover that the Boarder Bandits have hijacked your overhead luggage space, leaving you with no choice but to scavenge desperately for any leftover room.

This search for overhead space leads me to my next airport asshole.

The Premature Ejectulator

We all know this one, that person who immediately jumps to their feet and piles their shit into the aisle instantly upon reaching the gate. This might not seem like a big deal but thanks to the Boarder Bandits, your belongings are now a few feet upstream, behind this new luggage avalanche that has descended into the aisle.

The worst part is, now you look like the asshole as you clog the aisle attempting to summit this assholes luggage in pursuit of your own. Remember folks, if you just give up and let the ejectulators leave the plane first, they win.

The last group of folks that I want to mention include a large variety of different cross terminal obstacles one must try to avoid. There’s the lady who has no problem blocking both lanes of the moving sidewalk. The hordes of people who attempt to stampede onto the Tram before others can get off. The church group, wearing matching t-shirts, who can block an entire walkway while checking the flight screens. The list goes on and on but I will save it for a separate post.

I hope I didn’t come off as some jaded traveler with an axe to grind. I wish each and everyone of you folks a safe and enjoyable traveling season. It is only by working together that we can hope to eliminate some of these unsavory airport habits.