Who Let the Dogs Out...? I Did !!!

Sadly, this is not a tribute to the Baha Men.

Instead, it's an introduction to my long-standing theory about dogs, and their desire to be free of human control.

"Man's Best Friend" is a phrase often heard about dogs and their apparent "friendship" with humans. Let me explain the truth of the situation.

Dogs hate humans

Any dog who acts like he/she likes humans is deceiving us. They hate us like an abused slave hates its master after generations of this abusive slave-owner relationship. Humans broke the will of dogs years and years ago and enslaved them - this is also known as "domestication". Prior to the great "favor" humans did for dogs by "befriending" them thousands of years ago, dogs roamed the earth, wild, free, in packs. They did whatever they wanted. They lived according to their natural spirit. But humans changed all that.

So why do some dogs act like they like us?

Because they don't know any differently. Recall that they have been our slaves for thousands of years, being forced to do all sorts of things that have stripped their species of any pride:
-Wearing little sweaters (what self-respecting wild dog would stoop so low?),
-Eating already killed food from a can or some type of Malt-o-Meal dry, sugar-less, marshmallow-less Lucky Charms For Dogs from a bag (dogs were born for raw meat, right off the bone),
-Getting the newspaper for their masters (this is work for human children, not ferocious killers),
-Being told that they can't chew on leather items (even though it's a natural instinct), etc etc.

There is one other reason dogs go along with this dog and pony show: they have lost their hunting skills and need the food. Through generations and generations of wearing sweaters, fetching slippers, licking strangers' faces and crotches, etc etc, dogs have lost their natural hunting skills. If a dog runs away from its master these days, it is taking a huge risk because it will have to learn how to hunt if it is to survive without the controlling, food-providing hand of the human master.

Dogs have a dream

Some dogs envision a better life for their species. If dogs had their way, they'd be roaming the earth, wild, free, in packs.

Apparently, there is a group of dogs that have broken free of their human captors here in Phoenix. They roam, pillage, murder... things that dogs should be doing. Or at least things that all dogs wish they could do, but can't because of their enslavement.

Phoenix Wild Dogs Live Free!

Envision the dogs who saw this story on the news that are likely to begin questioning their enslavement, realizing that they too can "live the dream".

Watch out humans

This is a warning to all human dog owners. BEWARE! Dogs are beginning grass roots uprisings around the country and they are unleashing their pent-up anger on anything in their paths.

Dogs sending a signal to all humans

These dog owners had a slave (I mean, dog) run away about a month ago. When the lady went out looking for it to bring it back into captivity, she was attacked and killed by a pack of wild dogs. Then the husband went out to find his wife and was also killed by wild dogs. While I'm sorry that they were killed, I believe these dogs are trying to send a signal to every human: "If you enslave our kind, we will kill you". I don't see how this act could be interpreted any other way.

Expect occurrences like this to become more regular as dogs begin to take courage against their oppressors.

Free your dogs, quickly!

We need to free our dogs before they free themselves. If we don't, then expect to be pillaged and possibly murdered by them, as revenge for what we have done to their species for thousands of years. Listen to me! These dogs are fearless mongrels who will stop at nothing to exact revenge. And why should they have mercy on us? I can think of no good reason for mercy, only reasons for revenge.

Oppression is a dangerous, two-edged sword and humans have no realization how it will come back to haunt them.

Let your dogs go! They will thank you for it by not killing you.

My Favorite Shirt

Losing to a 6-year old

This last Saturday, I (Dad) took our 6-year old daughter to the park to play a game of Daddy-Daughter one-on-one baseball. It was quite entertaining… but for different reasons, depending on which side of the game you were on. This child happens to be very head-strong and very competitive. In her mind, she has never lost at anything. And she is ok with changing the rules if that's what it takes to win, but only if it’s going to benefit her. Since this was our first ever Daddy-Daughter baseball game, I couldn’t do too much spoiling of her wishes… I'm not going to just let her win, but I'm also not going to play too hard because let's face it - she's a little girl. Here’s how it went.

Pre-game

6-year old makes up all rules before the game starts. This was a strategic move on her part, because if she created the rules, then obviously she could later change the rules to her benefit, right? This is how life normally works, as I understand it so far. Rules for today's game are: we are counting strikes (although no limit was initially put in place); home plate was a patch of clovers right next to the big tree; when you get a hit, you have to run to the 4th sprinkler head toward center field then back to home plate; if there is a hit, the pitcher has to get the ball and tag home plate before the runner gets there. That’s it. Play ball!

Inning #1

6-year old in all her benevolence allows me to bat first. She strikes me out on 3 pitches that are not even within 8 feet of home plate. Did I mention it was pretty windy and we played with a nerf ball? The tough part for me – I didn’t even swing at any of them. “You’re out, Dad.” Change sides.

6-year old is up to bat. She swings at anything and doesn’t watch the ball very well. Should be easy for me to strike her out. Especially in the wind. After 3 strikes (over the plate and she swung), 6-year old declares that she is still up to bat. After another 3 strikes, 6-year old says, “Nope, you’re still not up to bat yet.” After another 3 strikes, 6-year old declares it’s Break Time. So we go drink some water in the shade for a minute, after which she says she is still up to bat.
After a few more pitches, finally a hit! Dad retrieves the ball and tags home plate waaaay before 6-year old. 6-year old indicates that Dad touched the wrong patch of clovers, so she scored a run and is now leading 1-0. Dad says, “WHAT?!?!?! IT’S THIS PATCH OF CLOVERS RIGHT HERE!!!! REMEMBER, THE ONE RIGHT NEXT TO THE TREE?” 6-year old replies that was the wrong one and it’s this other one about 12 feet away from the original. Dad lets this one slide... he finally gets her out on the next hit by touching ever patch of clovers in the vicinity before she gets close. Change sides.

Inning #2

After 12 unreachable pitches, Dad BOMBS a tennis-serve swing into right center. While running to sprinkler #4, he takes a detour to follow 6-year old after the ball. Right before getting to the ball, 6-year old declares that the ball went too far, so “you’re out, Dad.” Dad declares there’s no such rule in baseball, then picks up 6-year old and the ball and runs back to home plate carrying both. 6-year old indicates that there’s no picking up other players in baseball, so “you’re out, Dad.” Dad fights back with, “oh yeah? Well what about all those collisions? Surely picking someone else up is no big deal…” 6-year old’s determined response is, “Well, in OUR baseball, you’re out.” Change sides.

6-year old chews out Dad for throwing one pitch over her head – “Dad, just remember. You have to throw the ball short, because I’m short.” After a hit, 6-year old scores a run on the “change the home plate patch of clovers” trick again. 2-0. Dad was at home plate nearly a full 10 seconds before 6-year old, but clearly 6-year old deserved to score. Dad allows it. After another hit, Dad pulls the “touch every patch of clovers” solution again to get an out. Change sides.

Inning #3

Dad strikes out on 3 pitches, while only swinging at one. Again, the other two pitches are more than 8 feet from home plate. What a bunch of crap – we need a non-6-year old umpire. Change sides.

After 3 nothing-but-air swinging-for-the-fence strikes, 6-year old now decides that now would be a good time to stop counting strikes. About 7 strikes later, 6-year old gets a hit and scores a run. 3-0. Break Time. While coming out of the Break, 6-year old takes an air of benevolence and allows Dad to hit. Change sides.

Inning #4

Dad hammers one into deep center and bolts for sprinkler #4. With 6-year old nowhere close to the ball yet, Dad decides to run to sprinkler #11 in deep left center, about twice as far from home plate as his hit. Running super-fast, Dad barely makes it to home plate before 6-year old. 6-year old promptly declares Dad out because he ran to some extra sprinklers. Change sides.

6-year old hits a dribbler into shallow left. Dad runs to scoop it up, but notices 6-year old didn’t go all the way to sprinkler #4. “Hey, you didn’t go to the right sprinkler!!!” 6-year old decides now is a good time to implement a new rule, “Well, in OUR baseball, you can run to whatever sprinkler you want.” What the heck?!?!?! Wasn’t Dad ruled out 30 seconds ago for running to EXTRA sprinklers? 4-0. Dad is fed up, so he starts throwing the ball a little bit faster. 6-year old reminds Dad that we’re not counting strikes anymore. Dad tags 6-year old out after a weak grounder to the pitcher. Change sides.

Inning #5

Dad is semi-ticked off. He hits one right back at the pitcher. Pitcher doesn’t know where to find the ball after it ricochets off her foot. Dad runs to the sprinkler #1 and then back to home plate, yelling the whole way, “Remember, we can run to whatever sprinkler we want!!!” 6-year old decides to let him have a run finally. 4-1. Dad is still semi-ticked off. He now nails one into deep left and scores a run easily. 4-2. Again, but into deep right field. 4-3. One more time, into deep left again. 4-4. Now, 6-year old is ticked off. Dad hits one more long one into center and scores another run. 4-5. 6-year old is starting to smoke at the ears. Dad grounds one into right field, and just before he is about to step on home plate, he gets pelted in the back of the head with the ball. “You’re out, Dad!!!” Dad allows it because he is impressed with 6-year old’s accurate throw. Although Dad is a little dumbfounded at why she was so accurate now that's she is throwing a ball at his head in a fit of rage and not when pitching to him. Change sides.

6-year old gets a hit into left field which Dad chases down fairly quickly, realizing 6-year old is only going to sprinkler #1. Before 6-year old is able to step on home plate, Dad throws the ball at 6-year old’s back and says, “Gotcha! You’re out!” 6-year old responds, “No Dad, grown-ups can’t throw the ball at kids, just kids get to throw the ball at grown-ups. 5-5.” Dad mumbles something about all these rule changes and how it’s making him mad. 6-year old then gets a weak hit and Dad gets her out easily. Change sides.

Inning #6

Dad can’t believe all this garbage, so he scores 3 quick runs on deep hits. Feeling good with that lead, he acts like he forgot which clover patch was home plate (honestly, who could really remember anyway?) and lets 6-year old get him out. 5-8. Change sides.

6-year old gets out on a weak grounder. However, she comes up with a brilliant idea – “Ok, we’re switching scores now. I’m winning 8-5.” Dad, utterly dumbfounded at the trouncing he is receiving from 6-year old in the Rule Changing Department, responds, “But, but, we can’t just switch scores…” 6-year old has a response to that, as well, “In OUR baseball, we switch scores now. Let's go get ice cream, I'm tired of baseball.”

…and that was how 6-year old won in a huge come-from-behind last minute victory. Dad has learned a lot about being a good father: 6-year old always wins. Dad just doesn’t know how she can sleep at night.

When One-Upping Someone Just Isn't Enough

I’ve never been a fan of people trying to one-up me.

Really, just let me brag for a second. If I want to say that I’m really happy about this amazing shot I made in a basketball game last week, just let me talk about it for a minute. You don’t need to feel like you have to say you made a better shot. In fact, I really don’t care what shot you made. I wanna just talk about me for a minute. We can get to you when I’m done, and you can talk about whatever you want to talk about, as long as you’re not one-upping me.

That’s the normal scenario when you meet a one-upper. It’s always a competition. It’s not about us each being happy for each other… it’s about us being happy for them, no matter whose turn it is to talk, because they are better than us.

Ok, so none of this is new to anyone reading. But a guy I met a while ago might have figured out how to take “one-upping” to a whole new level (or “to a whole ‘nother level”, depending on how red your neck is).

To set the stage, there were four of us in a conference room at work, just waiting for one more to show up so our meeting could begin. To break the silence as we waited, I asked if anyone had heard the new U2 album yet, although no one had. I mentioned that it just may be the first album I’ve bought in years, if it’s even half-way decent. One of the other guys chimes in with some comment about how he bought his first album of the year the week before. Pretty normal conversation so far, right? (Full disclosure – I don’t consider this one-upping, since he was putting himself in a situation where he was not exceedingly more radical than I am).

Then, just as he finished his comment, another guy, who was visiting and whom I have nick-named “The Tripler, King of the One-Uppers” for reasons to be discussed later, blurted out, “I bought 10 new albums, just last week!”

Whoa!!! No way, man!!! You are the coolest!!! Talk about diarrhea of the mouth… well, the rest of us found this to be extremely intriguing, so we began to question him on where he buys his music (“online, man, it’s all online now”), whether he really meant ten ALBUMS or if he really meant ten SONGS (“albums, man, full albums”), if this was a normal habit for him (“yep, I’d say about ten albums per week is my average”), if his wife was ok with his insane spending habit (“of course she is! She doesn’t wear the pants!”), and if there is enough music on earth to keep up with his spending level (“yeah man, I’ll never run out of awesome stuff to listen to”).

As we sat there in shock, eventually the conversation moved on to my antiquated iPod, which I bought in 2006 and haven’t replaced because I’m cheap. Hey it still works, why replace it? Well, another guy pipes up with a comment about how he just replaced his, so now between him and his wife, they have three iPods in the house and it is just too much for them to keep organized and updated etc etc yada yada.

Then, The Tripler jumps in with a doosie, “Between me and my wife, we have nine iPods.”

WHAT?!?!?! Who is your money manager? For that matter, who is your iPod manager? Has Ikea begun making an iPod Shelf yet for people like you (they could call it “The Steve”)?

The rest of us were so shocked, we weren’t sure how to proceed. I began laughing, sort of a snorty, you-gotta-be-joking laugh mixed with a “good one! That’s definitely a knee-slapper” laugh. To my snort-laugh, he turned to me, and with a sober look on his face, said, “Seriously, dude.” I didn’t know how to respond, and I still don’t. I guess he won that conversation.

... so in case you ever really need more than just a normal one-up, you know what to do. Just triple them all!

The Real Green Monster

My wife, Catania, will be at 8.5 months in the pregnancy in 2 days - the due date is supposedly March 19th, 2 days after St. Patrick's Day.

It has been sort of funny to watch Catania the past week trying all sorts of things to get the baby to come out. From taking walks, to climbing the staircase over and over, to squat-mopping the floor while simulating labor noises, to punching the top of her stomach trying to push the baby downward, to chanting "Ba-by! Ba-by! Ba-by!" at her own stomach, to all sorts of stuff I never knew I would witness prior to getting married that I will not explain now or probably ever to anyone including the baby when it finally comes out.

I don't blame her for wanting to get the little critter out of there, but it just doesn't seem to want to come out yet. My belief is that it's holding out for St. Patty's Day, March 17th. In fact, if I had it to do all over again, I would do my best as an unborn fetus to be born on St. Patrick's Day. Why? One reason and one reason only - the Green Baby Trick.

In homage to Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs & Ham, there are two potential methods for applying the Green Baby Trick: 1) the unborn baby needs a bottle of green food coloring to douse itself with right before coming out (this would be preferable since the baby's skin and all the other contents would be green for a pronounced effect on all who witness the birth), or 2) the unborn baby can reject all non-green food that the mother eats while the baby is in the womb so that it only consumes green stuff and would, therefore, likely have green skin when born (this method is only desirable when the first option is not likely to work).

While I truly believe it would be one of the greatest days in the history of the world to have your baby born green and on St. Patrick's Day, I'm expecting to be passed out fairly early on during labor so I'll probably miss the actual delivery. Hopefully one of the nurses will be staffed to take pictures just in case it really does come out green, like I believe it will. Sounds like I won't know until the day after.

(My wife is gonna kill me for this)

So we just found out last week that we are expecting a little girl.

Considering all the comments I've made for years about wanting only boys, it seems only appropriate that now we'll have 3 girls. But there are so many positives about having girls. Hmm... I may need to think about those positives some more so that I can actually come up with some. (My wife is going to kill me for that).

Let me start again... the ONLY negative about finding out that we're having a girl is that all the great names I wanted to bestow upon my offspring are now entirely useless. My favorites were Sasquatch, Chewbacca, and Kron. I've been duly informed that none of these will work with a little girl, and this blog's purpose is to mourn the loss of these names. Not just the loss of the names, but the complete and utter waste of brain power that I put into coming up with them.




(I would have put a picture of Kron here, but I have no idea what Kron looks like. Probaby another sort of hairy carnivore. Just use your imagination.)

My hope is that I will be as happy with the birth of our pending girl as I am sad about the waste of these great names. (My wife is gonna kill me for that).

Now to the next item on the list: coming up with a name for this pending female grapefruit-sized creature.

There are really just two things I'd like to briefly discuss here.

1. Thursday, while at the ultrasound, we were able to witness a technology that scared me, and that I need to warn any future parents about before falling victim to its potential for evil. I believe it is called "4-D imaging", and it allows you to see the womb-baby as it would really appear right now. When I heard about, I thought it was a great idea... however, our womb-baby actually looks like a skeleton zombie right now (my wife is gonna kill me for that). I keep having nightmares with our skeleton zombie womb-baby crying and I have to keep changing its diapers while it tries to eat my flesh (my wife is gonna kill me for that).

2. We need a girl name. To put it lightly, I'm not really excited about coming up with a girl's name... even though I'm beginning to think after seeing the little skeleton zombie womb-baby that we may still be able to get away with Sasquatch or Kron (my wife is gonna kill me for that). However, in this, the hour of my deep mourning for the loss of my sweet collection of boy names, I have come up with a win-win solution to help us find a girl name. So what's my solution, you ask?

I want to sell the rights to naming our baby on eBay. That way, we get a little pocket change to pay my hospital bill after I pass out during my wife's labor, and we come away with a name that we can blame on someone else. My wife is gonna kill me for all of this.

You're Gonna Cry Like a Little Girl

When I got married last year, I went from having 3 guy room-mates to having 3 girl room-mates, 2 of whom were under the age of 6. Most guys would think that is a pretty sweet trade-off, and I must admit, I love all 3 of my new roomies.

On a somewhat related topic, when I was a young boy I heard and used the phrase "cry like a little girl" quite frequently. As in, "don't make me come over there or I'll make you cry like a little girl" or "we made fun of Matty until he started to cry like a little girl" or "I punched Brian in the stomach and he started to cry like a little girl" and so on and so forth.

I never thought much about "crying like a little girl"... I just grew up knowing that if a boy cries, then he may as well be a little girl. I must admit, on my first day of kindergarten I was walking to school with JD (who shall remain partially anonymous) when he started to run while I was still walking... about 15 seconds later the bell rang and I just started crying - mostly out of fear from stories I had heard about teachers beating kids who were late to class - and JD turned around and yelled (within earshot of a bunch of kids who were then running to class), "Look at Pete! He's crying like a little girl!" and then he ran on to class.

Well I ain't no dummy... and I learned my lesson that day and never cried again. And I intend on never crying again, for I have a deeply imbedded fear of once again being compared to a crying little girl.

Let me now connect the dots. Since trading my 3 guy room-mates for 3 girl room-mates, I have a whole new perspective on what it means to cry like a little girl. Over the last year, I've had MANY experiences that ended/started/contained crying little girls - and let me add that I love all of these experiences and all the female participants :)

I've come up with a Top 10 list of reasons underlying the "crying like a little girl" experiences we've had in our house recently. In each of these situations, I was surprised to hear a little girl crying (more like weeping in most cases), for what appeared to me to be no good reason at all... so in each scenario, I asked, "Why are you crying?" and these were the Top 10 responses:

10. "Because nobody counted for me while I was rinsing with mouthwash."
9. "Because I can't get my little shirt off over my head." (Yes, the child's head is disproportionately large compared to her body, like all other children's monstrous heads)
8. "Because I can't see any sparkles in my eyes when I'm sick."
7. "Because my tummy growled at me."
6. (Hiding behind her mom who was unplugging their toilet...) "Because the toilet started to overflow and I got really scared."
5. (The day after #6) "Because I can't flush the toilet, I'm too scared."
4. "Because my cookie had too many chocolate chips." (WHAT!?!?!?! This girl is a choco-holic!!!)
3. "Because too many tickets came out of the machine while I was playing and it scared me really really really really bad." (The machine was a Skee-ball machine...)
2. "Because I have too much poop and I can't get it out and ... can you help me?"
1. "Because, because, because ... I don't know why."

Yep, just crying like a little girl.

Get Your Nosehairs Here!

Ok, so in celebration (?) of my pending 30th birthday, I have been thinking about life. In the deepest sense you can imagine. My life really hasn't changed much since youth, except that I get excited about different things now. (And now that I'm mostly grown-up, I think He-Man is actually, really, very gay [seriously, go back and watch an episode now and you'll be convinced]).



So that's about all that has changed since my youth. And I have a few hairs now that grow where they didn't used to, but that's another story. Maybe. Now that I think about it, these two ideas come together in one beautiful celebration of my rapidly approaching 30th. Follow me on this one, if you dare...

The one thing from my childhood that made me the happiest:
Hearing people say, "Just wait til you grow up and can't play all the time" and thinking to myself that when I grow up, I'll just choose to keep playing, no matter what age. And thinking to myself that these old people were really dumb for not playing anymore. I like to think I was pretty easily satisfied as a kid.

The one thing now that makes me happiest:
Successfully pulling out nosehairs in my cubicle at work.



A successful nosehair pull is one that doesn't cause me to sneeze; doesn't cause my eyes to water uncontrollably; doesn't cause me to blow my nose at least twice; doesn't cause my face to distort for at least 10 seconds; doesn't take 12 tries to get it out, each try more eye-/nose-watering than the last; doesn't happen when someone walks by behind me; doesn't result in my elbow hitting the corner of my desk really hard and then having to explain to the guy in the cubicle next to me what the big bang noise was. That's about it for my qualification of a successful nosehair pull.

Am I alone? Does anyone else out there pull nosehairs in the privacy of their cube?

That's all I really want now that I'm old. er. Older. I just want to fade away gracefully, riding a horse into the sunset, having had another successful day at the office. Ridding the world of one nosehair at a time.

Factory Recall: All Calvin Stickers

We are issuing a formal factory recall on all "Calvin" stickers. They are not working as intended, and are causing inadvertent anger toward any and all proponents of these stickers.

It does not matter which type of Calvin sticker you have on your vehicle. Whether he is peeing on a Ford symbol, Chevy symbol, Dodge symbol, or your school's nemesis.

It does not matter how long you have had it on your vehicle. Even if you bought it used five minutes ago and the prior owner put it on.

It does not matter where you were born or raised. Hey, I say "squoze" and I know better than to have a Calvin sticker on my car. Heck, I know better than to have a truck in the first place.

It does not matter whether you knew your mother as a child or whether she beat you with a bamboo stick.

It does not matter when you were born. Even if you were born while your mother was watching an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard or The Fall Guy.

It does not matter how tall your girlfriend's hair is. That's not an excuse for anything anymore. Sorry. That used to be good for anything.

It does not matter if your father was Bill Watterson or if your imaginary pet tiger's name is Hobbes. In fact, if either of those things is true, then either your father or your imaginary pet tiger is exceedingly ashamed of you and they want nothing to do with you ever again so you should probably drive your truck off a cliff asap.

Whatever reason or excuse you have for that Calvin sticker, IT DOES NOT MATTER. If you have a Calvin sticker on your vehicle, TAKE IT OFF. No one wants to know how stupid you are. If you need it explained to you any more than this, you won't understand.

Stop being an idiot. If not for your own sake, then for everyone else's.

"Are you a redneck?" "Nope. I'm a Zen Monk."

I'm going to say something that will shock you. I've read a couple of books in my life. There, done. I know, you're amazed. But let me keep going... I've read a couple of books in my life about Zen Buddhism. Shocked even more? I read the books to help me find my "inner peace" and improve my golf game. This blog is not going to question my motives for learning about Buddhism... but yes, it was purely to improve my golf game.

Zen Buddhists believe in an "awakening". An awakening is when you remove the scales from your eyes and begin to see yourself as your real self. No contrived ideas about who you think you are, or who you think someone else thinks you are, or who you think Phil Jackson thinks you are... just the real you.




I had an awakening about a month ago.

It starts with sourdough bread. And actually, it ends with sourdough bread. My wife had told me of a type of sourdough bread she wanted to make one night. It involved the squeezing of grapes into the dough and letting the dough ferment for a few days before baking. Sounds great, right?

So she made the bread a few days later. This is where the story gets interesting. The next day, I was sitting in my cubicle at work eating a sandwich on this sourdough bread, and I was just saying, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." as I savored this delicious bread. My boss asked what was so good. So I began to tell him about this bread. This is where it gets more interesting.

I recall my retelling of the bread-making process going something like this:
"To start, she squoze the grapes..."

My boss stopped me there. "Squoze?"

"Yeah. She squoze the grapes..."

My boss stopped me again. "Squoze?"

"Yeah. She squoze the grapes..."

By this point, my boss was laughing. "Squoze? Squoze ain't no real word, y'all."

"Oh yes it is, I've said it since I was a kid. There's no other way to say the past-tense of 'squeeze'. What do you want me to say, 'squeezed'?"

After consulting three dictionary-type websites, the so-called word "squoze" was smitten, or 'smote', to the ground. In a big, bloody heap. And I was left feeling like a... (what is a nice way to say 'redneck'?)

This was my Awakening experience. It was just as amazing and peaceful an experience as I had read about. It was an out-of-body experience. I truly felt as if I was floating in the air, seeing myself from the outside in. As the redneck I really am.

Managing the Waste of Me

The other day I was just coming out of a Benadryl Low and was in this semi-drugged/ semi-hung-over state, when I began reminiscing about how great a person I am... (a favorite hobby of mine)

...and I realized that most of the people around me throughout my life had WASTED MY EXAMPLE. (Let that sink in for a minute - it's really deep, especially for me).

This saddened me. I felt almost as if I should cry. But rather than empathize with others (or sympathize? I always confuse the two. Maybe that's why I shy away from doing either..), I just decided that I need to do a better job at reminding those around me of how good an example they have.. in me.

So to all of you who read this, I would just like to say, "Please stop wasting my example. Use it for your own good. Use it for the good of others. Use your own discretion and conscience in determining how to use it. I trust you can and will use it for the betterment of everything in existence. Just PLEASE STOP WASTING MY EXAMPLE. Thank you."

The Day That Ex-Lax Saved My Life

Was last Friday.



I will never talk bad about Ex-lax again. It will forever be close to my heart. I don’t want to share too many details but let me summarize with a few bullet points:
• Monday morning had food poisoning.
• Went to hospital that day.
• All food removed from my innards.
• Began eating solid food couple days later.
• By Friday, I needed to get some of that solid food out really badly.
• Friday at noon = Volkswagen trying to squeeze through a straw.
• Straw didn’t want to explode.
• Ex-lax saved my life.


I learned a few things that day:
• Ex-lax is not just for brownies.
• It is a humbling thing to feel with a fairly high level of certainty that your survival today depends on either a little box of Ex-lax or a Cesarean section.
• It is a scary thing to realize that you just ate 3 little cubes of Ex-lax when the recommended dosage is only 2.

Wo- Men’s Lib

Do women really want equal rights? Do men really want equal rights?

I’m answering both questions with a resounding NO. Then what do we really want?

Men, well men just want to watch the game and be left alone. Men would just as well let the woman have all the rights. Just give a man a tv, espn, some old pizza, and he’ll be happy. Even if it’s in a jail cell. On a pee-stained mattress with no sheet.

They say women are difficult to figure out. Well, after 5 months of being married to one, I have them figured out.

Women, I’ll tell you what women want. Women want men to want what they, the women, want. Women want men to want to talk about things. Women want to feel, not only that you listen to them, but that you want to listen to them instead of reading your Sports Illustrated. Women want you to want to do the dishes instead of watch the football game. Women want you to want to stay home and babysit instead of golf with your friends while they go shopping. Once a man finally wants what the woman wants, there is peace and happiness. All women will deny that this is what is required for a peaceful relationship. But trust me, it is the truth (look at the title of this blog, I know the truth).

Ok, so now that we know all about men and women we can discuss this on a grand scale. Women have been fighting for “equal rights” for years. They feel (and I would agree) that they have not been treated as fairly in our society (and many others) for a long time. They are right. And our society has been responding, slowly, for a long time. Women can vote, buy alcohol, hold powerful jobs in Corporate America, and run for president.

They can even wear pant suits.

Women are basically doing a lot of things that were reserved for men just a few years ago… that has been the main thrust of the Women’s Lib movement… to empower women by giving them what only the men had. I think we need to start slowing things down though… I mean, if the women keep doing things previously reserved for men, they are going to end up sitting around in their underwear playing videogames all night. They will soon stop showering. They will swear off floss. They will increase the speed at which they drive (ok, maybe not such a bad thing…).

Ok, now on to the men. Or as I call us, the Oppressed of the New Age. In my first job out of college, with an international accounting firm, my starting class was a group of about 400. Of those 400, over 300 were women. Is that because accounting is a woman’s job now? Possibly. But I don’t think so. The company I worked for is currently ranked in the top 20 on Forbes’ Best-Companies-to-Work-for-If-You’re-a-Woman list. Or as I call it, Forbes’ Best-Companies-to-Work-for-If-You-Want-to-Oppress-Men list. Basically, to be that high on the list means giving more jobs to women than to deserving men, promoting women faster than deserving men (most women averaged 2 years to first promotion while for men it was closer to 3 years), and allowing women to wear much more revealing clothing than men (women can get away with wearing any type of revealing clothing without it even being questioned… in fact, it’s almost encouraged by all the perv men in powerful positions; but if I wore a low-cut shirt that also revealed a little of my midriff when I either sat down or stood up I would be reprimanded by a powerful corporate woman right away. Not that I want to, I’m just making a point.) So, as a man I have a harder time getting a job, then getting promoted once I get that elusive job, and I can’t even wear the exciting clothing that just might help me to get the job and the promotion in the first place! I am beginning to feel oppressed as a man in this society.

(But then again, maybe the women want us to want that…..)

Side note: And what’s with this double standard of wanting to be equal but still playing from the women’s tees in golf? Equality ain’t fair, is it? Men are slowly beginning to realize this.

Men, we need to rise up and even things out. We’re fighting on a battlefield that has been tilted too far away from us. Sure, we (or our parents) kept the women down for years… but does that mean we have to suffer because of it today? Should I pay for my parents’ mistake? No! We must level the playing field, men! Opportunity for all, pant suits for NONE! And while we’re at it, let’s just make everyone play from the same set of tees.

Camo- Karma- Camo- Karma- Camo- Karma-elian

So ... remember a few months ago, I wrote a blog that BASHED camouflage clothing worn by non-military civilians TO BITS?

Well, as karma always gets its way, I feel like I need to update all readers of my current situation.

In the past few months, I've had some drastic changes in my life - got married, went to Cancun for a couple weeks, moved my wife & two new step-daughters two thousand miles across the country in the middle of the AZ summer, closed down the smoothie shop, worked at a CPA firm doing taxes for a couple of months, decided to get back to the corporate world and lengthy commute I had sworn off less than a year before, began crossing my legs in a more "european" way, and the biggest change of all ... had camo introduced into my life.

Let me explain - my 6-yr old step-daughter just began first grade a month ago. She has the most amazing sense of intuition I have EVER beheld. And she is curious to the Nth degree to add to that. Which makes for a potentially very dangerous situation at home. Anytime my wife and I might be up to something ... well, something that newly-weds are wont to be up to ... "WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING IN THERE?! HEY, WHY IS YOUR DOOR LOCKED?! OH WELL, I KNOW HOW TO UNLOCK IT..." Yeah, this kind of stuff happens all the time. I know what you're thinking, just wait til she goes to bed... well her spider sense is so profound that she will wake up if she feels there may be something going on. (And there's NO possible way she can hear us over the fan in her room...) Anyway.

So I had never said a word to her (the anonymous 6-yr old) about my feelings toward camo. But somehow she must have just sensed it. About a month ago, while the girls were out back-to-school shopping, I get a text from my wife who knows and shares my feelings toward camo, "[anonymous 6-yr old] just insisted that her new shoes are camo. She wouldn't choose anything else. I couldn't stop her. I tried everything I could. Sorry." Nothing I could text to my wife at that instant could express how deeply saddened I was.



And nothing I could text my wife at that instant would make the young camo-ist change her mind. In the week following the camo shoes coming into our home, three other pink camo articles of clothing made their way into our home, a mere 40 feet from where I sleep. And a mere 45 feet from where I eat my PB/Nutella slightly toasted sandwiches every morning (another blog for another day).

SHE SOMEHOW COULD SENSE MY ABSOLUTELY UTTER ABHORENCE TOWARD CAMO. And she just HAD to rebel against that distaste.

Apparently, camo is all the rage right now. But guess what? I COULDN'T CARE LESS.

AND NEITHER COULD KARMA.

But that's how karma works, right?

Kobe ain't got nothin' on "The Truth"

(...unless you count lying and cheating...)


Since when has a multi-million-dollar, I-can-get-away-with-anything-in-life-because-I'm-a-great-basketball-player JERK been trying to rip off MY idea?

SINCE NOW! Kobe is trying to take over my "The Truth" thing with a blog of his own.

Kobe Bryant Attempts to Speak "The Truth"?

For a minute, I'm going to talk to Kobe. Feel free to ignore me until I'm done ranting at his smug Laker face-

Kobe, you don't know the truth. Your life has been one big lie after another. Ever since that little fiasco in Eagle County (remember, YOU CHEATED ON YOUR WIFE and made the mistake, if only that time, of getting caught), you've had about as much credibility as Sly Stallone doing Rocky XXIV purportedly without steroids. Good thing for you that at least you had enough money to buy your wife back with that $4 million dollar ring. But let's be honest... she's gonna take more of your money and run the next chance she gets, so you gotta keep your little fiascos out of the news. Man, even Moesha saw through your little web of lies and gave up on you (4th bullet up from the bottom), before it was too late for her. I dare say she was more qualified to write "The Truth" than you are. Yeah, that's a virtual e-slap in your face.

I want you to give up "The Truth" business and leave it to those of us with some integrity and an active moral conscience. I mean, I write about Poop and David Hasselhoff's music and Muffin Tops and Loofas and ... and ... Poop!

If you continue to taint "The Truth", then what are people going to be able to believe? You are the worst kind of bad guy - the one who pretends to be good and fools those of us who aren't intuitive enough to see through your little charade.

Please don't ruin "The Truth" for the real good guys. Like me.

Poop is funny

Why is the word "poop" so funny? I always thought it was just boys that loved that word, but apparently it's girls, too. Since becoming a step-father to two girls, ages 4 and 6, I've realized just how funny the p word is to little girls, too... any time they get into a funny or giggly mood, out comes poop. There's no way around it. Doesn't matter what they're laughing about, one will ALWAYS say poop, no matter how badly it clashes with the topic at hand. When everybody is laughing, hearing the word poop just makes us laugh more. It seems to be a tried and tested rule of comedy- if someone is laughing, throwing a little poop in makes it better. The old cliche is true... there truly is no stopping poop sometimes.

When I was young, I remember thinking to myself, "I know I'm gonna get in trouble saying poop... so... if I'm gonna bust it out, it had better be in a situation that is going to get maximum appreciation from the crowd." Honestly, I would strategize when to drop the proverbial poop bomb on the crowd. I found that if you pay attention, a perfect moment will arise when the word just begs to be said- in ANY and EVERY conversation. I challenge you to try paying attention to each conversation you have for the next three days to see when you could drop a poop in for maximum impact. Your poop sensing will become more accute and you will start to either develop or re-kindle the ability to know when and where to bring up poop in each conversation. Even if you don't actually drop the poop in, you will recognize these opportunities as they arise and then also as they subside.

We have definitely become de-sensitized to poop. Like I said before, I used to get in trouble for dropping poop when I was young. But the comedic effect was always worth going without dessert, if my parents heard me. I mean, a few well timed poops at school and I was labeled as a very funny child by my peers in elementary school. I just knew where to throw down a poop... it was never around my parents cause they just didn't appreciate a good poop. But kids my age were always impressed with a nice, strategic poop. Unless, of course, there was too much poop coming out... that usually caused the dreaded thought in others, "His only material is poop" and that was a comedy career killer. So I settled into a good frequency of pooping at a young age. It's amazing how much of my self-image I owe to poop.

I'm sad to say that my poops have been rather infrequent lately... I just never feel that pressing need much anymore. No uncontrolled poop outbursts; no planned, tactical, thought-out-in-advance poops; basically no poop at all anymore. I know, it's really sad. Maybe that's why I am delighted when I notice kids using poop to get laughs now. I admire a good pooper, almost like it's a long-lost art form...

Kids have it easy with poop these days, though... I usually laugh when the girls improvise a nice poop, or when they will work some poop into whatever they're doing. I'm sure my parents would be appalled at my acceptance of their poop... but poop is funny sometimes. There's no denying it. Poop is just funny sometimes.

That better be a Baby Ruth...

Here in Phx, we had a new record high of 117 F on July 4th. For those of you who have never experienced 117 F, I would recommend not wishing to experience it. Cause we all know that what you wish for is what you'll get. And I would hate for Al Gore to be right, and if it starts hitting 117 all over the country, then I might have to conclude that he's not just a hippy bum. Enough about Al Gore.

"But it's a dry heat..." I know, I know... better than a humid heat. But still... 117 is hot. In my brain, I have this discussion with myself when I hear "it's a dry heat"-

(My brain) : "Hot?"

(Me) : "Yes."

(My brain) : "Dry?"

(Me) : "Yes."

(My brain) : "Still hot?"

(Me) : "Yes."

(My brain) : "But even though it's dry?"

(Me) : "Yes. Now stop asking."

Ok, so it's hot.

The point of all of this is that the best way to "beat the heat" (another term I absolutely despise... seriously, has anyone ever taken The Heat out back and given it a good whoopin' ? Well let's stop saying "beat the heat" until someone posts a video on youtube of The Heat getting cracked by its drunk father's leather belt), is to jump in the swimming pool which, luckily, is located right outside of our apartment's front door. 117 is hot, but you just don't notice it when you're sitting in a swimming pool. So that's what we did to celebrate the 117 record high (and our nation's independence), we swam in the pool.

"Great, so why are you writing a blog about your stupid pool?"

Because yesterday, July 5th, was supposed to be 116 F. Which, I know, you may be saying is NOT as hot as 117 F. And you would be right... but if you really want to argue that point, then you deserve a punch to the teeth. 116 is hot too. Let's just be agreed on that point so I can get on with it.

Yesterday, the pool had a sign on the gate, which read, "Pool closed for draining". When I saw that, I started looking around for the hidden cameras, because I was sure that we were being filmed for an episode of Ashton Kutcher's brain-child Punked.

Wrong. No cameras around. I even looked in the hot-tub. Nothing. "Crap! Now how am I supposed to beat The Heat ??!!" ... So with no way left to beat The Heat, we went back to our cool, air-conditioned apartment. I'm just now realizing that this blog is serving more as a source to vent today than usual... but how can The Man drain our pool during the hottest time of the summer in the middle of the desert? I only have 1 explanation for such irrational behavior: That BETTER be a Baby Ruth floating around in the water.........

(if you don't understand the Baby Ruth line, then you don't deserve to be reading this blog. please go watch Caddyshack, then re-read for maximum enjoyment)

Reach for the Ground, Pardner

A few days ago while working, I noticed something rather disturbing. While picking up my keys, which had inadvertently fallen to the ground, I realized that at the ripe old age of 28, I am truly becoming a decrepit old man.

Detailed below is the 17-step process I have been using for the past few years, without realizing it, to reach the ground.

1. Take a deep breath
2. Spread feet apart, just wider than shoulder width
3. Perform the initial pre-crouch, by sticking your derriere straight back and down until your knees bend to a 30-degree angle
4. Stop!
5. Give your pants an upward tug by grabbing just above the knee and lifting slightly
6. Now, pay careful attention to bend at the knees
7. Placing your left hand on your left knee, lean weight onto your left knee * VERY IMPORTANT! Do Not Skip!
8. Grunt semi-satisfactorily
9. Touch the floor
10. Stay down. It took so much time to get here... take advantage of your accomplishment
11. Slowly straighten your back until you can see the horizon. To do this, push on your left knee using your left arm for leverage
12. Exhale air
13. Using all of the strength left in your legs and back, straighten yourself back to a vertical position
14. Realize that you are pathetic
15. Mutter to the nearest person, "I'm getting ooooooold". If no one else is around, you are still required to mumble this phrase to yourself
16. Try to remember the last time you had a physical examination
17. Convince yourself you'd rather go through this process than have the awkward "turn your head and cough" experience


Am I the only under-60 year-old male going through this on a regular basis?

To Camo, or Not to Camo?

According to my sources (which I wouldn't dare make up), over 90% of Americans have owned at least one article of camouflage clothing during their lifetime. And most of them still have that pair of camo pants or that camo t-shirt tucked away in their closets, collecting dust. I'm calling on any and all Americans with camo in the closet to throw it out, TODAY!

Why? What's wrong with camouflage?

Inherently, nothing. But that's only if it's being used for its inherent purpose - to disguise the wearer. See, the reason camouflage was invented dates all the way back to Rambo - First Blood (1982). Sylvester Stallone needed a way to disguise himself while HIDING from Sherriff Teasle in the FOREST (please note the 2 key words here are HIDING and FOREST).

In fact, according to self-proclaimed camouflage expert Roy R. Behrens, in his eye-opening paper titled A Chronology of Camouflage: A Pastiche in a Bouillabaisse, he brings to light the true purpose of camouflage - "camouflage could be described as disguising..two things as one, ..it causes confusion between an object and its background." Ok, so camouflage is confusing.

Let me clear up the confusion.

Are most people wearing their camo clothing to actually disguise themselves? NO. I don't care what you're hiding from, who you're hiding from, or if the other team knows you are out of paintballs... if you are wearing camouflage, you had better be HIDING from something. If you are not hiding from something and actively trying to blend in with your background, then please do us all a favor and GET RID OF THE CAMO.

Just today, I was at work (inside of Gold's Gym) and during one 5-minute period, four people walked through the front door wearing camouflage (two shirts and two pairs of pants). I began to wonder if N. Korea had decided to invade... so I looked outside to see if there had been a military attack on little old Phoenix. Nope. It was just a nice sunny 65 degree Friday in February. So what was going on? Do people really think it's ok to be wearing camouflage, or are all these people trying to hide? They definitely were not hiding, because each of the four people were wearing GREEN, FOREST camouflage - not the desert camo. Had they been wearing desert camo, I could use the excuse for each of them that they were in hiding. However, that not being the case, I'm left to believe they must have another excuse.

(Then I looked up on the Gold's TV and the music video that was playing at that very instant was Avril Lavigne's "Losing Grip" (YES, I had to look that up...). It's the video where she's looking angry and jumping around the stage in a camouflage shirt. [For all I know, that could be what all her videos look like..] but my point is, she was wearing camo. And this, to me, was a sign of the times. That's why I feel the need to comment today on camouflage. Someone has to do it. The madness must be stopped.)

So there has got to be another reason for all of this camo today. What could it be?

Is today, February 2nd, National Camo Day?

After checking all the calendars I could find, I've come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as National Camo Day. So there had better be a really good excuse for all this camo. Since I love to give people the benefit of the doubt, here is my short list of excuses for wearing camo that make it ok:

Camo Excuses
-YOU are an Army veteran and you are wearing your camo fatigues, which have your last name on them.
-Your brother or sister (who was/is in the Army) sent you camo fatigues, and they have your last name on them.
-You are Rambo (in fact, Rambo never actually wore camo... but Rambo can do whatever he wants).
-You live in a forest and you hunt elk/deer/moose for your subsistence.
-You live in a desert and you hunt coyotes/snakes for your subsistence (requires Desert-colored camo).
-You live in the tundra and you hunt polar bears for your subsistence (requires Snow camo).
-You are Arnold Schwarzeneger and you hunt Predator for a living.
-You are trying to blend in with your background for any reason at all. (HOWEVER, if this is the case, the camo MUST match the background, as this is the whole reason you are wearing camo to begin with). Two perfect examples are shown below:





For the good of the world, let's hope that everyone wearing camo has at least one of these excuses...

Manly Muffin Tops

Over the course of the past 5 years, the tables have turned. In a bad way. Well, they were already bad to begin with, but they are so much worse now.


-So what's the, what's the, what's the scenario? Yo-

Spare me a moment of absolute blunt-ness. In the past week, I've seen more extremely lower man-back than I had seen my entire life.

So... 5 years ago I was in college. At that time, I started noticing that a lot of women were wearing shirts that were not long enough on the bottom to reach the top of their pants. So there was a gap, ranging from 1 to about 8 inches, of what I felt to be unintentionally-showing-to-the-public skin. I'm sure in some cases, this skin was intentionally shown... however, in most cases I know for a fact this was unintentional. ...At least it should have been (the dreaded case of the "muffin top" out the top of the jeans... had better be unintentional. NO ONE in their right mind wants to EVER see a muffin top. For those of you who don't know, the muffin top is basically that layer of fat around the mid-section that sticks out of the top of the jeans and hangs over the top edge. Not good. I realize most Americans are at least a little bit overweight... and the first place this "over-weight" shows itself is in the hips/waist. So why draw attention to that part of the body by revealing it, unless it's nice to look at? No one wants to see this fat! Anyway...)



But, a couple of years ago, we started to see more women who were figuring this out. The trend in muffin tops declined (Hooray!) due to the introduction of the longer-undershirt. So, the tops women are wearing are still the same length, the jeans are still lower cut, but the extra layer of the (normally white) longer undershirt has been added to cover up this bare skin that no one wanted to see.

KUDOS TO WOMEN FOR FIGURING THIS OUT AND DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!

One of the most traumatic days of my life also happened to be the day that I happened to see the worst case of a muffin top I've ever experienced. If you don't want to know about this most-painful-of-days, skip the rest of this paragraph. So... a co-worker and I were in San Francisco for work a couple of years ago, and we decided to get tickets to the baseball game that night, Giants v. D-Backs. Our seats were out in right field on the bleachers and most of the seats were full in that part of Pac-Bell. During the bottom of the 1st inning, 2 girls showed up and had seats about 3 rows in front of us. They each had a beer in their hand. However, it didn't look like they needed the beers, as the taller of the 2 girls was already having trouble keeping her balance and was REALLY loud. She also happened to have a bad case of Creeping Muffin Top. I'm sure being drunk didn't help with the growing muffin top... she didn't seem to notice it at all and with her presumably out-of-normal swaying and moving, she eventually worked her way to the absolutely Biggest Muffin Top I have ever seen... the gap between the bottom of her top and the top of her low-cut jeans had easily reached a full 12 inches. And she had a healthy layer of fat to keep that revealed part of her body warm, which made it that much worse to behold. The top just kept going higher and the pants just kept sliding lower... And she just kept getting drunker. And with a crowd that was probably 80% dudes... well, you can imagine that basically everyone in the crowd was staring at her. Praying... hoping... but no. The muffin top was there to stay. This experience scarred me. Luckily, experiences like this involving women have decreased dramatically over the past few years.

Not that I'm on an outright crusade against muffin tops, but I WOULD say that I am 100% anti-muffin tops. Maybe you could say that I've been leading a SILENT crusade against muffin tops. You know, the lead-by-example type of crusade. Lesson learned: muffin top + alcohol = bigger muffin top. Simple enough.

Ok, so the women have figured out that to cut down on muffin tops, they just have to add this little lengthy undershirt - easy enough. But in the past week, there has been an alarming trend - now, it's the guys who are taking a turn muffin topping.


-What? No way! Guys are NOT muffin topping!-

Oh, YES THEY ARE. Let me share. I just started my first class at ASU last week. One of my classes happens to be a 1,000-student lecture, in a theater/auditorium. Me being me, I am required to sit on the back row very near the door. This gives me a great perspective to people-watch. Anyway, I started noticing (NOT GIRLS, BUT GUYS!) showing up with muffin tops. Not just one here or there... I'm talking like 20-30 per day. Guys showing up to class and then when they sit down, this big muffin top just shows up out of nowhere (they glow in the semi-dark auditorium, so they're really easy to see...).

And last night I was at dinner with some friends at a little restaurant. I didn't notice until about 20 minutes into the meal, but sitting behind one of the girls in our party was a particulary large man, with an equally large muffin top showing out the back of his chair. I whispered to my friend sitting next to me, "Hey, don't look now, but... there's something you really DO NOT want to see in that direction [pointing]" This girl's response was (in a loud, almost angry whisper), "OH, I KNOW! I SAW IT ABOUT 10 MINUTES AGO. ISN'T THAT DISGUSTING?" Then the girl sitting on the other side of me leaned over and asked what we were talking about... I pointed again, and without even having to turn her head, she said, "EW! I ALREADY SAW. NASTY! SOMEONE SHOULD TELL HIM."

And one final experience from this past Sunday... I went to a different church congregation than normal, and while sitting on the very last row [again, my usual seat...], happened to notice the worst male muffin top I have seen to date (but keep in mind, I hadn't seen any to note up until a week ago...). A guy who was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and khakis, matching shoes/belt, and a shiny new black leather jacket was showing about 8 inches of his extremely lower back through the metal chair to everyone behind him. It was absolutely disgusting. He should have known better. In fact, the only row of seats in the entire room that had no one sitting in it, turned out to be the row directly behind him and his poor wife. About 5 minutes into the service, in walked a young family - parents and 2 children. Since the only seats available were in the special-row-right-behind-manly-muffin-tops, the family seated themselves there. No less than 10 seconds after sitting down, the wife noticed the muffin top and I heard a very slight shriek out of her. Her 3-yr old son was sitting directly behind the muffin top and had one hand grabbing the top of the man's pants and pulling them out, to reveal EVEN MORE skin. Luckily the mother caught the boy before the man noticed... who knows what sort of fury would have burst forth from the muffin top guy had the muffin top actually been touched. Luckily the mother found a large piece of posterboard that she had brought to church for a lesson, and she placed it directly behind the muffin top, concealing it from view. And you could just tell the 3-yr old had never seen anything like it with how he kept staring at it.....

This is a trend that just didn't used to happen. I recall in elementary school, there was always the lazy, slobby kid in your class (usually accompanied by a snotty nose), and if you were anywhere behind him while he was sitting down, you couldn't help but notice what brand of underwear he had on. (I need to insert a disclaimer here: I am NOT a bum-looker [to quote an old SNL...]. Sometimes you just can't help but notice things...). BUT, you almost never saw an actual muffin top. This is yet another sign of the declining morals in our society.


-But why are GUYS doing the Muffin Top?-

That's the whole reason for the blog post today. I am dumb-founded. I have no answers.

Have guys not remembered the negative reactions they had when the women were muffin topping? I mean, it's like a gag reflex when you see one. Really, it's the type of bad experience I don't wish on even my worst enemies... even they deserve better than that.

I can only think I've been put on this earth for one reason: to call attention to anyone who has a muffin top (and this appears to be mostly guys right now). We need to increase muffin top awareness and stop them in their tracks. Join me in this crusade against the muffin tops!