I'm generally a nice person. I smile at people randomly. I use my manners. I hold doors for people even when they're just outside of the non-awkward distance to door holding. I give strangers the benefit of the doubt. I say my prayers. Kiss my wife and children and tell them that I love them frequently. I call my parents at least once every other week. I'm a "decent" guy. 

But there are some people... some people who I just can't get past. There are some people that I just can't bring myself to like anymore. I've tried, I've given in my all, but in the end I always have to fall back on the haunches of "you're just a bad person".

So here's a little online toast to the people I really don't like in life. Raise your glasses high with me!

Here's to you, person distracted while on your cell phone!

Your call is really important. It would have to be if you were driving one handed with the other hand on your phone. I would bet it is even an emergency situation where the person on the other end of the line has your children held hostage and has threatened to kill one of them if you hang up or stop talking. 

I can see that you've also been practicing your telepathic abilities seeing as how you changed lanes so quickly in front of me. I must be one of those stubborn minded folk who are not easily communicated with over the ether. 

So go on, cell phone driver - keep on that phone and make sure you save the world doing it. Nothing is as important as your conversation, especially when barreling down the highway at 75mph in a large, steel bullet. If I had to balance the necessity of my children's lives and your phone call - I certainly would be willing to sacrifice my children.

No wait, just kidding... why don't you just drive into that tree over there at a high velocity. I'm not saying I wish death on you - but I do wish you severe bodily harm that prevents you from ever driving again.


Here's to you exhausted and complaining parent!

You poor, poor thing - your kids are so evil and terrible. Seeing as they are so young, they've clearly been predestined by some mysterious force to climb into this world with the sole purpose of making your life hell.

Oh... wait... maybe you're a shitty parent and that's why your kids are shitty too. But please, feel free to tell the entire social media world how much your kids aggravate you - how bad they act - how much you just need your "other" to pick up the slack so that you can have some peace and quiet and a tall glass of wine. I love reading your latest twitter and blog about how triumphant of a parent you are for making it through just one more day with your hellions, how you are the conqueror of the year because no one else but you could handle the minions of Satan thrown to the surface to burn your ambitions and dreams to the ground. 

It's not the "shitty" part of you that bothers me. There are shitty parents everywhere, and hell, even I'm sometimes a shitty parent. The reason I hate you is because you write about it on the internet to every random person who would want to read it. But what you don't seem to grasp is that anything you put on the internet is around forever. 

Our kids are going to be way more connected to the internet then we ever could be. They are going to see everything... 

and here's the clincher as to why I hate you: your kids are going to see everything you wrote about them

Imagine you sit down at your computer and look up some history of your mom or dad on the internet... and YOU came across globs and globs of hate, whining, disgust, and bitching about how shitty of a kid you are. You'd be hurt... you'd start to mistrust... you'd go through emotional turmoil over it. 

I can't wait to hear about when your kids are teenagers and destroying you. Paybacks a bitch and I full intend to grab a bowl of popcorn and enjoy the show when it happens.

Here's to you, person who thinks waste expulsion is popular mixed media!

In recent years I've come to learn that women are almost more sloppy in the bathroom than men. If I would have been writing this post 6 years ago (also around the time I got married... huh... go figure) I would have segregated this only to the male population since that is all I have direct experience with... but turns out that some-freaking-how women are more messy. Now, everyone is included in this rant. 

Guys: You have a freaking gun... a pointing device... a god forsaken wand that aims. How in the hell do you pee on the floor? A urinal is normally a 2ft x 4ft target and you can't hit that!? Especially when you are practically standing inside of it when you go? 


I wear shoes, but I still don't like standing in your pee pee that somehow made it on the floor. Having pee shoes is not a highlight of my day. 

And why... WHY would you stand and pee at the toilet and not lift the seat?! Is one extra second all the troublesome to prevent my ass from having your wee juice all over it?

And women... my god... the horror stories I've heard...

Are you a mixed media bathroom artist? Then I hate you.


Today I'm going to be random. Not because I don't have other things to write about, but because my focus sucks right now and I want to distract you as well. Welcome to the life of an ADD child. 

Of course, back in the glorious 80s, every child had ADD because they couldn't focus, ran around with lots of energy, and acted like... you know... children. Apparently parents in the 80's wanted mature adults to come crawling out of the uterus. I don't think they thought about those ramifications.

I do have to thank my parents again and again for not putting me on the candy drug that all my friends were on... the good ol' ritalin. They had the foresight to know that I'd be able to handle it myself - and it turns out they were not wrong. So now I just wear small holes in my shoes and feel the need to constantly make noise. 

My little boy is growing up faster then you can say, "wow, it looks like he's grown a little bit in the past week". He's an infant... they've been known to do that from time to time. 

Of course, my child, just like me, likes to be an overachiever right out of the gate and is blasting some 98 percentile length and head size. He's a lanky mo-fo. I don't even know where he gets it - it's not like Isabella or myself are huge-o-giants. 

He also really prefers his fist over his binky. Time for some cute.

(look at those meaty-ass hands)

You know what I suck at? I suck at writing about myself. You think it'd be easy because I'm such an attention whore, but alas writing about myself is almost as bad as jabbing two forks in my eyes. See, I'm not an attention whore in the way that I like asking for it or I need to draw it to myself. I'm an attention whore that only likes it when people give it to me freely. 

This poses an interesting connudrum in the fact that without asking for attention, I often times don't get it. So I've learned to manipulate situations, socially engineer people, or just flat out be an overachiever with the sole purpose of garnering an extra glance or a word of praise. 

My thoughts stem from the fact that I just had to write a little biography for a client that I'm working with so that they could put it in an RFP. I really wish I would have saved the first draft. It looked like a 6 year old who just learned the word biography met up with a 16 year old's speech patterns:

"I'm... uh... neat. I think I do stuff sometimes that... I mean... it's ok. But... I'm not the greatest I know... ya know... but I... whatever."

It was painful. I think I'm going to save what I wrote and just reuse it everywhere so I never have to do that again.

Finally - my bestest friends in the whole world (yes, I'm 29 and still use "bestest") just recently introduced me to stand-up paddleboarding. It's like surfing for the mid-west. A slightly larger than a surfboard surfboard is placed upon the water. You stand upon the board with a paddle... and... paddle. 

So you're standing up... with a paddle... on a board. Thus the ever clever name, stand-up paddleboard.

As funny as I'm failing to be, this sport is quite relaxing and really brings you at peace with yourself and intune with nature as you're gliding across the lake at 7am. Surrounded by nature and silence you find yourself getting lost in your thoughts AND getting a good workout. 

We also had a little yoga in there too. I wish I could do that every morning.

(me chillin' and paddlin')


My wife, bless her soul, was looking to get away from the whole Blogger/BlogSpot thing. Maybe it was the new template they came out with, maybe it was the fact that her site now will scream at you if you have any sort of malware checking available (who wouldn't want some extra malware on their site).

She didn't let me know about this until after she had thought about how she was looking for something new... somewhere else to post, perhaps, slightly smaller posts that exceeded character counts of twitter but didn't require novel type thinking (which she felt with her blogspot). 

I come in from work today and hear: "I've opened a tumblr account."

No. no no no. No. No. Not allowing it no.

It's missing a letter for freaks sake. 

So I did what any self respecting husband would do - I moved her over to my server, bought a few domains, and now she has her own playground (which I also have full technical control over). 

Go take a look:





I'm usually not a very "barf my beliefs on you" kind of person. In fact, I want to punchisize people who think it is their mission on Earth to make sure everyone hears and knows about their opinions and how their opinions should be my opinions. Political, religical, vacinical, or dietical... doesn't matter - shut up.

You think the president is a socialist? That's neat. Shut up.

You think through meditation you'll achieve enlightenment? Fantastic. Shut up.

You think that vaccines cause autism? Cool. Shut up. 

You think killing animals to eat is wrong? Super. Shut up.

 I'm not going to "spray" my opinion on you right now.

I'm going to bitch and it's going to be loud. Loud because I wanted to scream and beat the living shit out of someone for her blatant abuse of a system that's in place to help people who are struggling.

Sometimes people fall on hard times. Times that they didn't plan for and have no control over. When people fall on these hard times they usually aren't very vocal about it because they think it's embarassing. No one wants to call out to their friends and neighbors and say, "I'm financially dead and can't eat... I need your help". Sure, it sounds simple and you know that anyone with a soul would jump at the opportunity to help someone out in that manner. 

See, I don't think the "village mentality" is dead. I just think that villages don't exist any longer because no one reaches out to each other, no one relies on each other, and trust among anyone but family is all but dead.

As a society we have decided that instead of individually helping the village out in times of need, we'll let the government create the village to help feed people who simply don't have the financial ability to feed themselves. 

I'm talking about welfare.

Oh yeah, I said it and I'm going there. I'm going there because on one hand I'm ok with doing my duty and financially helping out my countrymen in their time of need. Right on the WIC website it says "...who are found to be at nutritional risk." I don't want people to starve in my country. But I will be damned if I keep my mouth shut when that countryman abuses me. 

There are two types of nutritional risk: 1) not having enough to eat, 2) only eating the bad foods. Keep this in mind, cause we're going to bring it all back full circle in the end.

Why are my panties in such a bundle?

It's story time, so grab yourself some popcorn and get ready for this doosy. 

I had just picked up my bestest friend's and their amazing daughter from the airport. They had been relaxing on the beaches of California and had just returned to the great state of Wisconsin. As you all know, when you get back from a longer vacation you're always torn. You don't want to come back to reality but at the same time - there's no place like home.

However, no matter what, the last thing you're thinking about when you get home is "what should I make for dinner". Knowing this, I wanted to make my besties dinner so they wouldn't have to worry about it, but didn't want to pre-cook anything because you never know what their in the mood for and the female side of the bestie is sometimes a vegetarian but not always. After discussing meal plans, I dropped them off and promptly went to the local grocer to pick up what I needed.

I wish I would have been walking around with a video camera that day. It must of been "movie cliche day" and our local Pick n' Save because the people watching was in full effect. They had every flavor of awesome person that I love watching. Here are my top 4:

  1.  The "I wear makeup to the gym" lady. 
    These people never stop to astound me at how hard they try for something so basic like catching a few glances from wandering eyes. "I'm about to sweat my ass off in hopes to trim up a little... better make sure my foundation is evenly distributed." What in the actual hell? The bonus about being at the grocery store was that it was post-workout. So the mascara and foundation were ALL over the place. Still, they strut like they've got it. 
  2.  The inversely proportionate couple
    I love seeing people in love, but there will always be those couples that make me do a double take. Some people's preferences just baffle me. While being a nice person goes a long way, I'm just not a firm believer that "his personality makes him attractive" works in all cases. (what a heartless bastard)
  3.   The super angry businessman on the cell phone
    This guy is angry. So angry that he's yelling into his phone so loud that there is a 10 meter radius of silence from everyone else as they behold the destruction this man is dumping on the poor bastard on the other end of the line. I often wonder if there is even someone connected on that call, or if he's just yelling into a dead cell phone to piss his dominance on others around him.
  4.   The "I'm not on meth, I swear" person
    Half of your face is melting off. That's not acne, that looks like a self-aware box cutter got mad at you one night because it found you cheating on it with a pair of scissors. You look like you caught a grenade... with your face - only, there is no war going on in WI right now, so unless you just freshly got back from active duty, I'm going to guess that your face is the result of a terrible batch of a terrible homemade drug in which you almost blew up your family trying to create.

I love these people. I love watching what they do and how they live. I love eavesdropping on them and trying to create a life story around them from the 5 seconds of conversation that I hear. (Well, except one meth-head screaming "GRANDMA! GRANDMA WHERE ARE YOU?!" I truly did wonder if the grandma was even there.) 

So (back to the story now), I'm walking around the store completely baffled by the multitude of varieties of these people, picking up my ground beef and corn and I finally get to the checkout area. 

(my amazing photoshop skills strike again)

Holy crap was the line forever and a day long. Live-aid just barfed all over this checkout area and I knew it was going to be about the same wait time as a TSA security checkpoint. 

I settled in for the long staring contest I was about to have with Eva Longoria and Brad Pitt on the Star magazine cover (they always win).

As I was silently waiting to purchase my 6 items, I was slowly drawn to the lady in front of me and her son. This was a fascinating creature who's choice of foods was borderline deadly. Multiple bags of Doritos, popcorn, cookies, a giant cookie from the bakery, sodas, sodas, and more sodas. Sunny D (which might as well be soda), frozen pizzas, frozen ice cream, popsicles, processed american cheese, soda (there seriously had to be 96 cans of soda all told), a butt load of candy. Oh, and a package of mystery meat. 

Either her and her son eat like titans, or there was a lot of family that was not accounted for. 

This lady and her son get up to the checkout line and the cashier, dead to the world from the onslaught of the hoarde, started scanning the items like a factory working robot. Beep, boop, beep... bam. 10 minutes later of solid scanning the enourmous total from the junk food train pops up on the screen. I'm noesy so I look.

Your total will be $214.23

Wow, that is a lot of crappy food. Hey... maybe it's for a party - good on you for graduating... or... something. (I think the cookie said "Happy Birthday", somehow I was doubting it was anyone's birthday and they just wanted a giant ass cookie).

I heard the lady mumble something like "I'd like to buy a bic"... which was weird because last time I checked you don't get carded when buying pens... maybe "bics" are new cigarettes? Thankfully (and by thankfully I mean good that I'll get to hear it again), the cashier didn't hear it right either so she, in the proper way to have someone repeat themselves in Wisconsin, said, "mwh?"

So the lady (she looked like a #4, btw), repeats herself and says, "I'd like to put this on WIC".

Oh. Hell. No.

Sincerely, my dear lady, I must have misheard you. Because I know I did not just hear you say that your welfare check is going to be paying for this. 

Sure as shit - that is exactly what I heard. The cashier has given up on life at this point and doesn't even say anything besides a slight jerk of the hand towards the machine in which my new ladyfriend #4 needed to swipe her WIC card. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am and just like that the grand total, after my ass paid for her junk food, came out to (drum roll): $7.12

Let's put some icing on this cake (the one I just paid for)

The remaining $7 will, unfortunately, have to be paid with her check card. Sorry I didn't cover everything. But then... 

OK... wait...

Now mind you, I'm already in shock because of this. I'm talking myself down from the vocally sacastic ledge of me cocking off and saying something like, "You're welcome" or "Since you helped yourself to my savings account, I'mma go ahead and have myself one of your delicious sodas"... no... bite your tongue, ShankRabbit... ok... so my tongue is bittena and I'm silent.

But then... she swipes her debit card and looks at the cashier and says, "how much over can I take out" - the cashier double takes as if non-verbally saying, "wait what the fu...", but verbally says, "$100". 


So wait... you can't pay for your food, but apparently you've got enough to just willy-nilly take out $100. 

I almost hit her.

Almost. Hit. Her.

The system is broken. We're taking "nutritional risk" from one bucket and allowing people to put their children into the other bucket of "nutrutional risk". It makes me mad. Mad because she probably went home and fed all of her children really shitty food which makes them fat and lethargic, which makes them perform poorly as humans.

And knowing Wisconsin, that $100 probably went to the slots at Potowatami Casino - because if you gamble with your kid's health, you've gotta gamble with their money too.

I know I write jokingly 99% of the time - but this sincerely makes me sad.


I have a simple question which I've been pondering. What is the point of mothers day/fathers day? I've been mulling this over in my head for a while and have come to a few possible answers as it relates to my family. 

  • A day to celebrate a thought out decision.
  • A day to celebrate a position you're in by mistake.
  • A day in which those related prove themselves to be the best.
  • Hallmark holiday.
The first two possible answers are related in that you either sat down with your partner, had a nice long talk about children and their impact on your life, and if you both are ready to commit to something that will single handedly be the most joyous and painful experience of your life. 
Or the condom broke.
The hallmark holiday aspect is prevelent with any holiday, but which came first in this case? It's a very chicken/egg scenario. Do we celebrate fathers and mothers so that florists, card makers, and balloon crafters can turn a profit? Or did they come around after the day of celebration was created? This kind of question probably falls under the same category as "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsiepop?" - No one cares enough to try to answer so we just bite the damn thing.
However, among all of these potential answers I am firmly convinced that it's not about the actual figurehead for which the day is named after, but rather the other people in the family. These holidays and their "celebration of the parental units" is just a ruse for what the holiday is really all about.
This holiday is not about showing your mother or father how much you appreciate them. No, this holiday is about proving to them that you are worthy enough for them to stick around. It's a game to show the selected parent that they should stick around and continue to be awesome. And if you fail that game... well... the consequences could be dire.
So you sit down and you think long and hard about the things that they like and how you prove to them that you deserve them in your life. This holiday is the true valentines day between partners and a true show of love from children. Actions speak louder than words, right? Valentines day is just a bunch of mooshy words and disgusting, minesweeper chocolates. Mother's day and father's day is where it all comes out. 
It's also a day where you get evaluated as to how you are doing as a mother or father. How much effort goes into that day is a true indication of how well you've done in that role over the past year. If all you're getting is a simple high-five in the morning... have you really been the best mother or father for the past year? 
I'll write more about how I have been solidified as an excellent dad for another year and how my wife and children really want to keep me around in a future post. But lets just say - Isabella, Niamonster, and BabyB did well.
Very very well.