Whats in the Works on 1/24?

- When my wife saved me from 400 lbs of large gay rape.

- When I acquired a chinese food delivery car sign. 

- The prank war of the summer of '06.

- Puking my way through the house after my going away party.

It Takes a Special Someone.

Me: "come here for a second" 

My wife: "Are you going to burp on me, or fart on me?"

The fact that this is the first question that comes to her mind is proof that she has lived through my torment. My wife probably has the most patience out of anyone I know. I still laugh when I fart, make blanket forts with my dachshund Ranger, and blow stuff up for a living for Christ's sake.  Quite frankly she married Peter Pan.For her to stick around for 6 years of my shit before I finally asked "THEE QUESTION!" is quite amazing, and still stuns me to this day. 

If I am in the other room and quiet for too long I will hear a concerned "what did you do?" come from the other room. If I walk through the door with a surprise behind my back she will back away nervously thinking I may have a bug, or something gross I found outside. Which is warranted, I tormented her for quite some time with a fake snake. She walks softly, and peaks around corners in her own home because ever since halloween my gorilla costume has made several guest appearances. 

At parties, and I've been drinking, my wife has the same look of a mom whose kid crapped in the sandbox at the park. Off color jokes, and passing out at weird places is nothing to her. One time at a coworkers house, I got drunk and figured it would be a good idea to hide from her in a closet. The awful thing about playing hide and go seek is when the seeker doesn't know they are playing, and you are stuck in a closet for quite some time. I was in the closet long enough to pass out...standing up. My rather large friend AZ helped me to the car for my wife, after finding me a half hour later. On the ride home we had a talk. 

"I can't believe you!" she exclaimed.

"What did I do this time?" I questioned.

"You were so drunk AZ had to carry you to the car"

"BULLSHIT, I JUST REALLY WANTED A PIGGY BACK RIDE!" was the obvious response. 

Lucky doesn't even begin to describe how I feel every time I wake up and I am still married to the most beautiful, patient, and understanding women in the world. And then I think NEENER NEENER NEENER, YOU CANT HAVE HER. 

Because I am mature and shit.

Advice From An Asshole.

Telling an 8 year old how to deal with a tattle tale in school:
"You know there is this ancient chinese proverb that goes like this: Snitches get Stitches"

Helping a friend with lady advice.
"Put it in her butt...she'll come back for sure." (she called him the next day, fuckers!)

To the wife when she worked in a salon in Lansing:
"If all else fails, just firebomb the place."

To my wife on being alone when I had to work through the night:
"My gun is loaded, if someone breaks in, shoot them until they don't move anymore, then call me, then I will call the cops"

Some Asshole Quotes:

"You smell like a burlap sack of hairy assholes."

To a dumb ass kid in Ionia, MI who called my mexican friend the N word.
"That doesn't change the fact that you're an ignorant asshole, now apologize to my friend"

Purposely mixing up Dominicans, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, Cubans, because I know they freak out. (disclaimer: don't do this unless you are cool with them, or you WILL get shanked.)

"What the fuck...that guy claimed mustard jihad on my shoes"

On tour with For the Fallen Dreams to a local opening band.
"Your band is alright, if you meant to sound like everyone else."

I Grew Up in Mayberry

Charlotte, MI., believe it or not, it still basically looks just like this. 

And that is not a knock in the slightest. I loved growing up there, and would not trade it for the world. Hell, I met the love of my life, and my best friend there. Most of my fondest memories take place in Charlotte too. But growing up in a small town can make a kid pretty restless. One would assume that's why I went to school with a bunch of drug addicts, pregnant teenagers, or in some instances both. 

To save time, and to avoid legal trouble we will skip ahead to the point in the story where an old man, sitting with his old hound dogs asks Gabe and I "Why you boys gotta be doin' that?" 

To set the scene it is roughly 2 or 3 in the morning, and Gabe and I are shit faced (this seems to be a recurring theme), on a back country road in Charlotte.

 We both do what any drunk person would do...lay down in the road. Gabe and I make eye contact and give a tiny laugh and then realize "what the fuck are we doing?". Why one of us would think laying down in the middle of the road would be our best defense is beyond me, let alone both of us at the same time. Oh well. 

We finally came to our senses as a truck in the driveway of the old mans house turned on. We got to our feet and ran like Flash Gordon on coke. I honestly think we had a shot at outrunning a pack of Kenyans we ran so fast. As the truck hit the road we dove off the road into some thick weeds. This is where we turned into the love child of Rambo, and Chuck Norris. We were low crawling through the weeds, combat rolling over ditches, and we might have even set up a few claymores or some shit, I don't know, my memory is fuzzy. As the truck crept by a spotlight was stuck out the window and searching the weeds for us. But we were too sneaky...or he was blind. I remember feeling like Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape". 

As my Nazi prison guard in a beat up early 90s Ford F150 drove by we skipped across the road and hid behind a shed. And then made our way down the road dodging behind bushes, and trees until we made it back to the bonfire we were attending. We were almost there and could see the light from the fire when we came up to a fence. It was quite rusted out, and barely stood waist high. I don't know if it was the adrenaline, or to keep tactical but Gabe took off hauling ass. He tried to grab the fence and throw his legs over to the side. But a combination of the fence being put up during the civil war, and Gabe being drunker than Ted Kennedy it just wasn't happening. The fence crumbled, and Gabe crumbled with it. It was one of the loudest thuds I have ever heard. It sounded as if someone dropped a Mexican shaped boulder from 20 feet up into a mound of clay. Half laughing and still worried of the old man with the truck we gathered ourselves up and ran the rest of the way to our friends house. We doused the fire and ran inside. Once we got inside we calmly informed our sleeping friend "OH SHIT, WE FUCKED UP!", and to "TURN THE FUCKING LIGHTS OFF!". We ran around the house at mach-3 and turned off the lights and laid down on the floor of the living room for the rest of the night...you know...just in case. 

This is where I am thankful of how much I contracted poison ivy as a child. Growing up running through the woods I would constantly wake up itchy, with a rash. It was just a part of childhood. I had poison ivy more than an Ohio State frat house has gonorrhea. But unlike sigma epsilon, I became immune to poison ivy. Gabe was not so lucky. His ass was swollen, and had a rash on it, and apparently itching like crazy. He went to the doctor, and had to get steroid shots in his ass, or some shit like that...probably an ointment or something too.  I wasn't to worried about another dudes butt to take notes. 

Oddly enough, that wasn't be the first or last time I was running for my life through backyards with my best friend.

Some Quotes From Work.

I usually leave work with a headache. Talking shit to idiots is usually how I cure myself, and get through the work week. Here are a few instances I could remember off of the top of my head. 

Someone at work complaining about the facial hair regulations. 

"Your mustache looks like rat pubes, id rather not have a mustache than look like that"

"You admitted to having sex with your step dads daughter, anything you could possibly say will not help your cause."

"I really wish you would fall into a wood chipper and leave me alone."

"You are from West Virginia, its not your fault your fault you're retarded...that blame goes to your mom-cousin-sister."

"Are you sure you have never been on COPS?"

"You are only here because a meth lab blew up your double-wide"

The Higgins Lake Ice Cream Debacle

 I have this issue my wife refers to as "diarrhea of the mouth". But you know what they say "behind every asshole is an embarrassed wife shaking her head." I don't know when it started, but sometimes I just say or do stuff to get people going. I like the reactions on peoples faces when I say some ridiculous shit. It is my version of crack.  If you have been around me for more than 15 minutes, you know that I like to make people laugh. Especially when people have the "too cool for school" mentality, or my personal favorite "super serious guy".

Junior high school is probably around the time that it started. Between telling jokes, or planting glue in someones back pack and informing the teacher he was sniffing glue, I was hooked. The attention, and the laughs I seemed to always need my fix.

Around 8th grade my family started an annual camping trip to Higgins Lake in Michigan. We go with the guys I used to play hockey with, and their families. These guys seem to turn me into a different kind of monster.

A tradition is to go up to an awesome ice cream store called Nibbles, aka Nipples. While we were at Nipples, I sat down with 2 kids at table for no reason at all. They were around 10 and 11 years old, slightly pudgy, shirtless, mullet donning, ice cream covered sticky kids. Where this is normally my place to shine, the kids beat me to the punch and start making sticky faces at me forcing me to laugh out loud. But not to be undone, I took off my shirt too, and started to smear ice cream on my face and mimicked them. We exchanged ice cream covered grins and grimaces until I, being an asshole, took it to the next level. I began stirring my ice cream until it was a pinkish purple color that no other than melted superman ice cream can achieve. I began to cover my hands in the ice cream goop, and then my chest, and face. I looked like a retarded indian, ready for battle. The pudgy kids stared in amazement and started laughing hysterically, so I did the only rational thing I could think of...put ice cream on them too. I started rubbing it into their faces, and pouring it on their chest, even using the spoon to fling some on for a nice little Jackson Pollock effect.

Then it dawned on me...these kids HAVE to have parents. Damn it. Like a horse with blinders on, I got tunnel vision when I saw my opening to make a joke. I looked up and there was what I assumed was mom giving me the look. Not the "lets make sweet sweet love" look, but the "I'm going to fucking kill you!" look. The look that only a seasoned mom can achieve. And just like my mom...I was terrified.

 I stood up and started to back away. My friends who have clearer heads than I,  had noticed what was going on, and had already headed towards the exits. We casually turned and walked away until we hit the edge of the building and were out of sight. Then we hauled ass. Not the kind of run where you are out for a jog, but the kind of run that you don't even dare to look back because you are a gazelle, and you know damn well there is a cheetah directly behind you. We made it back to the gate of Higgins Lake without the succubus mom in hot pursuit. We began to howl with laughter that can only come down from the bottom of your gut, the kind that makes you hyperventilate, and grab your sides in pain. But the pain is worth it.

I blame my friends for getting me in these situations.