If You Call Yourself a Fan You Need to Dress the Part

If you call yourself a fan you
 need to dress the part.....

I am amazed at how many so called fans go to their favorite sporting events inappropriately dressed. By inappropriately dressed I mean not wearing their team colors or even on some occasions, wearing the colors of the opposing team in complete and utter ignorance. To call yourself a fan of a college or professional team you need to dress the part. Spend a few bucks and buy a hat or jersey, Carhartts and flannel is not an option, especially for a football game in late September. 
 

This past spring I was lucky enough to “win” the opportunity to buy two tickets to an Ohio State home football game in the alumni ticket lottery. The unlucky part was that the game I got was against Colorado, who this particular season was expected to be about as good as their mascot Ralphie’s crap.  I ordered the tickets and waited until September for my annual golden tickets. The tickets finally arrived and I took a peak in the envelope. I looked excitedly until I saw where our seats were. Not only were the tickets for a crappy game, they were way up in the clouds by the airplanes and birds.

The big day rolled around and we headed to Columbus. We got to the game early to watch the pre-game activities and be entertained by the drunken student sections. The stands were pretty empty as kick-off approached. The day was crisp and clear, breezy, blue skies, low 70’s…..just a great day for football. We looked out over the stadium walls from our “nosebleed, we needed a helicopter to get to up here to the upper stratosphere" seats and could see for miles. Columbus to the south, Crew Stadium to the east and “The Schott” to the North.

I was surprised at the lack of fans in the crowd. It was supposed to be a bad season but I was still amazed at the amount of empty seats seeing that OSU football tickets are so hard to come by. Needless to say I was a little happy with the room to spread out. Being a larger guy, extra space was always good. At ten minutes until kickoff something strange caught my attention from the corner of my eye. We were sitting on the far right of our section on the aisle. From the far left side of the aisle came a Grizzly- Adams-esque hillbilly wearing a puke orange and green flannel shirt covered by a heavy winter Carhartt jacket.

The backwoods football fan made his way down our row and sat on my wife, not next to my wife, on my wife. There was plenty of room but somehow he still managed to plop his ass down on part of my wife’s left leg. We slid the opposite direction to alleviate the cluster that was just created. Then in broken redneck speak with an overtone of hillbilly, we heard “These seats are a little small. I hope there is room for my wife.” My wife looked down the aisle and “Holy crap! Look what’s coming our way.” I leaned forward and peaked down the aisle. The hillbilly’s better half, more like better three quarters was making her way to her seat. She had to have the biggest tank ass badonkadonk we’ve ever seen. She looked like a Weeble-Wobble as she bumped into the people in our row and the people in the row in front of us. She plopped down, her husband slid over touching my wife even more, and me, being on the end of the aisle, suddenly felt my right butt cheek slide off the bleacher.

The sun came out from behind the clouds just as it was time for kickoff. The game was just about to start. Our seats were cramped and my pregnant wife was reaching her fill of the unwanted space invader. He had his elbow in her belly and her head was practically buried in his armpit. A moment later he stood up to take off his jacket and WHOOSH! Out came a stench that words cannot describe. It smelled like the dude didn’t shower for weeks. Some of the worst B-O I have ever smelled (and I played high school football so I’ve smelled bad B-O) came rolling from under his coat. My wife gagged and turned her head the opposite direction. We weren’t sure when bath day was for this guy but it definitely wasn’t this week. Maybe he was going to have a victory bath after the game. All I know is this Billy-Bob, Cletus-Ray, Jethro-Junior, epitome of a Wally-World shopper was ripe! I wasn’t going to spend $160 for two tickets to sit by the stench on our bench for the entire game. I scoped out the open seats around us and found an open pair about twenty rows down. We left the great wall of stink and moved to a less-polluted section.

After our relocation to fairer smelling lands we found ourselves in the middle of the band parent section. The game started and all was good. At halftime Sir Stinksalot went to get a snack at the concession stand. We got a good wiff of him as he walked down the steps. The stench of his stinky-ness  was no match for winds blowing through the stadium. Things aired out and we could breathe once again. The band came up to our section throughout the game and the Buckeyes won. It turned out to be a great day even with the air pollution in section 7C.

There are essential things to remember when going to a game like tickets and the appropriate attire. I never thought I’d add a pre-game shower to the list. After our experience with the odoriferous emanating redneck I will never go to sporting event without showering ever again. Please remember D-O for your B-O before you go to see your favorite team play. Let the teams be offensive, not your personal hygiene.

Goodness Exclusion Principle (There can be no Goodness without Badness)

Pauli didn't know the half of it.....

As a father of 2 small children I have come to experience what I have deemed the Goodness Exclusion Principle. When my kids are in the same vicinity both of them cannot be good. It is frickin impossible. When one is good; the other is bad. It’s like they have to bring balance to the force. There can be no yin without the yang…..no Cheech without Chong…..no Luke Skywalker without Darth Vader…..no poop without pee (but pee without poop)…..you get the picture. Pauli didn’t know the half of it with his exclusion principle, maybe he didn’t have children.

The Goodness Exclusion Principle defined: If two small children occupy the same space at the same time only one can be good, the other has to behave badly.

If you have children I am sure you have experienced this phenomenon first hand. Your best bet is to keep them as far apart from each other if at all possible. The closer the kids get to each other the more this principle holds true.

WWLCS…..Three Little Words Sum It Up

"Oh F!@# It!"

WWLCS you may ask? What Would Lee Corso Say? He has lots to say but some things are more memorable than others. Out of all of Lee Corso’s famous words of wisdom, one phrase stands out above them all in my mind. Each week I look forward to watching College Game Day on ESPN to see my favorite team’s chances of winning or suffering an embarrassing defeat to opponents the like of Purdue broken down by Chris Fowler, Kirk Herbstreit, some guy from Meeeshigan, and Lee Corso.

Lee, the elder of the bunch, always puts his own quirky spin on the day’s big games. He is like the Mel Brooks of the college football universe. As most college football fans know, Mr. Corso likes to dawn the mascot headgear of the team he believes will win the big game of the day. This particular Saturday I watched the end of Game Day to see what Corso-driven madness was about to ensue. He seemed to be struggling with which team mascot to pick when “Oh F#!@ It” came flying out of his mouth clear as a bell as he made his big decision. The headgear went on and the rest of the Game Day crew lost it and laughed uncontrollably. I thought to myself “Did he say what I thought he just said? Oh yes his did!”

I am sure that some of the viewing audience was appalled by the foul language they just heard on live television. I was amused and in awe. His short three word drop of the F-bomb really put things in perspective. There are so many trivial decisions in life that we are faced with that seem to cause a lot of headaches. We tend to dwell on the irrelevant and often overlook the important decisions and events in life. Lee’s little slip up gave me some words of wisdom to help me make the trivial decisions a little easier. It is so simple yet so effective. I think “Oh F!@# It!” should be added as one of the answers in a Magic 8 Ball. If Corso ever gets a statue in his honor, the plaque should say “Oh F!@# It!” The next time you are perplexed by a trivial decision, remember WWLCS…..What Would Lee Corso Say?.....“Oh F!@# It!” Make your decision and move on.

Wal-Mart Scares the Crap Out of Me

Welcome to Wal-Mart.....Have a nice day!

I ran to the local Wally-World one Sunday morning to pick up some things for breakfast. I jumped in the car, drove on the “highway to hell,” aka the road to Wal-Mart, and pulled in the parking lot. I hadn’t pooped for two days leading up to the IQ-dropping excursion and my stomach was starting to hurt. I walked up to the door and “Welcome to Wal-Mart” came from behind a row of carts in the entrance way. From behind the carts, the real life personification of the school bus driver from South Park garbed in a blue Wal-Mart vest popped up and waved and smiled as I walked in. The ambush made me jump. I muttered my usual cocktail of curses, grabbed a cart, and moved on. As I set foot across the threshold to ignorance and stupidity, I felt something move in the nether-regions of my stomach and had the uncontrollable urge to drop a deuce. I high-tailed it to the restroom, made my deposit, and continued on my morning adventure. I made it through the store in record time and got the heck out of Dodge without any significant loss of brain power. Wal-Mart figuratively scares the crap out of some people…..it literally scares the crap out of me.

Zoo Whiz

Birds of a feather often pee together.

Some of my family was in town for the weekend. We decided to take them to the zoo for the annual Halloween festivities and do something to entertain my two kids and nephew. We paid ten bucks a kid and got a couple handfuls of Tootsie Rolls coupled with minimal access to the zoo attractions. The kids were able to dress up and trick-or-treat around the grounds. We took them from stop to stop for a total of nine treat stations…..to my dismay there were no tricks. Most of the animals were packed away for the winter but for some reason the zoo was overrun with peacocks. They were every-frickin-where! There were peacock feathers and peacock poop all over the place. We were heading out and I had to take a leak. I walked in the men’s room, did my business, zipped up, and turned around. As I turned my head, something uber-colorful caught my eye. I turned around and holy-feathered-shit! There was a peacock with feathers fully fanned out in the men’s room. The bird was blocking the door and I wasn’t sure what the heck to do. I barked at it, whistled, stomped my foot, walked toward it, and all it did was defiantly push up its chest in protest. I started to clap my hands together as loud as I could and it started to turn around. The fanned feathers went down and the peacock walked out of the restroom. I walked out behind it and caught up with the rest of the family. I think peacock is misspelled after the pee-house odeal. The spelling should be peecock…..it still sounds the same but is more representative of the bird I ran into in the zoo men’s room. 

Dude, Just Use Your Hand!

Sometimes you just have to go
back to the old stand-by.

Several years back we were expecting our first child. Like most first time parents-to-be we went to a series of birthing classes. The one night in class they showed us a video of the birth of a child. After showing us a little bundle of joy springing forth from some woman’s nether-region and scaring the shit out of most of  us in the room they moved on to talking about having sex after child birth. The instructor proceeded to tell us, by us I mean mostly the men in the crowd, that there would be no hibbidy dibbidy for six weeks after the birth of our child. After the instructor made the comment about the horizontal hula hiatus I heard a male voice from the back of the room say “I wanna have a big family. I don’t know if I can wait six weeks. Honey, we ain’t gonna wait that long.” I turned around to find the epitome of a Wally-World shopper continuing to run his mouth. The instructor informed him that his wife needed time to heal but he kept flapping his jaws and insisted that they couldn’t wait. Then I looked at him and said “Hey buddy! Just use your hand for a while…..you’ll get by.” He just looked at me with a stupefied blank stare and said “Whaaaaaat?” I glared at him and said “Just beat off….that’s what I meant by using your hand. Choke the chicken. Spank the monkey. Flog the dolphin. Tame the one-eyed monster. Rub one out. I don’t care what you call it, just shut up.” The instructor’s mouth dropped. She was shocked by comments but I think she was a little thankful as well. The NASCAR clad moron didn’t say a word the rest of the night and disappeared from our class thereafter. His wife still showed but there was no sign of the horny hillbilly.  

Customer Service is Dead….and it’s Stinking the Place up!

A wise man once said: "Clear you ass and
your mind will follow"

We were having some trouble selling our old home and decided that maybe clean carpets and tile would spiffy it up and help sell it. I called one of the local carpet cleaning companies to set up some time to get the floors cleaned. I talked to the scheduler and got “We have 2 hour appointment windows. I can schedule a 9am – 11am for you tomorrow.” My response was, “I have a job and don’t really want to take time off of work. I can’t just drop everything and be there to let you in. Do you do weekends?” She responded “No, we run from 9am -5pm, Monday through Friday.” I looked at my calendar and said “I can do next Thursday. Is that available and what times do you have?” She acknowledged “Yes, that will work. We have an 11am to 1pm window open.” I replied “Ok, I will put that in my calendar. Can you call me at work 30 minutes before the cleaners arrive so I can meet them at the house to let them in?” She agreed to call and we made arrangements for them to clean 4 carpeted areas and 2 tiled bathrooms.

Thursday rolled around and work was nuts. I was in a meeting until 10:45 then checked my messages…..no call. I stepped out of my office at 10:59. At 11am sharp the phone rang. I got back in my office at 11:05 and checked the new message. A loud voice bellowed from the speaker “Dude, I am at your house to clean your carpets and you are not here. Can you call me and let me know when you will be here?” He didn’t leave a number and hung up. I called the main office and talked to the scheduler from the previous week. I said “Hey, you told me they were going to call around 30 minutes before they would be arriving so I could get to the house to let them in. They called and left me a message that they were at the house and were waiting on me. The guy said to call him back but didn’t leave me a number.” She replied “I don’t remember agreeing to that but let me call them and see if they can stay.” I heard her talking on the other line and then she rebutted “Sir, they will wait for you. When will you be there?” I told her that I would be there in 30 minutes, hung up, and ran out to my car. During the jaunt to my car I felt a rumble down under and things started to loosen up. I soldiered on and put my intestinal fortitude to the test.

I drove to the house in record breaking time. I opened the garage door and jumped out to meet the crew. The leader, at least the one who could make sentences, said “Dude, I’m Curtis and we’ll be cleaning your carpets today.” We walked inside to review what to clean. Curtis then proceeded to rattle off “I have down that we are supposed to clean 6 carpeted areas. Is this right?” I abruptly barked out “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I have 4 carpeted areas and 2 tiled areas to get cleaned. I discussed this with your scheduler on the phone.” Then Curtis looked at me with his stoner eyes and a confused look and said “Dude, we don’t have the tile cleaning machine. You’re going to have to schedule something later. We’re backed up for the next week.” So I walked out to the car to grab my cell phone. I called the main office and explained the situation to the scheduler. She called the crew to get some details. After we literally played the telephone game for 15 minutes she came back with “The cleaners have one more job then they can pick up the tile cleaner and finish up at your house today.” I thanked her and hung up.

I walked into the house to review things with the cleaners. Both of them looked pissed off that they had to come back and started to get a little mouthy. My stomach once again started to growl and the good ship turdy turd was ready to set sail. I was going to be a nice guy and drop a deuce back at work but I had had enough. I walked back to the main bathroom and dropped a deuce so big that it was a deuce-deuce. The smell of death filled the bathroom and began to roll out from under the door. I walked out and turned off the fan. The smell followed me down the hall back to the cleaners. I wrapped things up and left them to simmer in the stench. Needless to say, I got some sick pleasure out of dropping the pile of a lifetime at the house just for the cleaners to put up with. I’m convinced that customer service is dead. I’m just avenging its death in my own special way.

Daddy, I Have a Request.....

My Little Princess likes to listen
to the Prince of Darkness

We were driving to the store one weekend and out of the back seat I heard “All aboard! Ha ha ha haaaa! Ay, Ay, Ay,” I looked at my wife in shear amazement. A few seconds later I heard “I’m going off the rails on this crazy train.” echoing out of my 3 year old daughter’s mouth. What the heck? I looked at my wife and asked “Is that what I think it is? She’s singing Ozzy? Where did she pick that up?” My wife explained to me that she had heard it on the radio one day and really liked it. Somehow both of my kids found the song humorous since they are told they are driving us crazy all the time. The following weekend we were once again driving around and I heard “Daddy, can you put on Crazy Train?” come from the back seat. I looked in the rear view mirror and said “Baby, I don’t have Crazy Train so it’s going to be hard to listen to it.” She responded “Turn on the radio, put it on there.” I continued to try to explain to her that I couldn’t just turn it on but she persisted. We were close to Best Buy so I ran in and picked up Ozzy Osbourne’s Greatest Hits. I popped the CD in the stereo and turned it up. “All aboard!” came barreling out of the speakers and my daughter started to rock out. My little head-banger in the back seat sang along with the chorus and was rocking back and forth until the song stopped. When it was over I heard “Daddy! Play it again! Play it again!” We listened to it a few more times and then my little crazy train ran out of steam. She conked out and we listened to some other music. I know someday that she will start listening to that teenie-bopper crap, but for now I’m going to enjoy her most likely short lived love of “Daddy’s music”. I am glad to see my daughter shares in my love of rock and roll…..for the time being. I’m ok with her listening to Ozzy but I hope she doesn’t try to bite the heads off of any bats or small rodents. 

The Final 10%

Moving sucks.

We were getting ready to move to our new home. I was having a conversation with my boss about the ensuing move and how much of a pain in the ass it was going to be. He made a comment that stuck with me and it echoed through the entire move. He said “It always seems to be that last 10% of the move that drags on forever. You just hit the wall and it seems like the move will never end. You eventually get done but it seems to take an eternity to do it.” We were only moving a short distance away to a larger house. The amount of stuff we had accumulated over the seven years in the old house had grown to the point that we had a lot of it in a local storage unit…..which was creepy in its own special way, but that is a different story. Moving day came, and we started the migration to the new pad. We moved, and moved, and moved some more but the sheer volume of stuff didn’t seem to go down. A few days later we were nearing the end…..we reached the final 10%. He was right. It was “Smack!” right into the Great Wall o’ Moving Monotony. It seemed like the remaining few items were multiplying like rabbits. It wouldn’t go away. One trip, two trips, three trips, still not done, still more stuff and me wanna go home! What I thought would take a few trips turned into five but eventually it was done and the moving day version of Groundhog Day came to an end. The final 10% was definitely the worst part of the move. It seemed like an eternity while we were moving but looking back it didn’t take that long. I know it’s not possible but the boxes really seemed to multiply as we reached the end of the move. Once we got everything moved the unpacking began. We reached the final 10% of the boxes to unpack and those began to multiply as well. Either way you slice it, whether packing, moving, or unpacking, the final 10% always seems to suck.

Let Me Translate This for You

Some people's heads are so far
up their asses that they need a
proctologist to dislodge it.

I find myself saying things I never thought I would say to my children as they get older. The hardest part is keeping it G-rated. Kids do stupid things (yes, I do too but I’ve gotten a little better as I have gotten older…..really). Both my kids have a bad habit of running into things that are right in front of them. It seems like every day one of them is running into something like the coffee table, the foot stool, the wall, the toilet, whatever the inanimate object, they have ran into it. One weekend my five year old son ran through the living room and right smack into the side of the leather ottoman (that has been in the same spot for two years now). There were instant tears and “That thing hurt my leg!” came rolling out of his mouth between sniffles and gasps. I looked at him and said “Hey! You need to be aware of your surroundings. That foot rest has been there for a long time. It’s not like it just jumped out in front of you.” A few hours went by and “Wham!” he ran into it again and the tears started rolling down his cheeks. “I hate that thing. It’s always in the way.” I looked at him shaking my head and watched him run into his bedroom screaming at the top of his lungs. I walked in and sat on the bed and once again said “Look buddy, you need to be aware of your surroundings. You can’t go running through the house like a lunatic. You need to pay attention to what is in front of you so you don’t run into things.” He looked at me and said “OK, I’ll try to pay more attention when I’m walking through the house.” I left his room and headed to the kitchen for a drink. A few minutes later “Kaboom!” he ran into the coffee table. By this time I had reached my fill. I walked into the living room one more time to remind him to be aware of his surroundings only to find him hitting the coffee table yelling “The stupid thing hurt my other leg!” I looked at him and echoed my previous two lectures “Hey! You need to be aware of your surroundings. It’s hard to see what’s in front of you when your head is stuck where the sun doesn’t shine.” He looked at me and asked “What does that mean? Where doesn’t the sun shine?” I shook my head and said “You just need to be aware of what’s around you so you stop hurting yourself.” Then I walked away to let my comments simmer in his head.  So remember…..kids do stupid things but you need to keep it age appropriate when correcting them. Sometimes you just can’t tell them “You need to get your head out of your ass!”…..no matter how bad you want to. “You need to be aware of your surroundings!” will have to suffice.   

Thank You Sir, May I Have an Udder?

Moo!

We took the kids to one of those “working farms” one fall weekend. We got to learn all about the fun stuff our ancestors got to do on the homestead of yesteryear. They had quite a menagerie of farm animals…..goats, pigs, cows and the like. As we were walking around my 5 year old son abruptly stopped. I heard a gasp of surprise and turned around to find him with one hand over his mouth and the other arm fully extended with his index finger pointed at the barnyard. I said “Hey, What? What’s the deal?” He lowered his hand and exclaimed “Dad! Look! That cow has four penises!” I responded “Buddy, that’s a lady cow.” He retorted “OK, that lady cow has four penises!” I started laughing and put my arm around his shoulder and said “No, buddy, remember that girls don’t have a penis.  Those are udders. That is where the milk comes out.” He looked at me in utter amazement and said “Oh, OK, It’s hard enough to aim one of those, I couldn’t imagine four.”

Fast Food Clusterfication

Imagine the possibilities.....they
would be endless!

In case you didn’t know it, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut are owned by the same parent company, Yum! Brands. During one night of drunken stupidness in my eight years of undergraduate studies, and there were many, my roommate and I came up with Kentucky Fried Taco Hut. We were both in scientific majors, engineering and computer science, and took a lot of math. I still remember the following equation written on a dry erase board in the kitchen:

Kentucky Fried Chicken + Taco Bell + Pizza Hut = Kentucky Fried Taco Hut

I’m not sure what sparked the idea of the super restaurant. I think we were watching the NCAA basketball tourney and commercials for the three restaurants came on one after another. Shortly thereafter we started seeing two of the three combined in one restaurant…..Taco Bell and Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Taco Bell, and so on. I still to this day have not seen the three combined. I’d like to see it. It would be awesome! I throw this out to Yum! Brands…..I dare you to do it. I don’t think you have the Kentucky Fried Cahones (this means balls people!) to do it. This would be a Mecca for drunken college students and their late night munchies everywhere! You’re missing one heck of a money making opportunity.

I Shouldn’t Be Proud of This Butt…..

He who smelt it dealt it.

I shouldn’t be proud of this…..but I am…..We went to B-Dubs (Buffalo Wild Wings for those of you unfamiliar with the name) for lunch. After partaking in some sauced-up wing-alicious goodness we went to run some weekend errands. It was 90+ degrees outside so we were trying to stay cool in air conditioned places. Just before arriving at our first shopping destination I farted. It was quiet so the rest of the family didn’t notice and there was no odor, so I thought, then “BAM!” the stench started smacking all of us across the face. We jumped out of the car and went into the store. We shopped around for 45 minutes or so and returned to the Dad’s stink mobile. I unlocked the car doors and the kids jumped in as my wife and I loaded our purchases into the car. We jumped into the car and from the backseat I heard my almost 3 year-old daughter ask “Daddy, why does it smell like eggs in here?” My wife just rolled her eyes and I laughed a big belly laugh. The stench didn’t clear out, it just baked for a while as we shopped. Just remember, if you fart in a hot car, roll down the windows. Otherwise things will just cook and simmer and the smell just won’t go away. I shouldn’t be proud of this…..but I am.

Chipotle Bean Bag Punch

My daughter has one heck
of a right hook.

We went to dinner to get some big ass burritos and chips with guaca-guaca-guaca-mole (at least that’s how I picture Fozzy Bear saying it). For some reason Chipotle was more like Slowpotle this particular night. We were standing in line and the kids were getting rambunctious. My 5 year old son walked by my wife and punched her in the arm. Of course my nearly 3 year old daughter had to follow suit. She walked by my wife and over to me. She walked up to me and swung her arm back and “KA-POW!” she punched me right square in the nuts. I know this wasn’t intentional since she just happens to be the right height to punch me in the junk but it hurt like hell. We made our way the counter and I placed my order.  As we made our way down the line the “burrito artist” asked “What kind of beans would you like, black, or pinto?”  My response was “Black, I think they are definitely black.” Needless to say my burrito was delightful even after the sucker punch from my little Laila Ali in-the-making.

Return of the Wise Ass

Be careful what you say to your
kids....sometimes they actually
listen to you.

We made it through most of the first day of our recent summer trip to Sesame Place. By the time 4 o’clock in the afternoon rolled around the kids were tired and getting cranky. My 3 year old daughter definitely needed a nap and my five year old son, whether he would admit it or not, was in desperate need of one too. We were heading to the next ride and my son threw a fit. After mentally drop kicking him, I looked down and said “What the heck is wrong? We’re going to the next ride.” He looked at me and said “I don’t want to go to that ride. You keep taking us to the rides and telling us which one to go on. I want to go down a water slide.” I thought about how to reply to this rant for a minute and responded “We came to this park for you and your sister. We like Sesame Street and all that stuff but we wouldn’t have come here unless we had you. We are here for you, you need to remember that.” The speech seemed to calm him down and the rest of the night went without incident. The next day we arrived at the park and went down the list of attractions to hit. There was a water slide I wanted to go down…..one of those big wedgy-givers. I said to the kids “Daddy wants to go down this water slide first.” My son looked at me and said “Dad, I thought you said you were here for me and my sister, not for you and mommy. Why are you telling us what rides to go on?” I wasn’t sure what to say. I was impressed that he actually listened to my dissertation on being good the day before. I think I’ve learned the hard way many times over that I need to be really careful what I say to the kids. It may seem to solve a problem at the time but seems to bite me in the ass somewhere down the road. I think every parent goes through this….eventually your kids will turn your lecturing and correcting against you.

The Wise Ass Strikes Back

Nobody likes a backseat driver.

We were on yearly pilgrimage to eastern Pennsylvania to see some of my extended family. We started making it a point to find new attractions to take the kids to in order to break things up a bit. We were on our way to Hershey to see how chocolate was made. On the drive there I just happened to miss a few turns. We still got where we wanted to be, just a little later than desired. After making the last wrong turn I heard my five-year old son blurt out what sounded like “Mommy is daddy following the GPS or is he trying to be a man again?” It didn’t register at first but my wife caught it and started laughing. My response was “What? What did you say?” My wife then proceeded to explain to me that even my son was picking up on my inability to follow directions. I then came to realize that the good old days of stopping at a gas station to ask for directions were gone but getting lost was still alive and well. The gas station attendant has been replaced by the GPS but some of us still won’t ask for or follow directions. The funniest part is that my son has yet to realize that this poor direction following is hereditary and it will catch up with him some day. I’ll wait until then to remind him of his back seat driver antics and welcome him to manhood.

New Jersey Mystery Goo

What the hell is it?

We took a trip back east to see some relatives on my side of the family. Last year we discovered a Sesame Street theme park so rightly named “Sesame Place” in the greater Philadelphia, Pennsylvania area. We had a blast last year but were only there one day. We decided to go for two days this year to ensure that we were able to ride all the rides. My wife was pregnant so we took her younger sister along to help take the kids on rides at the park and get some exposure to eastern Pennsylvania.  My wife found a package deal for two days at the park and three nights in a local hotel. She booked everything and we were set. This go-around our hotel just happened to be in New Jersey, just across the border from Pennsylvania. 

We arrived at the hotel late the first night due to some confectionary sightseeing in Hershey….and yes, if you haven’t figured it out, that is where Hershey’s Chocolate is made. We checked in and went in to the room. Since having our first child, we developed the habit of getting a hotel room with a fold-out sofa sleeper. Since the kids have a natural ability to find the floor when they are sleeping (falling out of bed), we started taking out the mattress and putting it on the floor….to reduce their potential energy for you nerds out there. I had to take a major leak after a few hours in the car so I ducked in the bathroom. When I came out I found my wife and sister-in-law pointing to some brown goo on the couch mattress.

My wife waived to me “Come here a minute, check this out.” I looked at the goo and asked “Did someone shit on the bed?” It kinda looked like chocolate syrup dribbling down the backside of the mattress. My wife asked “What do you think it is?” I had no clue. There was really only one way to find out. I was feeling somewhat adventurous so I ran my finger through it so I could get a closer look and take a wiff. I looked at my wife and sister-in-law to find them gagging and trying not to vomit with my actions. Keep in mind, I played high school football…..we did a lot of gross things, so this didn’t really bother me. Parenthood also prepared me well. I’ve been crapped, pissed, and puked on (not as much as my wife) over the last 5 years of child rearing. My wife looked at me in disgust “What is it?” It had an aroma of Asian cuisine. I washed my hands and headed for the front desk.

I got to the desk and was greeted by the night attendant. “Can I help you sir?” asked the woman behind the counter. I proceeded to tell her “We were taking the mattress out of couch to put it on the floor and we found some dark brown goo on the backside of the mattress.” She looked at me and said “You can’t take the mattress out of the couch.” I was a little taken aback by the statement and looked her in the eye and said “The issue isn’t that I am taking the mattress out of the couch. The issue is that there is some brown gooey shit on the back of the mattress.” At this time the night manager came out from the back office.  I drug them down to the room and showed her the unwanted grossness. They asked me “What is it?” I once again looked at them in total befuddlement and said “I don’t really care. My kids aren’t sleeping on this.” The night manager spoke up “We’ll get you in a new room. Hold on a minute.” He ran down to the desk to get us set up then dropped off the new keys.

We grabbed our bags and moved to the new room. I ran out to the car to grab the remainder of the stuff. My wife and sister-in-law once again started getting the bed ready for the kids while I was gone. My sister-in-law removed an arm pillow only to find another surprise. There was a blue lace thong and an unused tampon tucked under the pillow. I got back from the car and was shown the next complimentary hotel gift. I threw the tampon in the trash, grabbed the undies, and once again headed for the front desk. Once again, the ladies were in disbelief that I touched the undergarments, and started laughing so hard they were squealing and tears were running down their faces.  I walked out the door and jumped on the elevator.

The elevator door opened in the lobby and I stepped out. The attendant looked at me with a look of trepidation. “Oh no! What now?” she asked. I held up the blue lace butt floss in her face. I blurted out “We had another gift in this room. This hotel has lots of surprises.” The night manager once again came out to greet me. I showed him the couch treasure. The attendant held out a trash can so I could throw the underwear out. I dropped them in and started walking away. The night manager yelled out “Please take a complimentary item from our grocery section.” I retorted “No thanks. It’s late and I’m beat. There’s been too much excitement since we arrived.” I heard the manager yell at the desk attendant something about how housekeeping was going to get an earful as I walked away.

Needless to say, our room looked pretty darn good the rest of the stay. Housekeeping kept things in order. The only other odd surprise was finding our kids’ pillow-pets in a compromising position on our return to the hotel room the following night. We never did figure out what the mystery goo was. As far as I know there is still brown mystery goo on the backside of the couch mattress of this specific hotel room. I do hope that they really did clean it up and didn’t just leave it for the next round of weary travelers who know the secret to keeping little kids from falling out of the hotel bed.

My Son and His Junk

It's ok to love your junk.

My son is a gear head. Gears are one of his biggest obsessions. If it is mechanical he likes it. I taught him how the brake system works on a car about 2 years ago. He still remembers at the ripe old age of 5 and still likes to tell adults about it. I think we’ve fed his obsession over the years. On Christmas, 2 years ago, my parents gave him a bucket of plastic gears…..one of those types of things you would find at an educational toy (what a frickin’ oxymoron) store. It was love at first sight. A few months ago, my in-laws found a few buckets of the notorious gear toys at a garage sale and bought them for their house.  The one bucket had all sorts of fun things like lights and slinky-like plastic springs. I came home from work one afternoon. I was greeted by my wife “Do you know what your son did at my parents’ house today?” I immediately thought it must have been something stupid, perverted, or stupid and perverted since she was referring to him as “your son”. She continued to tell me “He took one of the springs in the bucket of gears in my parent’s basement, hooked a gear to one side to weigh it down, held it in front of his crotch, and said “Hey Grandma, look how long my junk is!” to my mom.” Needless to say, my mother-in-law was not happy.  I immediately started laughing then was told by my wife “Will you stop it and go yell at him. He can’t be doing that.” I went into his room to talk to him about what he had done. Somehow I kept a straight face and explained to him that his actions were not cool and there was a place for his antics…..that place is called college. Every man is eventually proud of his junk, some just arrive at this place in life earlier than others.

You Need to Change What?

What did you say?

My sister, my brother-in-law, and my nephew came to visit us one weekend. After hanging out for a few days and letting the kids play in the backyard pool they headed home. I had to head out of town for business a few days later. I got a call from my wife one evening in the hotel. “You have to hear this story about your daughter. She walked up to me and said “Mommy, I need to change my bitches.  I need some new bitches” Keep in mind my daughter is a soon-to-be three year old. My wife then added “I didn’t think much of it at first. I couldn’t really tell what she was saying. Then a little later I walked into her room when she was playing with her dolls. I overheard her say to her doll “You pooped your pants. We need to change your bitches, you have dirty bitches.” Then my wife figured it out. She was trying to say britches, as in pants. After we thought about it for a minute we arrived at the origin of the slip. When my sister and her family were in town they kept saying “get over here we need to change your britches” to my nephew. Ah-ha! Britches not bitches! My daughter was trying to say the right word and something close kept coming out. I am sure there will come a time when she will want to get some new bitches. As for now, we were just relieved that she was only looking for some clean pants.  Parents –to-be and parents of small children remember this: you should stay away from words that can be misconstrued and mispronounced as much as possible when talking to small children. It could turn out to be a bitch of a situation if you don’t!

Passed Out Drunk Marker Face – The Kids Version

Be careful where you pass out.....

I think at one point or another in our late teens through early twenties we all go to a party where someone who was beyond drunk and passed out was the victim of marker attack to the face. Some of us have been most unlucky and have been the mark-ee, some of us have had loads of fun being the mark-er. I have only seen this type of marking ritual in teens and young adults, never by children, at least until recently. I got home late from work one night thinking both kids would be asleep. I was half right….my almost three year old daughter was wide awake and running around like she was possessed (minus the spinning head) and five year old son was out like a light on the couch. This was nothing out of the norm…..both kids usually conk out on the couch if we let them stay up past their bed time.

My wife and I were in the kitchen talking about something or other.  I walked into the living room to pick up my son and throw him in bed. I turned the corner to pick him up only to find out my daughter had already gotten to him. He was sawing logs on the couch with a toy purse in one hand, a doll under the other arm, pink lip balm all over his face, and some toy earrings hanging from his ears. I yelled to my wife “Hey, come in here! You gotta see this!” She walked into the room and we both looked at each other and laughed uncontrollably. I laughed “She got him good!” and my wife just shook her head.  She looked at my daughter and asked “What do you have to say for yourself?” My daughter pointed to him and said “He’s a girl now!” I thought this was a learned behavior but it is apparently more instinctual than originally thought. Maybe it is genetic? I guess my daughter must have this gene if it is truly inherited. Either way, instinct or learned behavior, she is pretty darn good at this classic party prank. I’m sure she will be a master by the time she makes it to college.

I Played Football not Futbol

One soccer ball + 10 little kids =
A whole lotta fun!

We wanted our intellectual 5 year old son to try out something more athletic so we signed him up for soccer at the local YMCA. My wife got him registered and signed me up for assistant coach. There was a parents meeting just before the season started. I wasn’t going to attend but decided to…..good thing I did because there was no more “assistant” in front of my position with the team…..it was now just “coach.”  So I thought “OK, I can do this. I played football not futbol (soccer) but this can’t be that bad.” I found out the season was only 6 weeks and that each Saturday there would be a thirty minute practice and a 30 minute game immediately following. Maybe I was a little off kilter with my thinking but how bad could it be? 

So the first day of the season rolled around. I showed up at the field early so I could be the first of the clueless soccer parents on the playing grounds. I knew nothing about soccer but just maybe if I paced around the field kicking a ball in front of me I would be able to put on the facade of being a student of the game. I kicked the ball around with my son until rest of the team showed up. Eventually the rest of the parents and kids made their way to the field. There were all the usual introductions…..”Are you the coach? This is your coach. You need to listen to him. He’s going to teach you how to play soccer.” The barrage went on for about fifteen minutes then it was time for practice.

I ran through the roster, found all nine of the four to six year olds on the team, and then we started practice. We began with some warm-up drills. I started off with some direction changing exercises. I held the ball in my hands and instructed them to run whatever direction I pointed the ball. We did this for a few minutes. One kid ran completely off the field, two ran into each other, a few fell down, and three managed to keep up with the ball movement. Then I made them all line up on one of the lines on the field that I don’t know the name of.  I had them dribble the ball and kick it into the net one at a time. One kid picked up the ball and ran away with it.”I want the ball!” and away he went. I finally chased him down and got the ball back. Each kid took a few shots and we moved onto the next drill.

I told the kids to pair up with a partner and kick the ball back and forth. My son took a liking to a little girl on the team and off they went. They spent the next 10 minutes chasing each other around giggling. I didn’t see them kick the ball once.  Two brothers on the team started to fight. The younger boy cold-cocked the older boy and the tears started flowing. The YMCA’s rules clearly state that “No coach is to come between players.” I broke my first YMCA rule and split the two up.  Then we played kick the ball around the giant. I stood in front of the goal and then they had to dribble around me and then kick the ball in the goal. I scared half of them. The other half had fun and so did I.

Game time rolled around and we were off. There was some immediate drama. One kid on my team tried to kick the ball down the field and popped another girl in the face with the ball. It left a pentagon shaped imprint from one of the soccer ball panels on her face. There were lots of tears but I eventually convinced her to go back out on the field. A few of the kids understood that the object of the game was to kick the ball in the opposing team’s goal. The rest did as they pleased…..picking grass, picking flowers, pulling worms out of the ground, sitting on the extra soccer balls, chasing each other and the list went on.

I had a hard time getting kids to play goalie. All I heard was “I don’t want to play goalie! Awwwww maannnn!” I finally convinced one kid to play goalie. He wasn’t digging it until I told him what he should be thinking when the ball was coming at him. “Ball, this is not your home. Your home is in the other goal so my team can score. You’re not allowed in my net!  This is my net and I’m not letting you in.”  I looked down the field and kid playing goalie for the other team was standing in the goal facing out the back with the net pulled across his face.

For remainder of the half the kids ran around kind of chasing the ball and trying to kick it in the net. Some of goalies watched the ball roll by them as if it was in slow motion. My son did a good job making sure the clouds didn’t fall out of the sky. The kids discovered that it was fun to slide in the wet grass and fall down.  One kid thought the ball was a dinosaur egg and kept trying to sit on it to hatch it. We did have one ringer who had played quite a bit. He was very fast and could move the ball well but couldn’t seem to hit the broad side of a barn. The time kept ticking and halftime quickly approached. Things started to come together by the half and showed some improvement in the second half.

We were told in the parent’s meeting that there was no keeping score and the kids were there to learn. Like most of the parents I kept a mental tally and we landed up tying three to three. Needless to say it was utter chaos but fun.  I wrapped up the game with team cheer and off we went. I asked my son what the best part of the game was. He replied “I liked the little girl that I was chasing and that was chasing me.” Well, so much for soccer. All he talked about the entire rest of the day was how he met a little girl with pretty black hair in a pony tail and that he really liked her. My son may not be a gifted athlete, but he is already a lady’s man at the age of five.

Sometimes You Just Have to Pick It

Sometimes you just gotta do it!

I don’t care what people say or how gross it is; sometimes you just have to pick your nose. It is inevitable that you will get one of those boogers that can’t be blown out. There are some types of boogers that can’t be removed unless your finger is involved:

The Trap Door:  This booger is permanently hinged to your septum and flaps in and out as you breathe. It only lets you exhale and if you want to inhale through your nose it just isn't going to happen.

The Cliff Hanger: This booger is super-glued to the rim or your nose and is visible to spectators.  You rub your nose and you can feel it scratch your hand but it just won’t break loose.

The Whistler: This booger is super thin and lodged just right so it makes a whistling sound when you breathe in and out. No matter how hard you try you just can’t find the right tune to dislodge this bad boy.

The Hair Extension: This booger is firmly wrapped around one of your nose hairs and won’t release its grasp. It’s best to nip this one in the bud and get rid of the hair that it loves to latch on to.

Sometimes there is just no way around it…..you just have to pick. If you’re one of those people who tries to be sly and use a tissue…..guess what? You’re still picking your nose. Just remember that you can pick your nose, you can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose…..I guess you could but that would be just plain gross. If you have a booger that just won’t go away go ahead and pick it! You will breathe so much easier after this moment of shame.

My Mucho Mexican Letdown

Authentic my ass!

I knew this day would come. When it finally did I was unpleasantly surprised. It started like every other Sunday. We went to church then to lunch. My parents were in town so we took them to our favorite local Mexican restaurant. This is one of those places that you would miss if you moved away, and you would definitely make it a place to eat at if you happened to be in town. We walked in and were seated quickly as usual. The waiter came by and we ordered the usual accompaniments for our nachos: queso (cheese) dip and guacamole. He brought back the guac and the bowl of hot melted cheesy goodness that we have loved since day one. I have had hundreds of conversations with my wife about what kind of cheese was in the dip. It tasted strangely familiar but we could never put our finger on it. I tried every type of Mexican melting cheese from the grocery and have never been able to figure out what was in the dip. We had a lengthy conversation about the cheese and my mom finally asked “Have you ever asked them what is in the dip?” We had contemplated asking many times but always thought it was some proprietary secret recipe. So I responded “I think it is some special mix of cheeses. I don’t think they’ll give away the family recipe.”

We finished our meal, paid, and headed for the door. My daughter was the first to start with “I have to pee!” Then my son chimed in “Me too.” My wife and I took our kids to their respective bathrooms to let them do their duty. Meanwhile my mom was talking to one of the managers and asked him about the cheese. When we came out of the restrooms she made the following statement about our favorite cheesy concoction.  She whispered “l know what the cheese is. Do you want to know?” My wife and I eagerly agreed not expecting to get the following answer. “It’s melted Land O’Lakes White American Cheese.” I just looked in disbelief. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. No! No! No! That can’t be it, really? You have to be shitting me! My mom retorted “I asked the guy and he said melted white American cheese. Then I asked if that was all.” He responded “We add our secret spices too.....just kidding! It’s just melted white American cheese.”

I went to the grocery as soon as my parents headed home to validate this wild ass claim. I bought the goods and returned home. I threw a hunk of cheese in the microwave until it was super hot. I took it out and tried it….SHIT! The guy was right! That was it! Land O’Fuckin Lakes White American Cheese! Days went by and I was still in disbelief.  How could this be? All these years we thought it was something extra special that this Mexican restaurant had made. No one in the restaurant speaks English as their native language and they have to use white American cheese? If I ever find some other restaurant item that I just have to know what it is, I will keep my mouth shut. Some mysteries are better left unsolved. Some time the truth hurts. Who would have thought that the secret ingredient in Mexican restaurant’s queso dip was white American cheese?

Does God Live in Amsterdam?

Sometimes you hear the strangest
things in church.

We went to church one Sunday and the priest gave his homily. He is an Indian gentleman (from India, not Native American) who seems to lose the meaning of things when translating his words of wisdom. This guy is usually a rambler and has perfected the art of going off on a tangent when speaking in public. Needless to say, if he’s running the show we’re guaranteed for thirty to forty-five minutes of non-linear nonsense. My mind usually wonders off pretty quickly and I definitely don’t pay as much attention as I should. My mind checked out at light speed this particular Sunday then WHOA NELLY! Hold on partners, what did he just say? He headed off on another tangent and the following statement flew out of his mouth: “The man knocking on a prostitute’s door is really looking for God. He is looking to fill the God hole.” “What? What did you just say? Oh no you didn’t! Did he really say that?” I agree the dude doing the knocking is looking to fill a hole but God is definitely not involved. He may be looking for a religious experience but not for the man upstairs. He had the right intent, I agree with that, but the delivery was just a little off. Then again, maybe God lives in Amsterdam? There are a lot of people looking for him there. The Red Light District seems to be a popular place. So maybe my mind is just permanently in the gutter. Maybe I’m still mentally thirteen. Either way, it’s still funny and is something you don’t hear in church every day.

Don’t be a Wise Ass

It really sucks to be outwitted
by your five year old!

My kids have the bad habit of leaving the doors open everywhere they go. Their grandfather, my father-in-law, gives them heck and always asks “Where you born a barn?” followed by “Shut the dang door behind you!” We didn’t think the kids paid any attention to him since the doors never seem to get shut. One day my wife and kids arrived home and once again the door between the house and the garage was left open by my son. She looked at him and asked a familiar question…..”Were you born in a barn?” followed by “Shut the dang door!” My son looked at her and retorted “Mom, Jesus was born in barn and he turned out ok.” Then he walked away. My wife was left speechless. She really hates when she gets zinged by our kids.

J Saves K’s Sister

Sometimes being friends with your
sibling's friends turns out to be like
having another brother or sister.

I was enjoying my undergraduate studies so much that I extended things out a few extra years. I technically had five senior years (for a grand total of eight years in undergrad). This meant that there would be some overlap between my sister and myself in college. We were five years apart so we hadn’t gone to school together since grade school. During my 2^nd senior year she decided to attend Ohio State and stay close to home.

Once she started school she started hangout out with my friends…..sometimes more often than I did because I always seemed to be working on one project or another. One Friday night I was busy with some sort of engineering project and I got a call from my buddy J. The phone rang and I picked it up.

Me: “Wassssupppppp!” (Like in the Bud Light commercials…..this was still popular at the time)

The voice on the other end was J

J: “Dude, you need to come get your sister. She drank a little too much and is dancing on the coffee table. I think she’s trying to take her shirt off.”

Me: “Shit……Ok, I’ll be over is a few. Can you talk her down from the table so she doesn’t fall off?”

J: “Yep, just hurry the hell up and take her drunk ass home.”

Me: “Ok, see you in ten minutes.”

So I put my shoes on, ran out the parking lot, and jumped into my car. I was more annoyed that anything at this point. I drove to J’s apartment and knocked on the door. A falsetto voice came from the other side: “Who is it?”

My immediate response was “Housekeeping, let me in damnit!”

The door opened and J was on the other side. He motioned to the kitchen with his thumb: “She’s back there. We finally talked her down and took her beer away. You need to take her drunk ass back to her dorm.”

So I walked over and grabbed my sister’s arm “Let’s go back to the dorm. You need to go to bed.”

Of course the “independent child” didn’t want to leave and thought she was in control.

She yelled “What the hell do you think you are doing? I am fine! You’re not my baby sitter!”

I looked at her and said “Apparently I am. Seems that you can’t handle your alcohol and are acting like a total moron. J called and said you shouldn’t be out and about. If you hang out with my friends you have to assume they will tell me when you’re doing stupid stuff. You’re being a stupid drunk and I’m taking you back to your dorm.”

So there was a little more resistance then we finally made it out the door. We walked down the sidewalk to my car and I opened the passenger door: “Get in the car and let me know if you have to puke. I don’t want the new tiger stripe seat covers (yes really, they matched the brown interior quite well) covered in regurgitated beer and whatever else you drank!”

I walked around to the driver side jumped in and started the car. As I went to put the car in drive I looked over to find my sister sitting on the sidewalk. “Hey, what are you doing over there?”

She looked at me and said “Can you just take me home so I can go to sleep?”

I started laughing: “You want me to start driving you home now? Do you not see an issue with this situation? Are you really that f’d up?”

She looked at me and slurred out “No, just drive to south campus…..why can’t I find the fucking seat belt?”

I looked at her and yelled “Hey dumbass! Do you realize you are not in the car? You’re sitting on the sidewalk! Seatbelts are usually inside the car. Get in so we can go.”

So my sister pulled herself into the car, shut the door, and we drove off. I walked her up to the dorm, shoved her in the door “Goodnight yo!” and started walking away.

She looked at me and said “Good night big brother buzzkill! Thanks for the ride.”

I headed back to J’s for a few beers before getting back to my project at home. Needless to say, going to college with my only sibling was fun. Just remember this if you are planning to attend the same college at the same time as one of your siblings…..sometimes you land up sharing friends and sometimes those friends turn out to be like another brother or sister looking out for your better interests in times of extreme stupidity. If you want to partake in anonymous stupidity go to another school.

Poopin Stool Perfection

The technology is out there.We can
make it better. It can be improved!

Did you ever notice that some toilets are more conducive to crapping than others? There seems to be a certain combination of size and shape that promotes optimal pooping. So when it comes to toilets….. size does matter. Many businesses have figured this out. I am convinced they put in tiny toilets on purpose so people are less prone to pop a squat and drop a deuce…..it makes things easier to clean. People just pee and move on their merry way. I would like to see some engineering efforts well spent on making a one-size-fits-all self-adjusting toilet. My ass is wider than average so I should have a bigger toilet, right? Wouldn’t it be cool to walk into the toilet stall, drop trow, and sit down on a perfect size can every time? Imagine a thrown fit for a king! The right height, bowl shape, seat contours…..the world would truly be a better place. The next time you are sitting on a coffee-can-sized, low-rider crapper just think of the possibilities. The next evolution of the toilet could be revolutionary! Here are some words to live by: Clear your ass and your mind will follow. A good pre-game dump works wonders before big events such as games, tests, and the big presentation at work. The daily dump can make or break your day. Shouldn’t it be pooping perfection every time?

Swap Meet

Being a parent is great.....
99% of the time.

I was driving to an appointment and passed a sign stating “Kid Swap and Sale”. It had a date, time, and location, no other details. Later that day my kids were misbehaving so I decided to take them there to see what I could get for my two monkeys. The people running the event were appalled that I thought I could trade in my kids. I was upset that I couldn’t swap them in for better behaved ones. Needless to say, the event was set up for kids to trade and sell their unwanted toys and sporting goods…..they should have explained the purpose a little better on the sign.

How to Get the Job

Kissing ass makes your breath
smell like shit! This is a wonder
product for all the brown-nosers.

I have looked for jobs off and on since completing my undergraduate studies. Every so often I get frustrated with my current place of employment and look to see what is available in the area. I consider myself marketable and a solid addition to any company looking to make things better. I have applied for many jobs only to find out that I was overlooked for someone who was a “better fit” and "better qualified". Living in a smaller community, I have run into various people who have been picked over me and all I can say is WTF? I have struggled with what it takes to get a job nowadays. I have come to the following conclusion…..quote me if you would like. It’s not what you know, what you’ve done, and what you can do; oh no, no, no, it’s all about who you know, whose ass you have kissed, and who you have screwed.