It’s hard to believe that almost exactly 11 years from when most of you will read this, I was in a room with my family pounding cans of Natural Light from a cooler my brother had brought for me.

He brought a 30 pack because he’s always good about making sure we don’t run out of fun juice.

No, we weren’t on vacation in some beach front hotel room, rather, the reason for the beer was to celebrate the birth of my first born child, Ace!

She’s fucking 11!!

The nurse came into the room and sort of gave me a look like, “Really dude? Natural Light cans here in the room?”

I asked her if it was okay and she was totally cool about it.

“Just throw the empty cans away outside so it doesn’t stink up the room.” Was her only rule. Well, that and “She *nurse points to Wife* can’t have any.”

That was fair enough, more beer for me then, and we drank beer as we do when we have any reason to celebrate. I’m sure the wife was thrilled, but that’s how we roll.

As most of you know, I gots me two sons, Cool (5 now) and Gman (3 already).

They get a lot of play on this here blog because they’re sort of a team and they fuck things up all funny like together and make me chuckle. They’re boys, so doing stupid shit is in their nature.

Before the boys came along, however, I had me a girl.

A really special girl.

Ace mostly rolls her eyes at the boy shenanigans in the house, so it’s more difficult to catch her doing silly things. She does them, sure, but not as blatantly as her younger brothers.

Ace is a few years older than the boys because three weeks after we had her, I started law school. I was in law school, working my regular job as a cop and still working my secondary jobs too, so Wife was basically a single mom for much of Ace’s first few years.

I was always working or studying, so it wouldn’t have been fair to either of us to spit out another kid in the middle of trying to figure out how not to screw up the first one, so we waited.

That gave us a good run with the best girl a dad could ever ask for!

It seems like just yesterday we celebrated her first birthday. A friend of mine’s husband was director for the county parks and he got us a pavilion at a local park as well as some swim passes, all for free.

It sounds great, right?

It was, except for the fact that it was 137 degrees outside that day and I decided it’d be fun to barbecue for everyone. It was HOT.AS.BALLS!!

Happy first birthday, Ace.

Happy first birthday, Ace.

We made it through that day and learned our lesson about outside birthdays in July.

I assumed we could get away with just not celebrating her birthday ever again, but that didn’t fly.

Sorry kiddo, it's too hot for that shit!

Sorry kiddo, it’s too hot for that shit!

She’s been a good sport considering she has the DOAT for a dad.

I know most of you think that’d be pretty awesome, and it is, but it’s not all fun and games. She works around the house, and always has.

Not pictured - daddy drinking in a lawn chair nearby.

Not pictured – daddy drinking in a lawn chair nearby.

I was thrilled when she decided to dress up like her daddy on her first Halloween!

Moooooove your asses people, the cutest cow couple ever comin' through!

Moooooove your asses people, the cutest cow couple ever comin’ through!

She likes to play softball and has always had a pretty nice swing.

Ready to rip it!

Ready to rip it!

She’s also pretty good about sizing up the enemy when they get on base.

I'm not impressed with what I see here.

I’m not impressed with what I see here.

She’s an amazing kid and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

She wouldn’t want to admit it, but she’s got some goof in her. She’s more like her dad than she probably cares to admit.

2005-08-12 309

Sorry kid, it’s true.

We’ve always enjoyed our time together, whether it was riding horses.

2005-08-12 101

It sounded more fun than it actually was.

Teaching her gang signs.


Fo shizzle daddy.

Or just smiling for the hell of it.


Smiling for the hell of it.

Here’s a couple of pics so you don’t have to read my words for a few scrolls. You’re welcome.

edmonds05cards 039

Gratuitous hat pic.


Gratuitous bath pic.

Hahaha, and finally, here’s my baby girl and my mostly beloved Jojo. Ace has fed Jojo since she could walk, and still does to this day.

Even at 13, Jojo gets right up on her like she was below, back when she was a more spry 5 year old.



That’s all I got! This post was mostly for me to reminisce, but I hope you’ve enjoyed the Ace pics at least!

Have a great weekend.

Posted in Family, Humor, Parenting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

Penises or peen or peni, whichever it is, 101…

I almost posted another riveting rundown of my past weekend, but I could almost hear the collective sighs from each and every one of you as you began reading the first paragraph, so I crammed it into the drafts folder to die pull out at a better time.

It did involve golf, a new iPad and my wallet’s contents being on an interstate highway yet again, so your loss!

Like a total douche, I was typing that weekend wrap-up post on my new iPad in public, instead of paying a lick of attention to my boys as they played at this pretty cool train place that’s absolutely free.

Free toy train place? OKAY!

Free toy train place? OKAY!

I know, right? Gman fucking loves this place! That’s a blueberry syrup stain on his shirt, for you curious people reading this. A woman actually stopped me on my way out of IHOP to tell me that my boys were exceptionally well behaved and that she was impressed with them. Awe, thank you old lady, that was sweet. She must have been in the shitter when Gman was dumping syrup all over everything except his silver dollar pancakes.

It was a Tuesday, so I was the only man here above the age of six, outside of the poor bastard working the register. They have a register because the place sells great wooden toy train tracks, trains and accessories, just like the stuff the kids play with at the train place, as Gman calls it.

It’s the sort of place where soccer moms hang out when they’ve tired of the park and it’s too early for wine. They mostly hang out in clusters and say things like, “Liam, make better choices!” or “Carter, did you push that little girl half your size down and take her train? That’s not nice. Mommy is sad at you now. Please give it back or mommy will have to give you more pills” or “Charlie, mommy won’t buy you a new train if you don’t stop screaming right this instant, 1,2, are you, are you tired? It’s okay everyone, he’s just tired.”

No lady, Charlie is just a fucking brat.

I don’t mind being the only man in such a place, and in fact, I actually enjoy eavesdropping on the conversations of perfect strangers, especially women, because sometimes they talk about fun stuff like…….penises!


I  heard the word and immediately perked up. My dirty word radar indicated that it came from the right, so I turned my head and noticed a couple of ladies conversating about said penises just off to my right. Is it peni? Peen? Whatever, they were talking about the one eyed monster, let’s leave it at that.

One of the ladies was clearly due to have a baby any minute now, so I knew that she at least knew what a penis was, amirite!!?

Shut up; I’m totally right.

Sadly, it wasn’t dirty talk at all though.

The woman with child (in her belly) was due to have her first boy, and the other woman had just birthed a boy of her own. From the looks of him, he was maybe nine months old.

The pregnant lady was sort of freaking out to the other one about diaper changing messes and little erections and baths and peeing while standing, and all kinds of crap, all while the other one was nodding in total agreement as if the fears were totally justified. I felt bad for this unborn child since it was pretty obvious that mommy was disappointed that she’d not be buying Barbies and dresses and attending gymnastics or dancing recitals, etc. I mean she still COULD I guess, but my point was she seemed disappointed and scared that she had a baby boy coming into her life.

I started to laugh hysterically inside my head, in part because I’m a dick, but mostly because it brought back some great memories of my own wife yelling from upstairs, “DON!! DONNIE!!! COME HERE, HURRY. PLEASE!!!”

The yelling was almost always while I was in the kitchen cleaning up dinner and she was giving the boys a bath. In other words, they were naked and freaking her out.

While once or twice out of the hundreds of times, it was something like a new eczema flare up or a turd related (constipation) issue, almost every other panicky yell involved a penis related emergency.

It was both hilarious and somewhat cute that she had so many little boy and his penis questions. While my wife has a younger brother, he’s nine years younger than her, so she never really had any hands on experience with helping her mom with the really dirty work that it takes to get a boy and his penis through life.

My wife is a college educated and intelligent woman, and she knows how to use the internet. In spite of this, she still had many questions and inquiries about what was going on with the boys and their peckers.

Why is it hard like that?

Am I hurting them if I do this?

OMG, are they sexual deviants? Are my boys perverts!!!!??


It was all perfectly normal stuff.

As our two boys are only three and five, she has many years of penis stuff ahead of her, most of it much more vulgar and disgusting than what she’s experienced thus far.

Since I love her and may drop dead before the boys get married, I thought I’d write a post to assist her and the other moms of the world with their penis related fears.

So for all you confused and worried mothers of boys out there who didn’t have brothers or otherwise don’t know your way around a boy’s ding dong, here’s a list of some things you can expect of your boy and his penis:

Well, before we begin to get to the nuts and shaft of, haha, no, wait, the nuts and bolts of this post, I must forewarn you that I am not a doctor and I am not a blogger who wastes time doing research, so there is no science behind this post.

This is a blog post, not a doctoral thesis or dissertation or whatever they’re even called.

I am, however, a man.

I’ve lived with a penis for 41 years.

I have a dad with a penis and grew up with two little brothers who also have penises.

I watched my own mother struggle to understand and shake her head at us and our penises.

I have seen and experienced my share of penis related activity, so take that as a curriculum vitae that entitles me to be called expert enough to share my wisdom with the moms of the world struggling to understand what’s wrong with their little boys.

1. First and foremost, there is nothing wrong with your little boy. Boys have penises, and that’s a fact. They have this little protuberance and, as they’re little boys, must investigate its use. Why is it there and what do I do with it? If it makes you feel better, consider all the yanking and poking and touching it to various items around your house his own sort of practice in using the scientific method. He’s got a hypothesis, and that is “This thing between my legs is fucking amazing. It must be a magic wand or 11th finger that everyone wants to see and that I should use for everything.” He’s learning.

2. Your son loves you, mom, but he and his penis have a special relationship that you’ll never understand, and really, probably don’t want to. Don’t even bother trying to act like you get it and never try to get between your boy and his love for his penis. Just accept it as normal and do your best to make sure that he knows when it’s okay for him to whip it out and when it must be kept inside its trouser house.

For you visual learning moms, here’s how most men feel when we think about their penis.

A boy and his BFF!

A boy and his BFF!

2. Boners? Yes, they happen, a lot! They’re perfectly normal, even when the boy is less than a year old and doesn’t really know about women yet. It’s nature, man. If you have him out of his diaper and his lil johnson is exposed to air, chances are good that he’ll get excited. This isn’t only true when he’s 4 months old, it’ll be true when he’s 14, 34 and 104 as well. Don’t be scared of it, it’s just his penis with a bit more blood flow. That’s how he says, “hello mom, I love you,” before he can actually say hello. Just rub his little noggin (the one on his neck please) and say, “Oh son, you little scamp you. I love you too.” or something like that. It’ll go away on its own.

3. Baby’s little ball sack isn’t filled with faberge eggs and there really aren’t “family jewels” in there either, so they don’t have to be handled like they’re going to break if you wash them for him. My own wife often worried about whether or not she was going to hurt the boys, but up until a certain age (see above where I remind everyone I’m no doctor and I don’t remember my own experience) the testicles haven’t grown and there’s nothing there to hurt.

4. Boys who aren’t allowed to pee outside grow up to be serial killers. Is this true? Maybe, but probably not. I would bet that many serial killers did have some penis related issues as youngsters though. When a little boy has to go, he has to go. For my sons, when they say they have to pee, it means right now, not in five minutes or at the next exit, but Having boys who are confident and comfortable enough to piss on the side of the highway instead of all over your minivan seats is a wonderful thing. Let them practice in their yards, or better yet, the neighbors’ yards. They don’t pee any more than a cocker spaniel, so it’s not a big deal.

A fun way to potty train your little one is to let them try to write their name in the snow. There does become an age where it becomes necessary that they find discreet places to do their outside peeing, let’s call that age seven just to have a number.

Peeing is normal.

Peeing is normal.

5. There is probably nothing more disgusting and awkward in the world as a pubescent young man. He’s going to be awkward and his voice will start to change and all of a sudden, he’ll have testicles making sperm and semen and stuff. It’s a fact that your little angel will be in his room masturbating all over everything in sight. So gross, right? Wait till he’s doing it in your kitchen sink or in YOUR bed or in the garage or basement or in the car or wherever the urge hits little Johnny Cockknocker. It’s not his fault though, and it’s perfectly normal! Remember, it’s normal! Those Sears catalogs have lady models wearing bras and panties, so expect to never see one of those catalogs in tact until your boys are out of the house. I understand that the internets also has some sexually stimulating material on it as well. I’d suggest you maybe check Johnny’s browser history to keep him off sites that you don’t approve of. While some whacking off to Jennifer Aniston look alikes walking around naked is perfectly normal, there does become a point where normal has been left behind and we’re into let’s call a therapist territory. I’d say animal related stuff is a good red flag.

6. Once those balls have dropped, they become very sensitive to contact, but it shouldn’t really matter to you because it’s no longer cool for you to be washing them for him at this point. That’s gross, Jesus!

As everyone knows, getting hit or even grazed in the balls is the worst pain in the world, bar none. Ball damage can be very serious, so if your little teenager likes to play sports, he should be encouraged to wear a protective cup. It always amazed me the number of teammates I had who played baseball without one. Either they were extremely confident in their fielding abilities, or they were just morons, because a blow to the balls hurts like hell, much worse than even giving birth ladies. I mean, I know lots of ladies who’ve had multiple kids on purpose, but no man has ever volunteered for another blow to the nuts.

Well crap, I have so much more knowledge to share, but it appears I’ve written over 200o words already, and that’s my arbitrary cut off.

Sorry for the length, which by the way, is something only a few of us men ever have to say out loud. Hahahaha, see what I did there?

Do you have any fun penis stories or advice to share? Don’t be stingy.

Have a great rest of the week.

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 35 Comments

Answers to your pressing police related questions…

Wow, I’m a posting machine here lately, aren’t I?

Sorry about that.

Anywho, an indeterminate number of days ago, I offered to answer y’all’s (is that the correct usage, Molly?) police officer related questions, since many of you show mild interest in such things from time to time.

I got quite a few questions, including about 50 from Julie over at Bugbytes. I’m guessing she typed them on her phone in between sets of squat thrusts or whatever it is skinny, strong people do to get that way.

The first 22 are from her.

I’m not even kidding.

Let’s do this.

1. But really – do you feel bad for crying, teenage girls? Do you let them out of tickets? I’ve gotten out of two for crying.

D: The only time I can recall a young lady crying, I wrote her a ticket. She cried, yes, and I may have leaned towards letting her go, but then she asked me, “Don’t you have something better to do than write tickets?” Yeah, don’t ask that unless you want that ticket for sure.

2. What’s your favorite doughnut?

D: Glazed. Glazed dipped in chocolate like at Krispy Kreme is really good, but glazed is my favorite and how I judge a doughnut establishment. Donut Drive-In in South St. Louis is my current favorite place, but that changes monthly. I don’t eat them in uniform when I’m in public, for reasons I assume are obvious.

3. What is the standard over-the-speed-limit-your-ass-is-getting-a-ticket? 11 mph? 12 mph?

D: Um, so this may shock you, but in 15 years, I’ve written one speeding ticket. I’ll never forget it either. The guy was probably doing 105 miles an hour in a white Nissan something or other. Do they make a Z something sports car? Anyway, he was flying and had he not pulled over, we’d have never caught him, but he pulled over because I guess he knew he was busted. We wrote him a ticket because I was with my training officer, so this must have been in 1999 sometime. So short answer is I don’t have a set limit.

4. Do you feel awkward frisking people? I would laugh.

D: I absolutely hate it for many reasons, not the least of which is the worry that I’ll miss something and somebody will get hurt. Also, many arrestees are filthy too, so there’s that.

5. Have you ever shot someone? 

D: No

6. I heard a rumor that cops get a full physical before becoming a cop. This includes a finger up the ass. True or False?

D: I did not get a physical that I can recall, but there was a physical abilities test and a psych evaluation for sure. I did get a physical to become the relief train driver at Grant’s Farm by the then St. Louis Cardinals team doctor, Dr. Andrews I think. Google all that to make sense of it.

7. Have you ever escorted a woman in labor to the hospital?

D: No, and I’d never escort a civilian anywhere with them driving their own car. I did take part in delivery in an apartment once, but that’s for another post. Suffice to say there was lots of crying and screaming and near vomiting, and that was mostly from me. I was 25 and didn’t have kids yet. Funny story too, I met that baby just this year at the chicken palace. He’s a nice young man.

8. Why did you want to become a cop?

D: My dad was a cop in St. Louis for a while in the 70’s and always talked about it. Many of his friends were cops and I always heard the great stories. Like a lot of boys whose dad is in a certain job, I always knew I wanted to try it, but never intended for it to be my career. 15 years later, I’m still trying it. Oh, and I like to help people and shit too.

9. Do you threaten jail to your fighting children?

D: Never have. They’re really only marginally interested in the fact that I’m a cop at this point, and that’s cool with me. As an aside, I hate when people threaten that to their kids when they see me in public. FUCKING HATE IT.

10. Scott wants to know if you have a ticket quota?

D: See above, I obviously do not. With all the computer usage nowadays though, you sort of have to be able to show that you’ve been doing something though. There are other things to be done outside of ticket writing. Remember too that I’m in a large urban area, so the job I do is different than a small town deputy or a state trooper.

11. Best excuse/funniest excuse you’ve heard to get out of a speeding ticket?

D: I’d really have to think about this because there are so many excuses or other sides to a story. I have a loved one in the hospital seems pretty popular. I arrested a guy for stealing a car the other day and he insisted that “The bitch traded me her car for crack because she didn’t have no damn money!” Poor guy was probably telling the truth too.

12. Do you do stand up on the scanners for the people listening at home? They probably frown on that, huh?

D: I’m pretty crabby on the radio, honestly. I was funnier a long time ago though, yes. Not stand up funny, but entertaining for the dispatchers anyway. We’re mostly professional on the air, I swear it.

13. You do know that everyone taps on their breaks and stares at you in their rearview mirror while driving on highway, right?

D: Yes. I still get nervous when a cop car is behind me too, even when I’m in my own jurisdiction and doing absolutely nothing wrong.

14. Give us a wave when you pass us.

D: Will do. I always try to smile too.

15. Do you chit chat with the arrested people in the back or are you silent?

D: That’s absolutely up to the person in the back seat. I do offer turn on the radio, if they want. My preference is really to not talk, but you’d be surprised how talkative people are on their way to jail.

16. Would you ever do an episode of Cops?

D: We have cameras in the car most of the time now, and I’m not a fan, so probably not. Taken out of context, a lot of what I say probably doesn’t look too good, you know, profanity and stuff.

17. Have you ever pulled over on the side of the road and taken a nap instead of clocking people? I think I would.

D: I’ve never taken the class or training to use the radar gun, so I’ve never even touched one. My car doesn’t have one in it either. I’ve been pretty close to falling asleep in the car, yes. We get tired like anyone else, but it’s too dangerous to do that where I work and really anywhere nowadays. If you aren’t exposing yourself to getting shot, you’ll get put on social media. I’m not sure which is worse.

18. Is it true that red cars are more prone to getting pulled over?

D: I have no idea if that’s the case or not. Do you drive a red car, Julie? And wear a lot of red hats and shirts and stuff?

19. Worst (best?) thing someone has called you after giving them a ticket?

D: Honkey Ass Cracka was pretty good. I’m actually told I’m not like most cops a LOT. I think it’s a compliment, or meant to be so.

20. Saddest thing you’ve ever seen while on the job?

D: It’s hard to call any one thing sadder than another. Whenever a person dies needlessly, it’s sad, especially when it’s a kid. Any sort of mistreatment or situation where I see a kid has no chance for a decent future is sad to me. This is especially true since I’ve had my own kids.

21. Funniest thing you’ve ever seen while on the job?

D: Fat, naked guy running around at Mardi Gras one time was pretty funny. He had this whole Frank the Tank thing going on because I think he thought there were others with him, but no, there were not.

22. Who’s the faster driver? A mom in a sedan or a dad in a truck? THINK WISELY, HERE.

D: I think the world of ya, Jules, but women are worse. The WORST! But they look better doing it.

Beth stopped by, yay! She wants to know the following:

1. What’s the strangest/worst DOA you’ve ever encountered?

D: I’ll exclude all floaters plucked out of the Mississippi River, because they’re in a category of their own. When I was a younger cop, I was the leanest first responder on a call to check on the well being of a person. The door was locked so the fire department removed a window air conditioning unit and beefy firemen tossed my skinny ass (it was a long time ago, okay?) into the house. Long story short, the woman we were looking for was on her hands and knees in the middle of her living room, dead, stiff as a board. One arm was up, reaching towards some pills that were on a television set nearby. I swear it. It was creepy. For real though, nobody dies with respect. It’s almost always a stinky mess.

2. What’s the most outlandish thing someone has tried to get out of a ticket?

D: I get a lot of do you know who I ams and that sort of thing, but nobody has really ever done anything outlandish. One woman told me that she was a stripper, which wasn’t an answer to anything I asked her. It was late at night and she was apparently coming home from work. She passed the jumping and bending and cartwheel DUI test with flying colors, so no ticket. (KIDDING!!?). It’d be nice to have a Tommy Boy type story where the occupant ran around their car yelling “BEES BEES, THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!!!” Lol.

From my pal Paul the Trucker:

What was the funniest encounter you ever had as a cop?

D: Hmmm, there are so many encounters over the years that it’s hard to pick one that’s the funniest. I’m a fan of anybody falling down, so once, a guy put his fists up like he wanted to box me. He’d just been in a fight in a bar and was hammered drunk. This was before we had Tasers, or I’d have probably hit him with that right then and there, but instead, he threw a swing at me (never close to making contact) and fell face first onto the concrete. He roughed up his face pretty good and then peed in his pants before yelling, “I’m not drunk! I’m drunk, but I’m not driving home!!” No sir, you won’t be driving home for sure. Lol. Maybe you had to be there. This was also funny too.

Mark asks, “Have you ever had a ridiculous handcuff incident, Don? On the job, on the job?”

D: Duh, on the job, Mark. I’m married so the other is silly fantasy stuff! I don’t really have one that comes to mind, but once, my partner cuffed some fat guy and he took off running, hands in cuffs. My partner, who is not fleet of foot, chased him and the sight of the fat guy and my lead footed pal running was pretty funny. He did catch up with the guy though and all ended fine.

From Hollie and subsequently, Nadia:

My question is: how many times a day do you have to stop yourself from saying, “you can’t really be that fucking stupid!”?

D: Uh, lots!! I also have to stop myself from asking if people really think that I’m that stupid too.

Red Dog - No sir, I’ve never pushed anyone down the stairs, swear it!

From my new friend Jen:

1. Best story about someone who got out of speeding ticket..

D: See above, I don’t really write speeding tickets. Boring, sorry.

2. Naked people. (That’s not a question, more of a general topic. Because cops plus naked people would have to make a good story…)

D: It’s not really a question, but the answer seems to always be PCP. It’s crazy.

Ugh, here’s notorious cop hater Girl Ryan – I’m making a list of questions for you- i have many.

For starters, why do cops always have to be so rude when they first pull you over?

D: I’m very pleasant to almost everyone, thank you.

How do you get out of a speeding ticket?

D: Don’t speed.

What happens if you are pulled over for a DUI?

D: Um, generally, if you’re drunk, you get in trouble?

Is it illegal to pee outside even if you have to pee really bad and cant hold it?

D: You live in New Jersey, right? My understanding is that people piss, shit and throw trash wherever they please, no? As for my part of the country, yes, it’s illegal to pee on the street. Don’t drink so much booze though and you won’t have that problem.

From perhaps my first ever follower, Canadian!!

How many times a shift do you touch your gun? Your REAL gun. Not the sexy one.

D: Haha, my sexy one! That’s rich. I touch it (the non sexy one) occasionally just because it’s on my hip there. I pull it out a handful of times a month though, I’d guess. Certainly whenever I’m checking out a house or building for burglars and such. Sometimes zero times sometimes several. Just depends on the time of the month and the phase of the moon.

The amazing DJMATTICUS!!

If police are there for our safety, then why do they hide on the side of the road to “catch” us speeding? And, along those lines, do you have any input on the “law enforcement” verse “peace officer” debate?

D: I don’t really do the whole speeding thing, so I’m not much help with that one, Buddy. We have a unit devoted exclusively to traffic and they do most of that stuff. It’s not really my bag. People drive like mad-men on some of the streets where I patrol though, so I’ll eat my lunch in a spot where people can see me and slow them down a bit, but I have no intention of writing a ticket, normally. The highway is one thing, but 70 mph on most city streets is unsafe.

I didn’t know there was a debate, but there’s truth in both titles. Keeping the peace is a big part of what I do, but there are different agencies that do more “law enforcing” I guess, like a trooper maybe.

Have you ever pulled someone over and had them be completely belligerent about getting a ticket? What did they do? (I may not like getting pulled over, but I’m always very polite…)

D: Lots of people are belligerent in their own way, or at least passive aggressive. If I sense any sign of that, I’m more apt to write a ticket. For example, if I have to tap your window to get you to roll it down, it’d better be broken or you’re getting some tickets. While I don’t write folks for speeding, I get them for any number of other violations. Nice people and people who are up front about being in the wrong almost always get out of tickets with me. I let more people go than I write for sure. I can’t recall one person being outrageously belligerent, but I’ll keep thinking on that.

A couple times I was pulled over in the middle of nowhere in Arizona driving between bigger cities and the officer asked me if I had any weapons in the car… Have you ever asked someone that? What was the strangest answer you received?

D: I ask about it a lot, yes, but not always. If the person isn’t doing anything like bending over between the seats or acting suspicious in some way or other, then I generally take care of what I stopped the person for and send them on their way. If I run their license and see that they have a violent history or robbery arrests, then I may also inquire as to what they have in the car. Smaller town officers or troopers don’t have the luxury of another cop being close by like we normally do in the city, so I can see how those guys and gals would be more apt to concern themselves with such things.

My favorite Southern person, Molly asks:

Do you wash your police uniform or is it dry clean only?

D: It can be done either way, but I get mine dry cleaned because I think it looks sharper. Looking like you care is half the battle with this gig sometimes. I think you lose a little bit of credibility, if you show up looking like you slept in your shirt.

How many times have you used hand cuffs this week? At WORK.

D: I’m on vacation this week, so zero so far! Generally though, I maybe put them on people two to five times a week. I don’t know what the perception is, but we don’t arrest people every shift or anything like that. It just varies.

Do you ever turn on the fancy lights and siren when you don’t feel like waiting through a red light?

D: I’m probably not supposed to say yes to this because it’s against policy, but if I had, it’s always on my way to a call for service, not to lunch or something like that. Honest!

Okay, this was way too long and I apologize for that! Hope it was at least mildly informative and entertaining. Sorry if I missed anyone, if I did, give me hell and I’ll make up for it somehow some day.

Have a great Monday!.


Posted in Humor, Police Stories, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 34 Comments

A giant hill a sizable lake and a near death experience?…

Here’s a quickie for ya.

Ha, my wife will wince when she reads that line out of habit. She’s no doubt had enough of my quickies, but that’s for another day.

As you regulars will recall, last Saturday I whooped it up gettin’ drunk at a got dang country concert, cowboy hat and all.

This Saturday, I shall be whoopin’ it up all classy and shit on a golf course.

Your mind is no doubt blown by my versatility, no? I AM the donofalltrades though, right?

I haven’t golfed in over a decade, so this should be amusing. I mean I haven’t hit balls or even touched my clubs other than to move them to get to the lawn mower in the garage.

There will be yelling and cursing and maybe some crying and hurt feelings, but at the end of the day, there will be beer, and that makes it sort of okay.

The point of this here post is to entertain you with a story that came to me as a result of my pending golf adventure.

Back when I was golfing more regularly, it was nothing for me to go and play a round on my own, either early in the morning or right after work.

On this near fateful day, it was an early morning tee time, 8 AM to be exact. That’s hella early for unmarried, lives by himself, no kids at the time Don.

I was playing a course that was fairly new to the area and entirely new to me. It was across the mighty Mississippin in Illinois (the s is silent and it’s totally a real state in the USA.)

I paid my fees and got my cart all packed to go. Mercifully, I would be alone. Sometimes, when you golf alone, they stick you with another set of players and that just drives me fucking batty because so many golfers are douchy cuntbags, quite frankly. Either that or they’re old or they’re women or some other obnoxious subset of society put on this earth to make my round of golf miserable.

On this day, however, there was none of that. It was just me, all alone.

The first tee was a shot to a green that you can’t see because it’s apparently down a hill. I hit a beauty of a shot, straight as an arrow (no shit, I’m not even lieing) and gave myself a mental golf clap before getting into my cart to go fuck up the second shot.

As there was no signage saying “DO NO DRIVE ON THE FAIRWAY” I went ahead and drove onto the fairway, as that’s where my ball would be. Upon cresting the hill in my cart, I saw my beautifully placed shot awaiting me in the middle of what was a ginormous fucking hill. It was huge and the green was somewhere down below, on the other side of a small man-made lake.

Normally, such a hill is no worry, but at 8:07 or so AM on this morning, the grass was still wet with dew and Don’s golf cart was having no part in stopping due to said wet grassy hill and shitty rubber colf cart tires being unable to reach an agreement on traction arrangements. Their stalemate left me alone in a golf cart sliding down a giant hill towards a not so giant, but still sizeable man-made lake.

As I slid past my ball thinking, “Fuck, it’s gonna suck having to walk up this hill to get that ball” it dawned on me that this cart was going to end up in that lake and I wasn’t really in the mood to get wet.

I weighed my options and decided that the best course of action would be to abandon cart, so I did just that. Almost.

As I jumped from the cart like a cowardly golf cart captain, one of my feet, probably the less cooperative left one, became entangled between the gas pedal and the currently superfluous brake pedal. Is superfluous used correctly there? I like it and it’s staying.

Anyway, as you can hopefully visualize, my dumb ass is now being dragged down a giant grassy hill by a regular sized golf cart towards a sizeable man-made lake. I can now see that there are good sized rocks placed around the lake as well.

As there were still every bit of a half minute before I was going to reach the rocks, my thoughts turned from having to walk up the hill to get my ball to how bad is it going to hurt when the cart hits the rocks and snaps my shin bone in half as it topples into the lake. I may have been yelling profanities and calling for Jesus (we’re pals for you new readers who may not have known this) all the way down, yes. While he didn’t appear before me, Jesus may or may not have played a part in that cart hitting the rocks and just stopping.

Just like that, it was all over. The cart did not topple over and snap my leg, it just stopped.

I got up and quickly looked around so I could play this off as something I totally meant to do, but it wasn’t necessary as there wasn’t a soul around.

I played the front nine holes and then went into the clubhouse to chat with the golf man.

When I told him that I almost broke my fucking neck jumping out of his golf cart,  he said, “You’re not supposed to drive on the first hole fairway.”

Thanks for that information now, asshole.

“There’s no signage indicating that. Should I just have assumed that?” I asked.

He was clearly perplexed and I was becoming increasingly agitated and giddy at the thought of murdering this man with one of the many over priced golf clubs for sale right before my eyes.

As I imagined myself urinating on this man’s grave, another guy came in and apologized that the signs weren’t put up yet.

Thanks, asshole.

He did refund me my greens fee, so that made my experience much more tolerable.

I don’t recall if that was the last time I golfed, but it may have been. Let’s hope for a similarly sweet shot on that first hole and a much less traumatic rest of the way to the green.

Sorry, this turned out to be a not so quickie, after all. If only, amiright, Wife?? Whatever.

Have a great weekend all.

Posted in Humor, Stories | Tagged , , , , , , | 19 Comments

The writer’s life – blog tour…

Remember when we used to pretty regularly get Liebster Awards and Sunshine Awards and Dragon Something or Other Awards and Versatile Blogger Awards and Inspiring Blogger Awards and Donofalltradesisthebiggestassholeiknow Awards and what not?

Well I do. I always really sucked at appreciating those awards because they were almost exclusively for newer bloggers and when I was brand new, I was obsessed with trying to write at least twice a week and reading everyone I followed’s blog as well.

It became stressful trying to keep up with just the writing and the reading, so the awards almost always fell to the wayside and I’ve always felt like an unappreciative dickhole for never responding to most of them.

Part of that as well, was that I had a small clique of blogger who followed me, and who I followed, and I never wanted to leave anybody out. It was a strange dynamic, that whole new blogger thing. It was so much easier to just stare at my empty reader waiting for my friend Canadian or Amber or Merideth or Tric to post. Unfortunately, I finally learned that in order to get followers, one had to find other blogs to read, and comment on those blogs, so I did. I always enjoyed commenting on other blogs, and I still do, when I have the chance.

Anyway, one of the people who made me feel like a real dickhole for not playing along was nice guy Mark. He’s nominated me for several awards in the past, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever been able to get to a single one of them.

Because of that, I promised myself that I would participate in this latest, well not an award thing, but he tagged me in something, and I will play along!

I’m off to read it now, so standby.




Still reading.


And fuck, it’s a writing related thing.

I have to answer four questions that reflect how I tackle this whole writing thing and then tag a couple of bloggers myself to carry the torch forward, so to speak.

Well, I’ll start by thanking Mark for being such a great guy. He just showed up one day many months ago in my comments section and has been there for every post since. He’s an accomplished writer and journalist by trade, so why he reads my blog is beyond me. It’s maybe to help him feel better about his own life, or because we both enjoy the sweet, sweet taste of a cold Bud Light Lime. Either way, he’s one hellavu super nice guy and you should go check him out, if you don’t know who he is already.

Like me, he’s a bit of an “all trades” sort of blogger in that he writes about a variety of topics, from sports to movies to how many fountains he can count while eating his ham sandwich for lunch.

Riveting sounding stuff, right!??

Anyway, let’s do this.

1. What am I working on now?

Well, I’m working hardest on this fourth Bud Light Lime. I just got home from work about a half hour ago and it’s well after midnight. For some reason, the beers aren’t going down as smoothly as….oh, wait, WRITING!! What am I working on with respect to my writing was the question! Got it.

Well, I am writing this post and I have over 70 draft posts started that I’m sure I’ll never finish. I don’t know how others do it, but if I can’t write a post in one sitting, I lose interest in it and never go back to finish it. That’s sort of how I am with home improvement projects that take longer than a day to do as well. I just don’t have the attention span or something to work on things for days and days.

I did start a book not to long ago. Writing one, that is. I was inspired by reading my online friend Dr. Carrie Rubin’s Seneca Scourge, which, although it didn’t have a whole lot of sex (i.e. none) between the main character, Sidney or Sydney, I can’t recall, and any other character, was still pretty good. If a doctor with kids of her own to raise can blog and find time to write a book, then I figured I could as well.

When I say I started writing a book, I wrote about three or four pages five months ago and haven’t revisited it since. I will do that when I finish this post though because I’m intrigued to read it all of a sudden. It’s a police related book, because that’s what I know without having to do much research because, lazy.

 2. How does my work differ from others in the genre?

Oh boy, I don’t know what this means.

I like to think that my writing style is really easy for folks to read. I sort of write what comes to my mind and I write the same way I talk, if that makes any sense.

My blog started out as a humor blog, but it’s veered way off that track from time to time to also be serious and occasionally touching, I think. I struggled with posting sappy things on my blog at first, but some of that stuff has been well recieved, and of course, the time I was Freshly Pressed, it was for a way not funny, serious post, so I got a bunch of readers with that and immediately lost them when I went back to saying things like fuck and fat and my kids are dicks so, whatever.

3. Why do I write what I do?

I write whatever I feel like writing when the urge hits me. It’s hard for me to force myself to write something, so I generally write based on my mood. If the writing bug hits me when I’m feeling happy, then I’ll write a happy, funny post. When I’m pissy and the urge to write strikes, I’ll write something snarky and scathing about whatever I want to, and when I’m feeling melancholy, I’ll write something sad because it’s sort of cathartic to me. There’s no real rhyme or reason to why I write what I do, and I hope that’s part of why some people read my crap. They never know what they’re going to get.

4. How does my writing process work?

For Paul...part of the process

For Paul…part of the process

With three kids and three jobs, oh, and a beautiful wife to try to spend time with, writing has fallen to the back burner a little bit. I was so hell bent on writing posts for a while, that I would feel guilty being in one room writing while my family was in another room doing whatever, because I knew there were so many things we could be doing together. I think Wife may have even called me on it a couple of times. I’ve learned to let go of the blogging aspect of blogging and just focus on the writing. I can’t keep up with the Twitters and Facebook and Pinterest and there are so many places these bloggers are doing things my head wants to explode!!!!! I do that stuff when I can and try not to let it get to me.

As for my writing, since I’ve been moved to rotating shifts, almost all of my writing is done on the couch when I get home at midnight. I’ll put the laptop in my lap, open a beer and see if anything comes to me. If it does, I write for an hour or so to knock out a post, but if it doesn’t, I don’t force it. I don’t write down notes or observations or outline or any of that. I just sit down and write about something as though we were talking about it in a bar.

I do want to try to write a book some day, so I know I’ll have to be more organized and take some notes and research and blah blah blah, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

Actually, a good start will be for me to tag the aforementioned Carrie Rubin to take part in this tour! Carrie’s blog is called The Write Transition. See what she did there? She is a pediatrician and a writer, so I find her fascinating, in spite of her Prius ownership. Her first book, Seneca Scourge, was a really good medical thriller. You don’t have to be a doctor to follow the story because it’s well written and fascinating enough that us lay people can enjoy it. I mean, I really don’t read that many books, so for me to finish this as quickly as I did…..go read it! The book is available on Kindle, so if Dr. Carrie plays along, then you should totally buy her book. Don’t buy it if she claims to be too busy and doesn’t do this though.

The next blogger I’m going to tag is my friend Scott over at Snoozing on the Sofa. He was really one of the first male and a dad to boot, bloggers that I liked. Scott has three kids just like me, so we share a common pain in our soul from sleep deprivation and constant in your face contact with people under 10. He has three boys, so the wrestling and poop talk is no doubt constant. He’d never admit that he wants to chuck his out the window from time to time, but I just said it for him. His boys are funny and cute, and I enjoy reading what his clan has been up to just like I know you will, so go check him out.

Okay you two, tell us about your writing process. I did it and I’m not really a writer, so go!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 25 Comments

A yeehawin’ good time and some pink sandals…

For the first time in probably close to twenty years, I went to a music concert. It’s not that I have anything against them, it’s more about not wanting to spend money or fight crowds at the facility where most of the large ones are held around my parts.

For whatever reason though, I allowed myself to accept a handful of free tickets to a Toby Keith concert this past Saturday night. I wouldn’t call myself a big fan or anything, but free is free, and he seemed like a dude who would put on a pretty good show.

Things were going well as we arrived, because I wasn’t the one responsible for arriving us there (take that, grammar!). Our friends drove us there so that I could make out with my wife in the back seat.

Ridin' in the back seat, Miss Daisy style.

Ridin’ in the back seat, Miss Daisy style.

Haha, that’s a total lie. I was making out with a 12 pack of Bud Light Lime back there because the cost of beer was going to turn me away from buying any once I got into the show.

Hahaha, that’s another lie! Once I start drinking, I don’t take three hour breaks between beers. Besides, they had a Bud Light Lime house for fuck’s sake. There was no way I could resist those $14 tall boys.


A Bud Light Lime house!!

A Bud Light Lime house!!

I don’t know any of those fuckers in between me and my rightful place at the front of this beer line, but they suck at being at a country concert. Not a single cowboy hat to be seen! I, on the other hand, did attempt to get myself into a semi-cowboy drinking hat just for the show.

This woman totally thinks I rock.

See, a sort of cowboy hat and yes, I did finally get my beer.

That’s wife’s very good friend next to me. She totally thinks I’m amazeballs, as the kids like to say. She even started a blog to be just like me, and I think she still does it. Do you, Mo? She’s also lucky enough to be the Gman’s god mother. He says you owe him some gifts, ma’am! She probably doesn’t even read this stupid blog.

Anyway, the show itself was pretty underwhelming.

The opening act was a fat guy named Colt Ford mostly talking about how much he loves the troops and trucks and Walmart and shit. That’s all good and well, but some good music would have been nice too.

Toby Keith was pretty good though. I think. He may have actually sucked or he may have been awesome, I don’t have a clue. After that beer lovin’ in the car and several tall boy cans of Bud Light Lime during Colt Ford, everything was a magical experience.

I like magical experiences.

Speaking of which, Gman was having one with his cousin’s shoes.

So pretty.

So pretty.

Here’s a closer look.

Is that Barbie?

Is that Barbie?

He has his father’s legs, so there’s that.

He was really into the shoes, and this after I gave him a toy razor the other day and he went straight into this pose after I asked him if he wanted to shave with daddy.

What is happening here?!

What is happening here?!

The boy definitely marches to the beat of his own drum, so good for him.

The concert was sort of a small miracle for me, because earlier in the day, even though it was like 146 degrees outside, the wife ran into the mall and left me alone in the van.

Crack a fucking window!! It’s like she doesn’t even watch the news or anything. This is a problem nowadays, dear!

What is happening here, too!??

What is happening here, too!??

Thankfully, I made it through and we had a great time with some friends at the concert.

Keep those police related questions coming! I’ve gotten quite a few, both serious and ridiculous. I should have remembered what sort of crowd I ran with before I invited you people to poke fun of me with your never ending cop jokes.

Yes, I like donuts!

Who the fuck doesn’t!??

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized, Weekend | Tagged , , , , , , | 41 Comments

Hot pics and a potential Q & A with officer don…

It’s been hot as fuck around these parts lately.

Gman’s been hot.

Hot on the ground.

Hot on the ground.

Cool’s been hot.

Hot in the car.

Hot in the car.

And yours truly has been hot.

Hot at work.

Hot at work.

I hadn’t even left the parking lot at work when I started sweating like the proverbial whore on nickel night. That’s how you know it’s going to be a fabulous fucking shift.

Can you imagine nickel night for a whore? Good Lord, do you think that would include EVERYthing? I’d think sweating would be the least of their concerns, but I’ll digress.

What was I going to say anyway?

I don’t have any pictures of the girls being hot, because they don’t sweat. It’s not because they’re dainty flowers and their shit smells like roses and all that, it’s mostly because they’re not dumbasses and they stay in the air conditioning when it’s 100 degrees outside.

I was going to do a post that was basically a play by play of my Friday night shift at work, but it got too busy to keep up with so I lost interest in it. I had the idea because I’ve gotten a few messages from people saying they like the police related stories. I sometimes forget that what’s ordinary to me at work is actually still asinine and entertaining to “normal” people.

I did have a chuckle when I saw a good sized black dude running down this alley towards my police car. I wasn’t sure if he was being robbed or shot at or what until he bolted to the other side of my car in a frenzy and I saw this big boy following him. I wouldn’t say he was running after the guy so much as he was following him out of curiosity at a leisurely big dog pace. The whole thing ended when the dog became distracted by whatever was in this bag and lost interest in whatever the dude was doing. Thankfully, the dog’s owner came shortly after and took big fella inside before there were any more unfortunate dog/human incidents.

Big boy.

Big boy.

I still may try to do that play by play of my shift thing one day, but until then, I thought it might be fun to have you inquisitive Nellies ask me questions about the job that you’re curious about.

Do I have a ticket quota?

Have I ever shot somebody?

Have I ever pushed a fat, white trash woman down four flights of stairs while she inhaled a bucket of fried chicken the whole way down?

Ask away! Do so in the comments or on that Twitter. I’ll try to remember to check it from time to time. I thinks it’s @The_DOAT.

I’m off to a country concert tonight. Free tickets, so YEEEFUCKIN’HAW!!!

Toby Keith. He seems like he’d put on a good show, but who knows? Who cares, honestly? Drink enough beer and everything is entertaining, right?

What’s a DOAT post without the gratuitous beer drinking selfie, so here ya go.

Yeah, drinking again...

Yeah, drinking again…

Ask those questions, people. As you can probably tell, I really have a hard time thinking of stuff to write about nowadays.

Have a great weekend!

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 52 Comments

Random stuff as it comes to me brain…

Oh my goodness, let’s write a post!

I’m so excited about all the great blog posts I’ve been reading that I want to take part, unfortunately, I ain’t got shit to say that makes sense to anyone about anything important, so it’s random crap time again!

It was 12:14 AM when I got home from work tonight and I was hungry for something sort of good for me so….hello big salad!

Of course it's healthy; it's a fucking salad.

Of course it’s healthy; it’s a fucking salad.

I’m on a bit of a salad kick at home for some reason. Salads and watermelon. Is watermelon good for you? I hope so, because I’ve eaten about seven of them this month already. They’ve been so good.

Anyway, back to the salad. It had about 48 pounds of meat and cheese and other cheeses and some olives for color or something like that. It was good as fuck, whatever that means.

Now it’s 1:20 AM and this is as far as I’ve gotten on this post because I’m about ready to upchuck the big salad all over the dog laying on the floor in front of me. Is it laying or is she lying on the ground? Lieing? No, not the last one for sure.

SportsCenter is making me nauseous because they’ve talked about LeBron James and the NBA for about 89% of this show. Who the fuck cares about the NBA during the season, let alone when it’s the off season? Come on, fellas, let’s talk about soccer or competitive eating or bowling or watching the grass grow, anything but the NBA.

These home made salads are pretty good (you’re totally thinking, “fuck Don, enough with the salads already, aren’t you?), they’re a take on my favorite salad, which come from a chain joint in St. Louis called The Pasta House. The Italian in me is ashamed, but hey, a heart, er stomach, loves what it loves.

The problem with eating out, aside from having negative zeroteen dollars to spend on dinner out, is that this is how I spend most of my restaurant experience these days.

Yay, we're eating out!!

Yay, we’re eating out!!

Hmmm, I just recalled that I bitched about this here already, so I’ll digress.

The boys and I have all become fond of getting our hair cut together. It’s our thing now, so whenever I get our coupons, we’re off to whichever discount hair joint is the cheapest. This week, it was Fantastic Sam’s, which is totally fantastic, if you don’t give two shits what you look like when you leave, like me. I’m middle aged and married, who do I have to impress, right?

Gman asked for a Mohawk when the woman asked me how to cut his hair. A Mohawk? I didn’t even know he knew what a Mohawk was, but hey, whatever he wants is fine with me. It’s his head. Cool, on the other hand, is very conservative with everything, ESPECIALLY his hair cut. He wants no part of any zaniness. He’s like an 80 year old man in a five year old’s body.

Handsome little devils, just like daddy.

Handsome little devils, just like daddy.

They both look pretty good, mustard stains aside, right? I don’t know what Gman is doing fondling his brother, so don’t ask.

Oh, Jojo got a hair cut too!



That’s actually on the way to the groomer now that I look at it. Poor dog is 13 years old so I always worry that every car ride will be her last, so I take a picture every time. Is that morbid? Whatever.

What else?

I’m waiting to hear whether or not I get moved at work again, so there’s that. Somebody told me that it was going to happen, but that was nearly a month ago so I’m not holding my breath. I don’t want to jinx it, so I’ll not say anything more. Suffice to say, should it happen, I’ll let all 23 of you peeps know all about it. It’s not any more money than I make now though, so don’t be soliciting me or sending your kids to my house with cookies or whatever. I’ll still be broke, just broke and working more regular hours again.

Do you ever wish you could step out of your body and hang out with yourself because you’re so cool and fun and awesome?


Oh, me neither then, duh.

But I am totally fun and I’m jealous of everyone who gets to hang out with me.

Look how much fun Gman is having. His face says, “WOW, THIS GUY IS FUN AS FUCK!”


WHOOOOO!!!!! And some snot too I think.

Well crap, I don’t have any beer in the fridge so there’s no reason for me to stay up any later.

I just remembered that I owe good blogger friend Mark a post, so I’ll tackle that one next time instead of typing this random bullshit.


Posted in Family, Humor, Parenting, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 39 Comments

A slow work day and stuff…

Hot damn, another post! If this post reads like it was put together hastily by a hungover jackass trying to kill time while not paying attention at a legal training seminar, that’s only because it was  hastily put together by a hungover jackass trying to kill time while not paying attention at a legal training seminar.

I was sort of laughing at the absurdity of my job the other day. Not the job itself so much as what passes for a “slow day.” Somebody asked me how my day was, and I replied that it was really slow and uneventful. I was being completely honest, but the more I thought about that day, the silliness of calling it uneventful hit me.

Part of my morning involved coming across this little lady.

Poor baby.

Poor baby.

Some dickhole tied her with a rope to a pole that ran up a viaduct that trains pass over.

Who knows the reason, but the dog was in pretty good shape (for a north St. Louis stray) and at least had the shade of the viaduct to keep her from the oppressive sunshine.

I tried to get close to her, but she wasn’t having any part of it past about six feet.

It was actually pretty funny. If I was at five feet, she growled, but if I took one step back, she’d stop. I’d step forward, she’d growl, then back and she’d stop. I fucked with her like this for several minutes because it was amusing and I’m an immature fucktard.

Thankfully for old girl, the local Stray Rescue of St. Louis group came and got her. They’ll find her a good home. Oh, and I was totally not offended that she let the young lady who came to get her walk right up to her without regard for the arbitrary six foot barrier that I was subject to. Bitches, what can you do?I think that woman smelled like dogs or had hot dogs in her pocket.

It was such a slow day, that I was able to sneak away for some lunch. There are a million places to eat in North City, if you like Chop Suey, Tripe, Snoots, gas station fare or fast food. I’m not a huge fan of any of them, so I eat Subway nearly every single workday. I could totally make my own sandwich at home, yes, but I’m just so lazy and the Subway is half off.

I took my usual footlong club to one of my spots, only to find that my normally desolate spot was not as desolate as usual. Somebody had left this baby parked there.

The fuck??

The fuck??

Somebody’s car done been burnt to a crisp and left here, probably because it was too hot to tow the night that it was left here by the fire department. It’d make a nice flowering pot or something, for somebody whose HOA allows such monstrosities in their yards.

My slow day was briefly interrupted by a woman calling to report a burglary in her house.

The fuck again?

The fuck again?

This was the cleanest room in this house.

There is a whole mess of a story about this call that I won’t get into, but suffice to say it’s supposed to be a vacant house and nobody should be living there and calling to report burglaries.

The woman wasn’t having any part of hearing why the house wasn’t habitable or why she had to leave. I assure you that this picture doesn’t do justice to how deplorable the rest of  it was. At least this room was dry.

My slow day ended with my dumb ass running after bad guys in the 100 degree heat. Bad guys crashed a BMW into some parked cars right in front of some nice church ladies. I had no intention of running after people half my age for crashing a car, but the ladies were very persistent and excited so I ran.

Well, I jogged.


Hey, it’s hard to look fleet of foot with twenty pounds of gear on.

It turned out that the BMW was, of course, stolen. Alas, the chase was for naught as bad guys got away. Is that a word?

I will say that I got close to nabbing one of them, but dummy ran through a back yard and woke a sleeping dog, a very large, sleeping dog when he sprinted past it. When I came after him, Gigantor was no longer sleeping and was now standing and very curious about what was transpiring in his backyard.

Thankfully, the dog was tethered to something or other so he couldn’t go where he wanted to (i.e. where I was now standing after coming to an immediate halt). Unfortunately, now that I was drenched in sweat and huffing and puffing, that was the end of this guy (me) running any farther on this slow day.

There’s always next time.

While I was enjoying this slow shift at work, I was missing one of my favorite tasks, coaching Cool and the gang on the baseball field. It’s not so much coaching when they’re that age as it is what I imagine herding cats is like and keeping them between the lines.

Still, it’s cute.

Damn, how tall is this girl?!

Damn, how tall is this girl?!

Ha, even standing on the base and wearing a giant helmet, poor Cool is tiny next to this girl his own age.

Anyway, the “uneventful” day I had earned me some good time lime time, so I spent yesterday with a longtime friend who was visiting from Washington. He came to town with his lady friend and her chillens and we hung at our neighborhood pool.

Good time limin'

Good time limin’

Mercifully, lady friend and her older kids amused my boys by taking turns helping to fix their goggles 157 times during the course of four hours because they don’t stay where they should for reasons I can’t pinpoint.

I still had to take Gman to the bathroom 49 times and get up to feed all of them snacks another 492 times.

Despite all the trips to the head while at the pool, Gman still decided to piss like a racehorse all over the floor when we got home. Not to be outdone, Jojo shat in the kitchen while we were trying to have dinner. Oh, then she ate a good chunk of it before anyone realized what was going on.

She ate her own shit in front of our guests, yes.

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!? was basically my response.

My unmarried, childless friend no doubt appreciated my contribution to reinforcing his decision to not reproduce.

Disgusted, tired and drunk, I finally called it a night before I had to witness another excretion from another body part from another creature. Good times.

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Monday funday tale of the dented garage…with pics cuz words are hard!

Oh my Lord…sitting in this chair typing a post is much more relaxing than being at that nasty gym again.

One of the many, many things that sucks ass about working out is that it’s supposed to be a part of your “lifestyle” in order for it to make any difference. Apparently, going once or twice a month, or even once a week isn’t going to cut it.

That’s total horseshit. I should be able to reap the benefits of my two good workouts last week for at least a month, but instead, in order to not feel like a bloated piece of fuck later tonight after I pound some beers on my couch, I have to go workout yet again today. Please wish me luck to make that happen.

Anyway, even though it’s Monday, today is actually my Saturday. After seven straight days of work, I get to enjoy a fucking Monday and Tuesday off doing Monday and Tuesday things like take Ace to swimming lessons and maybe cutting the grass later on, if it doesn’t rain.

There are a million other chores that need to be done around the house as well.

We’ve become “those people” on our street.

Do you know “those people?”

“Those people” are sort of like “that relative” that we all have. Those people can be the neighbors that everyone else sort of rolls their eyes at when they pass by.

Their grass is often too long. Their dogs bark way too often. They drink beer in their driveway.

…on Monday

…at 10:39 AM.

Yeah, it's Monday morning. Go fuck yourself.

Yeah, it’s sooooo good though.

You can sometimes identify “those people” by their vehicles.

They may own cars that have lost a hub cap and just decided to say, “fuck it” to spending $8 to replace it. Maybe, if they’re lucky, the other ones will fall off and it’ll bring symmetry to the family roadster once again.

Ole Girl!

Ha, this is an old pic because that front hub cap is long gone!

Those people also like to keep some vehicles on blocks or just a jack, like me.

Sigh....yup, we're "those people."

Sigh….yup, we’re “those people.”

That was the front of our house this morning. No worries, kids, just don’t rock the car too roughly while your friend is hiding underneath it.

You may have noticed that our garage door has a giant fucking dent in it.

That’s very astute of you.

No, no, I didn’t come home from happy hour one evening and use the garage door as my brakes, but thanks for going there, jerk.

Another, to remain unnamed person, but who lives in my house and is of driving age and has a uterus and is called mommy sometimes by the kids, left the boys unattended in the aforementioned hubcapless van while it was running for all of 58 seconds before Cool came inside prattling on about the van and the garage door.

“What are you saying, Cool?” Asks Mommy.

“Gman…uh, yeah, Gman did something and the van is trying to roll through the garage door. Yeah, Gman did it.” Cool says.

“What?!” Asks mommy.

“I know, right!?? It’s all Gman’s fault though!” Assures Cool.

I was all WTF, Gman!??

I was all WTF, Gman!??

So then daddy is all, “What?”



And then daddy was all, “how?”



And then Cool is all, “Look at my face, daddy. I couldn’t have done it.”

Look at me not ever doing anything bad, daddy.

Look at me not ever doing anything bad, daddy.


Remember this?


Look how happy I am…


Yup…still smilin…

And then daddy’s all, “Really?”

For real? It was Gman?

For real? It was Gman?

And Cool is all, “Really, daddy. Look at him.”

He isn't smiling.

He isn’t smiling.

And again.

See whos being good, daddy?

See who’s being good, daddy?

One last time?

He always breaks the rules, daddy.

He always breaks the rules, daddy.

So daddy’s all, GAGE DID IT?!!



And then mommy is all, “you’re an idiot. It was Cool.”

Et tu, mommy?

Et tu, mommy?

“Daddy is very tired from working all the time!” Says daddy to mommy.

“What were you thinking, Cool? Do you even have a brain?” I ask.

Where is your brain, son?

Where is your brain, son?

“I do have a brain, daddy. See? Mommy had me tested.”

The MRI confirms that yes, Cool has a brain.

The MRI confirms that yes, Cool has a brain.

“How many times have we told you to never play with the gear shift or anything else in the car while we leave you unattended with your three year old brother?” I ask.


“Have you ever told him not to drive the van, dear?” I ask. “Because now that he says that, I don’t think I have asked him to not drive our cars yet.”

“No, I’ve never told him to not drive the van.” Says Wife.

“Well then, you win this round, Cool, but please promise you won’t drive any motorized vehicle without consulting your mother or me first, okay?”

“Deal, daddy.”



Posted in Family, Humor, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 68 Comments