A word of advice: Never go to bed angry. If you have a fight with your spouse, don’t let it simmer overnight. Try taking a walk. A few step outside can help you collect your thoughts.
Maybe stop in a bar for a quick drink. Nothing expensive, just whatever works fastest. Y’know what? Fresh air is better. You should go back outside. Don’t forget your drink. If you do, there’s a place on 14th that has Jim Beam already in bags.
Find somebody to talk it out with. Usually, there are some nice ladies hanging out near the Convention Center. They’ll let you talk to them for an hour or so in a hotel room. If you get Daisy, tell her Andy sent you, because I get a discount. Pay extra, and some of them will let you look at their feet.
Sometimes, a fight with a spouse will leave you with some pent up aggression. Sub-tip: Big guys hate being called “Big Guy.” They’ll usually swing high, so duck below their center of balance and try to take them to the ground. Close contact fighting is all about the body shots, specifically ribs and kidneys.
Emergency rooms can take forever. Say you have trouble breathing, and they’ll move you to the front of the line. Don’t ask for codeine right away, or they’ll think you’re an addict.
Finally, when you get home and slip into bed, try not to wake your wife. She’ll be in a bad mood from having gone to bed angry.
[Author's note: In college, I drew a daily comic for the Daily Cardinal newspaper. Now, I'm re-drawing and coloring my favorites, and I'll be adding them every Sunday to this blog. Maybe, when I pull enough together, I'll put them in a book. I thought this one would be a good one to start with, because it's the most timely. Also, because I love it.]
Hey, weirdo, what are you looking at? I’m serious. What the fuck are you looking at? Stop staring at me. You think just because I’m wearing this chicken costume, I want assholes like you to stare at me? Just take the flyer and move on already.
Yeah, I get it, I’m hilarious--a grown man dressed up as a chicken. Ha ha ha, so funny. Ooh, look at my big chicken feet. Grow up, dude! Everybody has to put food on the table, even if that means doing this shit. Now, get a life and leave me the fuck alone.
Stop looking at me. Seriously, I am about this close to putting your teeth down the back of your throat. You think this is funny? You think I want to hand out these Popeye’s flyers? Stop smiling, asshole. It’s not funny.
I don’t care if you are three years old. Take your fucking teddy bear and get the fuck out of here. Stop giggling. There’s nothing funny about this. No! No, stop hugging me. I’m not Donald Duck. Stop it!
Lady, come over here and get your kid. Lady, please get your toddler to stop hugging me. And, here, this is a this coupon for a medium drink with purchase any three piece dinner.
[Author's note: In full disclosure, the ending of this was inspired by the true story of an acquaintance.]
Is money a curse? No, I don’t think so. If anything, I think that having money makes life easier. The poor look at us, the rich, and see wealth as a burden--more decisions, more land, more obligations. But, what the poor don’t know is that we enjoy the challenge.
The poor labor what? Thirteen, fourteen hours a day, scrubbing toilets and building clothes? And, what do they earn per day--fourteen, fifteen thousand dollars? My god, can you imagine? The interest alone on my fortune earns that in … now.
And, yet it is the poor who pity us. They look up at us in our ivory towers and must think it so lonely. First off, anyone building their towers out of ivory hasn't heard that this season is alabaster. Secondly, I could never be lonely. I have my tiny purebred dogs and my collection of Napoleon’s finger bones. And, of course, my unseen staff.
Still, the unwashed masses look at us and feel sorry for our hectic social schedules. I don’t think of croquet or yachting as chores. I think of them as simply another aspect of daily life, right next to having someone brush your teeth. And, if I didn’t escape from the grounds every now and then, I might go mad. Uncle Rupert certainly could have used a few moments away from the swan pond.
But, no, I wouldn’t give up my money if I had the choice. Because, I don’t think of it as a curse so much as a blessing. In fact, to anyone who thinks differently, I say spend a day in my dodo skin moccasins. I think you’ll find then incredibly comfortable. And, when you’re finished, please throw them out. I don’t wear shoes more than once.
Can God create a boulder so large that even He cannot lift it? What about the boulder god of the Wichawki tribe in Oregon? Can God lift him? I’ve seen drawings of the boulder god, and he seems pretty tough. Who would win in that fight? I mean, sure, God has a solid right hook and He’s light on His feet, but the boulder god has an amazing left jab, and he knows to work the torso in the first four rounds. I’d still put my money on God god, because I think that’s what Jesus would do.
Can God create a dog so fat that it can’t even lick its own crotch? Trick question. He already did. It lives across the street from me. It’s a beagle named Sandy, and it’s shaped like a beetle or a low coffee table. One time I asked its owner when it was due to have puppies, and she glared at me and wanted to know what kind of monster asks such a question. I told her a werewolf, and then I wolfed-out just a little bit. Y’know, I let my eyes turn yellow and my ears get just a little pointy. She had already turned around and didn’t see me, but Sandy went ape-shit. All dogs, even fat ones, hate werewolves.
Can werewolf god create a silver bullet so fast that even he can’t dodge it? Why would he want to do that? Sometimes I don’t understand werewolf god at all. He’s got everything he could want--immortal deer to chase, perfectly torn jeans, and a really nice bungalow right down the street from God god. I think werewolf god has gotten a little self-destructive since he started hanging out with boulder god. But, I understand that life is tough after your wife leaves you for the trickster Loki, Norse god of mischief.
Can God create a creation so creative that even He can’t recreate it? And, if so, describe it to me in detail. Because I want to surprise God for His birthday. What do you get Somebody who can create everything?
Can God create a pinball machine so complex that even the trickster Loki, Norse god of mischief, can’t beat it? One time I was in the upper peninsula of Michigan with my parents, and I saw the trickster Loki, Norse god of mischief, go to town on a pinball machine. It was at an old-fashioned family resort where the rooms looked like teepees, and the rec room had a pinball machine where the trickster Loki, Norse god of mischief, would hang out. He was so cool. I get jealous of people who seem so naturally at ease with themselves.
Can God create a greeting card so sweet and sincere that even werewolf god’s wife would take him back? He is omnipotent, after all. I think He owes werewolf god one for all the times that werewolf god has taken care of God’s house while God was on vacation. God’s cat is four hundred stories tall, after all. And, even God had a hard time creating a litter box big enough for that cat. I mean, don’t get me wrong, He did it. God can create anything when He puts His mind to it.
Never forget that, God. I’m proud of You.
I thought I'd start this blog with a quick list of things I like about myself. So, here goes:
1) I am an amazing wedding dancer. I feel the music and release myself to the dance. It's breathtaking. By that, I mean I run out of breath.
2) I can whistle and hum at the same time. It sounds like a spaceship.
3) I am an amazing Cranium player. People fight to have me as their partner. In fact, once partners are chosen, the game is pretty much over and no fun for anyone.
4) I have never misused the word "solipsism," mainly because I don't know what it means and have always avoided using the word "solipsism."
5) I understand the process of cheese making on a fundamental level.
6) I have never been promiscuous. Despite attempts.
7) When I go to the gym, I make other people feel better about their bodies.
8) I am good at finding lost items. Like one time, my wife lost her keys, and I said, "Did you look in the bowl by the door?" And, she looked and said that they weren't there, and I said, "That's because you're not as good at finding things as me." So, I told her to look in the microwave, and there were her keys. Right where I left them.
9) I am modest to the point of self-loathing.
10) Dogs and 3-year-olds love me, because they know I will play with abandon, ignoring any safety concerns. (Parents do not like me.)
11) I am an inventive eater. Try this: Dip cinnamon pita chips into rice pudding. You're welcome.
12) My chest hair is shaped like a phoenix rising from my bellybutton.