Tastes Like Chicken, My Ass...

A few weeks ago, I decided that I needed to make a few changes in my life. One of those changes, was to stop stuffing my fat, gluttonous face with red meat, pork products and diet soda. Unfortunately it's never been in my DNA to be an "In Moderation" type of guy. It's always been all or nothing for me.

"Hey Jay, you want a burger?"

"Fuck that! Make it two and slap some bacon and cheese on those bad boys."

or

"Hey Jay, you want a beer?"

"Beer? Where's the funnel? Let's get this party started!"

This is why I've decided to go cold turkey. I have officially stopped eating all red meat, pork and poultry products. I've also decided to cut out all diet soda (Not because of health reasons but because I think being a vegetarian and drinking diet soda, at the same time, would make me too much of a pussy). The meat thing is a must. Some people can't eat just one potato chip; I can't eat just one chicken wing. Oh, the tangy BBQ sauce, lathered onto a scrumptious chicken thigh. The juicy, buttery fat, dripping off of a sizzling ribeye. The sweet maple glaze, basted on a hot, baked ham... It gets me horny just thinking about it.

But I've made up my mind and I'm gonna go for it. It's been 3 weeks of meatless days and porkless nights. Wait, that didn't come out right. Sorry honey, I was talking about the Ham. At first it seemed like it was gonna be a cinch. I've got a ton of veggie friends. My sister is hardcore. She doesn't eat anything that once had a heartbeat. Just because she wears leather shoes doesn't mean she's any less committed. It's just a comfort issue and she's got sensitive tootsies. To each her own. Anyway, I was looking forward to trying all the great Veggie and Vegan food that I've been hearing about. If you've ever talked to a Vegetarian, you always get this:

"Dude, the food is awesome. There's so much to eat. Tofu tastes just like meat. Trust me, I don't miss it one bit."

Tastes like meat my ass! That whole line is a heaping, steaming pile of Tofu shit. If I've learned one thing in the past 3 weeks, it's that Tofu and any "meatless" meat, sucks balls. Last night my wife bought me some "Meatless Meatballs" and served them to me with pasta and some red sauce. God bless her for trying to help me out but Jeez, those "Meatless Meatballs" tasted like a wet piece of bread dipped in formaldehyde. It tasted like something Jeffrey Dahmer would have kept in a jar in his fridge. Today I stopped at the organic market to pick up my lunch. I figured I'd try something new, something with a little spice to it. I spotted something called, "Sweet and Sour Tofu". What the fuck? There was nothing sweet about it. I almost yacked on my shirt. It tasted like a sponge soaked in duck sauce. Again, doesn't taste like meat...

I don't know how much longer I can live this life of meatless malaise. I'm dyin' over here. Someone, anyone, get me the 411 on this Veggie lifestyle. I'm at the point where I'm gonna start living on Matzoh and Salt. If I see another Portabella mushroom, I'm gonna bite someone's face off. Wait, that might taste more like chicken than Tofu. I'm hallucinating. I'm in need of some meatless mentoring.

Oh and all these vegetables are giving me gas. This is no way for a man to live.

I long for the days when my manhood was Out-Numbered by meat... Grrrrr.

Dad Sucks! We Want Pancakes...

I think I'm a pretty decent Dad. I'm not a total asshole. I kiss my kids and tell them that I love them. I hate to admit it but that's about as far as it goes on some days. I can be a lazy son of a bitch. I hate giving my kids baths. I'm usually so tired from working late during the week, that I walk around in a coma on the weekends. I'm a terrible communicator. Always have been. I keep all my stress bottled up deep inside of me. It used to give me diarrhea. Now it's moved to my back. I can be a pretty shitty husband from time to time as well. I snap at my wife when I'm preoccupied with business and I spend way too much time on this stupid blog. I've often thought to myself that I'm a much better Dad and Husband in my blog than in real life. That's a problem. My kids and my wife deserve much better than that.

This is why I try to do one thing a week consistently to give back to my family. It's the one thing that I'm really good at and it makes them all very happy.

I make Pancakes.

I know this sounds completely ludicrous and anti climactic but it's what I do. It might just be the most important thing in my life right now. It is quite possibly the glue that holds this family together.

"Times are tough, have a pancake."
"Camp sucked this week? Let me put some blueberries in those pancakes."
"What? Your friend told you that you're a jerk and you scraped your knee? How about some chocolate chip pancakes this weekend?"
"Hey kiddo. Everyone Shits their Pull-Ups every now and then. Have a short stack with some sprinkles on top."

Pancakes fix everything, if only for a moment and around our house, every moment counts.

Sometimes I suck as a Dad and a Husband but I am the best fucking Pancake maker in the universe and that is no joke. Ask my wife and kids. Every Sunday, I get to wipe the slate clean and give this Dad and Husband thing another go round. Try it sometime. Your family will thank you with sticky smiles...

If you don't already have your own recipe, today is your lucky day. I feel like paying it forward.

Out-Numbered Pancakes

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 2 cap fulls of Vanilla Extract
  
• 3 tablespoons of white sugar
• 1 tablespoon of cinnamon
  
• 1 1/4 cups whole milk
• 1 egg
• 3 tablespoons butter, melted
• 1 table spoon of Baby Benedryl (Optional for really annoying kids)
  

Directions

1. In a large bowl, add together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon and sugar. Then pour in the milk, egg, vanilla extract and melted butter; mix until silky smooth.
2. Spray pan with cooking spray and heat over medium high heat. Pour the batter onto the frying pan, using approximately 1/4 cup for each pancake. Cook until you see the pancake start to bubble and then flip. Brown to liking on both sides and serve em' while they're hot.
3. Cooks approximately 12 kick ass pancakes.
4. Collect your smiles in bunches.
5. Take a bow and thank your lucky stars that your wife and kids still love your sorry ass.
   

Thank goodness for the Pancakes. Otherwise they would be Out-Numbered...

What You Talkin' Bout Willis?

I've said before, that talking to your kids, guarantees you at least one smile per conversation. Now that's an ROI you can take to the bank. If you don't agree, than you either don't have kids or you're just a shitty parent. It's also possible that you're a boring son of a bitch. One of my favorite things in life, is having an in depth chat with my 2 1/2 year old daughter. Kids are so curious at that age. They also don't have any concept of boundaries or appropriateness. Here's our most recent exchange:

In the bathroom with my 2 1/2 year old daughter. I'm taking a piss. She is standing right behind me. Her head is poking through my legs, as if she were standing underneath a (very small) waterfall.

Kid: Daddy?

Me: Yes munchkin.

Kid: Why do you make peeps standing up?

Me: Because boys make pee pee standing up and girls make pee pee sitting down.

(Kind of a white lie. I'm a huge fan of the sitting piss. I've been doing it since I saw Jack Nicholson do it in "As Good As It Gets" but I try and teach my kids the proper stereotypes, by standing in their presence.)

Kid: Why?

Me: Because it's easier for boys to stand up and for girls to sit down.

Kid: Why?

Me: Because girls and boys have different privates.

Kid: I make pee pee sitting down on the potty.

Me: Yes you do. You're a big girl.

Kid: I make pee pee from my tushie.

Me: Uh, no sweetheart. You make pee pee from your vagina.

(Funny thing is, I didn't know that there was a little hole in the fashnay nay until college. I always assumed chicks peed from the same hole they used for sex. Dude, I'm from Long Island and my parents were divorced. What do you want from me?)

Kid: No! I make peeps from my tushie.

Me: No baby. You make doodie from your tushie and pee pee from your vagina.

Kid: Do YOU make pee pee from your vagina?

Me: No. I make peeps from my penis.

Kid: (Laughing) Penis? That's silly.

Me: Yes that's a silly sounding word.

Kid: I don't have a penis.

(I know. Seems like the longest piss ever. I start and stop a lot.)

Me: No you don't. You have a vagina.

Kid: Oh right.

Later that day, at the Supermarket with my 2 1/2 year old daughter. Walking down the isle looking for whole grain, lite, Sabra, Pita Pockets (Because eating them will make my wife and I less fat)... A woman and her two teenage boys are lingering next to us, arguing about Wonder Bread.

Kid: Daddy?

Me: Yeah buddy?

Kid: Why do you have a Penis in your tushie?

Woman and her two boys look confused.

Me: Dónde está el más cercano cuarto de baño?

Kid: What?

Me: Nada.

Nothing to see here. Just Out-Numbered in the Supermarket...

P.S. If you have a sec... Check out the post below. It's an old one but I entered it into a contest the other day, because I'm a loser and most comments wins. Hook a brother up if you feel like it. If not... Fuck off. :-)

This Post Will Self Destruct In 72 Hours

Porn: What A MILF Wants...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Thin Red Line…

There are many ways to measure a man.

One means by which a man can be measured is by his commitment to his family. In our society, men are often measured against their financial success in the working world. Some of the most prominent male role models in our country are measured by their unwavering dedication to philanthropic pursuits.

All of these gauges are valid in some shape or form but surely; no single man can be measured by just one aspect of his being. It is not any one part of a man that reflects his true self worth but rather, the sum of his parts.

Or is there?

Is there a sole barometer by which all men can be universally judged?

I believe there is. At least for me…

One of the most brutal moments of self-reflection a man can have, is what I refer to as, “The Thin Red Line.” This is the moment in which a man rises to a standing position after having been seated for a prolonged period of time and notices anywhere from one to four thin red horizontal lines running across his abdomen. These lines, depending upon a man’s girth, can go all the way up to his lower pectorals, otherwise known as, “Man Tits.” When a man notices the Thin Red Line for the first time, he is faced with a choice. He can either accept this or he can fight back.

This past Sunday, I had a BBQ with a couple of friends. This is what I ate for lunch:

One Portobello Mushroom
One serving of Potato Salad
One serving of Seafood Salad
One 12oz Rib Eye Steak
One 8oz Skirt Steak
One Large Seared Tuna Filet
Two Slices of Meatball Pizza
One McDonalds Cheeseburger
One Small Order of McDonalds French Fries
Three Vodka / Cokes
One Glass of Merlot
One Serving of Fruit Salad
One 100 Calorie Pack of Sun Chips
One Homemade Brownie
And…
A Blueberry

At the time, this seemed quite reasonable. Then I woke up the next morning and spent about an hour sitting on the toilet bowl. During this time, I had the opportunity to reflect back on my actions. This time of self-reflection made me realize a few things.

1) I am not 21 years old anymore.
2) It is most definitely possible to eat yourself to death.
3) I am smarter than this.

When I was done reflecting, so to speak, I stood up and noticed them; Three, Thin Red Lines. At that exact moment in time, I truly believe that I was able to measure myself as a man. There I stood in the bathroom, in my boxers, staring at myself in the mirror. I was able to see a man that needs to make some changes. I saw a man that needs to practice self-control. A man that needs to take care of himself, so that he can take care of his family. Finally, I saw a man that needs to measure up to a higher standard.

I need to get rid of the Thin Red Lines. I need to get rid of them, one by one, from my fat belly and more importantly, my fat head. I will not be Out-Numbered in my own skin.

Did Your Horse Just Shit On My Lawn?

I have a friend. He has red hair and a huge trampoline in his back yard. This friend of mine throws a big BBQ party every summer. His BBQ parties are great because they are kid friendly and there's always good eats and libations. I have to admit though, I am a bit concerned about my friend's current mental state. This year for his BBQ, he decided that it would be cool for the kids if he rented a completely mobile Game Farm for his front lawn. There were pony rides, goats, bunnies, chickens and sheep. The cages were all set up in his front yard. The pony rides took place up and down the street. The kids were over the moon. The adults were astonished. All I could think about was, I wonder what the conversation was like the day before with his neighbors? I imagine it went something like this:

Red Haired Friend: "Hey unsuspecting neighbor. How's the family?"

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Family is OK. The little one got a pebble stuck up his nose but the old lady was able to suck it out with a straw and some tweezers."

Red Haired Friend: "Amazing. A straw and tweezers?"

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Right? She's a regular MacGyver I tell ya."

Red Haired Friend: "Hahaha"

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Ahahaha"

Red Haired Friend: "So, I have a favor to ask of you."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Shoot."

Red Haired Friend: "I'm thinking of parking a huge animal trailer in front of your house tomorrow and setting up a full on game farm on my lawn."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Are you shitting me?"

Red Haired Friend: "No sir. I'm serious as a heart attack."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Well, why the fuck would you do that?"

Red Haired Friend: "You see, I'm having some friends over for a BBQ and there's gonna be kids there. So I figured it would be fun for them to see the animals."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "You're yanking my chain, aren't you?"

Red Haired Friend: "No. Honestly. It's not as crazy as you think. All the animals are pretty small and tame. The only thing that won't be on my property are the ponies."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "What the hell are you talking about? There's gonna be ponies?"

Red Haired Friend: "Well. Uh... Yeah. We're gonna have pony rides in the street."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Is that even legal?"

Red Haired Friend: "I don't see why not."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "You don't see why not? How the fuck are you gonna have pony rides in the motherfucking street, you crazy bastard?"

Red Haired Friend: "It's totally legit. If there's any mess on your property, I promise it will be removed before they clear out."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Mess? What kind of mess?"

Red Haired Friend: "Any random pony droppings, hay or feathers. That sort of thing."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Let me tell you something, you lunatic. If I get so much as one whiff of Pony Shit across my property, so help me God, I'll knock you on your ass and mow down that pony with my Hummer."

Red Haired Friend: "That's totally understandable. I promise you won't even notice we're there."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: "Get off of my property before I call the Cops."

Red Haired Friend: "I really appreciate this. I owe you one."

Unsuspecting Neighbor: (Walking away...) "Freak."

Red Haired Friend: "Feel free to come by for a burger. Thanks again!"


On that day, the neighbors were definitely Out-Numbered...

Blog On The Rocks...

Japanese people aren't the only ones who are awesome at Karaoke. Jewish people tend to rock out every so often as well. If you are even a tad curious, have a look at how the other half gets it done. You can either live vicariously through me or you can get your lazy ass motivated and swing by The Karaoke Channel - The Ultimate Karaoke Experience.

Without further adieu...

My Fortress Of Solitude...

I am not a Superhero. I am a Father and a Husband. I am a "Fusband". I have no mutant powers to speak of. I am mere mortal. I do have a weakness. Every Fusband does. This weakness is my Kryptonite. I am defenseless against its evil. I am crippled by its potent energy. It will tear me to pieces if I do not protect myself. In order to shield my vulnerable body from this raw, unyielding, puissance; I have built a Fortress of Solitude.

Its walls are as sturdy as solid concrete; as thick as the ancient pyramids. The door from which my enemies can gain access, could withstand the pounding of a battering ram, heaved by one hundred knights. It is even equipped with an advanced control system, that allows me to filter out high pitched, ear piercing, transmission signals, that can do irreparable damage to my brain. I have hidden compartments that house supplies, essential to my survival. I even have a self sufficient captains chair, that is built for comfort and functionality.

Nothing can touch me in my Fortress of Solitude.

No harm will be done unto me.

I am safe.

I am sound.

If only for a moment...
















I will not be Out-Numbered by any Nemesis in my Fortress of Solitude...