But Jesus Christ, there are mornings when the doo-doo ga-ga routine sets off a blistering rage inside me. I get consumed by images of slapping him in the head, mashing his face into his Froot Loops and calling the DSS on myself…

As long as conservative Christians leaders keep on fucking people they ain’t married to they will probably need Abortion’s “emergency exit” as much as anybody who’s unprepared, or unfit, to raise another child in this world.

Here’s a pair of very important infomercials from Ric Barbera. As a member of the Big Brothers of America, Ric really picked up the slack of abuse when my own father failed to launch a Ford LTD wagon over the Snake River Canyon.

Please clear children and check-signing employers from the room before playing.

The book she had, incidentally, was titled Lift Like a Man, Look Like a Goddess. Don’t know what the book actually says to do but she was working out more like a self-involved dipshit…

There was also a kid on the bus who’d started hitting him and Luke on the second and third days. Oh, good fucking gumdrops – a bully already? But no, just a spaz. Jack said he was small and weird looking with black “pebbles” stuck to his face. So, it was a little, ugly, moley bastard who was obviously an idiot as well. What kind of smaller kid stands over his seat on the bus to whack the heads of two bigger kids that he doesn’t know….

get to gym somewhere in all of that and stop being so freaking fat, etc. And worst of all, the dread of increased interactions with other parents, many of whom appear deeply convinced that of all the children in their brat’s class theirs is the only one with parents who have a kid in school. This became obvious during Jack’s orientation when one grimacing mom began pushing the tiny chairs away from the circle we were supposed sit in to hear school deets from Jack’s teacher. Needed additional room for her cellulite to throb, I’d say

The prohibitive cost of a Bud Light probably slows down the drunks. And the last thing you want to be is tanked in a hot, zitty and fat concert ho-down. Like this multiply-limbless dude who’d been bumming smokes and staggering around the lawn on bionic stilts. He was plastered. The chick who’d originally plopped down on the grass with him had vanished, leaving strangers to pick him up each time he face-planted on a hunt for yet another cigarette. The kid was chain-smoking, trying to find ways to hold two smoldering fags in the knuckle nubs of the one thing he had close to a hand. My pal Ralph & I were trying to assess what could have happened to him – war vet? Awful car accident? Ralph mused that it might’ve been genetic, “Something wrong with his DNA, you know, like it’s really DN-Ohhhhhh…”

It really would be swell if we could develop a remote control which could mute people’s mouths. A big, knobby, cast iron remote that would allow you to point, click “off” then go bash the jackass in the face with. It would come in handy in so many situations – subways packed with teenage girls, dining morons loudly calling for golf scores into their mobile dingbat, Blue Tooth ear-lobotomizers or snatchy middle-aged gants snidely calling into question my parenting skills at the playground.

That’s what I got the other day for going outside where people could see and talk to me. I’ve been trying to be a better, more engaged dad and lately that means getting out early and doing stuff that’s fun and physical…

haul your lummox ass over to Frederick’s of Hollywood and pick out lots of garishly lacey things for her. And make sure you buy it a couple of sizes too big. Hot dog! She’ll be buying extra vibrators and considering going lesbian if she hasn’t already made an appointment to have her cooter sewn shut.

Bittersweet news: our Bacon of the Month saga is coming to a close. I’d almost decided never to bother writing about bacon again. Then my son, who’d slipped into the bed during the night woke me up early by kicking me in the nuts…a lot. His slender boy foot was like keen-edged garden shovel trying to chisel off my scrotum. Naturally I thought Elisa was behind the assault so I made a heavy armed swat for her – nothing but pillow. Where the hell was my wife’s head?