Papa Don’t Preach

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of “MMMBop” while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It’s cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It’s also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the gravy. If I didn’t do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son “a fucking pussy” when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

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State Of Broz: Philosophical Musings

This past year has been rife with big happenings including planting a spawn in my wife’s womb and career upheaval. My mentor once said, “The best way to learn on how not to do things is by being around people who consistently fail and learning from their mistakes.” My former mentor was once fired from a job for looking at porn on his work computer, but that is neither here nor there. The point is he is right. I have a solid understanding on what not to do professionally provided by a bevy of past employers. I have great examples of unsuccessful parenting skills thanks to former friends and coworkers (i.e. buying your kids beer only if they “drink it at the house” does not keep them “safe”). I am hopeful I have learned enough from these bad examples to forge onward and do the right thing. If I have not learned enough, I look forward to an illustrious career as a bartender and snorting cocaine with my kids.

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Link Goodness

  • Hulkamania is apparently not about lifting your weights and eating your vitamins but slathering baby oil inappropriately all over your daughter’s ass.
  • Bill Geerhart wrote letters to some of the most infamous figures in the country posing as a ten year-old boy named Billy. Hijinks ensue.
  • Just when I thought Tyra Banks was in another stratosphere with her insanity she proves that there are others even more crazy than her. The best (saddest) part of the feature? When Summer’s dad hands her a bottle of lube for her first day of whoring.
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Suburban Debauchery

Arvada, Colorado is the place where I grew up, attended school, played little league baseball, rode my bike to the swimming pool during the summer and went to Cub Scout meetings. Arvada is also the place where I developed a penchant for whiskey, made a living on girls with low self-esteem and watched alcohol-fueled punks fight almost every weekend. It is the same place where Silvia Johnson, self-proclaimed “cool mom,” just got busted for providing teenagers with drugs, booze and sexual favors.

Yeah. That’s my hometown.

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Signs, Signs

Despite the objections of the Five Man Electrical Band and Tesla, signs seem to work. When most see a No Smoking sign they abstain from lighting up a dirt stick. Most people will not park next to a No Parking sign. Society tends to obey signs. In Santa Cruz, the Deputy District Attorney ordered all dumpsters be adorned with the sticker No Baby Dumping in hopes that it will discourage reluctant mothers from throwing their babies away. I think this is a good idea and hope it works. If we see a decrease in dumpster babies we should try signs like Absolutely No Murder. Or Gang Rape Strictly Prohibited. Or Do Not Masturbate On The Dairy Products. Why not try it out? My junior high school gym teacher once said that it never hurts to try. Of course, he liked to watch us shower after class but that is not the point. The point is signs work.

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