- I cannot wait to have another baby only to see my kids do this to each other.
- “Yes, Jimmy. There is such thing as the freshman fifteen.”
- Ed McMahon is sleeping with Jesus. Ed was most famous for being the Lancelot to Johnny Carson’s King Arthur, hosting Star Search and giving old ladies heart attacks via Publisher’s Clearinghouse. I was unaware that Ed was a retired Colonel and accomplished pilot in WWII and Korea.
You like to ride your bike. I do too. It is a refreshing work out as the warm wind blows on your face while you work up a sweat as your legs pump like engine pistons. I notice you have a Starbucks there. In your hand. As you ride your bike. Sipping on a be-whipped Frappuccino while you ride leads me to believe you are not serious about exercise. I could have never know that from looking at you, however. You know why? You are wearing a triple-XL spandex racing suit like you are training for the fucking Tour de France. Seriously? That is what you decided to wear while riding your bike today? To Starbucks? Squeezed into spandex like some generic-wrapped sausage at the grocery store? Where does one even find a triple-XL spandex racing suit? Is there a Bicycle Village Big and Tall somewhere around here? At least pretend you are serious about losing weight by draining that Caramel Light (I will swear on my infant son it had to be a Caramel Light) before you get back on your bike. Thanks for the fat guy pressed ham shot post-Chipotle, too. Helps with digestion. And by “helps” I mean comes back up in chunks with stomach acid in my mouth. Dick.
My response to the well-compiled Tomato Nation 25 and Over list:
- Remember to write thank-you notes. The written word is a lost art and most youngsters under age 25 think texting ‘THX PLAYA’ does the trick. Taking the time to send off a stamped, hand-written note (especially after a job interview) shows that you are considerate and not a serial killer.
- Do not invite yourself to stay with friends when you travel anymore. Being as I have a deep aversion to inconvenience (both for myself and those around me), this has never been a problem for me. I would much rather crash at a hotel even if family/friends are close by.
- Do not expect friends to help you move anymore. I only expect my friends to help me move things if they stayed at my house due to a bout of excessive drinking the night before. Asking someone to help you move a roll-top desk with a crippling hangover should not be an issue if said someone yaked in your sink twelve hours earlier.
- Develop a physical awareness of your surroundings. I pride myself on assessing my surroundings and acting accordingly. Alcohol often kills this one for me.
- Be on time. I generally show up on time to most events. If I am late to anything longer than thirty minutes, I will blame my infant child who cannot speak.
- Have enough money. Nothing pisses me off more than somebody who never brings money out in card or cash from. You did not leave your wallet at home. You are just a cheap bastard.
- Know how to calculate the tip. It is not difficult to multiply the bill by two to get the 20% tip equivalent. If you do not have the mental capacity to calculate a tip without the aid of a calculator or cell phone, eating out is probably the least of your worries.
- Do not share the crazy dream you had last night with anyone but your mental wellness professional. Depends on what the dream is about and what your intentions are by sharing said dream. A sex dream with the intention of getting yourself laid? Absolutely. Murdering all you co-workers with a machine gun during a casual Friday with the intention of getting a raise? Probably not.
- Learn to walk in heels. Only applies to me if I patronize an East German sex club.
- Have at least one good dress-up outfit. Before the wife cleaned me up, taught me how to dress and expanded my wardrobe, I owned only one suit at the behest of my mother. It was my all-purpose suit that saw many weddings, funerals and job interviews. I could sometimes tell the last time I wore it by reaching in the inner-coat pocket and finding an old event program.
- Do as invitations ask you. I am usually not formally invited to anything and if I am the wife handles all the RSVP-ing and gifting. It is better this way.
- Know how. Sadly I think most people 25 and under grew up with every convenience afforded to them and would perish in the wilderness after being given a knife and a water source. Problem solving is lost on a generation that did not have to solve any problems because their parents were afraid if they failed it would crush there delicate sensibilities. I like to think I know enough about enough to be dangerous.
- Don’t use your friends. This should be on an age 5 and over list. You should never use your friends unless they have an awesome surround-sound system.
- Have something to talk about besides college or your job. As the many people in my life can attest, I have plenty to talk about besides college and my job.
- Give and receive favors graciously. As my Dad said while scolding me after an excessive sports celebration in my youth, “Act like you have been there before.”
- Drinking until you throw up is no longer properly a point of pride. It depends on how good the scotch is.
- Have a real trash receptacle, real Kleenex, and, if you smoke, a real ashtray. Toilet paper serves multiple purposes (in my opinion); nose blowing and ass-wiping. If you smoke? You will be dead before me. That and you should properly dispose of your butts. My yard is not that place.
- Universal quiet hours do in fact apply to you. Working from home I keep weird hours and I keep the volume down during the quiet hours without even realizing it.
- Take care of yourself. Workout a few times. Take a shower every other day. Do not eat Taco Bell three times a week. Repeat.
- Rudeness is not a signifier of your importance. It is when you are from California.
Flying on 9/11 may not be the smartest thing I have ever done (then again neither was this. Or this. Or this), but, as the rabid Carolina Hurricanes fan sitting next to me on the plane said yesterday “If we do not fly on 9/11 then the fucking terrorists win.” Preach on, guy who loves Rod Brind’Amour, preach on (note to Perez: ‘Canes fan was a former Philadelphia Flyers fan which almost made me stop talking to him until I asked him why he stopped rooting for the Flyers. His response, “Because my wife and I have been living in Raleigh for the past seven years and, well, fuck the Flyers“). Sitting in the CLT, here are some highlights from my recent business trip to North Carolina:
- North Carolina is green and lush. I mean really green and lush. I guess I am too used to the yellow-brown hue Colorado is covered in year-round. There are a plethora of pine tress in the greater Raleigh-Durham area, too. I was not aware the Carolinas were so friendly to the coniferous tree family.
- Various topics discussed with our client that was not related to his website: Carolina Panthers football, the point spread on the UNC-Rutgers game, Indian hotel investors, hairy pussy, bald pussy, Viagra and wine.
- Various topics discussed with our client related to his website that had nothing to do with design or development: their T1 connection.
- Various topics discussed with our client related to his website that had to do with design or development: none.
- I enjoyed a ridiculous meal at a five-star resort called Herons. I gorged myself on a tremendous meal of sea bass, hush puppies, numerous expensive glasses of wine and sweet potato pie.
- How many times our client’s partner urged me to “beat my children with a strap” upon telling him that my wife was pregnant: 3.
- How many times our client’s partner passed on the restaurant valet service even though it was free: 2.
- The next time I will be to invited fly to Raleigh and “talk about the website”: 6 months.
Friday. The wife and I attend a homemade rib bonanza at Team Muff’s house where we drain shitty Mexican beer and play a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit 90s Edition. Proof that we have all turned into our parents: we began questioning the “correctness” of card answers and commenting on how staying up until 11:30 seemed “late.”
Saturday. The wife and I attend a barbecue at DJs which we learn upon walking into his house is actually his birthday party. The wife gets angry at me for not knowing it was his birthday (even though it was on the Evite) and I explain to her that knowing when your guy friends birthday is is totally gay, and if I bought a gift for him we would have to move in together and begin re-decorating his house in the finest tapestries and velvets. I down a homemade chili beer that I regret four hours later, eat some swine and watch some UFC fighting. The wife and I decided to duck out early to get some sleep. When we arrive back at home, Team Hofkamp stops over with a twelve pack of shitty Mexican beer and cigarettes. We hang out in our backyard for an hour until my neighbor invites us over the fence to share in his raging backyard chimenea fire and more shitty Mexican beers and cigarettes. Four hours and eight beers later, we go to bed.
Sunday. The wife and I walk over to the movie multiplex to catch the new Indiana Jones joint. On the way, we stop to view the recently dedicated (but unfinished) Armed Forces Tribute Garden. We grab a burger and some Lumpy Dogs at the Rock Bottom Brewery before watching yet another abortion written by George Lucas. Why do you hate me George Lucas? Aliens and UFOs? Shia LaBeouf as some sort of 1950s hood with a Pompadour and switchblade swinging on vines with monkeys? Next thing you know, you will be telling me that the force is some kind of blood disorder. Oh. Right.
Monday. The wife, myself and 52,000 other people run the Bolder Boulder under the cover of cool mist and fog. My back (almost fully healed from the bulged disc) feels great and I finish in just over an hour. We retire to the homestead for a much needed shower and nap. Later we attend two more Memorial Day barbecues that feel like autumn barbecues due to the inclement weather. I play ping pong. I play foosball. I play 3-square with a beer in my hand. I go to sleep wishing I celebrated three day weekends more often.
There is no better way to celebrate my birthday than by reading my favorite type of story; a big fat slob being extricated from his house by way of cutting through the side of it. In just a few short hours my coworkers will be treating me to a sloppy plate of birthday tacos. Later this evening the wife will be making me a birthday dinner of “whatever my little heart desires.” My little heart happens to desire pancakes, pumpkin pie and a glass of scotch. Here is hoping my thirty second year that will bring happiness, prosperity and employment stability. This tax season I am going to have more W-2s than a contract porn actor.
- A man argues that he cannot be prosecuted for having sex with a deer because the animal was dead at the time of said bestial necrophiliac coitus.
- A cargo container loaded with the Doritos washes ashore after falling off a ship. Fattys riot for the sloppy seconds.
- Gingerbread Tie-Fighter.
- Video of a limber octopus.
- Awesome architecture, installment one: hotcakes housing project.
- A mother has sold her face and dignity for a tattoo advertisement. She says the money will go to her son’s education because he is falling behind in school. If the kid inherited his mom’s brains then I can understand why he is falling behind in school.
- Takeru Kobayashi has won his fifth consecutive hot-dog eating title retaining the coveted Mustard Yellow International Belt.
- Stella’s groove consisted of a scheming homosexual, embezzlement and duplicity.
My Thanksgiving holiday was pleasant, fattening and free of stabbings. My lady and I ran the Turkey Trot in the morning and then spent the rest of the day being gluttonous hogs. Big comedy was delivered via the grandmothers as we kept vigil over the basted fowl:
Grandma #1: (describing her recent cataract surgery) It was like a psychedelic nightmare.
Grandma #2: I do not like anybody who takes drugs when they do not need them.
Every morning I walk into my office building and I run into the whale that works on the first floor and is pushing two and a half bills. She has a handicap parking pass hanging from her rear view mirror and waddles out to her car periodically during the day for a smoke (sitting in her car and smoking, mind you, not actually standing up and smoking). In these situations I get angry for the handicapped community. She does not look nor act legitimately handicapped, she just has a difficult time slinging her immense weight around. Handicap parking is reserved (rightly) for paraplegics and little old ladies with plastic hips who have a hard time getting around. I want to push that blubber factory down every time I see her. I am certain she would argue that her condition is due to an overactive thyroid or predisposition to obesity. I am certain there is medication to treat a thyroid condition, and if one does not have money to purchase said medication than one should quit wasting five bucks a day on a pack of cigarettes and save their pennies. If you are born into an obese family that does not mean you have an excuse to be fat, it just means that you inherited a low metabolism and need to be cautious with what you eat and get regular exercise. Being obese is not cool unless you are the Blob.