The Broz Girl Child Arrives Sandwich Interruptus

While the boy’s birthing was a marathon fight like Rocky Balboa versus Ivan Drago (minus the sweet “No Easy Way Out” montage), the Broz girl child fired her way out of the chute like a Hitler-hating Jesse Owens in the 1936 Olympics.

As labor approached the noon hour, my mom asked if I wanted to run downstairs and get a sandwich with her because, “You need to keep your strength up too, Matty.” The wife gave me the go ahead as her contractions were light and I was not planning on being gone for long. 20 minutes later I walked back into the labor and delivery room and the wife had gone from being dilated at 4 to 6 (for those of you unfamiliar with the cervix during childbirth, this is like hitting a thirty-pointer in basketball).

Within the hour, the girl child was being tagged and our nurse was quoted as saying, “That was pretty intense.”

The House of Broz is currently fun, crazy and full of poop. Lots of poop.

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The Crushing Of Souls

Yesterday I ran into a guy I used to work with at the data slaughterhouse at the hockey rink. After exchanging pleasantries (“pleasantries” being me talking smack after we shut his team his team out 4-0), I asked him how everything was going. I knew that he was still toiling away in that godforsaken hellhole and I was curious if things were as I remembered them. He dropped this gem on me:

“Once I stopped caring about what was happening around me, I was a lot happier. When I cared, management knew it and they crushed my soul.”

Good to hear that nothing has changed since the day I was laid off.

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Hooker Dens

DJ: Something that makes the baby Jesus cry and me cry tears of happiness.
Me: That would have helped us in Vegas.
DJ: If we had that in Vegas one or both of us would be dead.
Me: I disagree. A hooker and her family would definitely be dead. But us? Not a chance.
DJ: Like hookers have families. Unless, of course, you mean the other hookers living in her hooker nest.
Me: So like how rabbits live in dens? That’s how hookers live? In hooker dens?
DJ: Exactly.
Me: So if a whore dies, then another one just shows up to replace the dead one?
DJ: Yes. Just like bunnies. They huddle together for warmth and know that if a predator comes, there’s safety in numbers. One may die, but at least they improve their survival odds.
Me: By predators you mean guys that drink whiskey from a can?
DJ: Bingo.

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Sabbatical Off The Rails

Almost a year has passed since my last post on the MB. To say I have been focused on other things might be more of an understatement than when General Custer uttered, “Where did all these Indians come from?”

What have I been up to, you ask?

  • Making Babies. The wife and I are expecting a girl child at the end of March. I am studying my Disney princesses and learning how to braid hair.
  • Fathering The Boy. His obsessions with Spider-Man and trains are either legendary or emotionally damaging. He also has a penchant for stripping naked in the middle of the night and yelling at his stuffed animals.
  • Broz Design-ing. I have entered year three and may have to let go of some of my control issues and hire some help.

I am drinking copious amounts of coffee and occasionally sleeping. Every so often I will wipe the crust from eyes and emerge from the design bunker to kiss the wife, play a hockey game and have a whiskey.

I have been a creative juggernaut this past year. I will be uploading a smattering of essays in the coming months that I am hoping to piece together someday into a book. I am currently getting my Rembrandt on and painting a self-portrait. Finally, I am back posting to the MB once again. Bestiality links will be imminent.

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The MB Transitions Into Obscurity

When I started the MB back in 2000, my original intent was to showcase my resume and minuscule design portfolio. I had just made the transition from print design to web design and thought the purchase of the domain name would motivate me to learn more about designing and maintaining websites. It did.

In 2002, the MB transitioned from a professional showcase to a personal one. I started posting about all manner of nonsense, because, in case you have not realized by now, I have a lot to say about a lot of shit. In 2002 there was no Facebook. No Twitter. No MySpace. No news feeds. It actually took some doing to track down links and write about them. I was happy to do this because my job was mind-numbing and management at the data slaughterhouse had no idea what the hell I was up to. Soon, links, emails and IMs started flooding in from the likes of Jake, Michael, DJ, Kaye, Monica, CH, Gay Joe and Mark. Boredom loves company? I was happy to be posting regularly as it fueled my passion for creativity in ways that my career was not.

Enter Broz Design in November 2008 and my posting to the MB fizzling out. Maybe its because I am fulfilled professionally? Or because I would rather hang out with my kid than waste my time posting about a guy that got fucked to death by a horse? Or maybe it is time to take the MB into a new direction? I go with the latter. I have always dreamed about writing the Great American Novel but am no closer to that goal than I was last year. My New Years resolution for 2010 is to start using the MB to focus more on actually writing a book and get some ideas out into the ether. It may not lead to anything other than me doing what I have been wanting to do for some time and that is fine. It is not like you want to read about a horse fucking a guy to death, anyway. Right?

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What It Takes To Be A Man

Me: Thanks for the Xmas card.
Tanya: You are welcome.
Me: I teared up a little because it was so nice.
Tanya: Teared up on the inside, right? Because tearing up on the outside would make you gay.
Me: Yes. I bury all my emotions deep inside because otherwise I would be gay. I would rather drink through my emotional issues and kill a kid in a crosswalk DUI style then talk about my feelings.
Tanya: Sounds like the manly thing to do.
Me: Indeed.

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Obama Addresses West Point

Last night I actually watched the presidential address. It was not my fault. No decent hockey games were on, our DVR was empty and Jeopardy was not showing due to the speech. I will take “Apathetic American” for $400, Alex. Obama is a great orator. He is take your panties off smooth. I am so used to Bush tripping over words and fumbling around at the podium for the past eight years that it is refreshing. My love for Obama ends there, however. Aside from appreciating the historical context of his presidency, I think Obama is all spectacle, no substance. Case and point the public relations sweetness of giving a military-themed speech at West Point. Here is my rundown of what Obama said last night:

We are pulling out of Iraq and re-mobilizing to Afghanistan. This should excite you as I have talked with generals and advisers who told me this what we need to do. Here is an exact date of when I will bring home the troops. Yes, I think war is timed like a football game and America just entered the fourth quarter. Go Bears! Here is a comparison of me to FDR. Please ignore the irony that New Deal programs failed miserably and/or saddled future generations of Americans with the burden of contributing to programs that will go bankrupt in their lifetime (Social Security). Something about liberty. We like Muslims now. Support your troops. It is all Bush’s fault.

Who needs a drink? And some Obama Jesus gear? And some Hope Is Fading Fast gear?

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Link Goodness

  • Sarah Palin is MILF-tastic. I could care less about her politics or shitting developmentally disabled babies out of her old dried-up uterus when she has that slutty soccer mom thing working for her.
  • Foreign policy lessons for America from the Byzantine Empire. Very Art of War with guerrilla warfare sprinkles on top. I agree with most of these points, however, the United States has the tremendous advantage of geographic isolation which the Byzantine Empire did not. This means we can wage wars on six continents with a slim a chance of the conflicts spilling over into the Motherland. So unless we drop bombs on Canada or Mexico, I am guessing Americans will flourish historically a lot longer than the Byzantines.
  • The more I see of Ice-T’s wife Coco, the happier with him as a person I become. Continue to Peel Their Caps Back, good sir.
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Rules For My *Born Son

I must own this book and pass on its wisdom to the boy. Here are some of my favorites maxims with comments directed at my infant son as if he were an adult with the ability to reason:

  • Surround Yourself With Smart People. You are who you hang out with. Your friends will expect you to do what they are doing alongside them. Smart people expect you to be intelligent and well read. Drug addicts expect you to pass the Guns N’ Roses coke mirror you won at the carnival balloon-dart game after snorting a line.
  • It Is Not A Gang Without The Cool Girl. Be sure to always have at least one cool girl in your inner-circle of friends (bonus if she is hot). She can provide invaluable feminine perspective and is bound to bring around other cool girls. You may even marry her someday.
  • Ask Your Mother To Dance. There is no better way to make your mother’s night then taking her for a spin around the dance floor and acting like it is fun and not a chore. You will do this and you will like it.
  • Do Not Get All Fancy About Your Beer Or Coffee. Coffee? Black. Beer? Yes, please. It is as simple as that.
  • Do Not Have A Girlfriend In College. Think of all the awesome shenanigans you can get into while attending college. Now think about doing them while maintaining a steady relationship with an average looking girl that you met in the first week of your freshman year.
  • Never Sit Down On A Ball Field. Take A Knee. You do not sit down on a sports field unless you are severed at the torso and have no legs. Even then, you still take a stump.
  • Always Meet Your Date At The Door. Do not be the dickhead honking the horn in the driveway. Go up to the door and ring the bell. Doing this affords you the opportunity to open the car door for her as well. Double the points, my son.
  • Yes Ma’am. No Sir. No Exceptions. People that are older than you are always sir or ma’am. Even if your friends parents tell you to call them by name you still call them sir or ma’am.
  • Try To Lose The Adverbs. Nothing illustrates how weak your vocabulary is more than an adverb. You are not very tired. You are exhausted. You are not extremely happy. You are ecstatic.
  • Keep Your Word. Even the over-consumption of liquor does not excuse you from this one. If you tell someone you will do something, you do it.
  • If You Are Good At Something, Never Do It For Free. Excluding sex, masturbating and murder.
  • Walk It Off. This philosophy that can be applied to many situations including electrocution, being on fire and venereal diseases.
  • Never Be Afraid To Ask Out The Best Looking Girl In The Room. Be fearless. What is the worst that can happen? She says no and you call her a lesbian? You are still in the same position you were in when you walked into the room.
  • You Do Not Get To Choose Your Own Nickname. You are luckier than most as you have a sweet last name that can be shortened to “Broz” or “Brozo.” Even so, you do not ask anyone to call you this. They must do it of their own accord.
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Halloween Ideas That Humiliate Children, The Handicapped

I have to give credit where credit is due: this kid has a fantastic idea for a Halloween costume. He does not need a double amputee to pull it off, however. Roll behind a Kohl’s and look for some discarded mannequin parts in the dumpsters. Piece together a torso and some arms and legs. Pick up some gold spray paint and you have yourself a rudimentary (yet light) C3P0. Imagine the logistics of having a double amputee strapped to your back all night. What happens if you (or the amputee) has to take a shit? Even without legs I am assuming a double amputee weighs 75 pounds (if not more). That is a lot of weight to be huffing around sober let alone with your veins pumping Jack Daniels. What if there is a slut dressed as Slave Leia at the party? Are you prepared for that menage-a-trois?

I think my idea for a Halloween costume is better than what this kid is attempting to pull of, anyway. Me as the “host body” and my infant son strapped to my mid-section as the alien Kuato from the movie Total Recall. I may have to hold out until next year for when the boy is talking so he can quip “Open your mind” upon presentation.

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