Thursday, June 22, 2006

He's my son... Oh he's definitely my son...


“Dad? It’s me A.J.”

“Whassup son?”

“Um… I have a problem.”

“Hey, I’m here for you son.”

“Okay it started with this lizard.”

“What lizard?”

“The one in the kitchen.”

“You have a lizard in your kitchen?”

“It wasn’t my lizard, he was just in my kitchen, and I think he was an alligator lizard.”

“An alligator? You had an alligator in the kitchen?”

“An alligator lizard, it’s a type of lizard dad.”

“I know what an alligator looks like A.J.”

“Dad, just listen okay.”


“So I go to get the broom to whack the lizard but I miss and he runs under the refrigerator.”

“So you have an alligator under your refrigerator? Don’t tell your mother.”

“Just wait, that isn’t the problem. I was trying to think how I could flush him out from under the fridge and I… well… I got the leaf blower…”

“The… leaf… blower…?”

“I figured it would blow him out from underneath the fridge.”

“You fired up a leaf blower in your kitchen? Not the best idea son.”

“I know that now.”

“So did it work?”

“Well sort of... All sorts of stuff shot out from underneath and behind the fridge. There was dust and crap flying everywhere. I thought I saw the lizard fly out at me, so I ducked swung around and knocked the vase off the kitchen table with the leaf blower. The vase shattered and glass was blowing around everywhere.”

“I’m not laughing I have something caught in my throat. Did you get the lizard?”

“It wasn’t the lizard it ended up being one of Alex’s socks. Do you have any idea how much crap ends up behind a refrigerator?”

“I know son. Black holes actually originate from behind refrigerators. I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel.”

“So now Melina thinks I’m an idiot.”


“So there’s glass and dust and stuff all over the kitchen. So I figure I’ve already got the leaf blower so I’ll just blow everything out the door onto the patio and then I’ll just sweep up.”

“You blew broken glass out of your kitchen with a leaf blower? That’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.”

“Well I started to and then I spotted the lizard. He was on the stove. I must have blown him up on to the counter.”

“Please tell me you didn’t try to burn him out.”

“No dad I got a shovel and a shoe box. I must have stunned him with the leaf blower because all I had to do was flick him into the shoe box.”

“So what’s the problem? You let him go outside correct?”

“Yes, I took him to a corner of the yard and let him go.”


“So I spend the next two hours cleaning every pot and pan and plate and glass and all the appliances and counters in my kitchen.”

“I still don’t get it son what’s the problem?”

“Well, Melina couldn’t make dinner because when I finished it was too late. So we went to Pollo Loco for dinner.”

“And the point would be??? “

“Just wait dad. So we get back home and I go into the kitchen and the lizard is back. HE’S BACK!!! WHAT DO I DO NOW???”

“Um... Do you have a weed whacker?”

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

The "Broke Back" Mafia?

I finally watched the last episode of the The Sopranos, AKA “The Broke Back Mafia" and there's something that's been bugging me.

This season proved the Mafia doesn’t exist because if it did everyone associated with that show would need witness protection.

Ma please…

There are two things in life that are “for sure”.

#1 – There’s no crying in baseball.

#2 – A gay guy in the Mafia doesn’t last six episodes.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a gay guy in the Mafia. But he gets one episode and then you whack him and move on.

They ought to whack those guys for making us wait two years for that crap.

It’s like everyone in charge of that show was being graded on the curve.

Grading on the curve is basically a teachers way of saying 90% of the people in this class are idiots and 10% of you will end up in interior design or television production.

Someone please tell me how you can score a “7” on a test and still get an “A”?

That’s what happened to the Soprano’s this year. They really got a “7” but they’re being graded on the curve.

That’s because television in general is all crap.

I wish grading on the curve worked in real life. You could have, "dating on the curve", "marriage on the curve”.

But unlike television there would always be that one husband or boyfriend that would screw it up for the rest of us.

And our wives or girlfriends would be telling us how great “Stevie” is and “How come you can’t be more like Stevie?” and we would look them in the eye and say, “He’s gay.”

Because that’s the only defense we have and somehow that makes us feel better.

That’s why the Soprano’s sucked this year.

I'm blaming Stevie.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Don't count your chickens before they....

“What’s A.J. Doing?”

(“That’s five Alex.”)

“He’s punishing Alex.”

(“That’s six.”)

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s this new discipline method they’re trying out to get him to behave.”

(“Alex, that’s seven,”)


“No, every time he gets into trouble they tell him the number of toys they are taking away from him.”

(“That’s eight.”)

“What do you think?”

“I think he has too many toys.”

Watching your own kids trying to discipline their kids is… well… funny.

I was a lousy disciplinarian.

I only spanked my boys when they did something stupid enough to lose a limb, or when they would get into a fight with each other and weapons were involved.

Hey… we’re Italian.

So I get kind of a kick when my almost four year old grandson basically tells his dad to “pound sand.”

(“Alex, pick that up.”)

(“I don’t feel like it. If you feel like it, you pick it up.”)

(“That’s nine Alex.”)

I don’t know how you discipline kids today. The “time out” has never worked; my grandson can play with “air” for five hours.

“That’s it! You’re on a time out!!!”

“Uh… okay.”

I think “time outs” were invented by the same woman that created recreational soccer, bike helmets and self esteem.

We didn’t have self esteem and bike helmets when I was growing up.

We had natural selection.

I remember when I was sixteen and me and my middle brother and five of our friends sat in my “War Wagon” with the windows rolled up smoking cigars until “someone pussed out.”

We didn’t need to be disciplined.

Throwing up and gasping for air for five hours was discipline enough.

If we died…well… we would need to be disciplined anymore.

Like I said… Natural selection.

So how “do” you discipline a four year old today?

Good cop, bad cop?

I believe in the one good swat.

From their mother.

Well I wouldn’t want to be the bad cop.

I would pull that kid aside and say, “Look, I know what you're thinking.” Will she spank me six times or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I’d have to guess myself. But being as this is your mother, the toughest mom in the world, and could spank your ass clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

The other option and my personal favorite of course is trickery.

Lie to your children. It will prepare them for the real world so when they graduate with a degree in English or Psychology they can deal with false hope and rejection.

“Hey Alex, so you don’t want to pick up your toys. That’s too bad. But I understand… it is your choice. Your older brother made that choice.”

“I don’t have an older brother.”

“Well no… not anymore.”

So I’m sitting here watching my son counting all the toys he’s taking away from my grandson and I realize that this four year old has just outsmarted his father.

(“That’s eleven Alex.”)

“Um… A.J.”

“What dad? Don’t start with me dad.”

“Oh I’m not saying anything. He’s your son. Um… One quick note… Alex hasn’t picked anything up yet but I can’t help but notice that the number of toys left on the floor seems… oh… I don’t know… to be well… a lot less.”

“I’m... I’m… He’s… It’s discipline dad. He’s being punished.”

“Yes… Well… I can see that this is a very effective technique. I wish they would have taught me that when you and your brother were growing up. All the toys I would have confiscated would be collector’s items by now and I’d be rich.”

“Well what am I supposed to do dad? Spank him?”

“Just tell him about his older brother.”

“What are you talking about dad? He doesn’t have an older brother.”

“Well no… not anymore.”

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

"A breast a breast, my kingdom for a breast."

Las Vegas…

The city of breasts.

They’re everywhere.

It must be the heat.

It was only 98 degrees in Vegas.

It was a dry heat.

A wet heat and the breasts would have stayed hidden but a dry heat brings em out.

I think they’re like prairie dogs.

But you shouldn’t throw peanuts at them.

It’s like they say. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but it can’t stay in a blouse.

I’m not complaining. I just don’t understand why breasts want to come out and play while you’re in a restaurant. I saw a lot of breasts at dinner.

Maybe it’s the “fusion” cuisine.

It seems to me all of the restaurants are going “fusion”. Chinese Fusion, Japanese Fusion, French Fusion, American Fusion.

I think “fusion” is Latin for “small portions served with weeds while you expose your breasts for $75 a plate.”

So maybe breasts are just sitting in a “fusion” restaurant saying to themselves, “Hey, is that all there is? I’m still hungry. I need a little attention over here.”

Doesn’t anyone ever wonder why you never see a “Somali Fusion” restaurant?

Probably because the portions are already small.

And who wants to expose their breasts in a Somali restaurant?

Not me.

I guess I understand why the younger breasts are poking out all over. They’re young, impetuous, yearning to be free, ready to explore brave new worlds...

But the older breasts....

There should be a law.

So why do I bring this whole breast thing up?

Because the back of my head really hurts.

Because my wife has this habit of smacking me in the back of the head for no good reason.

Because I may have inadvertently spied a wayward breast.

“Dammit woman stop smacking me.”

“Stop staring at those girls breasts.”

“I wasn’t staring at “those” girls breasts.”

“Really? And you almost walked into a wall because the sun blinded you?”

“Uh... bright lights, bright lights.”

“Idiot, you’re no gremlin.”

“It’s not my fault there are breasts everywhere. They’re calling to me in a little voice like in that movie “The Fly”. “Help me, Help me.”

“OUCH!!! Jesus! Stop it, enough already! You’re going to give me brain damage.”

“I’ll give you brain damage alright.”

“Look if you walk by the painting of the Mona Lisa you’re going to look right? Well Las Vegas is kind of like one big art gallery. I don’t rub my hands all over the paintings; I just look and appreciate them for artistic reasons.”


“Let me put it this way. If you don’t knock it off this art gallery is going to be closed. Capiche Calabrese?”

“Um... It’s not my fault... I’m Italian... Don’t hit me again. I get it okay?”

“Idiot, now what are you doing?”

“I’m looking down.”

“What’s with the ducking?”

“Uh... I see legs... They’re everywhere...”

“You look like an idiot bobbing up and down like that.”

“I don’t want to end up in a coma.”

“Knock it off.”

“OWWWWW!!!!! What happened to what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

“You should believe everything you see on TV.”

"Can we go to a buffet now?"

"Why? You never eat at buffets."

"I'm in the mood for some boneless breasts."


"You just can't help yourself can you?"

"No... I'm an artist."


Friday, June 09, 2006

"Sole Survivor"

Have you ever had one of those days were you just wanted to take off a shoe and hit someone in the back of the head with it?

I mean for an actual reason.

I’m walking in to Target today past a vanguard of homeless people when I hear from the couple in front of me, “Boy our homeless people are so much better than the homeless people in New York.”

Uh huh….

Where’s my shoe?

What should we do? Alert the Chamber of Commerce?

“Come to San Diego, we’re not only America’s finest city we have America’s finest homeless.”

“Our homeless are bilingual.”

“Hold a homeless person from San Diego up to your ear and you can hear the sound of the ocean.”


The second shoe smacking idiot I encountered today was the assistant pharmacist at Vons.

A few months ago a group of Nazi’s passed a law that keeps me from buying Claritin-D without submitting myself to a strip search.

No longer can you buy Sudafed, Claritin – D or any other decongestant without feeling like a criminal.


Because apparently drug dealers/users are making methamphetamines out of Claritin – D.
Hey I’m all for curbing substance abuse, as long as I’m not inconvenienced in any way. Why? Because I’m not a stupid enough asshole to do crystal meth. I just want to be able to breath.

Here’s the kicker.

Attila the assistant pharmacist said I could not buy anymore Claritin- D because I had exceeded the monthly dosage allowed by the government.

So I asked her how, if I only took one pill every 24 hours, and there are 10 pills in a pack, was it possible for me to exceed my allowable limit?

Her answer.

“Just go down the street and buy it at Walgreen’s.”

Hit her with a shoe.

So we have a law that allows you to buy the stuff, but not from the same store. Does anyone think that anyone who actually makes methamphetamines from Sudafed has been deterred?


Tuesday was Election Day in California.

Millions…. Okay seven, I think it was seven voters went to the polls to vote for... something and some assholes.

For the first time in 30 years I refused to vote.

Oh I went to the polls. When I got there I felt like burning my ballot in protest.


Because of the following Election Day ad I saw on TV. A deep voice comes on and says:

“My opponent eats the babies of illegal immigrants, and wants to tax Holy Communion at Catholic Churches as a way to pay for abortions. He has been linked to Hurricane Katrina and Al Qaeda, supports Illegal homosexual aliens who want to get married and force us to speak Spanish with a lisp. He has personally endorsed a tax on shoelaces, condoms and gasoline.

So when you go to the polls on Election Day, before you cast your vote, ask yourself this question, who would Jesus vote for?”

Join teachers, police, fire fighters, “consumers” and Jesus in endorsing Congressman Dickhead.”

Well that’s what it sounded like. And then the ad is followed with:

“My name is Congressman Dickhead and I approve this message.”


So you mean… oh… I don’t know… EVERYONE?

When are we going to rise up and hit all these idiots in the back of the head with a collective shoe?

Yes I’m a little bitter today.

Because my last candidate for shoe smacking is myself.

I’m an idiot.

I closed the trunk of my Cadillac on my face.


I was able to use my catlike reflexes to dodge the full brunt of the blow so that I only caught the trunk with... wait for it... my lower lip.

I am now leaving for Las Vegas with “trunk lip”.

“Service Department Please.”

“Yes sir.”

“Service Al speaking.”

“Yes Al... I um... I'm having a problem with my CTS. This is the second time this has happened to me, and I think maybe Cadillac should think of a recall.”

“What does the problem sound like?”

“Well kind of a dull thud followed by a tearing sound actually.”

“It could be your catalytic existential overlay valve circuitry modulator or the trunk smacking you in the face. Why don’t you bring it in and for $399 we can put it through our 3,567 point check up and an oil change.”

Smack smack smack smack smack smack........................................

“Sir what’s that sound?”

“Just a shoe Al, just a shoe.”