Sunday, July 30, 2006

I'm a Disgruntled American.

I’m asking your forgiveness ahead of time for this but I need to get it out of my system and then I promise I’ll never do it again.

I hate talking politics but they really pissed me off this time.

I'm a Republican. I've voted Republican in every election since I was eighteen. I voted for our current president twice. Hey the last time my other choice was John Kerry. It was like choosing between getting kicked in the balls or punched in the balls. Either way it was going to hurt like hell.

So I got this phone call from the National Republican Congressional Committee.

Congressman Tom Reynolds wants me to serve on the Business Advisory Council as an honorary chairman.

It seems I’m a hero or something for the Republican Party. That’s right; I get to have dinner with the President in Washington D. C along with “hundreds” of other honorary chairmen.

Oh... did I mention I get a gavel?

I don’t even have to make a donation if I don’t want to. That’s what the telemarketer from the National Republican Congressional Committee told me.

I have to give them credit; at least the person who called me wasn’t from India.

Then again I didn’t call them. They called me.

Here are a few tidbits from their website.

The NRCC wants “to forge a new and dynamic alliance between the Republican leadership and the small business community.”

“Honorary Chairmen will be invited to participate in periodic strategy sessions. We need your input on the economic and tax issues, and how to build broad based support in the business community. You will be invited to participate in private surveys and policy briefings.”

“Honorary Chairmen will be invited to dinners, receptions, and other party functions, both national and regional. In addition you will be invited to participate in NRCC functions.”

“We will spend in excess of $3.6 million recruiting broad based support, and an additional $2.5 million in advertising. Most of these funds must come from our Honorary Chairmen. Your gifts are the seed money needed to create the grassroots support that can finally lead to a breakthrough on health care reform, debt reduction, social security, tax and education reform, and sound economic policy that keeps this economy growing!”

Uh huh….

Republicans have controlled the Senate, Congress and the Presidency for the last four years.

So where are we on health care reform, debt reduction, social security, tax and education reform, and a sound economic policy?

Where are we on a sound foreign policy?

Where are we on immigration reform?

The answer to all those questions is no where.

Where are we on building a “dynamic alliance between the Republican leadership and the small business community?”

What have the Republicans done for small business?

We know the Democrats haven’t done a damn thing. (Trust me they haven’t. Democrats have voted no on every single bill to benefit small business in the last eight years. Look it up if you don’t believe me.)

Guess what, my fellow Republicans haven’t done a damn thing either and they’re in control.

Do you know why?

Because this isn’t my Republican Party. This should be called The Republican Cult.

These are imposters.

My Republican party believed in individualism, smaller government, and business entrepreneurship.

This Republican Party has presided over the largest-ever expansion of the federal bureaucracy in history.

President Ronald Reagan, once said, “government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem."

These Republicans seem to have forgotten that.

These Republicans think the world is 6,000 years old.

My Republican Party said, Uh wait a minute, we have the... Oh what are they called? Oh yeah... THE FOSSILS!!!!!

This Republican Party believes that putting retired old white guys called Minutemen that have nothing better to do along the border will solve the immigration problem. Oh let’s throw in a couple of thousand of our National Guard as well. We might want to wait for them to get over the shell shock of Iraq first.

My Republican Party realizes that trying to shut down our borders is a futile joke and that we should be working to create a realistic immigration policy that allows Mexicans, yes Mexicans, the ability to come across the border to work, pay taxes and contribute to a managed healthcare program.

My Republican Party realizes that Mexicans are not Muslim fundamentalists. When was the last time you saw a Mexican blow himself up?

My Republican Party wouldn’t have thrown away the support of the whole world after the terrorist attacks on 9-11 and the toppling of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan by invading Iraq.

My Republican Party believes if you are going to invade a country on the pretext of their possession of Weapons of Mass Destruction that you had better find them.

My Republican Party would listen to military advisors that have some sense of the history of the region so that we don’t get caught up in a religious, tribal or civil war.

My Republican Party would not have a foreign policy that bleeds third world nations of their economic resources creating even more poverty giving the rise to Muslim fundamentalist fanatics and leftist revolutionaries.

Is no one recognizing the reason for the spread of Islamic Fundamentalism? Who is feeding the poor of the Middle East, Africa and Asia? The US? The Israeli’s? The other western powers?

Who is building schools and hospitals?

Who is giving the poor of the world hope?

Not us.

No it’s organizations like Hamas, Hezbollah, Hizbul Mujahideen and the Muslim Brotherhood to name just a few.

If you have nothing, no hope for a future in this world, then you turn to the things that no man, no country, no power can take away from you.




And for some reason god never tells anyone to buy a pony.

He tells you to blow yourself up.

And we’re no better.

What once was my party is now a right wing religious fundamentalist cult.

Oh we’re not going to blow ourselves up. We’re going to blow other people up.

Why the rise of this insanity?

Because we are doing to the heartland of this country what western powers and corrupt governments have done to the third world nations and the poor, taken away Middle America’s hope for the future.

We are creating more and more right wing religious zealots in the same way the Islamic Fundamentalists are creating future terrorists.

We have created millions of Americans that believe their only hope is in faith, religion and God. Where is the faith in ones self? Where is moral common sense? Where is the voice of our youth?

Our youth live out their lives on My Space or playing computer games with an iPod stuck to their ears while they’re pumped full of Ritalin.

My god we have kids participating in sports where “no one keeps score”, “everybody is a winner”, “we wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings.”

Oh that’s a lot like the real world isn’t it?

And let’s not forget to stick a helmet on them while they take a bath.

This is madness.

The majority of our youth just doesn’t care.


That’s what causes nations to collapse.


That’s what gives rise to fundamentalist fanatics.


That’s what creates a nation of people who don’t challenge the decisions of their leaders.


Maybe we should bring back the draft.


Because the youth of today think the “draft” has something to do with fantasy football.

Bring back the draft and our leaders will be held accountable for their actions by the parents of those sent to die. Maybe that will wake people up. It had me awake in 1975 when I was a senior in high school hoping that the Vietnam War would be over before I got drafted.

Lets change gears for a moment.

Ask yourself this question.

Why are interest rates going up?

“Well Tony everyone knows that they had to raise rates to slow down inflation.”


Economic pee pee caca.

They raised rates because rates had no where else to go. The Fed had lowered the rate to where it was no longer a factor in terms of economic growth or decline.

They raise rates a quarter of a percent at a time not to curb inflation but to see how much inflation the economy could handle before it melts down.

Let’s break this down in simple terms.

The prime rate is now 8.25%.

The Joe Widget Company was borrowing money at 5% and now is borrowing money at 8.25%.

It will raise prices to offset the new expense.

It will lay people off to offset the new expense.

This is America. The Joe Widget Company is not going to make less money.

Now any company that uses those widgets needs to raise its prices or needs to lay people off to maintain its profits.

And this cycle goes on and on until I’m paying more for a cheeseburger.

That’s inflation.

And you cannot take the cost of gasoline and housing out of the calculation for inflation.




It's just that simple.

My Republican Party would have asked the oil companies, “How can you post record profits if you are just passing on the rising costs to the consumer?”

Isn’t anyone looking at this and saying “Exxon made $10.7 billion dollars profit in a quarter? 32% more than they did in the last quarter? $10.7 billion?”

My Republican Party would have been outraged.

But no this Republican Party is more concerned with a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage.


It’s the constitution of the United States of America. Men and women gave their lives creating a living breathing document that outlines the hope of a nation.

They wore wigs, makeup, weird clothes and funky shoes.

And that was the men.

And I’ll bet some of them were gay.

They didn’t “choose” to be gay. I’m forty nine years old. I’ve had nine annual physicals. Trust me, no one chooses to be gay.

It’s common sense.

Don’t tell me you’ve never seen the kid in elementary or high school that you already know is gay.

Come on, we’ve all seen them.

So what?

I don’t give a damn about gay marriage. You know why? I’m not gay. It’s none of my damn business. If they pay their taxes they should have as much right to have a mate take half their crap as anyone else. And if they both paid into social security why shouldn’t they have someone that could receive survivor benefits?


And as for you gay people do you really need a parade? Here’s an idea, shut the hell up. I don’t go prancing around telling everyone about heterosexual pride.

Have thousands of Americans been killed or wounded in Iraq to prevent gay marriage and increase oil company profits?

My Republican Party would never have allowed this.

Forget the human toll for a moment.

We waged a war and now current occupation of Iraq that burns up billions of dollars in resources and equipment. Well if we’re spending billions then someone is making billions. Who is that? Who is accountable?

The pentagon doesn’t know where all the money has gone.

The Department of Defense doesn’t know.

How is this possible?

Show me the money.


My Republican Party would be holding people accountable for this fiscal debacle.

And the idiots on the left don’t get it either. They really don’t. If they did they never would have given control of the Democratic Party to Howard Dean.

And does anyone seriously believe that Hillary Clinton will ever be president of the United States?

Please. That’s a no-brainer. It will never happen.

But where are the true leaders of this nation?

Where is the party of common sense? Where is my Republican Party?

Is there no one out there to lead us out of this insanity?

Have we become a country of sheep?

Beware of the shepherds.

Oh I could go on. I haven't even touched the environmental crap, Stem Cell Research, China, Russia, South America, the outsourcing of jobs to India, et al. and of course Israel and the Arabs.
We have become the new Roman Empire.

Rome fell.

And as for the National Republican Congressional Committee...

These fake Republicans.

Mr. Tom Reynolds, take the gavel you want to give me and shove it up your ass.

You’ve lost something way more valuable than my donations.

You’ve lost my vote.

I've got a gut feeling I'm not alone.

I'm done now.

I apologize to all of you.

It won't happen again.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

We're having a heat wave.....

I am now convinced that global warming exists.


Because it’s #$&^ing hot that’s why!

Who did we piss off to deserve this weather?

This is San Diego for Christ’s sake.

It’s not even a dry heat.

It’s a wet heat.

Wet heat sucks.

I was sitting here roasting on Saturday flipping the channels between CNN, FOX and MSNBC trying to see if I could catch a missile hit.

Watching war in the Middle East is a lot like watching NASCAR. It’s pretty boring until something catches fire, crashes, or blows up. Plus let’s face it; everyone who lives in the Middle East seems to have the same dental issues as NASCAR fans.

The women don’t dress the same though. You don’t seem to have those scantily clad NASCAR sluts in the Middle East.

It dawned on me while I was flipping channels that maybe the real reason these people are so pissed off is the heat. They live in the desert. I’m disgruntled and I live in San Diego. If I lived in that desert heat I might blow myself up too.

Has anyone given any thought to moving Israel to Samoa? You don’t hear too much about Samoa. I think Israel could pretty much take Samoa in a fair fight. Plus they wouldn’t have to worry about their borders.

The only problem would be the Israelis gaining a lot of weight. That happens when you live in Samoa. Pretty soon we’d be seeing Israeli offensive linemen in the NFL. Ariel Ben Tuiasosopu.


Too politically incorrect?

It must be the heat.

What was I trying to get to here?

I remember now.

Sunday morning my wife was complaining about how hot it was. So I, like the conscientious and caring husband that I am, suggested she go to Vons with me to do the grocery shopping. It would be nice and cool there and then we could go someplace afterwards and get a nice sandwich or salad for lunch.

That’s what I was thinking.

I thought of that on my own.

I am an idiot.

As I was making the offer one of the voices in my head said:

“You are an idiot.”

Another voice popped up and said:

“He’s not an idiot he’s a kind and caring husband.”

“He’s just trying to get laid and it isn’t going to happen because it’s too friggin hot. Plus he’s been grocery shopping with her before and it would be easier and less painful to just slam his penis in the car door.”

I should know better. Thirty seconds after we went into Vons…….

“Hurry up it’s too cold. Do we have to go down that aisle? That aisle is too cold. Why do you want balsamic vinaigrette? I like regular Italian dressing. Why do you start in this aisle? I’m cold. Did I tell you that I’m cold? We’re not going down the frozen food aisle it’s too cold. Every time we come here we see someone we know. Look at me. Do I look okay? I’m not wearing any makeup. Damn it’s cold. Take me home I need to pee.”

Cinderella Cinderella, night and day its Cinderella……..

And the voices in my head say........

“Dude, just tell her to suck it up. She wants to go out into the miserable heat let her go. Be a man; don’t take this crap from her. You outweigh her by 150 pounds!”

“Don’t listen to him. She owns a sword.”

“Pussy, be a man.”

“Don’t do it Tone. It ain’t worth the aggravation.”

“You know sweetheart why don’t you go wait outside where it’s nice and warm." (While I kill a chicken and sacrifice it to the god of grocery shopping to ask for forgiveness for bringing you here.)

There are certain things that according to women men can’t do correctly ever.

One is picking the correct lane on the freeway. Two is finding the correct parking space.... um.... anywhere. Three is picking the correct checkout lane at the grocery store.

And we get no help. Because some old guy with coupons that expired in 1987 for creamed corn is going to be arguing with the clerk. And you’re going to pull up behind him.


That’s what I wanted to say.

If she didn’t own that sword.

But then, because luck is laughing at me, I needed a price check on..... balsamic vinaigrette.

“I told you to get the Italian dressing.”

“Yes I know I planned it this way. I’m just testing the clerk. It’s part of their new union agreement with Vons. Random price checking.”

“Uh, did he say that out loud?”

“Hey it wasn’t me.”

“Well it wasn’t me either.”

“He’s already given up on the sex thing huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well he doesn’t need us anymore.”

“I think you won that one.”

“I don’t know, he really wasn’t tough with her, he was just being a smartass.”

“Okay let’s call it a draw.”


“Helloooo. Voices in my head. You can’t have a discussion without me.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Uh I was just talking to myself. Kind of a Zen thing. You know, centering myself before I load up the car. I want to put the groceries in the car ala Feng Shui. It makes the drive more pleasurable.”

“Don’t make me hurt you. Now hurry up and let’s get home.”

“I get dibs on the downstairs bathroom.”

“You what?”

“I get dibs on the downstairs bathroom.”


“I need to pee too. I think it’s the heat.”


“Well what do you want me to do? Invade a country?”

Saturday, July 15, 2006

If it quacks like a duck.....

“Honey wake up!”

“Jesus what is it?”

“You tell me.”

“Tell you what? It’s four o’clock in the morning.”


“To what?”

“That sound.”

“It sounds like... a duck?”

“Do we have ducks in San Diego?”

“Apparently we do now.”

“Well do something about it.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Make it stop quacking.”

“You want me to get out of bed at four o’clock in the morning, go outside and chase off a duck?”

“I just want it to stop quacking.”

“What if it’s not a duck? What if it’s a cheetah using duck sounds to lure a duck to its death?”

“Just get up and look out the window.”

“Fine............... Uh....... It’s a duck.”

“What’s it doing?”


“It’s just standing there quacking?”

“Well babe I’m not exactly an expert on ducks. He could be reading the paper; it’s hard to tell from here.”

“Smartass go outside and scare it away.”

“What if there’s more than one of them?”

“Don’t even tell me you’re afraid of a duck.”

“I’m afraid of all nature. I don’t do nature. I eat nature. You want me to get rid of a duck sandwich, I’m all over it.”

“Just get the broom and chase him off.”

“Ducks are afraid of brooms? Where did you learn this? Oprah?”

“Then bang some pots together to make noise to scare him away.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go outside at four o’clock in the morning, in this neighborhood, and bang pots together to scare off a duck?”

“Bang them softly. Just please make it stop so I can go back to sleep.”

“Of for the love of god, fine.”

(1 minute later)

“Psssssst!!! HONEY!!! PSSSSSSSST!!!!! Look out the window.”

“What are you doing out there?”

“It’s okay. It’s not a real duck.”

“How do you know? Whack it with the broom.”

“Uh... because I think it’s made of wood.”

“Who’s out there with you?”

“It’s our next door neighbor, Tom.”

“Did he hear the duck too?”

“Uh... It’s his duck. I mean, he is the duck. It’s a decoy babe.”

“Why is it quacking?”

“Um... The ducks not quacking. Tom’s quacking. He’s practicing duck calls.”


“Honey? Babe? Dude you better hope she didn’t go get her sword.”

“Tell that idiot to shut the $%^& up or I’ll come down there and shove that duck call.....”

“No problem babe.”

“And tell him to get a real pet!!!”

Friday, July 14, 2006

I'm a man, yes I am, I'm a man.......


“What’s up son?”


“Do you think I look gay?”

“Um... today?”

“Any day dad.”

“Well there are some days you look overly happy, but no, never gay.”

“Dad, I was getting sushi for me and Kim and I got hit on by two gay guys and a fat Asian girl I think was a guy.”

“It’s the sushi. You can’t order sushi without sounding gay.”


“I think a “California Roll” has a totally different meaning in the gay community.”

“Dad I swear it doesn’t make sense. I was dressed in a dirty tee shirt and pants.”

“Well that explains it.”

“Explains what dad?”

“The construction worker look, you know, its fun to stay at the Y…M…C…A…, the Village people, construction worker.”

“But I wasn’t even acting gay.”


“I was leaning on my car waiting for my sushi smoking a cigarette.”

“Dressed like a construction worker. Let’s put this all together son. You’re in a dirty tee shirt and dirty pants, you’ve just ordered sushi, you’re leaning on your car, and you’re smoking a cigarette…. You’re pretty much sending out the “gaydar” at that point son.”

“I spoke in a low voice. I mean really low voice.”

“Doesn’t matter son. Gay people loved Barry White.”

“This sucks dad. I used to get hit on by hot chicks. Then I got married and had a kid and now gay guys hit on me.”

“I think it’s because you’ve got the whole father figure thing going on now. Gay people like sushi, Barry White and father figures.”

“Have you ever had a gay guy hit on you dad?”


“Not even once?”

“Well there was this one chick with an Adams apple that wanted to buy me a drink after a show.”

“Did you take the drink?”

“Free Patron? Are you kidding me?”

“Did it bother you?”


“Why not?”

“Son after forty nine years on this planet I’ve come to realize that I am totally secure with my manhood. I don’t sweat stuff like this son. I know I’m a heterosexual male, a manly man. I also never eat sushi, order coffee from Starbucks, go antiquing, wear anything pink, listen to Madonna or do Feng Shui.”

“Huh... So it really didn’t bother you.”

“Actually it made me feel kind of attractive.”

“I don’t know dad. I don’t want people to even think I’m a little gay.”

“Son, knock off that raw fish crap and have a cheeseburger and some onion rings. Gay people never order onion rings. And you can’t be a little gay, you either watch the Bravo channel or you don’t.”

“You’re just totally breaking my balls here aren’t you?”

“Ya think? C’mon son this is 2006. You can watch the Bravo channel and not be gay.”

“Can I eat sushi?”

“Only if it comes with onion rings."

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Futons are for Communists.

I’ve noticed something about me since I turned forty nine even though its only been a day.

I feel grumpy.

Like I need to invade a country or slap a Starbucks barista.

Maybe it’s the realization that I’m hitting the “we don’t count” age.

You know what I’m talking about.

You see it on questionnaires or surveys.

“Are you in the following age group? 18 – 25, 25 – 35, 35 – 49, 50 – death.”

I’m heading into that last group.

The group that no one wants to market to.

I’ve never understood that. Advertisers target the younger ages, the 18 – 25 group.


My groups got all the money.

But what do we get? 100 year old Art Linkletter selling long term health care insurance on the Home Shopping Network at two o’clock in the morning.

You never see an ad for anything that makes people my age “feel fresh”.

Maybe I could go mountain hiking or horseback riding or play tennis too if I just felt fresh.

Did they ever think of that?

“Communist bastards.”

That’s another thing that’s happening to me.

I’m saying things for no reason that my father used to say.

“Only drug addicts and homosexual communists sleep on futons.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word hunger.”

And I’m saying them to people I don’t even know.

I was in line at Vons yesterday and started a conversation with a guy in front of me I’d never met before in my life.

I could hear myself talking but I had no control over what I was saying. You know, like when you first meet a woman you want to sleep with.

“So you think oranges are a good investment in California? Well you’d be wrong. We’re getting our oranges from Chile. Can you believe it? Chile? It’s a goddamn communist plot that’s what that is. I can’t even get my freshly squeezed from the good old USA I have to get it from Chile? It’s the damn liberal Democrats that’s what it is. Next thing you know we’ll be drinking bottled water from Fiji. Goddamn communists. You know what I’m talking about?”

“Uh… I’m just buying some peanut butter and these pads for my wife.”

“Is that American peanut butter?”

See what I mean.

Not only that but I changed lanes four times yesterday and three of those times I didn’t use my turn signal. The fourth time I used it I forgot to turn it off.

For ten miles.

I’m only forty nine.

What the hell am I going to be like at fifty?

I have this urge to yell at the paperboy.

We don’t even have a paperboy.

We have a little Vietnamese paperman.

I even read the obituaries first today.

I knew two people.

I started talking about them out loud.

I was alone.

This is only my first forty nine year old day!

I have to go.

I have this insatiable thirst to play “bingo” right now.

I want to rerecord my answering message so that it sounds like I can only speak one word every ten seconds.

What is happening to me?

I think I’m having a hot flash?

Matlock’s been canceled?

Communist bastards.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Happy Birthday To Me!!!!

Today is my 49th birthday.

Some people get wished a happy birthday with the birthday wisher trying to guess how old they are.

“Happy Birthday Tony. So how old are you? Wait let me guess. Forty Nine?”

“Yes… Forty nine… Lucky guess…”

I look my age.

My exact age.

I can’t pass for anything other than forty nine.

A few hours earlier I actually looked forty eight and then whammo!!! Now I look forty nine.

It happens to me every year.

My wife still gets carded while they look at me like grandpa is taking his daughter out for a drink.

“What about my ID? Do you want to see my ID?”

“Uh… Sure… What is that? Your senior discount card?”

I get the most comments from these twenty something year old waifs after I get off stage at a comedy club.

“Man, you’re old enough to be my daddy.”

“Really, does your daddy know about the ring in your nose and the tattoo that looks like Charles Manson above your ass?

“It’s a California condor, and I haven’t seen my dad in six years, not since he divorced my mom and turned gay.”

Oh I know some guys my age are running off with these twenty something year old girls. That’s not for me. I couldn’t stand the music and I wouldn’t look good in the passenger seat of a red Volkswagen Jetta with some girl named Brittany who thinks I’m paying her college tuition.

When my family asked what I wanted for my birthday I told them nothing. There was nothing they could buy me. I’m way past that stage. I’m at that age now where I don’t want or need any material things.

When I was twenty nine I wanted a VCR and a big “27” inch TV.

Now all I want is an oval shaped toilet whenever I need to use it.

Not one of those nutcrackers.

Guys, you know the ones.

The toilets shaped like a circle.

The nutcrackers.

Here are some of the hotels in Las Vegas that have officially been cleared by me for having oval shaped toilets. The Venetian, Bellagio, The TI, The Monte Carlo, The MGM Grand.

Not the Mirage Hotel. The Mirage has little circle “chick” toilets.

So whenever I book a hotel room I always ask about the toilets. Because you can stay in a very fancy hotel, one that has a toilet and a foot wash right next to it, and the foot wash is shaped like an oval and the toilet is a little circle.

I know… it’s not a foot wash.

Well I know now.

The first time I saw a “bidet” was in Italy.

I had absolutely no clue what that thing was. A foot wash seemed the logical choice.

When I turned it on the water shot up and hit the ceiling.

That was a very powerful foot wash.

They needed it because they were stomping on all of those grapes.

That’s what I was thinking at the time.

Before I was reminded that I was an idiot.

I’ve always wondered how you check the water temperature on those things.

And why do they need a plug in the drain? Who’s filling that thing up?

These are the questions a forty nine year old man asks himself.

So I’m now at the cusp of fifty years old and my biggest concern in life is toilet shapes.

These are the thoughts I will be passing on to my grandchildren.

That and a list of all the hotels I ever stayed at with oval shaped toilets.

The rest of you will have to bid on that list on E-Bay because I’m still trying to pay for that lobster in my last post.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Hit me again.

I was in Las Vegas again this past weekend.

Everything in Las Vegas is a gamble.

Even dinner.

We ate at a very fancy schmancy restaurant inside our hotel.

Eduardo was our waiter.

He was from the Bronx.

I know he was from the Bronx because it said “Bronx, NY” on his name tag.

Everyone working there had a nametag with their “hometown” on it.

I was surprised none of the nametags said Mexico City on them.

In fancy restaurants it’s important to know where your waiter is from. You never see a hometown on a nametag at Burger King or Wendy’s.

Eduardo had a French accent.



From the Bronx?

“What do you recommend Eduardo.”

“Ah yes well Messiuer, ah tink You wud be vedy hoppy wit de lobster tail.”

“Really? How happy would I be?”

“Vedy vedy hoppy messiuer.”

“Well then Eduardo it seems I have no choice. Lobster tail it is. No butter though, I'm dieting.”

“Und por you madam?”

“I think I’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare.”

“Vedy gud choice madam.”

My wife’s filet came with mashed potatoes and vegetables.

My lobster tail arrived with some type of weed as a decoration on the plate.

That’s how you know you’re in a really fancy restaurant, when the only thing on your plate other than your lobster tail is some type of weed.

I felt bad for this lobster.

I think he had spina bifida.

His tail was very small.

He was probably an orphan.

He was a four bite lobster.

I contemplated eating the weed.

“So how ees eberyting messiuer? Deed you sabe rume for dezurt?”

“Oh I couldn’t Eduardo, I’m stuffed.

My wife whispering, (Smartass.)

“Vedy gud messiuer. Wud eeder of you lak an Ezpressso or a cap of café?”

“No tanks. I mean no thanks Eduardo.”

Eduardo “bowed” and presented us with the check and I immediately noticed that the total of the bill was the same amount as my wife’s car payment.

I knew that lobster was going to cost me because it had “MP” or “Market Price” next to it on the menu.

What I didn’t know was Eduardo and I apparently didn’t shop at the same market.

I think my lobster was hand raised in the Himalayas by seventy two virgins. He was run over by an Amish woman on a bicycle and then flown to John Hopkins Memorial First Class on British Airways where they preformed emergency surgery to remove his tail, apparently without medical insurance.


For $85 dollars someone should have been…………… while I was eating that lobster.

Use your imagination.

This is a clean blog.

I really had no one to blame but myself.

I hate it when that happens.

But what I hated more was that I was still hungry.

My wife never said anything. She knew that I knew that I was an idiot. It's what we call a "given".

As we left the restaurant and walked through the Casino the slot machines going off sounded like that song on the ice cream truck.

“I think I need two or three ice cream sandwiches or something. I feel weak.”

“You can have fruit.”

“Orange sherbet is kind of a fruit.”

“Forget it.”

“Then can I borrow $20 dollars?”

“Why do you need $20 dollars?"

“I want to win back my lobster.”

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

"Here I go again..."


“Dad? Dad?”

“What? What?”

“Have you ever heard of “rectal stenosis”?

“Um… Aren’t they a Whitesnake cover band?”

“Dad be serious. The doctor says John Anthony has rectal stenosis. It means his butt hole is too tight. We have to give him suppositories twice a day.”

“Ohhh “rectal stenosis”, Yeah I have heard of that. It’s a natural defense mechanism. He’ll grow out of it after he gets through the boy scouts and Catholic school.”

“Come on dad this is serious. When he goes he really goes. He’s like Mount Pinatubo.”

“Well, he is part Filipino.”

“Dad you don’t want to have to change one of those diapers. It’s like Damien is in his pants.”

“That’s why I leave that to your mother.”

“Dad I’m worried. This whole being a father thing is really stressful. Not only do I not sleep or eat right; now there’s poo everywhere. And Kim keeps eyeballing me like it’s all my fault and she wants to smother me with a pillow.”

“Hmmm… I know that look. Has she been talking to your mother?”

“Come on dad…”

“Look son, bottom line, no pun intended, did the doctor say he’s going to be okay?”

“Yes, it takes seven to ten days of suppositories but he should be fine.”

“Then son, relax, life’s full of moments of poo, trust me. I’ve got to go now.”

“Thanks for listening dad. So where are you going?”

“Down to Tower Records to get a Whitesnake CD.”