Family game night

Family game night is always fun, but not for the whole family. For every winner in my house there are countless losers, and nobody likes losing here. It is not so much that you lost as it is the crap talking you have to endure. When it comes to crap talking we are a family of gold medalists.

                PlayStation and Xbox should always be off limits. In this house a bad game can go from digital dominance to broken controllers and an occasional black eye or broken bone. Countless insults and name-calling can also be heard. This wasn’t always the case. We used to play well together until Rick went rogue. Years ago while playing Madden football I was promised by Mooshell certain adult pleasures if I won. Rick mad sure I lost. Since then things have turned ugly.

                Monopoly is also banned. It starts out fine but then always leads to someone prostituting themselves out to pay the rent. Awkward moment for a family event. I guess that’s how it goes when everyone is so damn competitive.  The best part is the shit talking/name calling when the one person is so blatantly winning that an air of confidence sets in, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Other than keeping those around you down at your level.

                That game for us is called out house rummy. It’s a fun game that involves ever changing hands and money. It gets heated from the get go. While it is often said that the fastest hands win, here it’s the sneakiest. During one such heated game I was kicking the crap out of everyone.  I was like Roseanne Barr destroying a Jenny Craig meeting and eating all the brownies. The losers were getting mad and you could tell. It’s the same game plan every game. Deflect blame for winning on whoever is in second place and add an insult here in there. Such as “how the hell did you pass math with a score like that”, or “I am thinking being retarded is hereditary”. Works every time.  The table turns on itself, Tempers flare, and no one is safe. It was at this moment a relationship changed forever.

                We have one rule in the house. What is said at the game table stays there. Why some language is foul and unsettling, it is all in good fun. Besides it is a very attractive trait to see a person’s veins and nostrils flaring like a mad bull. We were knee deep in the card game. I am winning and others are not.  People are starting to make dick head plays just irritate each other.  Then it happens. Nancy calls Amy a bitch for her absurd move. Amy is speechless for a moment. She doesn’t know what to say, or how to take that comment.  She mutters the only thing she can think of. At this point I think Amy believes her very own mother is a large sperm receptacle, judging by Amy’s comment of “shut up cum dumpster”.  The room went silent and everyone starred at me. One looking for me to defend her and the other looking for me to vindicate her. I didn’t know what to do. I mean how did I get drug into this? I instead said nothing and thus vindicated Amy. In hindsight I guess I would have lost either way. But Amy was right at least once.  Which reminds me of this one time in NAM…….

 

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Not for Kids medical advice

Dear Anne,

How do you combat droopy testicle syndrome?

Signed

Not so perky

Dear not so perky

I believe you have a serious health issue. I am sure this can be an embarrassing issue for some, but I myself would be bragging.  Not to fear, there are many changes that can be employed. Before we can address a cure we first have to ask a few important medical questions.

Are you a tranny?

Are these “nuts” real?

Did you medically alter yourself?

Is this due to an injury?

If the any of the above answers are yes please consult a Dr. before they fall off.  Now we can focus on a remedy.

First we must address the support of the family jewels. If you consistently wear thongs or G-strings please stop. Not only do they offer no support it looks like two hedge hogs tried to hang themselves. Just disgusting, and it looks like you could use a shave. Try something that fits, like the sports under shorts. If that’s not enough try adding metal egg poachers and an ace bandage. Lots of support and looks like you are ready for battle. A popular look on the Goth scene.

Now let us address the sag. How did this happen you may ask. It is common knowledge that as men age certain parts can no longer fight gravity or they just give up. If you are older there is very little you can do, other than stuffing them in a slinky. They may still sag but at least they bounce back. Or it could be because once you are too old for the tooth fairy to come take your teeth, the scrotum fairy comes to you in your sleep and, one by one, puts all your previously discarded teeth into your sac. The older you get, the more and more visits she makes, slowly weighing your sac lower and lower with your old molars.  Now if you are younger it could be from several reasons. If you are using a shop vac for self-gratification then I recommend a smaller motor or a larger hose. Either way it’s a shame you junk fits in the hose. If you are yelking stop immediately, you are performing it on the wrong part.  And finally if you can’t quit touching them because you think the sac thief is nearby, relax I can assure you nobody is going to steal what looks like two rotting cantaloupes stowed in a stretched out raisin.

Lastly you must realize that there is no cure. If the above fails then you must resort to drastic measures. You can employ the Nut Bra (see here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOiaSy643B4 ) or Olay anti-wrinkle cream enriched with vitamin E oils and silicon. You will need the economical 55 gal. Barrel. If all else fails then ask the misses to get a stronger purse strap and walk around proudly singing  the song Do Your Nuts Hang Low as seen here

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZu9N8qMKjA&oref=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCZu9N8qMKjA&has_verified=1.

Good luck BUZZ

Dear Wyomingford,
I never seem to win an arguement with my wife. Either she wins or it wasn’t an argument at all it was only a suggestive talk. Having had many wives and much experience, how do I acheive this victory in life?

Dear buzz

This is a very complicated question.Let us to break it down for an easy to digest honest answer.  First, you must decide if victory is worth it. Even in war the victor still has losses.  If you so choose to proceed then it is your bad when you are eating at you mother in laws because your wife wont cook, clean, comfort you and most likely will quite bathing to teach you a lesson.

The said argument must be one you are capable winning. You need an intense knowledge of the subject at hand. This usually means you will have to pick a fight with her so as to control the argument. From a man’s prospective try to pick the fight on one of the following subjects.  Testicular cancer, the importance of jock straps, man boobs or dysentery. Something she cannot possibly relate to. Stay away from any argument that involves emotion, coupons, female anatomy, raising offspring or life in general. You must be committed to the fight, once it begins the outcome is the same in victory or defeat.

Follow the rules; they are what guide us through life. Following them is the difference between hard time and debtor’s prison when you other half divorces you and takes half your stuff. The rules are as follow

  1. There is no such thing as cheating.
  2. Be prepared for the wife to cheat.
  3. Women lie, be prepared.
  4. Know your support structure, and use it sparingly.
  5. Statistics are important.
  6. Be the man (one she senses weakness it over).
  7. Women are not as fragile as they would have you believe.
  8. No physical contact (Possibly ever again).
  9. Do not succumb to tears and screams.
  10. Do not cry or scream like a girl .

So the flow of the fight/rumble or argument should progress roughly in the following fashion. Start at an unsuspecting moment, like when she is carrying in the groceries or scrubbing toilets. Start with a forceful statement that is a fact, something like “if you carried three grocery bags at once you would be done faster”. Then immediately present your argument. State your side. Don’t let her get a word in. If she tries just interrupt her by channeling your inner Peewee Herman. Continue the argument until you have expressed the viewpoint to the fullest. Now let her have her turn to speak, when she starts turn around and walk out. Say something like I don’t have time for this bull shit or blah blah blah come back when you know what you talking about. Make her follow you around to speak. That way she is exerting energy. Don’t except her to tire quickly, women are like camels, most have two humps carried outward of their body and are used to store fat for energy in times of duress.

It should be noted that at this point you may find out exactly how good your reflex’s are. If you are still breathing hang in there. If you are unable to read this I will send flowers and a colostomy bag.

At this point a sense of pride should be setting in, that’s called winning. You will notice the whining and screeching have subsided and there is peace all around you. That is because you are now alone. Forced to fend for yourself, do your laundry and prepare meals. Almost like solitary confinement with small freedoms. This is where any training you have had kicks in.  What happens next is all dependent on your wife’s ability to forgive or evade law enforcement.  And now that you have won you will enjoy all the free time to expand upon the creativity bottled up inside. Many a scenario will fold out in your mind. Relax this is normal. It will pass. It is called begging for forgiveness.

Or you could embrace the suggestive talk and take it in stride. Sleep in a warm bed with clean sheets. I myself like the challenge. It’s like going lion hunting with a Nerf gun. After all it is true what they say; good decisions come from a lifetime of bad ones. Good luck and god speed.

I’ll take two please

Drinking beer and shooting guns, the best entertainment that money can buy. Not the smartest sporting event ever imagined but by sure the funniest. If you ever shoot yourself in the nuts the alcohol will help with the pain, I would know.

Rick had just gotten his new Mossberg pump action shot gun. It was a decent gun and showed his prowess as a male consumer. To me it was just an extension of his lady dick. Whatever you call it he brought it over.  I had just bought a new skeet thrower and we were going to test it out, but first we had to assemble it and drink some beer.

The drinking beer was easy, the assembly took some time. The book was using big words that were hard to comprehend, words such as wrench, bolt, lever and tighten. What the hell I just want to throw shit in the air and shoot it. It is times like this I wish Steve was here to redneck engineer it. That guy could build a motor out of a beer can and a chicken heart.  But we persevered without him.

The assembly is complete the beer is flowing and now it’s time to shoot something. We’re off to the field next door. We get there and set up. 500 rounds of ammo and two cases of skeet, a second 12 pack of beer and we are a go. I pull back the throw arm and load two skeet. Rick takes up his position on the left and readies himself. Rick yells PULL and I let em rip. Two skeet fly off and the shotgun fires, two skeet go down. We are off to a good start!

Round after round we alternate between shooting, throwing and drinking beer. Things are slowly going a miss. The ground is wet and the thrower is becoming dislodged in its clay base. No big deal we are self-sufficient men and promptly leap into action. We pick it up and turn it 10 degrees to the left and push it back in the clay. Easy fix, nothing to see here. Except the little details we always seem to miss. I guess beer is good for something other than pregnancy.

I am up next to shoot, I stand right where I have been all day. Rick readies the thrower and I get thumbs up. Pull I yell and rick obliges. I remember hearing the whoosh of the sheets as they took flight. Then I remember a burning throbbing sensation in my crotch and sudden urge to fall on the ground curl up in a ball and cry. I just took two skeet’s to the nuts at point blank range and rick wont quite laughing, nor will he take the dam gun so I ball up and cry. Ricks like that, sometimes he is giving and other times he is such a dick. Finally I hug the earth as if mom was there comfort me through a difficult time, then I quickly realize her harsh stinging words of my stupidity as the cactus I rolled into while cuddling a dirt pile.

The beer buzz is gone and numbness takes hold, I think to myself dear Lord why me. Then every morning when I look in the mirror I get my answer, oh yeah that’s why.  Fun time is now over and ice cold beer suddenly has a new usefulness. I nurse my wounds and recount what had happened. Those dam little details strike again. When changing the angle of launch one should also adjust the firing position to ensure the line of fire is clear and open. Not doing so will get you two in the junk every time. I did take solace in knowing that this time I didn’t shoot myself, that’s what brothers are for. And as a side note I must say I would go sheet shooting again for sure, but I still hate cactus.

BB guns and testicles

I have always considered myself an excellent hunter and outdoors man.  I specialize in liquid fowl and on occasion I have actually bagged a once living animal. Gun safety is an essential part of being a hunter. Many important aspects of safety and the meaning of life are taught, that is why it is a requirement. This class is normally taught around the age of twelve, but what if you are a more curious person than the average twelve year old.

Growing up there were always guns around the house. We were all schooled in the do not touch mentality and therefore we did not. However there is always one exception. No one was ever disciplined for messing around with the BB gun. The BB gun was a small caliber with a velocity of 8Ft per second. Hardly fast enough to shoot a sprinting turtle.  It did provide hours of entertainment for the whole house from time to time.

During the days of my youth we were often left unattended to play outside. Being one of four boys this usually meant something was going to die or someone was going to get hurt. It was generally the latter half. This contributed to a very heightened level of curiosity and eventually a high pain tolerance.

I was all alone and decided I would take the BB gun and go hunting in the garage.  Confine your prey’s ability to move and the hunter will eat. So I stalked the great white mouse, so far it was living up to its myth. He was a worthy adversary that would only me mounted on my wall with patience and skill. I lay in weight, for the perfect shot. The magical beast soon came into sight, slow and steady I aimed. Wait for it I thought, wait for it. Like a true sportsman I fired. My high caliber BB hit him with full force. This was truly a majestic animal because I watched my BB bounce off. He was UN fazed as he strutted in front of me flipping me off.

What a piece of crap weapon. It would not even kill a mouse. How was I to live a subsistence life style like this?  So I thought about where I went wrong and it hit me. Every great hunter tests their weapons and tools before the great hunt. I had failed, but greatness was upon me. I would test them now and begin my hunt again. Surly that four legged Don King look alike with jump at the opportunity to taunt me. So it will begin again.

I broke down the rifle. All looks good. Springs were working, barrel was clean. It must be the ammo. I chambered the BB took aim and pulled the trigger. I heard the POP as I fired. Quickly I rushed over to check my target, a piece of sheet rock hanging on the wall. Nothing was there. No penetration through the wall, not even a dent. No sign of it even firing.  So I took a closer look. It was there on the floor when I found it. My BB was clean and unscathed. I reloaded the BB and did the only logical thing I could, I tested it on myself. There is only one way for this to work when you are young and short.  I placed the barrel in my groin and ready myself.  After a quick pep talk I pulled the trigger.

It was a direct hit to the right testicle. It hurt so bad I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.  As a reaction to the initial burst of pain I jumped and inadvertently hit myself in the face with the rifle butt.  All I could do was run in circles and punch myself in the left testicle to offset the pain. My God my balls were throbbing and huge. I must have looked like Papa Smurf with Great Dane ball sack.  On any other occasion it would have been impressive, but not today.

I ran in the house screaming all the while squid punching my crotch. My dad was starting to get concerned and asked what was wrong. I shouted out I had shot the car tire and it bounced back and hit me in the fella’s. To this day I have mixed feelings as to why I lied. Part of me believes I didn’t want to be embarrassed. Not for shooting myself in the balls, but because I mishandled a firearm. The other part of me thinks it was because I didn’t want my brothers to feel inadequate about their manliness. After all with such feats of manliness comes with an obvious lack of intelligence and I have no shortage manliness.

I could teach fire arm safety. It is engrained in genetics. It is my belief my children will have nightmares about the manliness that flows through their DNA.  This was one of those times I wish this could have happened to Rick.

Poor timing

The other day Nancy was sick and we went to the doctor. The Doc gave her an antibiotics shot and prescription. I am told when that happens to a woman it is common for a yeast Infection to develop. So after taking her griping and moaning for only so long I snapped. I am glad you have yeast infection I said. Why is that Nancy said? Because now we both know what it’s like to live with an irritated cunt!

HERE CHICKEE CHICKEE

Who loves a good party complete with copious amounts liquor and nudity? This guy that’s who.  My second bachelor party proves it. I am not saying I was drunk but Amy Winehouse would be like, damn that guy is wasted.  She would have been right.

The bachelor party is a sacred time honored tradition among men. The last chance to talk your friends out of what I call a living suicide. And if all fails a time so shorten their suffering through liver damage. It is known to be the lesser of the two evils.

There we were hanging out at Kevin’s the very morning of my party. Its 10am and we are drinking beer, I don’t want to remember this pain. We are relaxing having a good time. The plans are set and I will be the center of attention, for all the wrong reasons. All I have to do is remain conscious.

Too late, its 1:30 in the afternoon and that bitch Kevin got me drunk already. I need a nap or I won’t be making the party. Screw it I can’t get up. I pass out where I lay. It’s now 4pm and Kevin is waking me up. I feel refreshed and so aware of my surroundings. I am going to drink all damn night now. I am primed, pumped and ready to go. I am finished getting ready, Rick and Kevin are waiting on me. All I know is I am not driving.

We crawl into the truck and head out for something to eat. Remember these words, Fried chicken is not an ideal food for a night of drinking. We finished eating. My tummy is upset. I think all the beer from earlier has slowed the gastrointestinal process. Too late to worry know so we have a moment of silence.

We bow are heads and we pray. Dear lord we thank you for our time together and for the fellowship, stories and Kodak moments we are about to receive. Please bless this night of stupidity and bring everyone home safe. Please let Bob puke outside the truck this time and remember to drop his pants before crapping. AMEN

It is a good thing to be early for your own party. I like to apologize in advance so the bar is less likely to call the police (this will come in handy later). While waiting for the entire party to arrive rick proposes a shot. Something vulgar and Lang like to start it all off. Tasty it was. A few party goers arrive. Kevin proposes a shot with another toast.  Even better than the first. The entire party has arrived and festivities are to begin.

One by one everyone in the party brings me a shot and we toast. Then they congratulate me and ask all sorts of questions. Are you sure this is the right girl for you, or is she blind and deaf you lucky bastard? I am feeling all right I have had 10 shots and I got to pee. I boogie on over to the bathroom. The urinals are full so I tip the Matradee and gain access to the porcelain palace. I am sitting there admiring my view from the upper class when the power goes out. DAMN, instant vertigo. One minute I am looking down from heaven and the next I am at a roller disco bash. I can’t stand up I am so dizzy, even if I could it was dark, and the first rule of men’s room etiquette is we don’t feel around when the lights are out. The room is now spinning at a rate that is intensifying the G-forces on my body. I feel as if I am about to pass out so I blow chunks instead. It’s Dark and I am locked in a stall. I fumble around for several minutes to navigate what must be a 10 digit cypher lock.  Finally free I do my best to compose myself and leave.

I can see the emergency lights are on in the bar. Just enough light for me to make it to my seat. This is perfect nobody will suspect me of being drunk. I sit down and like magic the lights come back on. Man I have to pee again. As I rise out of my seat the next few people bring me shots. One by one they go down. What the hell did I just drink it tasted like a rotten bag of dicks covered in whip cream? Now I have a reason to puke, but first I got to pee. Once again I bogie to the bathroom.  I am sure it looked more like Paris Hilton having a coke seizure. I open the door and cling to the nearest urinal. As I stand there doing my business I hear a guy come in with a mop bucket. He is cleaning up my handy work from earlier. Terrified he looks at me and asks why do people do this, it only 8:30. I agree with his justifiable resentment and offer my two sense worth. We should find that asshat kick the crap out of him. I quickly leave before I start getting kicked. Back to my seat it’s time for a shots and dancing.

Some families have really good genetics. Mine does not. I am white, as far as dancing goes I would be considered pasty. I got the moves; I can sway my hips, wave my arms, shake my butt and draw names in the air with my penis. I just can’t do it all at once.  I end up looking like a cross of Steve Martin in the Jerk and Kermit the frog with a broken leg. Not pretty at all. But I am drunk and don’t care so here we go.

Daddy is working that money maker tonight, everybody wants to dance with the party guy. Then my jam comes on. One two three four let me see the tootsie roll. HELL Yeah it’s on. I got my shit shaken; I am dry humping everything not moving. It is good to be me. Then the music stops and the spot lights on me. I am shaken hands and saying howdy to the ladies. It seems my instant fame in just too much for them, and I can’t blame them. Suddenly someone picks up my pants. In my haste to not get beat up it seems I forgot to button up the trousers.

Back to the bar to drink away the embarrassment. I have now had around twenty shots. I AM LIT! No two ways about it. I go outside to get some fresh Air and rick comes along to check on me.  We wait outside trying not to puke when out of nowhere comes this pack of wild prostitutes, I mean bachelorette party. They look hot, well hot and fuzzy. I think they should meet The Bob so I cautiously approach the elusive herd. Whaaattsss up ladies. No response. Perhaps they don’t know who I am. So again I say WHAAAATTSS UP LADIES, again nothing. Maybe this is the Helen Keller fan club. As they leave to enter the bar I become legend. I drop my pants and underwear to the ground and grab my pecker. I begin to chase these women around the parking lot screaming HERE CHICKEE CHICKEE, HERE CHICKEE CHICKEE. Then out like a light. I wake up in the back of the truck and I am being tended to by the very selective hookers I just artistically assaulted. They like me after all; I must admit it is one hell of a penis!!