Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Wanted: Neighborhood Pounding Partner

At my former residence, the Party Zone II, I lived on the same street as my friend Ben, owner of the Party Zone and a man who enjoyed pounding cold ones. We frequently congregated at one of our homes to catch a game, catch up on life, or help each other move something heavy. Well, this is what we told our wives anyway. Nine time out of ten, it was all a ruse to demolish colds together. Whatever "game" was already over or we hung out for hours after it was over. "Catching up on life" was code for ripping brewskies and discussing our most recent electric bill. And the heavy objects that needed to be moved as soon as possible were either really light, already moved, or did not exist at all.

This situation was ideal for a couple bros seeking copious amounts of Keystone Light and companionship. Drinking at a Party Zone was cheaper than going out, safer than going out, and in many ways, tighter than going out. After a few years we had some kids in the Party Zones (us and our wives, not together), and we could rip and roar after the children nodded off while still being attentive fathers.

Unfortunately, a couple years ago we each moved to different neighborhoods, far away from one another. The convenience of a short walk to annihilate some crispy cold ones together is gone and we do not see each other nearly as often. I miss it. The time has come for a new pounding partner and I have the perfect place.


That is right, currently on the market is the perfect home for my future pounding partner to uproot their family and move into as soon is possible. It has some bedrooms, some bathrooms, hardwood or carpet or something on the floors, and a back yard that is ideal to tear into a 30 rack with yours truly. I do not have a long checklist or criteria. We can disagree on sports or politics. We do not need the same family size or structure. My future pounding partner doesn't need to be interesting, smart, or attractive. They simply need to be down to fuck up cold ones with a similarly thirsty suburban dad a few doors down. So, future pounding partner, head to the bank to get pre-approved and as long as you love cold ones and proximity, consider yourself pre-approved on this end.

Saturday, September 8, 2018

The Gatorade Saga

On Thursday morning, after exhausting myself, I stopped at my favorite Speedway (very clean, lines move efficiently) to purchase a refresher. Upon entry (held the door open for someone despite being exhausted and needing refreshment), I darted to the drink cooler in the rear. There they were, a whole row of Gatorade Zero Lemon Limes ready for purchase and consumption. As I grabbed one, I made it a point to look around and scoff at all the idiots in the Speedway making purchases that didn’t involve replenishing electrolytes.

Needless to say, the Speedway trip was going swimmingly until I was advised by a small sign in the cooler that I could purchase a second Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime for a dollar (“buy 1 get 1 4 $1” or some shit like that). Now I had a decision to make, I only wanted one Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime, but considering just one costs $2.49, adding a second to replenish and hydrate me in the future for a single dollar seemed too good of a bargain to pass up. After being trapped behind a “regular” chatting it up with the Speedway Clerk for what seemed like two hours, I finally made my purchase and proceeded to work.

Once at work, I stowed the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime away in a place to keep it cool for refreshment the next day. I headed to court and worked my cases, intermittently taking huge swigs of my Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime. At one point, I realized I no longer had the bottle with me. Had I finished it and discarded the bottle without thinking or had I left it somewhere? After interrogating my colleagues, I quickly realized that that Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime was not going to be recovered. “Oh well”, I thought, “at least I have refreshment waiting for me tomorrow morning in the form of the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime that I purchased for one dollar”.

The next day, yesterday, I exhausted myself early in the morning.  The rest of the morning was a blur as I contemplated the refreshment and replenishment awaiting me in the refrigerator at work. The family all got ready, I dropped the kids off, and “floored it” to get to work/hydration as quickly as possible. I finally arrived at work, scanned my security card, muttered something to a coworker, and raced towards the refrigerator, ready for electrolytes.

(This is where the story takes a dark turn, reader discretion advised.)

I was exhausted, but running on adrenaline. I pulled the refrigerator door open with gusto, but my excitement quickly turned to despair, the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime that I had purchased for one dollar the day before was nowhere to be found. Had someone taken it? Had I drank it and not remembered? Was the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime that I purchased for one dollar the day before an illusion resulting from dehydration? (This happens to people stranded in the dessert all the time).

At this point I was nearly sobbing, but couldn’t produce tears due to dehydration. On a whim, I opened the freezer portion of the work refrigerator and there it was: a rock solid, frozen form of the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime that I had purchased for one dollar the day before. My dumbass had put it in the freezer instead of the refrigerator like a fucking idiot! I spent the rest of the day sipping what little melt the heat could produce of the additional Gatorade Zero Lemon Lime that I had purchased for one dollar the day before. The day culminated with me leaving approximately 10 ounces of bottled refreshment undrank and frozen on my desk. Before leaving for the weekend, I stared at that frozen blob and wondered: “what is this world?”, “what is my role in it”, “and why am I so fucking thirsty?”

Friday, March 16, 2018

“Fish and frites”, kiss my ass

Just received an email for a St. Patrick’s Day meal that listed “fish and frites” as one of the menu options. IT IS CALLED FISH AND CHIPS. I would know, it is tied for my favorite meal (pizza). “Frites”, come on, seriously, they are french fries, they are delicious, and they don’t need to be propped up with some fancy name.

With my family headed to Ireland, I will not be attending this dinner, rather, I will be eating “fish and chips” every damn day for the next two weeks.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

#ConLent, lessons learned

Well guys, I screwed up. I promised daily content during lent without considering that Saturday the family and I are headed to Ireland for our two week adventure. The odds of me finding wifi, abandoning my family, and banging out some #ConLent are very low. It would also be fairly pathetic, when you think about it.

"Hang on family, we can't go to this old castle because I need to find a Starbucks so that I can come up with a five sentence story or lash out at the haters." Or even better (worse), "I would like to experience the cliffs, but the supporters are awaiting the continuation of the 15 best Killers' songs/ badass pictures of Gorillas." (seriously, what the hell was I thinking with that). Not happening.

All in all, I feel like this has been a successful run, with some results more successful than others. Here is a ranking of your all's favorite types of content, based on stats:

1. Crosby blogs
2. Guy blogs
3. Count Me Out
4. Comments from the haters
5. Lashing out at the NCAA
6. Lashing out at the haters
7. Five Sentence Stories

999. count down of the 15 best Killers' songs/ badass pictures of gorillas

1,000,000. Smoothie recipes

For the supporters, I will try and get some content up while in Ireland, but it is more likely to be on Instagram. And do not fret, there will be more content on this site soon. I can't leave the haters starving.

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

A new contender for cold pounder of the summer

Oberon day is two weeks away. Yuengling is now sold in KY. Stones and Nattys come in 15 packs. Summer pounding decisions were going to be hard enough before I drank Founders Solid Gold. Here come the haters: "Wait, you can't pound Founders morning to night, in the heat, too expensive, too much abv, dumbass!" Well, haters, SHUT UP!

These bad boys are price-pointed with Bud, Miller, Yuengling etc. The ABV is a poundable 4.4%. Taste is smooth and delicious and apparently they are going to be released in 24 packs. Now if that is not a summer pounder, I do not know what is! Stay tuned to my instagram story (@proctorstype) grass cutting sessions and you are likely to see some of these empties strewn throughout the yard.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

A new low point for this site and the haters are all over it

Here I am trying to help you all out by sharing my favorite smoothie recipe (here) and the DMs are out of control. The vitriol that has flown from the haters into my DMs is immeasurable. Here is a small sampling:

"This smoothie has almost 700 calories in it. Thanks for nothing."

"Where is the spinach, asshole?"

"Can we please get Crosby's smoothie recipe?"

"Count me out: this horrible smoothie recipe"

"I can tell by just reading this that the consistency is off. Go to hell."

"Can I recommend an addition to this recipe for your next smoothie? Arsenic."

"I know a Nigerian Prince who will publish your smoothie recipe book, please send me life savings."

"Five Sentence Story: I read the smoothie recipe post. I unfollowed @Proctorstype on Twitter. I unfollowed Proctorstype on Instagram. I de-friended Eric on Facebook. I permanently blocked on my browser. I wish him nothing but the worst."


Monday, March 12, 2018

Legit Smoothie Recipe

in a nutribullet (or blender)

2 scoops chocolate whey protein powder
1 cup frozen strawberries
1 banana
2 (or 3, *wink*) tbsp peanut butter
Water to fill line

Blend it all up, good af. 

Sunday, March 11, 2018

A poem for today

"Fixed" the garage door opener
So I cracked a couple
It only two colds
Not like I'm seeing double

Hit the outlet mall
Snagged some new pants
Steamed at NCAA
Bringin' fire rants

Reunited with favorite jeans
They call em' Lucky®
Congrats on the SEC
To the rival, Kentucky

It's something of a traditon
We call it "Sunday colds"
They flow so easy
Really something to behold

But it begs the question
How many are in play?
With the looming
International Chest Day

Saturday, March 10, 2018

Count Me Out: Blow Drying of Genitalia in the Locker Room

(disclaimer: "Count me out" is not intended to offend anyone, it is simply a way to proclaim that whatever activity or item being discussed is NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT!)

Our gym locker room has a hairdryer affixed to the wall, presumably to allow men with wet hair to use it to dry their hair. Instead, what I see all-too-frequently is a fully nude man, leg up on the bench, blowing hot air directly onto his crotch. Seriously, its an epidemic.

I do not understand the point, why is it imperative to get your crotch dry as quickly as possible? Why is the typical towel-method acceptable for every other part of the body, except the genitals? Not only does this act seem unnecessary, it seems painful as well. Does it actually feel good, like some type of pleasure pain? I wouldn't know and do not care to find out, COUNT ME OUT!

It should also be noted that this particular hair dryer is positioned on a wall very close to the entrance. An unsuspecting dude, thinking they are entering a normal locker room, can turn a corner and be greeted by a (literally) hot crotch. This is not something I want to be a part of, hell, I do not even think I would wish this on the haters. In the end, I guess it is your right to blow dry your crotch in front of God and everybody, but COUNT ME OUT!

Friday, March 9, 2018

#15, Countdown: The Killers' Best Songs and Badass Gorilla Pictures

The Killers are my favorite band, gorillas are my favorite animals, and I need content. Obviously, I need to tell you all my fifteen favorite Killers' songs and post the top results of a "badass gorilla" Google Search.


The Killers- On Top
A deep cut from Hot Fuss, really gets the blood pumping and colds flowing. 


Thursday, March 8, 2018

Happy International Women’s Day

Not to brag, but I have been voted the most pro-woman person in my office. So this is kind of my day too. lol. Jk. Big ups to women!

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Five Sentence Story #10

Chris peeked through his across-the-hall neighbor's cracked door and noticed she was struggling hanging a picture. He knocked and announced "need any help in there?" The neighbor approached the door and asked "help with what?" Without hesitation Chris delivered his prepared line, "well you are using a stud finder and it must have worked, because here I am." The neighbor called the police and Chris was arrested.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Hotel Guy

I am a hotel guy, which means I love hotels and qualifies me for a free night's stay at the new Omni Hotel in Louisville. It looks to be an absolute immaculate facility, but I need to be sure before I can fully endorse on One night's stay, or maybe two, with meals provided, for myself and my wife, could potentially get a positive review. It seems like a no-brainer for the General Manager, but we shall see.

Is it better than the Marriott in Dayton Ohio where I had an absolute blast during a week long training for work in June of last year? Don't know. That place had a an indoor pool, large patio area (with firepits), and a free shuttle that took us to all the hottest spots in a jiffy. Can The Omni beat that? There website and Instagram account (of which I have been a loyal follower and liker) seems to imply as much, but I cannot be sure until I get a whiff of that lobby. I imagine the management of The Omni catches my drift, but let me be frank, I want to stay at your hotel and you need my positive review. Let's make this happen. Hit the DMs to arrange. 

Monday, March 5, 2018

An Old Birthday Card I Gave My Mom

Today my mom texted a picture of a birthday card from me that she found while "going through some stuff". My best guess is it was from some time in the mid-90s, considering that is when I was into The Far Side and I was drawing my own comic, "Dork in a Bottle".

Check it out:
Throwback Content

I am sure you have a few questions:

1) Did you used to call yourself "Stoney"?
2) Was "Dork in a Bottle" a big deal?
    For a time, yes.
3) What became of dumb guy in a chair?
4) What did your mom think of the card?
  I would like to say "she liked it", but maybe "it concerned her" would be more appropriate.

Sunday, March 4, 2018

Crosby is her father's daughter

The family was walking home from the grocery store and we saw a bird. The following exchange took place:

Laura: "Look guys, a bird."
Guy: "A bird, a bird!"
Crosby: "I am going to grab it"
Laura: "No, that's not kind, that will hurt the bird."
Me: "Yeah, uh, we aren't going to do that, uh, will probably fly away soon anyway"
Guy: "Don't hurt bird!"
Crosby: "Yeah, Guy,  don't hurt the bird, we love the birds"
Me: "Uhh, didn't..."
Crosby (confidently): "Guy said he was going to grab the bird, I told him not to."
Me: "Oh ok, yeah Guy, let's be nice to the bird."

Saturday, March 3, 2018

Count Me Out: Balsamic

(disclaimer: "Count me out" is not intended to offend anyone, it is simply a way to proclaim that whatever activity or item being discussed is NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT!)

I was at Lunch Club last week and the usual "what did you bring?" went around. One of my cohorts declared their balsamic salad dressing and became, for some, the belle of the ball. The club fawned over the dressing as if it was sent from above. I, a reasonable person, on the other hand, quickly proclaimed "fuck that". And I said that because balsamic sucks ass.

"Well do you not like balsamic or balsamic vinaigrette?", the hipster asked. Well, I do not know or care to know the difference, it is all equally terrible. It may have been trendy in 2k5 to eat balsamic, but the ruse is over. Balsamic is horrible, always has been ,always will be. Balsamic, be it in a pure form or a vinaigrette, is Satan's milk. Seriously, it makes me sick that so many people choose associating with balsamic over actually improving themselves. We have one life on this Earth, stop wasting your time pretending you like a trendy dressing and live your life. 

After all, the true test of a dressing is whether or not you would dip a french fry in it. Obviously, no one would ever dip a beautiful, crispy french fry into millennial garbage such as balsamic. We want Ranch! We want Honey Mustard! Hell, we will take some Russian/French! Anything except balsamic vinaigrette.

Friday, March 2, 2018

At a fantasy baseball draft, gonna throw some thoughts out and call it content

1) Having a blast
2) Just spent big on Ohtani
3) Gonna crack another cold one
4) this is crappy content
5) something good coming
6) Chad ordered pizza including Dominos® Garlic Knots®, v good
7)Got my all time favorite player, Miggy
8) None of you all give a fuck
9) This content is low, may not improve
10) Greg Holland is a free agent
11) Just cracked an Oberon, a 2k17 Oberon
12) Will be in Ireland on 2k18 Oberon day, ice some of them MFs for me
13) Wondering if keeping Joe Panik was a good move
14) This is horrible content
15) SMDH
16) IDFK
17) low on content
18) ready for the haters
19) got my fave player ever, Miggy, hope you all are happy for me but you are not
20) can't stand the haters

Thursday, March 1, 2018

The DMs after yetserday's post

I acknowledge that last night's content for ConLent (So Steamed- Shout Spray) was not the best. In fact, it was extremely weak. Ok, fine, it was fucking horrible. But I did tell you all that blogging every day during Lent would produce some low lows. Despite my warning, the DMs, primarily from the haters, blew up after last night's ConLent disaster. Here are a few of the "best" from last night:

"Severely stupid shit!"
-A hater

"Doing laundry? Eat a Tide Pod while you're at it!"
-A hater

"I hope u go 2 jail 4 bad content."
-A youthful hater

"Fake news! #MAGA"
-A Russian Bot hater

"Eric, you ok? Call me."
-My Mom, not a hater

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

So steamed- Shout Spray

Strawberry season sows serious stains. Shout spray squirts so slowly. So steamed.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

What is with the jams, man?, A Guest Blog by Guy Thomas Proctor

Every morning Pops takes me and Cros to school in the van. And every morning we all have to decide what jams we are going to blast on the way. You would think this would be the type of deal where everyone gets to pick equally, but it always breaks against ya boy.

It all starts with Pops frantically shouting that whoever gets their car seat straps hooked up first gets to pick the first song. How unfair is that? Crosby has two years of practice on me, how about I beat Steph in ball too while I am at it, Pops? Next thing ya know, Crosby has convinced Pops to turn up her favorite song, "If You Love Me Let Me Goooo!" (editor: "This Is Gospel" by Panic!at the Disco). That song is too heavy for that time in the morning, bros, hittin' my a.m. sensibilities so hard.

Seriously, picture this guys, here I am politely requesting Thomas the Train theme song over and over while Pops and Cros are rocking out to this noise that Pops rudely refers to as "real music". By the time it's my turn, the excuses start, "oh sorry buddy I do not have Thomas right now" or "I am driving and can't change the song right now", so Crosby's playlist (wish I had one of those) plays on and on. On the off chance I do finally get some Daniel Tiger theme song poppin', it is over in one minute. Shouldn't I get a few repeat plays since that other stuff takes forever? Nah, bro, not in this musical dictatorship.

I want to start an online petition on this site, but I see some blueberries and that is my cue to sign off. But until next time, if you see Pops, tell him I know that Thomas the Train has multiple soundtracks readily available on Amazon Music and that if I do not hear them soon, Mom just might find out about the lackluster job he did brushing my teeth last night.


Guy Thomas Proctor is a two year old maniac and occasional contributor to this site.

Monday, February 26, 2018

Gift Basket Protocol

Treatment providers often drop off gift baskets for our staff at work, a kind gesture that I very much enjoy. Unfortunately, I am usually in court when the gift basket is discovered. Typically I receive a text message announcing the gift basket and spend the rest of the morning fretting over what is in the gift basket and what will be left  by the time I get back. Sometimes I reach the point of physical sickness due to worry in these situations.
*heart eyes emoji*
Is the first person on the gift basket scene going to mindlessly eat all of the chocolate covered raisins? Will they open a jar of black bean salsa and leave it open, un-refrigerated? These questions and thousands more like it keep me awake at night. I cannot put into words the toll this is taking on myself and my family. So, readers, please read, learn, memorize, and practice the following action-plan for whenever you are a gift basket first responder:

1. Gently remove all items from the gift basket and take a picture of each item.
2. Send each picture to a group text of everyone who has a valid claim to the gift basket.
3. Have each person rank each item in terms of which they want the most.
4. Produce an aggregate and distribute an appropriate portion to each person based on their desires.
5. Roll up and clip any remaining bagged items.
6. Refrigerate any perishable items.

It is that easy guys.

Sunday, February 25, 2018

An Invitaion


Who: myself and some yet-to-be-named hungry af others
What: A plethora of delicious, nutritious seafood selections
When: IDFK
Where: Frisch's Big Boy® new Hot Seafood Bar®

RSVP, Regrets Only.

Saturday, February 24, 2018

Five Sentence Story #9

A couple of the boys said they could not pregame the wine event, so I asked a couple other boys if they wanted to kick back some cold ones before the wine event. Me and those boys hit the chain-German-brewery-concept-restaurant-happy-hour so hard; pilsners and hefes flowing, boys enjoying. I bid those boys farewell and rendezvoused with the other boys at the wine event, where we basically put the whole event on notice that we were the boys and we were not messing around. The boys did not win the wine event, but the boys did not care, we (the boys) were all about the fun. I woke up the next day and hit the boys up in a group text, "fun timez,  need 2 hydrate", the boys replied, but I am keeping those replies to myself, respecting the boys' privacy.

Friday, February 23, 2018

A quick, vulgar thought on the NCAA

So the NCAA, an organization that has turned a blind eye to domestic violence, sexual assault, and academic fraud, feels the need to single out U of L and vacate wins, including the 2013 Men's Basketball National Championship. These assholes want to pretend we live in an alternate universe wherein a series of basketball games played and won by U of L simply did not happen. Well, NCAA, I have a fucking DVD of the National Championship game and a piece of the god damn floor it was played on and you pricks cannot take either of those things away from me. You want the physical banner from the rafters of the YUM Center, fine, take it, and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!

Thursday, February 22, 2018

Prologue to Five Sentence Story #9

Me and a couple of the boys are about to hit this wine party so hard. Basically, each of the boys on our three-person boy team bring the same type of shiraz and offer it up against other shirazes. I think the winner, hopefully the boys, gets to keep a bunch of the wine. The boys are not very clear on the rules, but some rules are always in effect: have fun and keep it real with the boys. But first, myself and some different boys, are going to drink some cheap cold ones to cleanse the palate.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

#ConLent update

Well, the haters are having a field day with yesterday's pathetic daily content. In fact, other than a handful of skunk fans, even the supporters thought it was a stinker. On top of the low production quality, my Chief Editor pointed out that the skunk video was also repeat content, since I had posted it on my Instagram Story earlier in the day. Piss poor production and stealing from the Gram story is a recipe for disaster, guys.

I must admit that blogging every day is more difficult that I anticipated. Even five sentence stories are difficult to com up with. Hell, sometimes I ask myself if I subconsciously went with the chinstrap beard just to create some cheap content. Mix in the hater DMs and  #COnLent is in a rough spot.

So what would you guys like? More five sentence stories? Count me out? Relentless lashing out at the haters? Hit the DMs or the comment section so hard with suggestions.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018


When I promised daily content for #ConLent even I did not expect a potential side gig with National Geographic:

Make sure audio is turned up for real-time commentary

Monday, February 19, 2018

Five Sentence Story #8

This morning I looked in the mirror and did not see the man I want to be. Somewhere between stubble and full on beard, my facial hair, as well as my whole being, was having an identity crisis. I ran the blade along my jaw bone and down my neck. Quickly I realized there was no turning back and that I had a one way ticket to "chin-strap" town. Reviews, to this point, have been mixed at best.

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Setting the record straight on "goofball"- A guest blog by Crosby Jane Proctor

Dad's insult du jour is calling me and my brother Guy "goofballs". He throws the term around without any thought as to the effect on our psyches. I am sure him and his dad friends will say the term is harmless, as they sit around drinking beer and giggling. Well, my name is Crosby Jane, I have a voice, I have agency, and I am here to tell you that I am not, have never been, and will never be a goofball.

Here is the definition of goofball:
  1. 1.
    a naive, silly, or stupid person.
  2. 2.
    a narcotic drug in pill form, especially a barbiturate.

Does that sound harmless? (rhetorical question, guys) Now, I do not think anyone should be called a goofball, but if someone must be condemned as such, which of the following people better fits the definition:

Person A:
1. Can write their name in standard font and in bubble letters
2. Has nearly perfected a somersault and is progressing towards a cartwheel
3. Creates art in various mediums on a daily basis

Person B:
1. Spends their free time filming themselves talking to a phone and posts it on their "gram story"
2. Frequently takes up to three attempts to say the correct name of their closest friends and family members
3. Falls asleep on the couch with the title screen of a movie they've seen twenty times playing over and over

Unlike goofballs, my readers are not naive, so I am confident you know where I am going with this. Those of us who take things seriously and focus on achieving their goals do not appreciate being called a goofball. Not to mention, the insult is dated and completely unoriginal. Now, if you'll excuse me, it is movie night and Sword in the Stone is starting. Only a goofball would blog during movie time.

CJP is a four year old, a student, a big sister, and a frequent contributor to this site.

Saturday, February 17, 2018

Count Me Out: sober birthday parties for young kids

(disclaimer: "Count me out" is not intended to offend anyone, it is simply a way to proclaim that whatever activity or item being discussed is NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT!)

I just got home from my nephew's first birthday party at my parent's house. Everyone had an absolute blast. Jude, the one year old, bonked around, got his own cake, and received a ton of gifts. Jude's cousins, including my children, were ecstatic eating treats and commandeering all of Jude's toys for their own personal use. But what about the parents? Did we sacrifice our afternoon for the sake of their children's fun?  HELL NO. We pounded colds!

It makes perfect sense when you think about it. The kids are partaking, why not the adults? Unfortunately, some parents view having copious amounts of alcohol at a young child's birthday party as some type of faux pas. "It should be about the kids", they say. Well, I say, if you want to have a kid's b-day celebration without libations then COUNT ME OUT. Seriously, your kid may be great and my children may enjoy their party, but I want a frosty cold one in my hand when present time comes around. Plus, if you expect me to hit the "Happy Birthday" jingle hard, then I better have few in me before we start.

We only have so many days on this Earth. And we want our offspring to live vibrant, complete lives. But that does not mean we must sit clear-headed at every anniversary of their or a friend's birth. We as parents want to create our own memories as well. And if it just so happens that those memories are a little hazy,  then so be it.

Friday, February 16, 2018

Five Sentence Story #7

The frigid cold had forced The Parents and The Children to stay in The Home for three days on end. The Children, as can be expected in such a situation, were stir crazy and driving The Parents absolutely bonkers. Exhausted, The Mother pleaded with The Father to come up with a fresh idea to occupy The Children. The Father pondered what could be not only thoroughly entertaining, but also educational for The Children. Suddenly The Father blurted out "follow me children" as he proceeded to fill a glass up with water and set it outside.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Can't stand em (an acrostic)

Haven't you,
A thought in ya damn head,
That maybe, just maybe,
Everything doesn't need your commentary.
Remember, you're not infallible and
Save your BS for the mirror.

Graciousness, give it a try
Or stay the hell out of my DMs.

A good many of us are done,
We aren't taking it anymore.
An uprising, bro,
Your days are numbered.

Wednesday, February 14, 2018


What am I giving up for lent, you ask (or didn't ask)? The last couple of years I have given up "sweets" (a very loose, flexible definition of the word), but it is time to try something new. Maybe I should give up cold ones (slang for beers)? LMAO (laughing my ass off). Not happening, not with our Ireland/Guinness trip on tap (literally and figuratively). Hopefully I am not giving up using parentheses because I am doing a piss poor job of that.

No, I am giving up not blogging every day. I am going to put something on this site every day of lent. There will be "count me out"s, five sentence stories, and some general lashing out at the haters. Some posts will be brief, some will be not well thought out, and some may be outright terrible, but there will be content every day of lent, unless I screw up. I am calling it "conlent" and if you think that is stupid, be prepared, it is likely going downhill from here.

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Five Sentence Story #6

Matt's confidence had never been higher as he strolled into his local bank branch and screamed, "I need to speak to the loan officer!" A teller directed Matt to Mr. Londergan's office and then complimented his hair. Matt burst into Mr. Londergan's office and declared "second mortgage, A, S, A, P." Unfazed, Mr. Londergan quickly replied, "well I can certainly help you there, nice hair by the way, are we thinking a swimming pool, maybe finish the basement?" Matt laughed maniacally and pointed at his head, "not a chance bro, I'm going blow out, daily, Drybar®, until all the equity is gone!"

Thursday, January 25, 2018

Five Sentence Story #5 (Art, Poem, etc.)

Who's that stealing the sack?
Who leads the pirate attack?
Who's dropping a Bleachers track?
And who proclaimed "I'm backkkk"?
It's Jack(ie)!

Downloaded these off of Google Image but then made the ART myself (using Photogrid).

Monday, January 15, 2018

"Man, mommy is the best"- A guest blog by Guy Thomas Proctor

Alright bros and broettes, let's keep it real, me and mommy have been tight since literally day one. From kicking it in the NICU to hitting Disney World so hard, mommy and I have been through a lot. Crosby and Dad are legit, but if you give me the choice, nine times out of ten I want to hang with Mommy.

On special occasions, Mommy gets the best treats popping off and its no secret that means ice cream. If I want a cone, that's cool, if I want a cup, that works too. Mommy doesn't sweat the huge mess I am about to make. On the other hand, Dad is always trying to give me a cereal bar as some type of treat. "Here ya go buddy, its mixed berry!" Come on Pops, if I rolled my eyes any harder I would pass out.

Mommy can also chill a situation out when things get heated. For some reason Crosby always seems to have the toy I want and have to have right then. I do not know why it works out that way, but it does. Sometimes, I just can't wait for my turn and I go and take whatever it is from Crosby. All the sudden she is steamed and telling me I am not her best friend anymore. That hits the feels really hard and the next thing you know, I am shedding a couple tears. Daddy says "give the toy back to your sister" which has maintained its success rate of 0% for all of time. Luckily, Mommy understands the complex emotions involved and encourages us to talk it out. A few minutes later, the situation is diffused and Mommy has saved the day once again.

Last but not least, Mommy can sing all the hits. After I have been redlining life all day, I need some tunes to chill me out and Mommy delivers. Whether its Daniel Tiger theme song, It's a Small World, This Little Light of Mine, or most importantly, Thomas the Train, Mommy knows all the words. Daddy tries, but I can only listen to 'Read My Mind" (which somehow he still doesn't remember the words) so much. Then when I ask for Thomas the Train song, he just starts singing "Thomas the Train is rolling down the tracks, he's rolling down the tracks, rolling down the tracks" OVER AND OVER. That most definitely is NOT the Thomas the Train song and hearing it makes me want to stay awake for hours on end. Come on Dad, do better. Maybe ask Mommy the words.

Guy Thomas Proctor is a two year old, a guest blogger and a bro.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Five Sentence Story #4

Tom scooped up Melissa's water bottle and complained to Rick, "it is almost like a game to her at this point, just leave your water bottle wherever you like and then ask someone else to bring it back to you." Angrily, Rick replied, "exactly, no accountability whatsoever for her own hydration and never a thank you once the water bottle is returned." Rick continued, "ya know, she wouldn't have a clue if we put a laxative in there before we gave it back!" Tom laughed nervously and muttered "uh, I do not really think that is necessary, you sound kind of crazy, man." Rick grabbed the water bottle from Tom and belted out "you know I am just kidding around dude, don't worry, I'll return it to Melissa soon."

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Count me out: Twenty One Pilots

(disclaimer: "Count me out" is not intended to offend anyone, it is simply a way to proclaim that whatever activity or item being discussed is NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT!)

The other day I was listening to Amazon Music's "Top Alternative" station and thoroughly enjoying the endless flow of Imagine Dragons, The Lumineers, and that one song by The Strumbellas. All of the sudden I heard what sounded like a shitty Linkin Park moaning and softly rapping about missing their childhood. It wasn't thirty seconds before I was thumbs-downing, COUNT ME OUT.

What was this garbage? Well, it turns out if you combine the absolute worst aspects of Limp Bizkit, The Chemical Brothers and Dashboard Confessional you get Twenty One Pilots. The lyrics are sappy, juvenile, and contrived. The "beats" are so soft they could revolutionize the toilet paper industry. And don't even get me started on the unwarranted whining. Seriously, check out these lyrics from one of their hit songs:

Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young
How come I'm never able to identify where it's coming from
I'd make a candle out of it if I ever found it
Try to sell it, never sell out of it, I'd probably only sell one

It'd be to my brother, 'cause we have the same nose
Same clothes homegrown a stone's throw from a creek we used to roam
But it would remind us of when nothing really mattered
Out of student loans and tree-house homes we all would take the latter

That smell is shit and I get a huge whiff every time you invade the Top Alternative station. Here is one more set of lyrics if you aren't convinced:

Dump it in
Smash it down
Drive around the Trashy Town
Is the trash truck full yet?

Ok, so that is not really a Twenty One Pilots song. It is from one of Guy's favorite books "Trashy Town", but you get the point.

Now do not get me wrong, these guys are very popular. They have number one records and play large venues. But do I want a ticket to their next show? NO, NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT! 

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Crosby's Five Sentence Story

(Crosby, my four year old preschooler said this in the van the other day)

I am in the thirteenth grade. That means I am in Kindergarten. I go to school every day. I don't take naps. There are many ways to see God.

Thanks for the content Cros.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Count me out: motorcycles

(disclaimer: "Count me out"is not intended to offend anyone, it is simply a way to proclaim that whatever activity or item being discussed is NOT FOR ME, COUNT ME OUT!)

I often hear about the euphoric feeling that accompanies a motorcycle and the open road. The motorcycle, for some, represents freedom, adventure, and general badassery. However for me it represents unnecessary danger, hearing loss, and impracticability. Seriously, how can I listen to my favorite podcast, the Dan Lebatard Show with Stugotz, with the noise coming from that engine? Plus I would love for someone to explain to me how in the hell I can take my children to the Northeast YMCA branch without baby seats.

Call me lame, but give my my van (Honda Odyssey) over a motorcycle any day. The five star safety rating gives me the peace of mind I need while driving and worrying about a bunch of other shit. As for fashion, I'll take my trusty Eddie Bauer plaid over a leather vest any day. And I do not need to join a motorcycle gang for companionship, I have a lunch club at work that meets 3-4 times a week in the lunch room. Finally, that euphoric feeling we discussed, I can get that without dropping 20k and potentially my health on a motorcycle. All I need is the chores finished, the kids asleep, and that angelic crack produced by popping open a cold one.

Have fun on your Harley guys, BUT COUNT ME OUT!