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!"