ConLent

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.

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!"

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).

"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.

THE BEST!

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.

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."

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?
No!

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! 

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.

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!

Five Sentence Story #3

Ebert frantically thumbs through the various .gifs and stickers available on his new Keystone Light® "Stone-Mojis" app. He settles on a sticker portraying five Keystone Light® cans blasting into the sky as if they are rockets taking off. He pastes the sticker into an imessage® to Proctor along with a screenshot portraying how to download the app and install the keyboard. In less than a minute, Proctor texts back "holy shit. I want to send that to everyone I know. How can I repay you?" Feeling accomplished, Ebert replies "chronicle this day in a five sentence story for our children and our children's children to read."

Pure beauty

Proctor's Type Guide to the Holidays, 2017: Hugs

It is that time of the year again; everyone starts hugging everyone else. Be it the brief warm-up that accompanies a meeting of the bodies as the weather turns cold or a display that says “I care about you more during this time of year”, there is no doubt that hugs are in season. With that in mind, I have decided to give a few hugging tips, for huggers and non-huggers alike:

     (1)      Be up front with your intentions.

If you are approaching someone you have never hugged before, do not just run up, grasp them and yank them towards you. Depending on how attenuated the relationship is, the hug-receiver may think you are committing a host of criminal acts against them. Instead, make eye contact, hold your arms out to your sides and declare (loudly) “I AM GOING TO HUG YOU NOW, IS THAT OKAY?!?” At this point, the potential victim is aware of your intentions and can reject the hug or embrace it. And at no point will anything get “weird”.

(2)      Give them a good knock.

Once the hugee has formally accepted your proposed hug, ball up your fist and give them a quick whack on the back at the commission of the hug. Not only does this add a bit of flare to the whole ordeal, the infliction of some pain will assert your physical dominance during the exchange. I anticipate some of you all will wonder just how hard to strike your friend or family member. Well, you certainly want them to feel it, but try to avoid bruising.

 (3)      Spray the back of your neck with cologne or perfume.

This seems obvious, but with the hustle and bustle of the holidays, some of you all will forget that many people’s noses will be thrusted directly towards the back of your neck. Why not bless them with the Italian lemon and woodsy notes of Polo Red® or invigorate them with a blast of Miracle® featuring top notes of lychee, freesia, and citron? It’ll be one gift you do not have to worry about wrapping. (wink.)