Ran into FortErieKevin tonight at Walmart. The Thursday night Beam. Sam, see you tomorrow. I was grabbing some non-weiner related meds, onions, sour cream, crackers and… wait a second. What are these? Well, I do enjoy things that are pickled so I’ll overlook the absence of “Artificial Anything” and the coked up, maraca-toting, monster-cocked party bean on the label. These might go well in a heavily-vodka’d caesar. Sure. Got home and ripped the jar open double quick. The first thing to greet my eye was not an extreme bean, but an extreme 6-inch black hair. Goddammit! Confirmed with the wife that it was a hair. Confirmed furthermore that I wasn’t a monster for wanting to consume the beans despite the hair. Confirmed. ...

Anyone else not at all fooled by the fake Esso that popped up across from the race track? Nice try, whoever polished up the abandoned Petro, bought a two hundred dollar LED sign and squeezed the ESSO logo onto it. The place looks like Girdy stripped it of any valuable metal and I suspect going inside would result in you getting a loose butthole and much of South America getting your credit card details. ...

Snowy as a summa ma bitch this morning, so it was a slow drive to the office… where I discovered there was no power because someone awesome had driven into a hydro pole. So I went for an early lunch, then played catch for an hour when I returned. The power came back on later in the afternoon, but that’s not the most noteworthy part of a day where I was elbow deep in buffalo fingers by 11:45 am. ...

Got talking to FortErieSam last night and reminiscing about the extensive photo collection of her slamming back wine from the bottle at various events. We both enjoy them oh so much. They’re all great, but here’s our favourite: Sam being awesome. I’m just gonna go ahead and post another great one… Oops. Nope, that’s someone’s delicately shorn junk next to someone else’s delighted gaze. Let’s try again… Goddammit, more junk. What’s wrong with my friends and what button am I pressing? Forget it. ...

Dropped my boy off at hockey camp this morning and headed for Tim Horton’s. Ordered a medium tea and breakfast sandwich for $5.63. Only had 20’s, so this wasn’t gonna be the window lady’s lucky day. Guess what, hun? You’re getting $21. You’re giving me the bills and coins and you’re not getting those coins back. It had less to do with my cheapness and more to do with my eagerness to get that sandwich inside me. Plus, you first handed me a large black coffee and you didn’t even say you were sorry. Furthermore, your window closes too fast for me to sit down my meal, separate the coins from the bills and hand the coins to you. I’ve left change on the window sill before, but always figure the dick behind me just grabs it. I don’t need the stress of wondering all day if you got your 37 cents. ...

Oh, hi there, 2018. I know, I know. I’m shocked to see you too! We gathered at the Girdlestone ranch last eve as we and our forefathers have for centuries. I packed along my good friends Pepsi, rum, ginger ale, Clamato and Clamato’s asshole pal vodka. Also packed a load of traditional Barnhardt pretzel bites made from the classic Barnhardt family pretzel recipe that I found on Google yesterday afternoon. Who doesn’t love a heavily salted and somewhat undercooked pretzel? Several folks, it seems. ...

I think the worst part about re-fattening myself is that my muffin top is always aggressively trying to push my pants down. It’s a constant battle to keep my belt line north of my beaver. This means that when I’m in a store shopping for vanilla-scented bath items for myself, it probably looks to the employees like I’m tucking a creme brulé bath bomb into my trousers. I’m not though and I wouldn’t dream of it. I would, however, dream of hiring a prostitute to change my oil. No innuendo there, I’d just really like to see a productive whore take a task off my list. ...

Whenever I’m enjoying a frosty mid-day bloody caesar, I think it’s the perfect time for you yourself to enjoy a frosty mid-day bloody caesar. Whenever I’m plowing through my 5th and 6th samosa slathered in spicy cheese dip, you should probably stick with the plate of chicken nuggets or tumbler of sliced cucumbers you’re working on. Whenever I’m furthermore contemplating face fucking a bag of premium dill pickle chips, you should probably consider stopping by and mashing me across the back with a 2x4 so I’ll stop eating myself to death. ...

Currently sitting on the toilet eating some Christmas stocking beef jerky. I think I might be shocked to hear how many of you have never eaten whilst you poop. I’ve definitely eaten many a high school breakfast on this thing and I’m pretty sure some have involved a TV tray for added comfort. I can’t even force myself to call it disgusting. It’s a real time saver. There are poo particles floating in the air that will attach themselves to your food, you’d say. Well, how do you think the poo feels about the bagel-with-cheese particles?, I’d reply. Science doesn’t support your argument and you will end up quite sick!, you’d proclaim. Wait, why are you wiping your ass with $2 worth of toilet paper each time?!, you’d enthusiastically inquire. Know what, you should just leave. You’re not going to see things get better. ...

Went to the doctor’s early in November. Got checked up and sent for some blood work and a check of the old ticker. They found my blood pressure was high. First time that’s happened, believe it or not. I’m notoriously cheap, so it was probably because I was worried about getting a parking ticket. Asked the blood receptionist if the 10 minutes left on my pass was enough for her to do her thing. She said not to worry about the parking and if I got a ticket I could bring it to her to take care of. Took this to mean that she wanted me and appreciated a deep, moderately pimpled hairline. ...