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In slightly-less-shocking-than-Girdlestone’s-man-kiss news, I now possess the Women’s Championship belt for the WWE. Due to my bust and gut size, the WWE recognized me as a woman and sanctioned a title match Wednesday night. Rather than having to wrestle, we ate cookies and Beth didn’t stand a chance. In all serious coolness though, that is the actual belt that Beth takes to the ring. And no, it did not actually meet in the back. Behind my girth is Pat pulling with all his might to keep it in place lest Kat’s head be taken off. ...

When I woke up today, the first question I posed to Kat was, “Am I retarded or did Jeff kiss a dude last night?” Oh sure, he’ll claim it was the alcohol, but the raging hard-on that accompanied this peck would tell a different story. Anyway, more pictures to come. I gotta go to the store to buy some milk and tomatoes.

So we went over to Buffalo to see RAW last night. Beth was supposed to wrestle, Joe and Pat were supposed to come out as security guards and Dave Barnhardt was suppose to not get a concussion. None of these things happened. Kat and I headed over with Dan and Beam at 7:15 or so. SLIRP ed some free parking near the HSBC arena and started walking. Encountered some deep snow. I decided to give it the old Barnhardt switcheroo and leaped daintily through it and onto the sidewalk. That’s all well and good, Fathardt, but what about ice? Well, yeah, I forgot about that. I slipped, caught some sweet air and landed hard on the sidewalk. What do I remember? Goretta screaming, “Oh my god!” and Nugget trying to lift my wallet while I was down. Good times. ...

It was Christmas day back in ‘99 and we were cooking our turkey at my grandmother’s next door. As I was bringing it back to our place I felt a fantastic burning on my foot. You see, I was wearing socks and sandals. The burning was hot greasewater splashing out from the roast pan. The sock was soaking it up and holding it against my skin. I picked up speed, but wasn’t about to abandon the turkey. I rode it out, got back to the house, then began to get emotional. A trip to the hospital where they gave me some cream and called me a loser and this Barnhardt was back at home sucking back turkey gravy like Coca Cola. ...

I’ve been asked if I’ll be the first one of “the circle” to have kids. My answer has been, “No, but I’m the first normal one of the circle to have kids.” Way back in ‘94 Kyle and Joe first began their onslaught of torment. It was chemistry class and the room had stadium-style seating. They sat in the row ahead of me and every day wrote notes calling “Barnhardt” a drunk and a wife beater which they then held up for me to see. I giggled a gap-toothed giggle like only I could and several times looked like quite the fool. But it was hilarious and I appreciated their effort and creativity. It was one of a limited number of humorous moments among what was an otherwise tiring 5-year obligation. It also acted as a catalyst for my growing disinterest in school, but that all worked out for the best. ...

It’s already bent, Beth. It’s already bent. Thanks Beth! You’ll be happy (and outraged) to learn that this picture immediately replaced our unborn child’s ultrasound picture on the fridge. In fact, I’ve removed everything on it but this picture. Why? Because when I visit the freezer for my nightly routine of dipping Dorito’s into icy mango sorbet, I want you to see me do it. Is that weird? And I appreciate the envelope. Kat and I are now considering naming our kid “F’n” just cuz we like the looks of this: ...

Video kinda speaks for itself… GAME ON! Your browser does not support the audio element.

I took a break from work to come home to let the dogs out. As I was walking around my backyard I felt a disturbance in the force and looked over in amazement to see our hero with another case of white Lucky skillfully tucked between his legs while pedaling for home, salivating over the first piss warm Lucky he was about to enjoy. No grocery bags were visible, he was all business this day. The suspect was on High street heading towards the school district, no doubt a place where he experienced very little success, so he must have altered his route based on his new found celebrity. ...

With a variety of roller coasters to choose from, we go to the first one we come upon – “The Bat.” A ride that first drags you backwards up a ramp, lets you go until you end up forwards on a parallel ramp where you stop. You’re then let go to experience the same track backwards. We line up for the ride in quite a lengthy straight line which winds and winds until we are herded into twenty or so lanes where we wait for our turn to have some fun. To diffuse any anxiety about the ride, we talk and joke to one another. When the coaster pulls in and thuds to a stop, I quickly examine the looks on the riders’ faces. They vary from small children almost in tears and full of regret to grown men either laughing at the pitiful ride or faking this very well and using all their strength to avoid regurgitating in front of everybody. I run to my seat and hop in. I pull the rubber brace over my head and press it to my chest. I assume and hope that there is some form of metal at the core of the rubber or else its purpose is unclear. As the ride commences, we are pulled backwards and up a steep slope. I decide to take off my glasses and hold them like a vice. The coaster reaches the top and clicks to a stop. The riders hear and feel the brake release and we all hurdle towards the base of the incline. I am ashamed to admit that by this time I have closed my eyes and now only know the ride as a series of jerks and bumps. With each sharp turn, I picture one of the constructors of this evil pleasure device being too lazy to go to the ground to pick up a rivet vital to the stability of a supporting pillar. Oh, sure, he saved some time, but this thing’s about to bend like a twist tie. Then, we stop and I know that we must travel backwards. The sequence of physical distress is reversed but with the added element of having my face mangled by the force of gravity. The ride is over. I slap on my glasses, fogged by the sweat of my hands and try to mould my hair into some semblance of what it was like before. I seem to be the only one visibly staggering down the exit ramp. At the bottom, I’m greeted with the surprise that they took pictures of all of us during the ride. That’s great. There is physical evidence that I had my eyes closed. After some mocking by my so-called “buddies,” we decide to grab a bite to eat. ...