Out-Numbered

I am home safe. No major collateral damage to report. I am rested. I have dirt on my face, that I'm starting to think isn't dirt. My mouth tastes like a foot. and I am a Tic-Tac away from 200 pounds. I am man. Hear me sob. This past weekend, I had the distinct privilege of camping out with 10 of my best buds. It didn't take very long for me to realize that I am living in a complete bubble. My normal existence is a true life fairy tale. I might as well be living in a Ginger Bread house, paved with Gumdrops, on a street lined with Candy Cane trees. My bed is soft, like Cotton Candy and it welcomes me like a warm, bosom. I am well fed and spoiled, like a fat cat that won't die. I am well dressed. I wear the finest of cottons and denim. My wardrobe is plentiful and clean; magically arranged by the Armoire Fairies in the middle of the night. I come and go as I please and I'm constantly greeted with kisses and hugs from the kind, Munchkin people that dwell in my castle. I...

This post is for my buddy Rich. We love you man... My life is like one big vaginal roller coaster ride. If my life were an attraction at Disney World, it would be called, "Estrogen Mountain." Or perhaps, "It's a Small Ball World." There would be big headed, lovable characters like "Menstrual Mouse", "Whiny the Putang" and "Peeterless Pan" roaming the park, nagging people until they got a new Ipod, a Nintendo DS or one of those piece of shit FurBerries . By the way, have you seen these friggin FurBerries? They are these demented little, hybrid stuffed animals. I'm telling you, they are straight off the Island of Dr Moreau . Evil little creatures that fold up into a ball with a hard outer shell, like a fucking potato bug or something. But my kids want them, so it's cool. Anyway... I am constantly surrounded by girly stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm a pair of panties away from turning into a hairier version of the Little M...