Out-Numbered

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...

It’s Sunday evening at about 8:39pm and I’ve had it. It’s been a long weekend. I feel old today. My knee has been killing me the past couple of weeks and I can barely walk. I have pain in my hand from what the Orthopedist suspects is Tendonitis. I’m on weight watchers to help maintain my weight. So for the past two days, I’ve been wearing a knee brace and a splint to immobilize my thumb. I eat rice cakes and egg whites to avoid blowing up like a balloon. I look and feel like an AARP commercial. I’ve actually forgotten the point of this story a couple of times in the last three minutes and I’m not even two paragraphs into the blog. As a matter of fact, I was seriously debating whether or not to skip writing this week altogether and pick up next week with Out-Numbered #6. If I didn’t think my Mom would be crushed I would have succumb to the lethargy. But there is one really important thing that I felt compelled to write about and if I don’t do it this week, I’ll miss my window. Believe m...