So, I was thinking…remember when Ice T once made a song called “Cop Killer” that was widely banned everywhere in the universe? I think I was 14 or 15 at the time and the rap/metal album that he put out was supposed to have the song on it, but it was banned and the only way you could hear it was if you knew some dirt bag who was able to get a pirated copy. Anyway…he made a song…called COP KILLER…in which he graphically described…get this…killing cops. I’m sure you all remember this, and you remember every law enforcement organization in the world condemning it and also actively “investigating” Ice T.
Fast forward 15 years and Ice T is seeing more success now – on a prime time television drama where, get this, he plays a cop….
And let’s take a look at Ice T’s co-star from the immortal classic, “Trespass”, Ice Cube. Ice Cube was in NWA. NWA. Niggas With Attitudes. They rapped about killing everyone. The only reason they weren’t thought to be rascist because as much as they rapped about killing white people, they rapped about killing black people. Particularly, other gangs. Ice T. Dr. Dre, Easy E, MC Ren. Niggas With Attitudes. Now from there, he made the logical rapper-to-actor jump that was mimicked by many for so long – except he did it as Doughboy in “Boyz N The Hood”, which was probably a good move on his part. Start with something you know.
Fast forward 15 years and Ice Cube produces a TBS sitcom (short for SITuational COMedy, mind you) called “Are We There Yet?” This is based on a movie that he did that encompassed all the little problems everyday families have. Ice Cube. Situational Comedy.
Adam Sandler started on Saturday Night Live playing a retard who dumbed down to the audience, and in doing so, built his fan base consisting of a lot of high school/college kids who like to drink and be idiots. Happy Gilmore, Billy Madison, and the list goes on. Every movie was virtually the same before he did that weird indie drama where he was partly retarded and collected frozen dinners. Up until that point, he never strayed from the simple formula – give the audience what they want. The only problem was that his audience didn’t change as he got older, which is what he anticipated. Honestly, I watch Happy Gilmore and laugh my ass off – still. I watch Billy Madison and still laugh my ass off. I still quote it, maybe daily. He became a superstar movie star and it all went down hill.
Robert DeNiro is probably my favorite actor of all-time. Deer Hunter, Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, Awakenings, Goodfellas, Casino, Godfather 2 and the list goes on and on. Ok. He did Rocky & Bullwinkle. But I understand why – his kids started asking him why they couldn’t see any of his movies. Then he did that weird Stardust movie, which I swear was already the name of a porno, and then got hooked into the Ben Stiller Focker comedies. He made a couple weak movies along the way where he just wasn’t doing it. Righteous Kill? 15 Minutes? The only thing that he looks like he’s putting any effort into are the Focker movies, and as a DeNiro fan, I’m furious.
My point…well, I guess it’s that all of them got real greedy or lazy or both and stopped doing what they had a passion for and chased the money. Was that a foolish move on their part? Probably not, it probably makes a lot of sense. But they stopped doing what they planned on doing when they got into the thing. At least Pacino tries – even if his movies suck now too. He looks like he’s putting in some type of effort.
Let’s look at this from another angle…to a man that has been panned and made fun of consistently over the last 10 years. Sylvester Stallone. He did another Rocky. He did another Rambo. And you know what both of those movies produced? The Expendables, which was just a blatant excuse to get a bunch of dudes together for the simple fact that he and all of them wanted him to. Hey, even Stallone got hooked into those corny movies and got pulled away from what made him HIM, but then he left. He walked away and rebuilt himself.
The Conan O’Brien show is a thing of glory. I love the 11 p.m. slot, it’s almost perfect. But for all the abuse that Conan got for years, he turned around and fucked George Lopez – and right when Lopez’s show was starting to take off! I mean, he had Jennifer Lopez on one night. That says something right there! Then Conan comes along and Lopez’s show gets pushed back to the 12 p.m. slot. I give him another month. The first time he has someone from Glee on there…it’s over. And it’s bound to happen.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Him
The time and the place aren’t important. It’s a grocery store at 11:30 at night. It’s a coffee shop at 3 a.m. It’s a gas station at 4 in the afternoon or it’s a strip club for the lunch buffet. It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t matter. He’s just there – the everyman who blends into the crowd. In the sea of dragon-printed button-down shits and sideways-tilted Ed Hardy newsboy caps, he’s dressed like your father. Unassuming. Easy. Neat. Nothing stands out about him. Which makes him stand out even more.
The place is important. He’s sitting in an airport at noon on Christmas Eve trying to find a place to run to. Does he go there and see that person? Does he stay and see those people? What does he do? Does he even care? And even if he does or doesn’t care- does anyone else? Even if he does or doesn’t care, and no one else cares or doesn’t care, does it matter what plane he gets on to hide from where he wants to be?
The time is important. He needs to go now. He needs to hide somewhere for a little while. He isn’t running. Or he is. The same guy who, for one second, was wrestling a half-of-a-hard-on through his sweatpants while watching an HD channel on his LED, flat screen 1080p whateverwhatever, at the same time doesn’t want to be owned by it. The blu-ray player with Wi-Fi capabilities that download movies, music and Lord knows whatever else in a blink of an eye to this LED, flat screen 1080p whateverwhatever sits gleaming on the shelf above his monstrosity of a television.
Is it necessary? He was the same guy who went four months without one. In this day and age? No television? Didn’t he scam the company he worked for into buying him a top-of-the-line iPod? Didn’t he sit and stare at it when it arrived, oozing at how shiny and special it was? Didn’t he download his entire music library onto it? And isn’t it just sitting in his glove compartment, while his gloves sit on the floor in the back seat, collecting dust. A brand new iPod. Just chilling. Makes about as much sense as Wayne Newton on a scooter handing out ketchup flavored ice cream cones.
Chuck Palahniuk said in his classic, Fight Club, which was made into a major motion picture starring Brad Pitt and Ed Norton, that the objects you own, end up owning you. Shiny, unnecessary objects. Surf boards. Electric surf boards. Electric surf boards with sails. The Jos. A Bank hounds tooth blazer. The Alfani alligator skin zip-up designing dress boots. The oyster tone-faced watch with the platinum encasement and leather band.
“A Jedi need not these things.”
Wait…is it the job? Is the job, the problem. He placed so much emphasis on getting to where he needed to be in such a time that he nearly killed himself trying to get there. Literally. It’s never going to happen, it’s never going to happen. Oh – it just happened. He’s there. It’s great. It’s not. He knew it would happen. Exploitation. It’s never good enough. He’s great – everything you do is amazing, until it’s not and then he’s not good enough. He’s not one of them. He’s not one of us. And all the while, he’s paid peanuts while someone else does less work and works less hours and makes money. He needs to suck it up. He can’t be one of these people who is never happy. Who gravitates to the negative. He loves his job. He loves his life.
Wait. It’s not supposed to be about the money. Of course, without money he can’t have all of those shiny possessions that sunk him further and further into debt. That ended up owning him. Does he like his car, or does his car tolerate him until the lease runs out?
Go. Go live off the grid. He has no survival skills outside of knowing how to open a beer bottle with a cigarette lighter. He can’t boil water. He can’t grill cheese. Who cares? Go do it. He’ll jump in his car with nothing but a pair of jeans, a good pair of comfortable boots and a sweatshirt. Drive across country. Set up shop at Yellow Stone or Jackson Hole or someplace where they’ll lose him in the trees. Vancouver. Seattle. Nowhere. No where. Now here. Everywhere.
Go to El Paso. Go to the rain forest. Who cares? Hawaii. Live among the wild pot-bellied pigs in the hills and run up Diamond Head and scare the tourists. The wild pot-bellied pig houligan of Diamond Head. Go to Barbados. He could live on the beach. Go to the Dominican. Write about baseball and drink rum in a glass full of ice.
No. That won’t work. Because they are here and that person is there and these people need him to do what he said he would do. What does he need to do? What a lovely predicament he finds himself in. He knew that those credit card applications in the bottom of the shopping bags that held his first semester books were no good. Get a credit card. Build your credit. Here’s $1,500. Go nuts kiddo. Yeah. Yeah, he can go to the store and buy Jameson and cigarettes. Why not? He needs to do what everyone expects him to do, because that is what has defined him so far.
And that has worked out well…right?
(On a completely unrelated note, does anyone have any connections to the Oakland A’s front office?)
The place is important. He’s sitting in an airport at noon on Christmas Eve trying to find a place to run to. Does he go there and see that person? Does he stay and see those people? What does he do? Does he even care? And even if he does or doesn’t care- does anyone else? Even if he does or doesn’t care, and no one else cares or doesn’t care, does it matter what plane he gets on to hide from where he wants to be?
The time is important. He needs to go now. He needs to hide somewhere for a little while. He isn’t running. Or he is. The same guy who, for one second, was wrestling a half-of-a-hard-on through his sweatpants while watching an HD channel on his LED, flat screen 1080p whateverwhatever, at the same time doesn’t want to be owned by it. The blu-ray player with Wi-Fi capabilities that download movies, music and Lord knows whatever else in a blink of an eye to this LED, flat screen 1080p whateverwhatever sits gleaming on the shelf above his monstrosity of a television.
Is it necessary? He was the same guy who went four months without one. In this day and age? No television? Didn’t he scam the company he worked for into buying him a top-of-the-line iPod? Didn’t he sit and stare at it when it arrived, oozing at how shiny and special it was? Didn’t he download his entire music library onto it? And isn’t it just sitting in his glove compartment, while his gloves sit on the floor in the back seat, collecting dust. A brand new iPod. Just chilling. Makes about as much sense as Wayne Newton on a scooter handing out ketchup flavored ice cream cones.
Chuck Palahniuk said in his classic, Fight Club, which was made into a major motion picture starring Brad Pitt and Ed Norton, that the objects you own, end up owning you. Shiny, unnecessary objects. Surf boards. Electric surf boards. Electric surf boards with sails. The Jos. A Bank hounds tooth blazer. The Alfani alligator skin zip-up designing dress boots. The oyster tone-faced watch with the platinum encasement and leather band.
“A Jedi need not these things.”
Wait…is it the job? Is the job, the problem. He placed so much emphasis on getting to where he needed to be in such a time that he nearly killed himself trying to get there. Literally. It’s never going to happen, it’s never going to happen. Oh – it just happened. He’s there. It’s great. It’s not. He knew it would happen. Exploitation. It’s never good enough. He’s great – everything you do is amazing, until it’s not and then he’s not good enough. He’s not one of them. He’s not one of us. And all the while, he’s paid peanuts while someone else does less work and works less hours and makes money. He needs to suck it up. He can’t be one of these people who is never happy. Who gravitates to the negative. He loves his job. He loves his life.
Wait. It’s not supposed to be about the money. Of course, without money he can’t have all of those shiny possessions that sunk him further and further into debt. That ended up owning him. Does he like his car, or does his car tolerate him until the lease runs out?
Go. Go live off the grid. He has no survival skills outside of knowing how to open a beer bottle with a cigarette lighter. He can’t boil water. He can’t grill cheese. Who cares? Go do it. He’ll jump in his car with nothing but a pair of jeans, a good pair of comfortable boots and a sweatshirt. Drive across country. Set up shop at Yellow Stone or Jackson Hole or someplace where they’ll lose him in the trees. Vancouver. Seattle. Nowhere. No where. Now here. Everywhere.
Go to El Paso. Go to the rain forest. Who cares? Hawaii. Live among the wild pot-bellied pigs in the hills and run up Diamond Head and scare the tourists. The wild pot-bellied pig houligan of Diamond Head. Go to Barbados. He could live on the beach. Go to the Dominican. Write about baseball and drink rum in a glass full of ice.
No. That won’t work. Because they are here and that person is there and these people need him to do what he said he would do. What does he need to do? What a lovely predicament he finds himself in. He knew that those credit card applications in the bottom of the shopping bags that held his first semester books were no good. Get a credit card. Build your credit. Here’s $1,500. Go nuts kiddo. Yeah. Yeah, he can go to the store and buy Jameson and cigarettes. Why not? He needs to do what everyone expects him to do, because that is what has defined him so far.
And that has worked out well…right?
(On a completely unrelated note, does anyone have any connections to the Oakland A’s front office?)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Kids of The Kid's World
I’m 31 years old and single. And for all the single ladies out there, I am drug and disease free. I bring up the fact that I’m 31 years old and single to highlight a point. I made a decision a few years back that had a profound effect on my life. I was dating someone who I cared very much about. A long distance relationship turned into an even greater long distance after I made an extremely difficult decision. When the opportunity arose to move closer to her and erase that distance, I balked for a very specific reason that I have never shared. The job that I had applied for was at a college closer to her. Right down the road. Shortly after I applied for the position, a former assistant of mine called me and informed me that he had applied for the same position and asked if I would serve as a reference for him. I recognized this as an opportunity for that individual to start a career, much like I had, and withdrew my application.
I have never shared this before with anyone. I speak in generalities about decisions and sacrifices I’ve made to get where I am now. But that decision effectively killed my relationship and we subsequently broke up.
For a long time, it killed me. I knew I was going to marry this girl. What followed was another “dark period” of my life that I disguised by going out and working my ass off to justify my decision. That lasted until this summer. She got married a little less than a month ago. It wasn’t until then that I realized that all of this happened for a reason.
Let me back up a little, because to jump to the wedding omits a period of my life that I would never trade. This was the summer of the kids. The Kid was re-introduced to the kids in the The Kid’s World. This was a summer that was to be filled with a ton of marriages. I can’t say that any other way. When the dust settled, I went to eight marriages this summer, and was in three of them. Cost me a fortune, that I didn’t have, but that’s neither here nor there. It meant a summer of re-building friendships. And as the last man standing of a crew nine to 10 guys deep, it was important.
I was having a tough time grappling with the engagement of the girl that I thought I was going to marry. I don’t know why, I had no intention of trying to get with her back. She was happy…and I had my job. It was weird, it almost felt like it grew into a mutual type of thing. I never resented my job, and she moved on. Sure, I felt emotionless, but I was able to pull myself together, thanks to an amazing summer.
One night, a friend of mine sat down with me after I went nuts at a bar, got shot down by a particular female that I had a thing for, and told me that he wanted me to be a part of his kids’ lives. I was the godfather to his son, and barely knew him. I was just his father’s friend who gave him toy guns and action figures every Christmas. He had a two year old daughter who I barely knew. Another one of my friends, upon hearing this, told me that he thought it would be a great idea.
Now, I’ve always got along with kids. Probably because I have the mindset of a six year old. But kids always got me. I was the guy getting hit by a whiffle ball bat by a four year old and playing it up so they would get a laugh. Any other 31 year old guy who says that he loves kids gets labeled as a pedophile. Not the case here. I love kids because it takes nothing for them to enjoy life.
I resent them.
I’m envious of them.
Anyway, here is an introduction to the kids of The Kid’s World:
It would be wrong of me not to start with The Big Irish’s two kids. Xavier is nine years old and me and him have always had a pretty good thing going. This summer, I had an opportunity to hang out with him – just him and me. We went to the movies a couple of times, and I quickly gained his respect by being the “uncle who let him get all the candy and ice cream while watching X-Men” at the movie theaters. “Weapon X” as I’ve begun calling him is wise beyond his years. That boy is a genius. Quick. He gets that from his father. He’s a cool kid, and I see a lot of myself in him. I was kind of the same way. I was never actually into sports until I was older. I was enamored with G.I. Joe and video games. And the kid’s sense of humor is right on par with The Kid and Finn. It’s crazy. He's grown man smart.
Mara is Finn’s daughter. She has an infectious smile and is the type of child who just likes to laugh and have a good time. You can tell already that she likes interacting with people and showing off a little…of course that came after a long period of shyness. She’s the only kid, by the way, in The Kid’s World who calls me Ken. I’ve never actually realized that until now. Finn’s girl calls me Kenny, but everyone else in this universe calls me either “Sweet”, “Big Sweet” or “Sweeten”.
That being said, it brings me to my second group of kids in The Kid’s World. I probably spent more time with these kids than anyone else. I speak of course of Kaley and Mia. Kaley throws out a deep voice and gives me either a “What’s up Sweeten?” or “Waddup Big Sweet?” whenever I see her. Mia refers to me with a combination of the two – Big Sweeten. Her father, Jay, tells me that whenever they are having a party at the house, Mia always asks, “Is Big Sweeten coming over?” I was treated this summer to a course in first aid by Mia in which she wrapped my arm in a bandage and covered it with stickers and suggested that I lay down for a few minutes. I still have the stickers on my refrigerator. Kaley treated me to a crash course in the sorrow surrounding the book “Charlotte’s Web” and was my impromptu stylist on several occasions. One of my favorite moments of the summer was waking up after a night of drinking to celebrate my boy OB’s impending wedding on the following night by sitting on the front porch of Jay and Jen’s house and seeing Kaley off to school. Imagine six grown men sitting on a front porch at 7:30 in the morning after playing beer pong until 4 a.m. and waving to a seven year old getting on a school bus with all her friends.
I had one moment, which I wish I could take back. Somebody brought up the fact that there was a boy in Kaley’s class who “picked on her”. While we all started giving her a hard time about it, and saying what a boy really felt when he “picked on a girl”, I asked her if she had a boyfriend. Of course, everyone was skirting the issue before I “struck for the jugular”. This question clearly embarrassed her and sent her into tears.
One of the worst moments of my life, truly.
Alianna is my friend OB’s daughter. Another bright one – aren’t they all now – Ali threw out another variation of my name, and now calls me “Sweets”. I didn’t have a lot of time to hang with Ali, but it did involve coloring at lunch one day, building a fire in her dad’s backyard and then being “taught” about fire prevention in an impromptu session on OB’s kitchen floor by Ali. We also played soccer one night after dinner.
My cousins’ kids are special though. Family always is. I don’t see them as much as I’d like too. I feel like I keep getting pulled away from my family, and that’s obviously something that is going to have to change. To this group of kids – Matt and Ella and Katie and Jack – I’m the monster. “AAAAAAHH!!! IT’S THE MONSTER!!!” is usually followed with me grabbing them and throwing them on a couch or a bed or wrestling on the floor. I don’t know who has more fun – me or them. They’re also big fans of reading, coloring and playing Wii. Matt killed me at golf and tennis one day. Katie chased me around the basement of their house last Thanksgiving until we both passed out on the couch shortly afterwards. I think the Bass and Yuengling had more to do with me passing out, but that’s neither here nor there.
There’s Matt and Paula’s kids, Hannah and the twins, Madison and Matthew. We haven’t hung out that much, but Hannah always says hi to me, and Matthew always gives me the hi-five.
Boyne also had a son this summer. I was at the hospital that day, and got to hold Lil’ Joe Boyne – not to be confused with Big Joe Boyne. There was also an episode that Lil’ Joe was crying hysterically, and uncle Sweet got him to chill. Kaylee is Boyne’s fiance’s daughter. She’s gonna be a good big sister, but has terrible aim with the water balloon.
Scott and Amy’s daughter Avery was introduced to me and said, “BIG SWEET??? WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT???” and then started hysterically laughing. Their son Shane gave me a shit look and then flipped me off. Which I respected the shit out of.
I played whiffle ball with PJ and Danielle’s son Ben while he taught me some of the finer points of swearing. Their daughter Paige shook me down for cheddar Goldfish at the fireworks…and then made me her personal sparkler-lighter.
There are of course those kids that I don’t even know, that would probably get along very well with Big Sweet. Jamie and Dave’s two kids, Liam and Colin. They’re both all-about Batman, which is right in The Kid’s wheelhouse. I attempted to prompt an awkward moment recently…I texted Jamie and told her to ask Liam what Robin’s (Batman’s sidekick) real first name one. She quickly text me back with, “Dick Grayson, nice try” and ruined my fun. Could you imagine a six year old screaming “Dick” across the house, and then the mother not knowing who to be more pissed-off at – the kid or The Kid? Hysterical, I know.
I’ve also never met my friend Darron’s two kids, Heigel’s kid, nor Tricia O’C’s son, yet. I also haven’t met Laura’s daughter, or Jen’s daughter.
Also, Kim and Carl’s kids I got in a commercial for work. MacKenzie, Reilly, Kellen and Delaney killed it. Nicely done.
I’ve probably left some people out, and I’m sorry. Again, for the random person to read these, they would probably think this is all a little weird. There’s nothing weird about it. I’m smart enough to know that my friend’s invited me in to be part of the family – if even for a brief moment – because they knew it would be good for me. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the strong support of my family and friends.
PS – Amy C. got knocked up too. She’s got a bun in the oven and is due any day, so best of luck Amy and Ben! I told Amy, jokingly, that Ken was a good name. Of course, I forgot that she was having a girl, but she did highlight the point that they were weighing MacKENzie as a potential name. To which her husband Ben added, MacKENSWEETEN might not be bad either…
I have never shared this before with anyone. I speak in generalities about decisions and sacrifices I’ve made to get where I am now. But that decision effectively killed my relationship and we subsequently broke up.
For a long time, it killed me. I knew I was going to marry this girl. What followed was another “dark period” of my life that I disguised by going out and working my ass off to justify my decision. That lasted until this summer. She got married a little less than a month ago. It wasn’t until then that I realized that all of this happened for a reason.
Let me back up a little, because to jump to the wedding omits a period of my life that I would never trade. This was the summer of the kids. The Kid was re-introduced to the kids in the The Kid’s World. This was a summer that was to be filled with a ton of marriages. I can’t say that any other way. When the dust settled, I went to eight marriages this summer, and was in three of them. Cost me a fortune, that I didn’t have, but that’s neither here nor there. It meant a summer of re-building friendships. And as the last man standing of a crew nine to 10 guys deep, it was important.
I was having a tough time grappling with the engagement of the girl that I thought I was going to marry. I don’t know why, I had no intention of trying to get with her back. She was happy…and I had my job. It was weird, it almost felt like it grew into a mutual type of thing. I never resented my job, and she moved on. Sure, I felt emotionless, but I was able to pull myself together, thanks to an amazing summer.
One night, a friend of mine sat down with me after I went nuts at a bar, got shot down by a particular female that I had a thing for, and told me that he wanted me to be a part of his kids’ lives. I was the godfather to his son, and barely knew him. I was just his father’s friend who gave him toy guns and action figures every Christmas. He had a two year old daughter who I barely knew. Another one of my friends, upon hearing this, told me that he thought it would be a great idea.
Now, I’ve always got along with kids. Probably because I have the mindset of a six year old. But kids always got me. I was the guy getting hit by a whiffle ball bat by a four year old and playing it up so they would get a laugh. Any other 31 year old guy who says that he loves kids gets labeled as a pedophile. Not the case here. I love kids because it takes nothing for them to enjoy life.
I resent them.
I’m envious of them.
Anyway, here is an introduction to the kids of The Kid’s World:
It would be wrong of me not to start with The Big Irish’s two kids. Xavier is nine years old and me and him have always had a pretty good thing going. This summer, I had an opportunity to hang out with him – just him and me. We went to the movies a couple of times, and I quickly gained his respect by being the “uncle who let him get all the candy and ice cream while watching X-Men” at the movie theaters. “Weapon X” as I’ve begun calling him is wise beyond his years. That boy is a genius. Quick. He gets that from his father. He’s a cool kid, and I see a lot of myself in him. I was kind of the same way. I was never actually into sports until I was older. I was enamored with G.I. Joe and video games. And the kid’s sense of humor is right on par with The Kid and Finn. It’s crazy. He's grown man smart.
Mara is Finn’s daughter. She has an infectious smile and is the type of child who just likes to laugh and have a good time. You can tell already that she likes interacting with people and showing off a little…of course that came after a long period of shyness. She’s the only kid, by the way, in The Kid’s World who calls me Ken. I’ve never actually realized that until now. Finn’s girl calls me Kenny, but everyone else in this universe calls me either “Sweet”, “Big Sweet” or “Sweeten”.
That being said, it brings me to my second group of kids in The Kid’s World. I probably spent more time with these kids than anyone else. I speak of course of Kaley and Mia. Kaley throws out a deep voice and gives me either a “What’s up Sweeten?” or “Waddup Big Sweet?” whenever I see her. Mia refers to me with a combination of the two – Big Sweeten. Her father, Jay, tells me that whenever they are having a party at the house, Mia always asks, “Is Big Sweeten coming over?” I was treated this summer to a course in first aid by Mia in which she wrapped my arm in a bandage and covered it with stickers and suggested that I lay down for a few minutes. I still have the stickers on my refrigerator. Kaley treated me to a crash course in the sorrow surrounding the book “Charlotte’s Web” and was my impromptu stylist on several occasions. One of my favorite moments of the summer was waking up after a night of drinking to celebrate my boy OB’s impending wedding on the following night by sitting on the front porch of Jay and Jen’s house and seeing Kaley off to school. Imagine six grown men sitting on a front porch at 7:30 in the morning after playing beer pong until 4 a.m. and waving to a seven year old getting on a school bus with all her friends.
I had one moment, which I wish I could take back. Somebody brought up the fact that there was a boy in Kaley’s class who “picked on her”. While we all started giving her a hard time about it, and saying what a boy really felt when he “picked on a girl”, I asked her if she had a boyfriend. Of course, everyone was skirting the issue before I “struck for the jugular”. This question clearly embarrassed her and sent her into tears.
One of the worst moments of my life, truly.
Alianna is my friend OB’s daughter. Another bright one – aren’t they all now – Ali threw out another variation of my name, and now calls me “Sweets”. I didn’t have a lot of time to hang with Ali, but it did involve coloring at lunch one day, building a fire in her dad’s backyard and then being “taught” about fire prevention in an impromptu session on OB’s kitchen floor by Ali. We also played soccer one night after dinner.
My cousins’ kids are special though. Family always is. I don’t see them as much as I’d like too. I feel like I keep getting pulled away from my family, and that’s obviously something that is going to have to change. To this group of kids – Matt and Ella and Katie and Jack – I’m the monster. “AAAAAAHH!!! IT’S THE MONSTER!!!” is usually followed with me grabbing them and throwing them on a couch or a bed or wrestling on the floor. I don’t know who has more fun – me or them. They’re also big fans of reading, coloring and playing Wii. Matt killed me at golf and tennis one day. Katie chased me around the basement of their house last Thanksgiving until we both passed out on the couch shortly afterwards. I think the Bass and Yuengling had more to do with me passing out, but that’s neither here nor there.
There’s Matt and Paula’s kids, Hannah and the twins, Madison and Matthew. We haven’t hung out that much, but Hannah always says hi to me, and Matthew always gives me the hi-five.
Boyne also had a son this summer. I was at the hospital that day, and got to hold Lil’ Joe Boyne – not to be confused with Big Joe Boyne. There was also an episode that Lil’ Joe was crying hysterically, and uncle Sweet got him to chill. Kaylee is Boyne’s fiance’s daughter. She’s gonna be a good big sister, but has terrible aim with the water balloon.
Scott and Amy’s daughter Avery was introduced to me and said, “BIG SWEET??? WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT???” and then started hysterically laughing. Their son Shane gave me a shit look and then flipped me off. Which I respected the shit out of.
I played whiffle ball with PJ and Danielle’s son Ben while he taught me some of the finer points of swearing. Their daughter Paige shook me down for cheddar Goldfish at the fireworks…and then made me her personal sparkler-lighter.
There are of course those kids that I don’t even know, that would probably get along very well with Big Sweet. Jamie and Dave’s two kids, Liam and Colin. They’re both all-about Batman, which is right in The Kid’s wheelhouse. I attempted to prompt an awkward moment recently…I texted Jamie and told her to ask Liam what Robin’s (Batman’s sidekick) real first name one. She quickly text me back with, “Dick Grayson, nice try” and ruined my fun. Could you imagine a six year old screaming “Dick” across the house, and then the mother not knowing who to be more pissed-off at – the kid or The Kid? Hysterical, I know.
I’ve also never met my friend Darron’s two kids, Heigel’s kid, nor Tricia O’C’s son, yet. I also haven’t met Laura’s daughter, or Jen’s daughter.
Also, Kim and Carl’s kids I got in a commercial for work. MacKenzie, Reilly, Kellen and Delaney killed it. Nicely done.
I’ve probably left some people out, and I’m sorry. Again, for the random person to read these, they would probably think this is all a little weird. There’s nothing weird about it. I’m smart enough to know that my friend’s invited me in to be part of the family – if even for a brief moment – because they knew it would be good for me. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the strong support of my family and friends.
PS – Amy C. got knocked up too. She’s got a bun in the oven and is due any day, so best of luck Amy and Ben! I told Amy, jokingly, that Ken was a good name. Of course, I forgot that she was having a girl, but she did highlight the point that they were weighing MacKENzie as a potential name. To which her husband Ben added, MacKENSWEETEN might not be bad either…
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is typically a time for spending with family, and being grateful for all the good that has come your way. It’s like that in the Kid’s World too, except The Kid likes to focus on all the things he hates and concentrate on putting them on blast. You see, why dwell on the positive? It’s not going to make it better. No, sadly friends, it won’t. Instead, let’s point all of that good energy at the things that we hate in the hopes of destroying them and making the world a better place.
Ready? Ok, let’s begin:
Sports. They all suck. Yeah, I work in sports, but it’s that same career path that has made me hate them. Let’s get rid of sports and instead focus on gladiator-type activities. What? Oh, you’re making a clichéd “Airplane” gay joke? Haha. Pretty funny. What you should do now is wedge your face in the wheel well of your car and get a toddler to hit the gas. Nice mental picture huh? Well, that’s what you get for making gay jokes about The Kid. Fuck you and your fucking lame gay jokes. Anyway, back to what’s wrong with sports and what we should do to fix them.
For starters, you all know of my idea for the World Series of Poker. Instead of glorifying the top 2% that make the final table, let’s go take a look at the lives of the bottom 2%. You know…the guy who has to go home and tell his wife that they can’t turn on the heat and little Johnny can’t get braces. Isn’t that better television?
Let’s take that a step farther. If we can’t get rid of sports, let’s get rid of all professional contracts. Fuck their hard work and dedication and blah blah blah. They only did it to get a fucking Nike contract. Competitive spirit? Doesn’t exist anymore. You don’t believe me? Watch the NBA before the playoffs. All contracts should be incentive driven. And there shouldn’t be a ticket that costs more than $5. You want to bring excitement back to the sport? There you go – make the players play and people fight to get in and watch it. Also, call fewer fouls, penalties and no more warnings for throwing too close to a batter. We Americans should celebrate violence, not dumb down the one thing that made us great. Gym teachers don’t crown a “winner” at the end of gym class. There is no such thing as “sudden death”. Meanwhile, every other country follows third period Social Studies with fourth period “Range Time”.
How did we become so fucking soft? We need to step back while the rest of the world breads warriors and teaches kids how to shoot guns as early as five years old?
I just don’t fucking get it.
If we’re not going to get rid of sports, let’s just make a mockery of them. Face it, if the rest of the world can catch up to us in baseball and basketball, they’re going to eventually begin to dominate it. Look at what they do with soccer. Now, the rest of the world generally sits back and laughs at Americans and they “stupid” American sports. Once they realize that the way to make us all fucking miserable is to dominate on the sports scene, it’s all over. Bring back the Detroit Pistons of the ‘80’s. Bring back Dennis Rodman and Larry Bird and Kevin McHale and Isiah Thomas and every dirty fucking scumbag athlete. Oh, they’re bad role models for kids? Wrong. They helped mold people like me into the type of people who work and get shit done. Complacency? Not in my generation. Take a look at the fucking kids today. (How old do I sound?) Look at the college students. Ask them what words like “accountability” and “responsibility” mean. Ask them about “extra effort”. Ask them if they know what words like “pride” and “loyalty” mean. You know what? They don’t. They have no idea.
Next up…television. I spent two weeks without a television. Do you know what I missed? Nothing. I didn’t have a television while the World Series was on. Did I rush out and get another one? Nope. (Note: Consumer consumption is up next…) Read a fucking book. Shit, even a magazine is a good place to start. I’m sitting here right now typing away and looking at books on my bookshelf. Never mind the fact that people today don’t even buy books (they download them…), but people have no idea of some of the great writers of all-time. That’s because they are too caught up in the serial “CSI” books and all that shit that is out there. We live in a consumer driven economy where there is something for everyone. If you love reading, like I do, then you know how painful it is to walk into Barnes & Noble and see all the shit strewn about the store. Garbage, garbage, garbage. (This was supposed to be about television and how terrible it is, but it’s become a rant on an illiterate country. Fuck it, keep going…)
Anyway, I attempted to have an intelligent conversation with a 19 year old kid about Jules Verne, Ernest Hemingway and Edgar Allen Poe. (I didn’t touch on my favorite author, Hunter S. Thompson. That was too much to ask…) They had never heard of them. They DID however read the fucking Twilight books…
Ok, here’s the worst case scenario. Nuclear holocaust. There are literally hundreds of people left in the world. They have to re-build society. Let’s just say that, hypothetically, they are able to piece together major points of American history in order to do so. They start with the Constitution. They find the early writings of Mark Twain. Hemingway and Steinbeck. Whitman, Thoreau, Melville…whatever…then they keep digging and find Cormac McCarthy, T.S. Eliot, and J.D. Salinger. Irving…Emerson…Chandler, Wilder and Hawthorne. Then they move onto the modern literature (read: last 10 years). Who do we have? Anne Rice? Daniel Brown? Daniel Brown could have done so much, much more with the Da Vinci stuff. He softened it and hand packaged it for Hollywood. I mean, at the end of Angels and Demons, he floats to the ground from a helicopter by using his sport coat as a parachute. Like…Bugs…Bunny….
I’m just sick of where we are right now. I got in a quasi-debate on the greatest rapper of all time on Facebook. The question wasn’t really “who was greatest rapper of all-time”. It’s that I was speaking to a generation of hip-hop fans who needed to complain a little and get some stuff off their chest and probably realized that hip hop is not what it is today. I don’t even want to get into it. The only CD’s I buy now are Jay-Z and Nas. Nuff said…
So…what’s my point? Here it is. Everything that you see on a day-to-day basis is superficial. Nothing is real anymore. People don’t say what they want to say – they say what people want to hear. People don’t do what they want to do – they do what people expect them to do.
Be bold.
If you take anything from this, I’m almost sorry to hear it. I don’t think I made sense for a ½ second. Of course…I don’t really give a fuck either.
Ready? Ok, let’s begin:
Sports. They all suck. Yeah, I work in sports, but it’s that same career path that has made me hate them. Let’s get rid of sports and instead focus on gladiator-type activities. What? Oh, you’re making a clichéd “Airplane” gay joke? Haha. Pretty funny. What you should do now is wedge your face in the wheel well of your car and get a toddler to hit the gas. Nice mental picture huh? Well, that’s what you get for making gay jokes about The Kid. Fuck you and your fucking lame gay jokes. Anyway, back to what’s wrong with sports and what we should do to fix them.
For starters, you all know of my idea for the World Series of Poker. Instead of glorifying the top 2% that make the final table, let’s go take a look at the lives of the bottom 2%. You know…the guy who has to go home and tell his wife that they can’t turn on the heat and little Johnny can’t get braces. Isn’t that better television?
Let’s take that a step farther. If we can’t get rid of sports, let’s get rid of all professional contracts. Fuck their hard work and dedication and blah blah blah. They only did it to get a fucking Nike contract. Competitive spirit? Doesn’t exist anymore. You don’t believe me? Watch the NBA before the playoffs. All contracts should be incentive driven. And there shouldn’t be a ticket that costs more than $5. You want to bring excitement back to the sport? There you go – make the players play and people fight to get in and watch it. Also, call fewer fouls, penalties and no more warnings for throwing too close to a batter. We Americans should celebrate violence, not dumb down the one thing that made us great. Gym teachers don’t crown a “winner” at the end of gym class. There is no such thing as “sudden death”. Meanwhile, every other country follows third period Social Studies with fourth period “Range Time”.
How did we become so fucking soft? We need to step back while the rest of the world breads warriors and teaches kids how to shoot guns as early as five years old?
I just don’t fucking get it.
If we’re not going to get rid of sports, let’s just make a mockery of them. Face it, if the rest of the world can catch up to us in baseball and basketball, they’re going to eventually begin to dominate it. Look at what they do with soccer. Now, the rest of the world generally sits back and laughs at Americans and they “stupid” American sports. Once they realize that the way to make us all fucking miserable is to dominate on the sports scene, it’s all over. Bring back the Detroit Pistons of the ‘80’s. Bring back Dennis Rodman and Larry Bird and Kevin McHale and Isiah Thomas and every dirty fucking scumbag athlete. Oh, they’re bad role models for kids? Wrong. They helped mold people like me into the type of people who work and get shit done. Complacency? Not in my generation. Take a look at the fucking kids today. (How old do I sound?) Look at the college students. Ask them what words like “accountability” and “responsibility” mean. Ask them about “extra effort”. Ask them if they know what words like “pride” and “loyalty” mean. You know what? They don’t. They have no idea.
Next up…television. I spent two weeks without a television. Do you know what I missed? Nothing. I didn’t have a television while the World Series was on. Did I rush out and get another one? Nope. (Note: Consumer consumption is up next…) Read a fucking book. Shit, even a magazine is a good place to start. I’m sitting here right now typing away and looking at books on my bookshelf. Never mind the fact that people today don’t even buy books (they download them…), but people have no idea of some of the great writers of all-time. That’s because they are too caught up in the serial “CSI” books and all that shit that is out there. We live in a consumer driven economy where there is something for everyone. If you love reading, like I do, then you know how painful it is to walk into Barnes & Noble and see all the shit strewn about the store. Garbage, garbage, garbage. (This was supposed to be about television and how terrible it is, but it’s become a rant on an illiterate country. Fuck it, keep going…)
Anyway, I attempted to have an intelligent conversation with a 19 year old kid about Jules Verne, Ernest Hemingway and Edgar Allen Poe. (I didn’t touch on my favorite author, Hunter S. Thompson. That was too much to ask…) They had never heard of them. They DID however read the fucking Twilight books…
Ok, here’s the worst case scenario. Nuclear holocaust. There are literally hundreds of people left in the world. They have to re-build society. Let’s just say that, hypothetically, they are able to piece together major points of American history in order to do so. They start with the Constitution. They find the early writings of Mark Twain. Hemingway and Steinbeck. Whitman, Thoreau, Melville…whatever…then they keep digging and find Cormac McCarthy, T.S. Eliot, and J.D. Salinger. Irving…Emerson…Chandler, Wilder and Hawthorne. Then they move onto the modern literature (read: last 10 years). Who do we have? Anne Rice? Daniel Brown? Daniel Brown could have done so much, much more with the Da Vinci stuff. He softened it and hand packaged it for Hollywood. I mean, at the end of Angels and Demons, he floats to the ground from a helicopter by using his sport coat as a parachute. Like…Bugs…Bunny….
I’m just sick of where we are right now. I got in a quasi-debate on the greatest rapper of all time on Facebook. The question wasn’t really “who was greatest rapper of all-time”. It’s that I was speaking to a generation of hip-hop fans who needed to complain a little and get some stuff off their chest and probably realized that hip hop is not what it is today. I don’t even want to get into it. The only CD’s I buy now are Jay-Z and Nas. Nuff said…
So…what’s my point? Here it is. Everything that you see on a day-to-day basis is superficial. Nothing is real anymore. People don’t say what they want to say – they say what people want to hear. People don’t do what they want to do – they do what people expect them to do.
Be bold.
If you take anything from this, I’m almost sorry to hear it. I don’t think I made sense for a ½ second. Of course…I don’t really give a fuck either.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Cheerleader Hot Trichophiliacs Who Dig Russia
Is it just me, or do other guys feel weird when another guy texts them “LOL” or “LMAO”? I mean, that should probably be the last response you receive when you text one of your chums and tell him that you’re looking at a girl in Home Depot and can’t tell if she’s “cheerleader hot” or “school girl hot”.
Speaking of which, I was wondering if there was actually a fetish out there for hair. You can have a fetish for almost anything these days. There are also different classes and levels of fetishes. Oh, you don’t know what a fetish is? Well, then allow me to enlighten you. A fetish is an object or situation that causes sexual arousal in place of a partner. What’s amazing is that it actually says partner and not woman. But that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I decided to drop on by Wikipedia, which happens to be the most bullshit information resource on the planet, but would probably stand up against any Harvard Law School graduate in the realm of bogus Match.com profiles, the “chippiness” of the new Resident Evil game or anything and everything that has to do with fetishes.
Naturally, Wikipedia directed me to “paraphilia”, which was pretty much a list of things that cause people to get aroused when in the company of their sexual partners. For instance, and individual with Agalmatophilia sites statues and mannequins as their source of arousal while Ursusagalmatophilia is arousal by teddy bears. Needless to say…the paraphilia associated with hair is called trichophilia. So that answered my question…wait, no it didn’t. My question, actually, was whether or not such a thing existed AND IF SO, does the high pony do for trichophiliacs what “shoulder tit” does for Mammaphiliacs (breast fanatics)? I guess…the answer…is yes.
And actually, this conversation went a step further. One of the all-time great Kid’s World contributors stated that the high pony falls into the same category as pony tails and short school girl skirts. My argument is that the high pony is generally associated with “cheerleader hot”, not “school girl hot” as he was clearly describing. There is absolutely no innocence involved with “cheerleader hot”, where as “school girl hot” is all-about the innocence. Don’t fucking tell me that “cheerleader hot” is innocent…
(Wait… there’s a fetish for teddy bears? Fuck…that has London written all over it. I mean, Amsterdam wouldn’t even get into that shit.)
There aren’t enough movies starring Charlie Sheen anymore. Or movies about baseball. What was the last great baseball movie to come out…Major League? And think of the B-listers in that movie – and how incredibly accurate the game of baseball was portrayed. Corbin Bernsen, Charlie Sheen, Wesley Snipes – who got big after this and then dropped off faster and lower than he was before Major League – and Tom Berenger. And ya know what? If they put anyone else in that movie, it would have stunk. Just look at “For Love Of The Game”…did you see that ground ball? That kid was 20 to 22 years old, and an infielder. He hits a ground ball – a slow, high chopper – up the middle. The shortstop has to dive to stop it, and he still can’t beat it out? Really? Fucking really?
I was alerted to the existence of Christina Hendricks (above). I don’t watch Mad Men and red heads do zero for The Kid, so there was really no reason for me to know who she is. Until now. Wow. Just fuckin’ wow. But it’s weird, it like she’s sitting in that plane of existence opposite of Scarlett Johannson. You know, when Scarlett was too young, and looked too young. Not like Hilary Duff or Natalie Portman, who were too young, and you didn’t give a fuck, you still wanted to do bad things to them. You knew Scarlett was going to be hot so you let it happen. And it did. Well, Christina Hendricks is the opposite. She’s older than she should be to break out as a hot chick. She is smoke-show hot right now and you can almost tell that it’s all going to fall apart…fairly quickly. She is a Gosh Darn 11. It’s like that English singer with the big hair…um…see???? I can’t even remember her name already, and she would have gotten bad things done to her by The Kid. Weird.
Fuck John and Kate. Here’s what happened. They had a shitload of kids. He stuck his dick in the nanny. She didn’t like it. He left, the show went on – shocker, they picked the single mother and eight kids – and he got pissed. It’s over.
“Pet Costumes” is the most searched phrase on the internet. Pet costumes ranks up there with priest humor. There is a time and a place for everything, and priests being funny and putting clothes on animals is not funny. Unless you’re dressing up animals like other animals. Then that’s pretty funny.
What the hell is going on in Russia? Is this a precursor to what could happen in the US? They went through the last 10-15 years of the post-Cold War Era with 2% of the population controlling 99.9% of the wealth. Everyone lived in ghettos, there was no food, yada yada yada. How did they solve that? They gave everyone vodka and told them to shut the fuck up or they would get shot in the face by a very angry KGB agent carrying an AK-47. It got to the point where Russia was kind of obsolete…now…they have a shitload of money. And they love life. They are literally having a great time over there. So much so, that they want to party all over the place. There’s a Russian circus tycoon who flew to the fucking moon. A Russian BILLIONAIRE just bought..THE NEW JERSEY NETS. I don’t think they’re like China, who is stockpiling United States legal tender in the hopes of buying the United States. I think that they’re just having a good time, and going completely fucking crazy. A weak foreign policy, a government that could burst at any minute, a ton of cocaine and vodka equals…a great time!!!
Oh, I almost forgot. The Red Sox got swept by the Angels. Peace bitches. Have fun at the Brockton Country Club for the month of October you washed-up faggots.
Speaking of which, I was wondering if there was actually a fetish out there for hair. You can have a fetish for almost anything these days. There are also different classes and levels of fetishes. Oh, you don’t know what a fetish is? Well, then allow me to enlighten you. A fetish is an object or situation that causes sexual arousal in place of a partner. What’s amazing is that it actually says partner and not woman. But that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I decided to drop on by Wikipedia, which happens to be the most bullshit information resource on the planet, but would probably stand up against any Harvard Law School graduate in the realm of bogus Match.com profiles, the “chippiness” of the new Resident Evil game or anything and everything that has to do with fetishes.
Naturally, Wikipedia directed me to “paraphilia”, which was pretty much a list of things that cause people to get aroused when in the company of their sexual partners. For instance, and individual with Agalmatophilia sites statues and mannequins as their source of arousal while Ursusagalmatophilia is arousal by teddy bears. Needless to say…the paraphilia associated with hair is called trichophilia. So that answered my question…wait, no it didn’t. My question, actually, was whether or not such a thing existed AND IF SO, does the high pony do for trichophiliacs what “shoulder tit” does for Mammaphiliacs (breast fanatics)? I guess…the answer…is yes.
And actually, this conversation went a step further. One of the all-time great Kid’s World contributors stated that the high pony falls into the same category as pony tails and short school girl skirts. My argument is that the high pony is generally associated with “cheerleader hot”, not “school girl hot” as he was clearly describing. There is absolutely no innocence involved with “cheerleader hot”, where as “school girl hot” is all-about the innocence. Don’t fucking tell me that “cheerleader hot” is innocent…
(Wait… there’s a fetish for teddy bears? Fuck…that has London written all over it. I mean, Amsterdam wouldn’t even get into that shit.)
There aren’t enough movies starring Charlie Sheen anymore. Or movies about baseball. What was the last great baseball movie to come out…Major League? And think of the B-listers in that movie – and how incredibly accurate the game of baseball was portrayed. Corbin Bernsen, Charlie Sheen, Wesley Snipes – who got big after this and then dropped off faster and lower than he was before Major League – and Tom Berenger. And ya know what? If they put anyone else in that movie, it would have stunk. Just look at “For Love Of The Game”…did you see that ground ball? That kid was 20 to 22 years old, and an infielder. He hits a ground ball – a slow, high chopper – up the middle. The shortstop has to dive to stop it, and he still can’t beat it out? Really? Fucking really?
I was alerted to the existence of Christina Hendricks (above). I don’t watch Mad Men and red heads do zero for The Kid, so there was really no reason for me to know who she is. Until now. Wow. Just fuckin’ wow. But it’s weird, it like she’s sitting in that plane of existence opposite of Scarlett Johannson. You know, when Scarlett was too young, and looked too young. Not like Hilary Duff or Natalie Portman, who were too young, and you didn’t give a fuck, you still wanted to do bad things to them. You knew Scarlett was going to be hot so you let it happen. And it did. Well, Christina Hendricks is the opposite. She’s older than she should be to break out as a hot chick. She is smoke-show hot right now and you can almost tell that it’s all going to fall apart…fairly quickly. She is a Gosh Darn 11. It’s like that English singer with the big hair…um…see???? I can’t even remember her name already, and she would have gotten bad things done to her by The Kid. Weird.
Fuck John and Kate. Here’s what happened. They had a shitload of kids. He stuck his dick in the nanny. She didn’t like it. He left, the show went on – shocker, they picked the single mother and eight kids – and he got pissed. It’s over.
“Pet Costumes” is the most searched phrase on the internet. Pet costumes ranks up there with priest humor. There is a time and a place for everything, and priests being funny and putting clothes on animals is not funny. Unless you’re dressing up animals like other animals. Then that’s pretty funny.
What the hell is going on in Russia? Is this a precursor to what could happen in the US? They went through the last 10-15 years of the post-Cold War Era with 2% of the population controlling 99.9% of the wealth. Everyone lived in ghettos, there was no food, yada yada yada. How did they solve that? They gave everyone vodka and told them to shut the fuck up or they would get shot in the face by a very angry KGB agent carrying an AK-47. It got to the point where Russia was kind of obsolete…now…they have a shitload of money. And they love life. They are literally having a great time over there. So much so, that they want to party all over the place. There’s a Russian circus tycoon who flew to the fucking moon. A Russian BILLIONAIRE just bought..THE NEW JERSEY NETS. I don’t think they’re like China, who is stockpiling United States legal tender in the hopes of buying the United States. I think that they’re just having a good time, and going completely fucking crazy. A weak foreign policy, a government that could burst at any minute, a ton of cocaine and vodka equals…a great time!!!
Oh, I almost forgot. The Red Sox got swept by the Angels. Peace bitches. Have fun at the Brockton Country Club for the month of October you washed-up faggots.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Inglorious Basterds and White's Wedding
Well, like any other time in the last year that I’ve attempt to write, I stumble out of the gate. I haven’t actually been able to write since I lived in New York. I don’t know why. There really isn’t that much difference from that point of my life to my current situation. I’m writing more for my job, I can honestly say that. I can also that I’m probably a better writer now than I’ve ever been. The last good thing that I wrote was the Enter the Wu-Tang day-in-the-life thing a few months back. The last thing I was really proud of…I’m not sure. I realize that the harder you try, the slower it comes out (that’swhatshesaid).
I’m pressing, I’m pressing. Just relax. Do your thing.
So, I’m going to go back to my roots. I’m going to “clear the mechanism” and channel The Kid from 2006. Let me see if this thing works…(that’swhatshesaid)…
I was recently sitting in a movie theater with Finnegan, watching the latest Quentin Tarantino movie, Inglorious Basterds. It was going pretty good throughout the entire movie until a scene, about an hour in, starting getting to me and almost ruined the movie. Now, the story centered around Nazi-occupied France. Brad Pitt plays a lieutenant who heads a group – the Basterds – who track down Nazis – guerrilla style – kill them, and scalp them. The opening scene is a Jewish family being shot by the SS. Swastica’s carved into foreheads…scalped Nazis…butchered Jews…none of this “bothered me”.
No…what bothered me was the scene with the Nazi captain eating a piece of pastry. You see, he…bit…down…on the fork. And you could hear him scraping his teeth against the fork. But, the noise wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t like Quentin Tarantino said, “I’ll amplify the scraping of the fork by the guys incisors”…it was unintentional. Then you could hear him chew. And slurp the…fucking…whipped cream…
Now, I don’t know if I’m getting neurotic in my old age, but this infuriated me. It ruined the movie for me. I couldn’t watch it. I was physically uncomfortable in my seat. I walked out of the movie, got in the car and start bitching about hearing the guy chew. Finn had no fucking clue what I was talking about, which only enraged me. I can’t hear people chew. I can’t hear them slurp…nothing. Hearing people eat drives me up a fucking wall. I almost threw a chair at a kid I work with because he came over to my side of the office and looked over my shoulder at something…only he was eating a peach or whatever faggot fruit the little queer bag chose that day…and it drove me up a fucking wall. Don’t talk to me with food in your mouth. If you call me on the phone and you’re chewing…prepared to get hung up on.
Am I fucking nuts?
Also…if you walk into a movie theater…with about 500 seats…maybe you and your date can pick a pair of seats that aren’t in front of mine. Or, if you do sit in front of me – for no FUCKING apparent reason WHATSOEVER – maybe don’t bring in a sandwich. And if you do sit in front of me, and you bring a sandwich…maybe you can eat it like a normal person. Lift the fucking sandwich to your fucking mouth. Dipping your Hindu-Fro up and down to bite your sandwich and then lifting up to chew – WHICH I COULD FUCKING HEAR – is a little fucking annoying when you’re trying to watch a fucking Quentin Tarantino movie. I must have looked like a fucking psychopath. I stood up and walked five seats over and yelled “Cunts” out in the middle of the Criterion Cinemas…
(This is going ok..right? Wait…who THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO?!?! Just…keep…fucking…writing…)
I went to my fifth and final wedding of the summer last weekend. This was the third one I was in this summer, which managed to drain me dry. You see, when you’re 31 and single and chasing your dream, you typically don’t have a lot of money. Yeah. Big bad Quinnipiac…all prim and proper…doesn’t really pay their employees what they should be paying them. At least, they don’t pay this employee what they should be paying him. But that’s fine…I’m still paying my dues, and someday I’ll get where I need to be.
Anyway…we’re at the wedding rehearsal and it hits me like a ton of bricks. I turn to the bride’s cousin, who introduced himself to me by saying, “If you guys are getting strippers for the stag, let me know because I haven’t burned a stripper or a hooker with a cigarette in months…”
Anyway, I turn to him and blurt out, “Hey, where’s the fucking German guy?”
This sends him into hysterics in the middle of the wedding rehearsal. You see, there was a mention of a “German Cousin” of the bride who was very, very German. I turn around and see a 6-foot-5 behemoth grinning like a fucking retard with a popsicle. I was completely taken aback. I was positive that he had two or three rows of teeth. Amazing. The amazing part was the smoke show blond he had with him…which I would learn was his cousin. Operation Yes Sirrrrrr was immediately in full effect.
Ok, we get to the actual dinner following the rehearsal and I make sure to make some kind of eye contact with the smoke show blond. Done, she responds with a “I’m 22 and want a story to go back to Berlin with” look. The night progresses...I naturally get blind, shit-house drunk...but I manage to have a lovely little exchange with the tight little German number.
Onto the wedding…I’ll skip over the rest of the evenings festivities for confidentiality reasons. I will say that it involved the worst fucking lapdance of my professional life and a full-court basketball game on 8-foot hoops.
So, I get to the wedding and this little trick is still shooting me looks. It’s all good…only her G-D cousin is doing something. He’s rockin’ a tight fucking suit, with the shortest imaginable tie possible. It hung three inches below his neck. Finn aka The Big Irish threw this gem out there, and it really was the only way to describe it – “He bought the suit at Big N Tall and the tie at Kids R Us”.
This was my favorite conversation of the night though…
Butler: “Do you see...his tie?”
The Kid: “Yeah…it’s incredible.”
Butler: “It’s unbelievable. I don’t think that that tie is getting the respect it deserves. I mean…that’s the most horrible thing...I’ve ever seen…”
Ok, enough about the tie. We’ll move through the wedding pretty quickly, because it involved me dancing with a bridesmaid only to look up and see her husband flipping me off and then running his finger across his neck in a "slashing" motion. This was the same girl who once described a sexual act that involved “blowing your load in your fist and throwing it in some hoe’s face.” (Boom roasted).
So, I quickly get the fuck out of that situation by turning around and dancing with the priest. You know, to really throw some people off. I pulled his tie off and ran my fingers through his hair…did the crotch floss with his blazer…preachers love that shit. Ahhhhhh…he really was a good sport.
After grinding with the most un-funny religious man in existence (can you go to hell for calling a priest not-funny?) I ONCE AGAIN made my way to the bar. I think this was Vodka/Tonic number 37. Who do I happen to see up there…Dirty 22…and Herman the fucking German. I quickly dispatch Herman by telling him that someone stole his Polaroid camera and was taking pictures of his grandmother performing felatio on the innkeeper in the horse-drawn carriage out in front of the castle. He literally had no idea what I was talking about, lost interest and went and dipped his fat, stupid face into the chocolate fountain. Naturally, I grabbed that skinny bitch and headed to the dance floor.
Now, I know I can’t dance for shit. And I especially look like shit when Michael Jackson is playing. Then follow that up with some random fucking white-person song…ugggh….spare me…
…yet, she was digging it. Or, she was digging my pulsating hard-on digging into her hip. Either way, we were having a rather lovely evening. I gave her a little spin…and then spun her back so that her back (read: ass) was up against my chest (read: cock)…it was adorable. Some fat Italian walked by and burped up some sausage – and sure enough swallowed it back down – and we didn’t even mind. It was going just as planned…until IT fucking happened.
Fraulein: “So, are you staying at the hotel?”
The Kid: “You bet your sweet fucking ass I am.”
Fraulein: “What room are you…”
And that’s when it happened. Some fucking wet blanket relative grabbed her dead out of my arms. Cock blocked. The only single mutha fuckin’ gangsta in the whole mutha fuckin’ area, cock blocked by some jealous bitch…
…Naturally, I took defeat like a man and…well actually, I took defeat like Mickey Rourke. I continued to slam beers and rip darts (read: smoke cigarettes) until the end of the wedding. (Which was actually a very lovely time. I’d hate for this to sound like it wasn’t, because it was just the cat’s pajamas!)
Only, the end of the wedding never came. We were stranded outside of the god-damn castle for 2 ½ hours while a couple of jag-off, ‘roided up, Boiler-Room type faggots bitched and moaned about not paying for their hotel. It was at this point that I put on my Ray Ban Aviators (at 1:30 AM), walked back into the reception hall, turned on the tap and got myself another beer. I then proceeded to walk outside, again, ripped another dart, and started talking about sitting in a chair and getting in a fist fight with a cripple in a wheel chair. I also probably mentioned something about burning down a children’s hospital…or removing someone’s nose…I don’t know…it was all happening so fast.
And just for good measure…before I get the fuck out of here and end this train wreck…
”Vagina Whistle.”
I love you all equally.
I’m pressing, I’m pressing. Just relax. Do your thing.
So, I’m going to go back to my roots. I’m going to “clear the mechanism” and channel The Kid from 2006. Let me see if this thing works…(that’swhatshesaid)…
I was recently sitting in a movie theater with Finnegan, watching the latest Quentin Tarantino movie, Inglorious Basterds. It was going pretty good throughout the entire movie until a scene, about an hour in, starting getting to me and almost ruined the movie. Now, the story centered around Nazi-occupied France. Brad Pitt plays a lieutenant who heads a group – the Basterds – who track down Nazis – guerrilla style – kill them, and scalp them. The opening scene is a Jewish family being shot by the SS. Swastica’s carved into foreheads…scalped Nazis…butchered Jews…none of this “bothered me”.
No…what bothered me was the scene with the Nazi captain eating a piece of pastry. You see, he…bit…down…on the fork. And you could hear him scraping his teeth against the fork. But, the noise wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t like Quentin Tarantino said, “I’ll amplify the scraping of the fork by the guys incisors”…it was unintentional. Then you could hear him chew. And slurp the…fucking…whipped cream…
Now, I don’t know if I’m getting neurotic in my old age, but this infuriated me. It ruined the movie for me. I couldn’t watch it. I was physically uncomfortable in my seat. I walked out of the movie, got in the car and start bitching about hearing the guy chew. Finn had no fucking clue what I was talking about, which only enraged me. I can’t hear people chew. I can’t hear them slurp…nothing. Hearing people eat drives me up a fucking wall. I almost threw a chair at a kid I work with because he came over to my side of the office and looked over my shoulder at something…only he was eating a peach or whatever faggot fruit the little queer bag chose that day…and it drove me up a fucking wall. Don’t talk to me with food in your mouth. If you call me on the phone and you’re chewing…prepared to get hung up on.
Am I fucking nuts?
Also…if you walk into a movie theater…with about 500 seats…maybe you and your date can pick a pair of seats that aren’t in front of mine. Or, if you do sit in front of me – for no FUCKING apparent reason WHATSOEVER – maybe don’t bring in a sandwich. And if you do sit in front of me, and you bring a sandwich…maybe you can eat it like a normal person. Lift the fucking sandwich to your fucking mouth. Dipping your Hindu-Fro up and down to bite your sandwich and then lifting up to chew – WHICH I COULD FUCKING HEAR – is a little fucking annoying when you’re trying to watch a fucking Quentin Tarantino movie. I must have looked like a fucking psychopath. I stood up and walked five seats over and yelled “Cunts” out in the middle of the Criterion Cinemas…
(This is going ok..right? Wait…who THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING TO?!?! Just…keep…fucking…writing…)
I went to my fifth and final wedding of the summer last weekend. This was the third one I was in this summer, which managed to drain me dry. You see, when you’re 31 and single and chasing your dream, you typically don’t have a lot of money. Yeah. Big bad Quinnipiac…all prim and proper…doesn’t really pay their employees what they should be paying them. At least, they don’t pay this employee what they should be paying him. But that’s fine…I’m still paying my dues, and someday I’ll get where I need to be.
Anyway…we’re at the wedding rehearsal and it hits me like a ton of bricks. I turn to the bride’s cousin, who introduced himself to me by saying, “If you guys are getting strippers for the stag, let me know because I haven’t burned a stripper or a hooker with a cigarette in months…”
Anyway, I turn to him and blurt out, “Hey, where’s the fucking German guy?”
This sends him into hysterics in the middle of the wedding rehearsal. You see, there was a mention of a “German Cousin” of the bride who was very, very German. I turn around and see a 6-foot-5 behemoth grinning like a fucking retard with a popsicle. I was completely taken aback. I was positive that he had two or three rows of teeth. Amazing. The amazing part was the smoke show blond he had with him…which I would learn was his cousin. Operation Yes Sirrrrrr was immediately in full effect.
Ok, we get to the actual dinner following the rehearsal and I make sure to make some kind of eye contact with the smoke show blond. Done, she responds with a “I’m 22 and want a story to go back to Berlin with” look. The night progresses...I naturally get blind, shit-house drunk...but I manage to have a lovely little exchange with the tight little German number.
Onto the wedding…I’ll skip over the rest of the evenings festivities for confidentiality reasons. I will say that it involved the worst fucking lapdance of my professional life and a full-court basketball game on 8-foot hoops.
So, I get to the wedding and this little trick is still shooting me looks. It’s all good…only her G-D cousin is doing something. He’s rockin’ a tight fucking suit, with the shortest imaginable tie possible. It hung three inches below his neck. Finn aka The Big Irish threw this gem out there, and it really was the only way to describe it – “He bought the suit at Big N Tall and the tie at Kids R Us”.
This was my favorite conversation of the night though…
Butler: “Do you see...his tie?”
The Kid: “Yeah…it’s incredible.”
Butler: “It’s unbelievable. I don’t think that that tie is getting the respect it deserves. I mean…that’s the most horrible thing...I’ve ever seen…”
Ok, enough about the tie. We’ll move through the wedding pretty quickly, because it involved me dancing with a bridesmaid only to look up and see her husband flipping me off and then running his finger across his neck in a "slashing" motion. This was the same girl who once described a sexual act that involved “blowing your load in your fist and throwing it in some hoe’s face.” (Boom roasted).
So, I quickly get the fuck out of that situation by turning around and dancing with the priest. You know, to really throw some people off. I pulled his tie off and ran my fingers through his hair…did the crotch floss with his blazer…preachers love that shit. Ahhhhhh…he really was a good sport.
After grinding with the most un-funny religious man in existence (can you go to hell for calling a priest not-funny?) I ONCE AGAIN made my way to the bar. I think this was Vodka/Tonic number 37. Who do I happen to see up there…Dirty 22…and Herman the fucking German. I quickly dispatch Herman by telling him that someone stole his Polaroid camera and was taking pictures of his grandmother performing felatio on the innkeeper in the horse-drawn carriage out in front of the castle. He literally had no idea what I was talking about, lost interest and went and dipped his fat, stupid face into the chocolate fountain. Naturally, I grabbed that skinny bitch and headed to the dance floor.
Now, I know I can’t dance for shit. And I especially look like shit when Michael Jackson is playing. Then follow that up with some random fucking white-person song…ugggh….spare me…
…yet, she was digging it. Or, she was digging my pulsating hard-on digging into her hip. Either way, we were having a rather lovely evening. I gave her a little spin…and then spun her back so that her back (read: ass) was up against my chest (read: cock)…it was adorable. Some fat Italian walked by and burped up some sausage – and sure enough swallowed it back down – and we didn’t even mind. It was going just as planned…until IT fucking happened.
Fraulein: “So, are you staying at the hotel?”
The Kid: “You bet your sweet fucking ass I am.”
Fraulein: “What room are you…”
And that’s when it happened. Some fucking wet blanket relative grabbed her dead out of my arms. Cock blocked. The only single mutha fuckin’ gangsta in the whole mutha fuckin’ area, cock blocked by some jealous bitch…
…Naturally, I took defeat like a man and…well actually, I took defeat like Mickey Rourke. I continued to slam beers and rip darts (read: smoke cigarettes) until the end of the wedding. (Which was actually a very lovely time. I’d hate for this to sound like it wasn’t, because it was just the cat’s pajamas!)
Only, the end of the wedding never came. We were stranded outside of the god-damn castle for 2 ½ hours while a couple of jag-off, ‘roided up, Boiler-Room type faggots bitched and moaned about not paying for their hotel. It was at this point that I put on my Ray Ban Aviators (at 1:30 AM), walked back into the reception hall, turned on the tap and got myself another beer. I then proceeded to walk outside, again, ripped another dart, and started talking about sitting in a chair and getting in a fist fight with a cripple in a wheel chair. I also probably mentioned something about burning down a children’s hospital…or removing someone’s nose…I don’t know…it was all happening so fast.
And just for good measure…before I get the fuck out of here and end this train wreck…
”Vagina Whistle.”
I love you all equally.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
KidFest '09 - You Know The Rules
Well, I couldn’t leave well-enough alone, so despite my prior claims that KidFest ’08 was going to be the last one, we’re going to do it all over again. Friday, July 3, 2009 will be KidFest ’09…bigger and better than ever! I’ve invited close to 200 people…I don’t know why I decided to possible ruin a good thing. This will clearly grow out of control. I just felt the need to not go out on top, as KidFest ’08 was probably the greatest get-together in the history of get-togethers.
Why am I doing it? Because my 30th year on this planet just wasn’t enough. I grew a lot. Matured a lot. But honestly, I just felt like I had something left in the tank. So, instead of going crazy at the three weddings that I’m in this summer – not to mention The Big Vig on June 20th – I’m hoping for the biggest, loudest, most obscene KidFest of all-time.
So, when all of you snitches get out of work early on Friday, July 3, so strap on your booze-bag and head on over to KidFest.
For those of you who do not recall, here are the rules of KidFest:
No one is permitted to show up early to the pre-designated 3 p.m. start time unless receiving permission from The Kid prior to Friday, July 3, 2009.
This is not The Big Vig. The Kid will not even attempt to replicate The Big Vig in all of its splendor. There will be no live band. There will be no fire pit. There will not be an oversized grill. No port-o-potty on the front lawn.
There will be beer. Oh beer. Plenty of beer for all to enjoy for as long as you wish. The Kid is planning on multiple kegs, domestic, most likely either Miller Lite or Bug Light.
There will likely be one kind of whiskey. Irish whiskey. Most likely Jameson or Tullamore Dew. If you want to drink something else, I suggest you bring it. I'll have assorted soft drinks for those who don't wish to swim with the sharks.
There will be burgers, dogs and not much else. Like The Big Vig, The Kid also has a "you bring it, we'll grill it" philosophy. Except I refuse to put anything on the grill that isn't meat. No turkey burgers or anything that has to do with hippy-ness or weight loss.Despite the limited menu, amazingly there will be an unnecessarily large amount of condiments. Ironically, The Kid hates condiments.
There will be beer pong. And here are the rules: Ten cup pyramids, two balls. Alternating shots by team. If it goes in, the other team drinks it. You sink two in a row, you get the balls back. You sink two in the same cup, it's over and the losing team is not permitted to play for one hour. Re-rack at four, three and two cups. And finally, the most important rule. You have to talk shit. Uncontrollably. There are no excuses. If you do not talk shit, you will not be allowed back on the table. Period. (Sidenote: There is always a possibility for flip cup, which The Kid bills as the red-headed step child of beer pong. Women, and only women, can request to play Flip Cup, and only if The Franchise is not playing.)
No underage drinkers. If you're going to bring someone who isn't 21, don't come yourself. There is one exception to this and he knows who he is. (MP)
Do not ask for anything to be played by the DJ. Especially if it's white people music. The Kid promotes extensive hip-hop play. My apologies to all you white mother fuckers.
If you misbehave, you may be asked to leave KidFest and will receive a one-year ban from all future The Kid’s World events until 2010. The Ejection Panel will consist of The Kid, Finn, Hero Like Things and Nikki Sweeten. If it happens to be The Kid, Finn, Hero Like Things or Nikki Sweeten involved in the misbehaving, only God himself will be able to stop such a destructive force.
The Kid and Geoff White, also known as The Franchise, are THE greatest beer pong tandem of all-time. Any talk in contradiction of this fact will result in the guilty parties having to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the bathroom, much like Eddie Mush and JoJo The Whale from Bronx Tale. There is very little grey area and this will not be ignored.
Everyone who is interested in attending should send a message to ken.sweeten@gmail.com. And this means everyone.Women are allowed, and in fact encouraged, to bring any side dishes they feel necessary. Guys should bring beer. And keep it in their trunk, only to reveal it when there's no beer left and thus be looked upon as the Greatest Human on Earth, Ken Sweeten style.
Dan Vigs, and only Dan Vigs, is allowed to dance.
It is The Kid's birthday. Overzealous "Happy Birthdays" are not permitted. In fact, The Kid would prefer it if you didn't bring it up at all. Unless you say "Happy Birthday" and hand me money or a six pack.
Also, strippers are permitted to attend KidFest, regardless of age, race or religion.
If you wear anything with a Red Sox emblem, there is a strong possibility that things will be thrown at you.
Do not ask The Kid if you can do anything, because the answer will either be yes or no depending on the situation and The Kid will most likely be in no shape to make decisions. Either do it and deal with the consequences, or don't do it and live with that regret for the rest of your life.
There is no swearing inside the house. This is also affectionately referred to as The James Finnegan Clause of 2005.
Swearing is allowed and is encouraged outside of the house.
If you are drunk, do not drive home, but be prepared for either one of the next two responses."Your backseat is looking pretty good right now..."or "There's plenty of room on the back porch." This is my parents' house. Not mine. I cannot offer beds, couches or floor space. Sorry. I'm a mean fucker like that. There has been a tent erected in the yard, so if you’re feeling daring…
Yes, this is an old school "high school" kegger. So the fuck what?!? The Kid is a throwback.
And Finally....The Kid’s World T-Shirt shop will have new t-shirts for KidFest ’09 up by June 15th.
Why am I doing it? Because my 30th year on this planet just wasn’t enough. I grew a lot. Matured a lot. But honestly, I just felt like I had something left in the tank. So, instead of going crazy at the three weddings that I’m in this summer – not to mention The Big Vig on June 20th – I’m hoping for the biggest, loudest, most obscene KidFest of all-time.
So, when all of you snitches get out of work early on Friday, July 3, so strap on your booze-bag and head on over to KidFest.
For those of you who do not recall, here are the rules of KidFest:
No one is permitted to show up early to the pre-designated 3 p.m. start time unless receiving permission from The Kid prior to Friday, July 3, 2009.
This is not The Big Vig. The Kid will not even attempt to replicate The Big Vig in all of its splendor. There will be no live band. There will be no fire pit. There will not be an oversized grill. No port-o-potty on the front lawn.
There will be beer. Oh beer. Plenty of beer for all to enjoy for as long as you wish. The Kid is planning on multiple kegs, domestic, most likely either Miller Lite or Bug Light.
There will likely be one kind of whiskey. Irish whiskey. Most likely Jameson or Tullamore Dew. If you want to drink something else, I suggest you bring it. I'll have assorted soft drinks for those who don't wish to swim with the sharks.
There will be burgers, dogs and not much else. Like The Big Vig, The Kid also has a "you bring it, we'll grill it" philosophy. Except I refuse to put anything on the grill that isn't meat. No turkey burgers or anything that has to do with hippy-ness or weight loss.Despite the limited menu, amazingly there will be an unnecessarily large amount of condiments. Ironically, The Kid hates condiments.
There will be beer pong. And here are the rules: Ten cup pyramids, two balls. Alternating shots by team. If it goes in, the other team drinks it. You sink two in a row, you get the balls back. You sink two in the same cup, it's over and the losing team is not permitted to play for one hour. Re-rack at four, three and two cups. And finally, the most important rule. You have to talk shit. Uncontrollably. There are no excuses. If you do not talk shit, you will not be allowed back on the table. Period. (Sidenote: There is always a possibility for flip cup, which The Kid bills as the red-headed step child of beer pong. Women, and only women, can request to play Flip Cup, and only if The Franchise is not playing.)
No underage drinkers. If you're going to bring someone who isn't 21, don't come yourself. There is one exception to this and he knows who he is. (MP)
Do not ask for anything to be played by the DJ. Especially if it's white people music. The Kid promotes extensive hip-hop play. My apologies to all you white mother fuckers.
If you misbehave, you may be asked to leave KidFest and will receive a one-year ban from all future The Kid’s World events until 2010. The Ejection Panel will consist of The Kid, Finn, Hero Like Things and Nikki Sweeten. If it happens to be The Kid, Finn, Hero Like Things or Nikki Sweeten involved in the misbehaving, only God himself will be able to stop such a destructive force.
The Kid and Geoff White, also known as The Franchise, are THE greatest beer pong tandem of all-time. Any talk in contradiction of this fact will result in the guilty parties having to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the bathroom, much like Eddie Mush and JoJo The Whale from Bronx Tale. There is very little grey area and this will not be ignored.
Everyone who is interested in attending should send a message to ken.sweeten@gmail.com. And this means everyone.Women are allowed, and in fact encouraged, to bring any side dishes they feel necessary. Guys should bring beer. And keep it in their trunk, only to reveal it when there's no beer left and thus be looked upon as the Greatest Human on Earth, Ken Sweeten style.
Dan Vigs, and only Dan Vigs, is allowed to dance.
It is The Kid's birthday. Overzealous "Happy Birthdays" are not permitted. In fact, The Kid would prefer it if you didn't bring it up at all. Unless you say "Happy Birthday" and hand me money or a six pack.
Also, strippers are permitted to attend KidFest, regardless of age, race or religion.
If you wear anything with a Red Sox emblem, there is a strong possibility that things will be thrown at you.
Do not ask The Kid if you can do anything, because the answer will either be yes or no depending on the situation and The Kid will most likely be in no shape to make decisions. Either do it and deal with the consequences, or don't do it and live with that regret for the rest of your life.
There is no swearing inside the house. This is also affectionately referred to as The James Finnegan Clause of 2005.
Swearing is allowed and is encouraged outside of the house.
If you are drunk, do not drive home, but be prepared for either one of the next two responses."Your backseat is looking pretty good right now..."or "There's plenty of room on the back porch." This is my parents' house. Not mine. I cannot offer beds, couches or floor space. Sorry. I'm a mean fucker like that. There has been a tent erected in the yard, so if you’re feeling daring…
Yes, this is an old school "high school" kegger. So the fuck what?!? The Kid is a throwback.
And Finally....The Kid’s World T-Shirt shop will have new t-shirts for KidFest ’09 up by June 15th.
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