Gimme a bagful.



The photo in question. Click to enlarge.

Following the online controversy, Michael Buble issued a statement on April 17, telling Us Weekly his comments were not meant to be hurtful. “I do not court controversy, but I realize that a photo that was meant to be complimentary and lighthearted has turned into a questionable issue,” he said. “It hurts me deeply that anyone would think that I would disrespect women or be insulting to any human being . . .I regret that there are people out there who found the photo offensive. That was not and is not my intention. Women are to be celebrated, loved, respected, honored and revered. I’ve spent my life believing that and will continue to do so.”

So that’s the photo that Buble posted, followed by a comment saying that he “thought there was something about this woman that deserved to be on Instagram.”

I guess I have one question regarding this whole mess. Why is he in trouble? Seriously, is this disrespecting women? He doesn’t even show the woman’s face, for cryin’ out loud. And if you choose to wear shorts with your ass hanging out aren’t you sort of asking for attention anyway? I mean, you wear this attire out in public and are then outraged when somebody looks at you? I have a solution for you, and that is to put on some pants.

Listen, people can wear what they want. Pajamas in public, man buns, sunglasses indoors, mandals, manpris, I don’t really care. Just don’t get pissed when I, or anyone else, makes fun of you.

Free Michael Buble! Free Michael Buble!

Boy, the Indian Purple Frog sure is a beaut, ain’t he? His body is described as “robust and bloated”, which incidentally and regrettably describes to a T a girl from Detroit that I once dated in college. The Purple Frog spends most of his life underground, and I think we all understand why. You know, because he’s one ugly mofo. And guess when he surfaces? During monsoons, partly because it gets too wet in his frog house and partly because he knows nobody will be around to look at him. Anywho, Indian Purple Frog, man.


That’s a lot of cows, man.


Well put.


Amen, sign-maker. Amen.


Bowling for Babes looks fun.

Posted: April 20, 2015 in Fails, Humor

Looks like a strike to me.

This kid will be living with his parents when he’s 35. Write it down.


Well done, Dave Cramer. Well done.


Actual group, at least in my mind.

A few years ago I’m down in the Outer Banks and decide to hit the beach. It was a nice day, around the Fourth of July, and although the OBX beaches are never really crowded there were quite a few people enjoying the sun. Still, there was nobody within 30-40 feet of me that day.

So I’m sitting there with my ear buds in, shades on and a beverage in hand, just enjoying the sun and scenery when I notice of group of 8-10 young people running up the beach. They probably ranged in age from 8 to 25, just a good-looking group of young folks having a good time in the sun and surf. A couple of the older girls were rather eye-catching in their bikinis, so the group was attracting quite a bit of attention as they made their way up the beach. And then this happened . . .

Suddenly, one of the girls stops, looks directly at me, points, and screams. Now, although this is not a completely unusual reaction when women see me, I was a bit, shall we say, flummoxed.

What the hell?

At that point the whole pack came running towards me. For a second I thought they must be former students or something, but as they drew closer I realized that was not the case. Soon I was surrounded, and one of the older girls asked me this:

“Can we take your picture? We’re having a huge family reunion in a big house down the beach this week, and today we’re having a scavenger hunt. One of the things we’re supposed to get is our picture with a bald guy. Do you mind?”

Well, at least I wasn’t flummoxed anymore. Mystery solved.

Sure, kids, gather ’round!

A passing beachgoer was then asked to be the photographer as a pic was taken of me, surrounded by a gaggle of smiling young people.

Did I mention one of the older girls hopped on my lap and put her arm around me? Some days are better than others, folks.

Anyhoo, photo taken, I was high-fived, knuckle-bumped and hugged as the group meandered on down the beach. Funny moment, but otherwise not that big of a deal.

Except . . .

This whole episode had caused quite a bit of attention. Immediately following I noticed a lot of people on the beach looking over at me quizzically, some of them smiling. I gave a couple of them a little wave or a nod of the head, but then a strange thing happened.

They kept staring.

And whispering.

And staring some more.

It got so bad that I thought maybe a seagull had crapped on my head or something. This continued for about a half-hour until I noticed a couple looking at me, arguing with each other, and then looking back at me. Finally the man shook his head, stood up, and wandered sheepishly over to me.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I realize you’re trying to enjoy your day in privacy, and I saw how patient you were with those other people, but my wife insisted that I come over here and ask – who are you? My wife says you’re somebody famous. Could you please clear this up?”

Oh good Lord. It hit me. Everyone on the beach thought I was some famous person and that group had recognized me, hence the excitement at seeing me and wanting their picture taken with me.

I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone as disappointed as that guy when I told him the truth. He just looked at me dumbly and walked away to give the devastating news to his wife, the awful truth that I was just some regular schmo on the beach. To add insult to injury, the woman walked over to a few other couples, shaking her thumb towards me as she pointed out the fraud that I obviously was, leading to disgusted headshakes all-around.

And why was I feeling so damn guilty?

To this day I wish I’d been a quicker thinker and told the dude I was the son of Sean Connery and was on hiatus from some blockbuster movie being filmed in Miami or somewhere. I could probably have parlayed that into some free drinks . . . or something.

So that’s the story of how I was famous, at least for a few minutes on the beach one summer day in the Outer Banks.

Sort of.

Seriously. Total game-changer for me.

After reading my post about overcooking some mac n’ cheese bites the other day, somebody suggested I make a purchase. And oh, what a purchase it was. We’re talking about an invention I rank right up there with the television, motor car and internet. An invention I that I had no idea existed until last week.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m talking about something called a toaster oven. And not just any toaster oven, but the Black & Decker EvenToast Toast ‘r’ Oven, $29.99 at a Walmart near you.

Bachelors, if you don’t own a toaster oven you’re out of your everlovin’ gourd. Turns out you can toast, bake, or broil on this baby. The fact that I have no idea what “broil” means is irrelevant here.

Take a look at this gem:

I know, I know. She’s a beauty. Hands off boys.

That’s a 4-slicer, baby. I’ve cleaned her after every use, with the gentle care and kindness she deserves.

I’ve made toast, pizzas, pizza rolls, shredded steak tortillas, mac ‘n’ cheese bites, and of course my famous Sweet Cheezus Sandwich, all to perfection.

Life-changer people. Complete life-changer.

Now excuse me while I go give her a rubdown.

I woke up to hear knocking on glass. At first, I though it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again.

Bonus pic:



Man, that’s a tall, long-legged wolf, ain’t it? Except the Maned Wolf is not a wolf. It looks like a fox but it’s not a fox either. It is the only species in the genus Chrysocyon, and I don’t know what that means either so don’t ask. It lives in Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. It leaves a very distinctive and nasty odor when it leaves its markings, which has earned it the nickname Skunk Wolf which is unfortunate. It also is a chicken thief, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anybody. Anywho, check out the Maned Wolf, man. He’s tall.


The Midwest, man.


Because everyone hates children laughing and giggling, amirite?


Well done, dad. Well done.

On a related note, little Jaden needs his ass beat.


I swear to God some of these turtles can’t catch a break. First we have a soft-shelled turtle, now we have this guy. Seriously, this is what we call a side-necked turtle. What’s a side-necked turtle you ask? It’s a turtle that wraps its neck sideways back into its shell rather than pulling it directly back like regular turtle folk. I kid you not. On a related note, I have a really inappropriate joke I’m dying to insert here but I just can’t pull the trigger. Anywho, Eastern Long-Necked Turtle.


His friends call him Dickhead.

Go west, young man.


Was I the only one hoping the whale would hurry up and eat those people already? Good God. Cool whale though.

So I ran across this little inspirational saying today and sort of chuckled. Why, you ask? Well just keep reading. Here ’tis, with my response below.


Gee, ya think? I guess somebody forgot to tell Ulysses S. Grant . . .


Boy, did she change her tune quickly.

Still, the Hair Headlight was a stellar idea.

Check out the Planthopper Nymph, man. Dude’s got a tail like you read about. At least I think that’s his tail. Planthopper Fun Fact: Although they hop around some, they usually walk around slowly as to not draw attention to themselves, sort of like that kid you knew in 4th grade. Gotta be difficult to do that with that tail though, amirite? Looks like a paint brush, man. Anywho, Planthopper Nymph.