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Daddy Issues

21 Nov

I’m a giver. I choose to help wherever I can. That’s just the kind of person I am. That’s why jumped into action when I heard how dire the situation is for the endangered species of the world. Did you know there are just a few thousand Hairy-Nose Wombats left in the wild? And don’t get me started on the Mediterranean Monk Seal! These poor defenseless animals are just doing their thing, fertilizing the Earth with poo, and stupid humans are killing them for their sexual/magical/safari-décor powers. I refuse to allow this rape of Mother Earth to continue. That’s why I decided to take charge and get involved in conservation. – So, I knocked-up my wife.

What? I can’t make a new Hairy-Nose Wombat, at least I can make a human. C’mon, my heart was in the right place. Maybe I can teach this kid some awesome anti-poacher skills and it will be win-win.

Yep, it’s official, I’m going to be a daddy. It’s my first child and I’m more excited than a pyromaniac at a Kindling Convention. — But, conversely, I’m also more terrified than a pair of stark white undies at an Irritable Bowel Syndrome Convention. (Woo, analogies!)

If Full House, Family Matters and Growing Pains are to be believed, then raising a kid is no walk in the park. Except for that part in the Full House opening credits where they walk in the park. That seemed pretty easy, even Uncle Jesse had a smile on his face.

Hey! Remember that episode when Michelle was a baby and instead of saying “ice cream” she kept saying “house cream”?! That was pretty funny. I hope my kid can’t say “ice”…

But I digress.

People say being a parent is the greatest job you’ll ever have. I’m thrilled about it, but I’m also a little concerned. I have enough trouble remembering to put the butter back in the fridge, how am I going to raise an upstanding human being who respects people in every walk of life, gives back to the community, puts the butter back in the fridge… and also appreciates the satirical brilliance of Weird Al Yankovic?

Also, what’s the etiquette on hilarious interactions with the baby? For instance, is it bad taste to manipulate a day-old infant’s mouth so it looks like they’re rapping Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot? Can you dress a helpless child in an outfit that makes them look like a miniature Colonel Sanders, just because it’s funny? What about blaming farts on a baby, is that so wrong?

I guess I’ve got a lot of thinking to do between now and five and a half months from now when the fruit of my loins bursts from my wife’s nether regions. Probably first on my list of thoughts should be coming up with a better way to describe the impending birth. My guess is, my wife won’t appreciate the word “burst” being used in any form whatsoever.

Cripes, this baby-thing is a lot of work.

Cuss Words: The Great American Art Form

7 Sep

I wouldn’t say I’m a big advocate of cursing. Sure, I enjoy a well-placed “asshead” or “Damn kids and their buttface rap music” now and then, but as a rule I’m not one to drop multiple F-bombs just to watch the shockwaves bowl over every Quaker in the vicinity. Yet, when it comes to cursing, I do have a rule…  shit or get off the pot.

We’ve all seen those Facebook status updates where someone is really fired up and they rail into whoever or whatever ticked them off. But then, just as they get to the good part, something strange happens. Like a child safety cap for their keyboard’s home row, their fingers seize and suddenly a very familiar dirty word is neutered faster than a klutzy gymnast on a pommel horse.

For instance:

Now, it’s possible he was making a witty observation about this driver and how his actions didn’t make “cents.” Or maybe his grandma hacked his Facebook account with Anti-Potty Mouth Malware. But my guess is, he censored himself with a dollar sign because he doesn’t have the stones.

Am I out of line for chastising these folks? Are they simply trying to keep this world free of filth? Maybe. What if he has children on his Facebook friend list, like a young nephew or his parents had an accidental baby late in life and his sister is only thirteen? Maybe he doesn’t want those children seeing such vulgarities.

(I could argue that most young kids, by the age of eight, already know a litany of hybrid-curse words, you’ve never heard even of, and each one is so horrible it could destroy a warehouse full of rosy-cheeked grandmas with a solitary utterance. But, I won’t argue that.)

My gripe is not with a G-rated lifestyle. More power to you for finding a better outlet for your frustration. (Unless that outlet is strangling hobos. If so, start cussing. It’s less illegal.) If you believe in a family-friendly Facebook page, you should stick to that. My gripe is simply this: Do you really think typing “$hithead” instead of “shithead” is a stealthy enough code to ensure your 18-and-over friends will chuckle knowingly, while the minors will stare blankly at the mysterious dollar sign, crying to their Bieber-faced Gods, “Dollar-sign-hithead? What does it all meeeeeeeean?!”

If you’re going to cuss, then cuss. If not, save yourself the shame of a bastardized obscenity and just showcase your anger through kid-friendly curse words like “stink-butt” or poop-mouth.”

My mother has a similar dilemma. She occasionally needs a sweet, sweet cuss-tastic release, but it’s as if her moral fiber won’t permit it without an unconscious acknowledgement of shame. As a result, she’s become the Queen of Midstream Censorship.

A handful of times a year my dear mother gets really fired up, whether it’s a long stressful day that culminates with a nasty driver cutting her off or simply a bag of microwave popcorn that picked the worst time ever to burn. Her anger begins to overwhelm her faculties, and she’s about to give-in to glorious obscenity… but then Jesus takes the wheel.

She gets loud:

 Mom: “What the… I can’t believe this!

High-pitched growling ensues:

Mom: “Grrrrr-hrrrr-eeeee!”

Then, at the absolute crescendo of the anger — comes the cussing!!! – (screeching brake sound) — in hushed, apologetic tones???:

Mom: “Well… (whispers) shhhh-it.”

For years my sister and I have delighted in her quiet curse words. My mother is also a great sport and she laughs with us when we regale her with stories of her past fits of rage, which ended in muttered four-letter words. Still, I can’t deny, I would love to see her completely lose it someday and explode in a mushroom cloud of atrocities, so blue, that every ordained minister in a five-block radius would have loose poops for a week.

Listen, I’m not advocating a lifestyle of sailor-language. My grandma would totally disown me if I did. I just think a little cussing now-and-then, when it’s really necessary, would do you a lot of good. It’s a great stress reliever, and I’m sure it won’t keep you out of Heaven. I’m willing to bet even Jesus dropped a “Goddamn” now and then when Simon the Zealot or one of the other Apostles was whining about the heat or being allergic to fish or something. I doubt he wussed-out and called them @ssholes.

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Thanks for hanging out with GeneralTomfoolery.com. Please remember, sharing links to this website and telling your friends about us is the best way to say “thanks.” And, if you haven’t “liked” the GeneralTomfoolery.com Facebook page yet, it would be super awersome if you did.

Cracking Jokes On the Unemployment Line

13 Jul

The next time you’re out shopping at your favorite store, like Hot Topic or Woolworth, please don’t be alarmed if you see my wild-eyed, haggard visage staring off into oblivion as I shake a rusty tin cup full of loose change in your general direction. No, don’t mind me. I’m just an out-of-work humorist who has resorted to making pop culture references on the street for nickels. Nothing to see here.

That’s right, I lost my job as the humor columnist for IN Michiana Magazine. Well, I didn’t lose my job. It vanished. IN Michiana Magazine is no longer being published by the South Bend Tribune.

Take it easy. Try to breathe. I know it’s traumatic, but you’ll get through this. It’s kind of like when you heard The Beatles broke up. Or, if you’re a tad younger, it’s like when the New Kids on the Block tried to reinvent themselves in the early 90s by changing their name to N.K.O.T.B. and singing/rapping songs like Dirty Dawg while dressed as a cross between Color Me Badd and Snoop Dogg. (Extra letters were very popular back then.)

Nice job, New Kids. I hope you’re proud of yourselves for taking a steaming dump on the memories of a precocious little preteen by the name of Matt Deitchley. You might as well have spit on the well-worn 1989 cassette single of Cover Girl that I kept under my pillow.

But I digress.

For more than three years I worked as a humor columnist for IN Michiana Magazine. Three years may not be gold watch-worthy tenure, but I credit the job (and my beloved wife who encouraged me to apply) with nothing less than pure enlightenment.

(Uh oh, here comes the sappy part. Don’t worry I’ll try to keep your interest while I purge my soul by spicing up the following two paragraphs with intermittent hilarious words.)

Before I started writing for IN Michiana, I was just going through the motions. I went to work, came home, and then went to work again. (Fart.) Then my wife convinced me to apply for a freelance humor columnist job she saw in the newspaper. I submitted my writing samples, they weeded out the riff-raff, and I ending up beating nearly 100 writers for the job. (Titmouse.) I couldn’t believe people actually wanted to read something I wrote when they could be off watching Minute to Win It or eating Little Debbie snack cakes or something more constructive like that. (Kumquat.)

Since my very first column in June of 2008 about the joys of growing a beard on vacation (<— You can read it here.), I’ve heard from so many kind readers about the laughs they shared after reading my columns or how they related to my unabashed stupidity. (Slobberknocker.) This part time gig has taught me about doing what you love, no matter how shitty it pays. Thanks to my column I created this website, GeneralTomfoolery.com, and while I don’t make one thin dime, it’s ten times more fulfilling than my day job. (Wiener.)

I realize I’m very fortunate. I still make a living with my full time gig producing local television news for the South Bend, Indiana area and, so far, my wife and I haven’t fallen on such hard times that we’ve had to eat the dog. Yet. But that doesn’t mean this transition is easy.

What will I miss the most about writing for IN Michiana Magazine? Besides the personal satisfaction that comes from peppering my columns with Rick Astley and Growing Pains references for an audience of more than 100,000 readers, I will miss the opportunity to practice the art of relentless self-promotion.

"Hey, get a load of this!"

Every IN Michiana Magazine column by Yours Truly featured the same goofy picture of me looking skyward with a cockeyed smirk that seemed to say, “Hey, get a load of this!” And every time I stopped by places like a doctor’s office or the South Bend Chocolate Café, I’d find numerous copies of IN Michiana lying about. How could I resist the urge to open every issue to my picture and splay them all over the room? I couldn’t. In fact, a few times I did it to magazines which were sitting in the doctor’s examination room. You might have been in there afterwards. Naked.

That’s right, it’s almost like I saw you… nude. Awesome.

Anyhoo, IN Michiana is out of the picture and now it’s just you and me and GeneralTomfoolery.com. I promise to keep toiling here in the comedy dungeon if you keep reading and letting me know what you like and what you hate.

Feel like suggesting a topic for Top 10 Tuesday or commenting on how much I suck? I’d love to hear from you! Drop me a line on the GeneralTomfoolery.com Facebook page, comment on this post, or email me. In fact, the 755th message I receive that isn’t a SPAMy promise to increase my sexual prowess or an attempt to sell me cheap Mexican Percocet will win five bucks and an autographed copy of my debut novel Chicken Soup for the Leper’s Soul. I haven’t written it yet and so far the only plot point I’ve worked out is the part where the Lepers eat soup, but I’m sure it will be epic.

From the bottom of my heart, thanks for all the support. Please continue to read GeneralTomfoolery.com for your daily laughs. (Don’t go to TheOnion.com, they support puppy mills.) Please remember, sharing links to this website and telling your friends about us is the best way to say ‘thanks.’ And, if you haven’t “liked” the GeneralTomfoolery.com Facebook page yet, it would mean a lot.

Also… Fart.

No, Bad Dog! No Running for President!

20 May

Not long ago I complained about Presidential campaigns and why they’re less about issues and more about bullcrap. These days running for President of the United States is one part celebrity news magazine show, one part Meet the Press and all parts frustrating. I’m not speaking of one specific candidate here. I’m referring to our society as a whole.

So, in my annoyance I flippantly posted the Top 10 Reasons My Dog Would Make a Good President. It was a fun way to skewer the political/celebrity/dog world. But what followed, I didn’t expect.

My faithful dog Maddux, a greyhound mix with a penchant for tummy-rubs, read my blog post and got a bit of an inflated ego. He declared to me, he was officially entering the 2012 Presidential race.

I advised him it was a bad idea, but he said, “Dad, this race needs some pizzazz. I’M that pizzazz.”

I’m not sure why my dog says words like “pizzazz” or how he can even talk, for that matter, but check out his campaign page on Facebook by CLICKING HERE. Feel free to “like” it for his daily observations on his run to The White House.

For instance, here’s a recent Facebook post from “Maddux the Greyhound for President”:

“If you could have a pet, any pet, which would you have? A slimy, disease-laden Newt or a faithful, loving dog?

Now which one do you want running your country? I think I’ve made my point. Vote Maddux!”

He’s already taken to wearing a George Washington wig around the house. This should be interesting.

“Like” Maddux the Greyhound for President on Facebook - Click here to see the page.

I’m Super, Thanks for Asking!

8 May

Superheroes and super villains have really ruined it for the rest of us. These Donny-Do-Gooders and… uh… Darwin Do-Bad-Things?… are hogging all the super powers. I guess it’s not enough for Spider-Man to be able to climb walls, he also has to have super strength, AND witty repartee to boot. Meanwhile, my wife has to open jars for me because I was born with these preteen girl-arms.

So what’s a boy 32-year-old man to do? I’ll never be able to crush rocks with my bare hands. Not even that chalky, easy-to-crush stuff they use on movie sets. And you can forget about witty banter. I can’t string three sentences together in front of a stranger without coming down with a serious case of the nervous-poots.

It’s a real medical condition and I’ll thank you not to laugh.

I think everyone has dreams of having their own superpowers. When I was in college, my buddy Brandon and I used to talk about how hilarious it would be to have the power to point at someone across the street and immediately give them explosive diarrhea. (Yes, that’s right, we dreamed of this in college, not elementary school.) We would walk to class and laugh hysterically, pointing at people across the street, imagining them grabbing their pants and running off in bowel-clenching astonishment.

Oh, also we used to do this other thing too… It was called — not get any dates.

If I were God (and it’s only a matter of time, I have a plan), I’d make it so everyone had at least one small superpower. We’re not talking world domination, mind you, just something that would be your own cool little trick. You wouldn’t be allowed to be more powerful than a locomotive, but you could choose the power to eat 35 soft pretzels in a single sitting. You know, for those football Sundays when the pretzels are tastin’ extra good, but you’re forced to stop eating before your stomach explodes into a cloud of yeasty, bready stomach acid.

While I’m hesitant, I suppose it’s only fair to allow people to have evil super powers too, as long as they are relatively minor. You couldn’t have a death ray, but you could have the power to drive your Ford Tempo faster than a speeding bullet and not get a ticket.

But, don’t get too cocky on the roads, because I know exactly what my super power would be. I would have the power to make every driver within a five-mile radius use their turn signals properly at all times. (That’s right, I’m that anal about it.) What happens if you don’t? Let’s just say you’d consider explosive diarrhea to be a blessing when I got finished with you. (Too many poop references? Nah, that’s not possible!)

While these may all be silly pipe dreams, I do think there may already be heroes among us. Maybe not the caliber of Krypton’s favorite son, Super Man, or Artie “The Strongest Man in the World” from the early 1990s Nickelodeon television series “The Adventures of Pete and Pete”, but we may be living side-by-side with reality-defying individuals, none-the-less.

For instance, my Dad has powers far beyond most mortal men. I’ve witnessed his ability to blow down walls with his earth-shattering snores, tell jokes that defy the laws of logic and humor, and find sales on toilet paper and Lactose-intolerant milk faster than a speeding bullet.

Now that’s super. Super eye-roll-worthy, maybe. But definitely super.

CLICK HERE and then “like” GeneralTomfoolery.com’s Facebook page. If you do, I will personally buy you a Hostess Suzy Q and ship it to you. No joke. If you “like” GeneralTomfoolery’s Facebook page and then promise to tell 10 friends, a Suzy Q will be yours. Just “like” us and post a comment on our Facebook page about Suzy Q’s and you’ll be swimming in saturated fat in no time!

A Night of Shoddy Photoshop: Movie Edition

21 Apr

When we debuted the first “A Night of Shoddy Photoshop” there was such an overwhelming response, we felt the obligation to give it another go. Why wait a month and a half to do the next one if there was such an overwhelming response? Well… um… it was a slow-burning “overwhelming response.”

Shut up.

This time around it’s “A Night of Shoddy Photoshop: Movie Edition”. And, I think you’ll find, the so-called “artwork” is shoddier than ever.

 

Harry Potter 13: Planet of the Snapes

 

 

CLICK HERE and then “like” GeneralTomfoolery.com’s Facebook page. It’ll give you a natural high, without the mess of huffing paint or the expense of chugging cough medicine.

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