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.

Yep, the sophomore slump can hit anyone, from star baseball players to hit television shows to, yes, even great web-based comedy-tainment like The Jason and Friends Talk Show. So, the world was understandably shaken to its core when it was announced that Jason and Friends would return for season two.

Top Four Concerns of Jason and Friends’ Fans

1. Could Jason and his Friends keep their fans chortling with witty banter?

2. Will Jason and Friends explain to us what the hell chortling is?

3. Will the show’s famously hilarious Web Clip of the Week stave off the urge to turn to hardcore pornography?

4. Can Jason crack McDonald’s secret recipe code and ultimately market his own brand of McRib called the McJason-Delicious-Meat-Based-Cutlet-wich?

It turns out the world can breathe a collective sigh of relief, because the first show of season two is in the books and they landed, quite possibly, the best guest since a loaf of sliced bread appeared on The Tonight Show back in 1977.

The first guest was GeneralTomfoolery.com! Well, not the actual http address, he doesn’t talk much. It was me!

In the first episode of season two we tackle such weighty issues as poop, smelly vintage chairs, picking up infants by their heads, and the only way to truly appreciate the experience of watching Ghostbusters on the big screen… with obscenity-laced cheers.

Enjoy!

Me: “Hello, newsroom…”
Old Coot: “Where’s Gordy?”
Me: “He left the station about a year ago.”
Old Coot: ”What about the Oh-Bam-Ah jobs thing? How does that work?”
Me: “Um…”
Old Coot: “I mean we got, uh, that drought in Texas and then, of course, we’ve got California and Ohio and Oklahoma and we got Puerto Rico too.”
Me: (Is he just naming U.S. States and territories now?)
Old Coot: “People are talking and those jobs aren’t talking back. It’s like a tornado, you know what I mean?”
Me: “I… um… yes?”
Old Coot: “You bet your ass, yes!”
Me: “Okay, well, thanks for calling.”
Old Coot: “You ever been to that ice cream shop in Goshen? I think they might be hiring.”
Me: “Okay, I’ll look into that.”
Old Coot: “Great. Hey, look I need to go.”
Me: “Oh… um… sorry to keep you?”
*Old Coot hangs up*

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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It’s a crazy, mixed-up world and if you’re anything like me little things can get you going. And by “going” I mean “homicidal”. For instance, the next driver who doesn’t use his turn signal in my presence will end up with his still-beating heart cut out of his chest and presented to his next of kin on a silver platter.

I’d say that’s a fair compromise.

As I get older, I find I tolerate less. I guess that’s why my 64-year-old dad seems to get louder instead of softer when he’s criticizing an idiot who is two feet away from him in public.

So, what can we do? Well, I find complaining sure helps, so let’s try that!

Top 10 Random Things that are Worth Complaining About

1o. An “L” in “salmon”? Really?

9. Interspecies suckling.

8. So few competitive Cootie leagues around anymore.

7. Gummy adult vitamins. They’re too delicious and as a result my pantothenic acid and zinc are through the roof!

6. One look at futuristic Dyson Hand Dryers and I believe flying cars may be just around the corner, yet one look at the general public’s writing skills on Facebook and I wonder if soon the English language will be comprised of nothing but guttural grunts of double negatives.

5.The Smurfs make their big screen movie debut before Grape Ape?! Tragic.

4. Recurring elephantiasis of my midsection. (Get it?! “Midsection“… “trunk!” Now that’s a high-concept joke! I better get a registered trademark on that baby before the late night talk shows steal it.) ®

3. The meteoric rise and fall of Big Mouth Billy Bass.

2. Training my dog to be an ultimate fighter is not as easy as the manual promised. (Not dog fighting, actual Ultimate Fighting. I want my pup to take on Kimbo Slice!)

1. The severe lack of anatomically-correct muppets. How do you expect kids to learn about the beauty of the muppet/human body?

  

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, get on it before you come down with the gout or something.

Had I known it would be my last column after more than three years of experiencing pure joy in writing for you lovely people, I would have said something more substantial than ‘I hate mowning my lawn.’ At the very least I would have planted subliminal messages, commanding my readers to make an hourly pilgrimage to GeneralTomfoolery.com (and bring Fig Newtons while they’re at it!).

Sadly, this is all you get. But don’t let that stop you from sending Fig Newtons my way. Heck, I’ll settle for Crunch ‘n’ Munch.

Pain in the Grass – Off the Cuff, IN Michiana Magazine, August 2011

People love to rank things. Top 100 Movies of All Time, Top 10 Diet Secrets to Get You Rail-Thin in 28 Minutes, Top 25 Baby Names To Ensure Your Kid’s Popularity in High School. So, I decided to make my own list. It’s called the Top 2 Worst Things in the World.

1. Mowing the lawn.

2. The current state of political discourse in the U.S. (What’s this?! Getting political now, Matt? Stick to what you’re good at, like bathroom humor and Pee Wee Herman references.)

I hate mowing the lawn. I hate it more than I hate people who try to make conversation in public restrooms. (No, I don’t want to chat about how hot it’s been. Just stare at the wall, like all the other guys, then pretend to wash your hands and get out.) It’s not that I have a problem working in the yard. Mowing the lawn is just one of those tasks that gets under my skin, yet I can’t escape. You know, like taking out the overflowing bathroom trashcan or telling someone their newborn is adorable when it’s homely, at best.

I know what you’re thinking, “C’mon, it’s a beautiful day. Enjoy being outside.”

Shut up.

My lawn and I have a hate-hate relationship. I hate cutting it and it hates me right back by growing inconsistently. There’s the dust bowl-section where nothing dares to grow except that solitary sixteen-pound, man-eating dandelion, then there’s the Amazonian-section where, minutes after mowing, the grass is above my waist. You could drop Magellan in that 4’ x 6’ section and he’d never get out alive.

Mowing the lawn is one of those chores you can’t hide after you’ve finished. Vacuuming the house can make you sweaty and smelly, but slap on a little deodorant and you’re good to meet friends and no one’s the wiser. When it comes to cutting the grass, everyone knows. Your pants and shoes look like you just trampled Kermit the Frog and if you were able to bottle your aroma, you could sell it under the name “Jolly Green Giant Flop Sweat”.

Maybe I should consider trading chores with my wife. She despises cleaning the shower and I’d be glad to tackle a little soap scum if it gets me out of mowing. Although I have to consider the disapproving glances I’d get from my neighbors when they see my lovely wife fighting with the mower. My manliness quotient would definitely take a hit.

Aw, what do I care, my manliness gauge has been on ‘E’ since 1999. Get to mowing, woman!

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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.

John Q. Reporterson: “Harry Potter Fever is sweeping the nation and the only cure is a large popcorn!”

There are plenty of folks that love to scoff at the Harry Potter and Star Wars-type freaks that head to the theater in wizardry and intergalactic get-ups to celebrate the release of their own personal pop culture religion. Not me though. I say, if there’s an extra-curricular activity that makes you happy, go for it. (As long as it’s legal and no animals were harmed in the making of said activity).

There is so much sadness in the world, if dressing up in a cape and waving a wand at the big screen brings a smile to your face, and you are willing to endure a Wedgie Threat: Level Three at all times, more power to you.

Despite fan worship, from Star Wars to Twilight to Harry Potter, every billion-dollar movie franchise has had its ups-and-downs. But usually it isn’t until the 25^th anniversary DVD collection that we learn the wacky crap that nearly happened, like the original idea of casting Jack Nicholson as Han Solo in Star Wars. (It’s true!)

But today you’re in for a treat. While the final Harry Potter debuted on the big screen less than a week ago, GeneralTomfoolery.com has the dirt on the failed proposed storylines that nearly ruined the franchise.

So, without further ado…

Top 10 Failed Harry Potter Movie Storylines

10. Harry Potter grows into an angsty, smartass teenager.

9. In an attempt to increase product placement dollars, the character of Hermione flunks out of Hogwarts and gets a job at Rent-A-Center with two bumbling clerks played by Hulk Hogan and Troy Aikman.

8. 66-year-old Helen Mirren is so revered as an actress in the United Kingdom, they cast her to play both male twins, Fred and George Weasley.

7. Harry goes on a 13 minute racist rant. Sure, he only bad-mouths ‘Muggles,’ but it’s pretty obvious who he’s really talking about. Disgusting.

6. Instead of broomsticks, Quidditch is played in those miniature Shriner parade cars.

5. In a move the director calls ‘abstract art’, the final Harry Potter film turns out to be a shot-for-shot remake of the 1978 movie musical “The Wiz”.

4. Harry Potter goes all Scooby Doo with the ending of the final movie, as Harry pulls off the evil Lord Voldemort’s mask to reveal Old Man Crothers, the owner of the abandoned lumber yard down the street.

3. Butterbeer, the innocent beverage of the Harry Potter world, turns out to be more addictive than meth. Ron Weasley becomes a junkie and kills three hookers and a wood nymph.

2. Severus Snape quits wizardry to fulfill his lifelong dream of opening a salon called “Snape’s Snips”.

1. Movie producers decide spell-casting has gotten too wordy, so every spell is dumbed-down and can be cast by simply saying “zap”.

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 awesome if you did.

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 755^th 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.

I’ve seen documentaries that reveal how preservative-laden our produce is, but I’ve been eating it anyway, hoping all those chemicals might alter my cells and turn me into a cool super hero or something. But since I still can’t fly and the only “super power” I’ve acquired is the ability to develop a rapid heartbeat in a single bound, I decided to grow my own veggies.

My wife and I went to the store to get everything we needed for our garden box. I was pretty excited until we made our first purchase: dirt.

Let me give you a moment to process the concept of “buying dirt.”

My wife explained to me, this wasn’t “just dirt”, it was “special dirt” that makes things grow. I argued our current “backyard dirt” was doing a bang-up job raising a bumper crop of dandelions, but she wasn’t amused.

The next stop was the seed stand. I was grabbing everything in sight (all while childishly giggling at the “Burpee” brand name) until my wife derailed my Fun Train with some Gardening 101.

“No, we can’t grow those, they need shade.”

“We don’t have the space for watermelons.”

“We’re not growing an apple tree in the middle of the garden!”

I couldn’t understand why all the most fun stuff to eat was the biggest pain in the butt to grow. I thought all you had to do was slap some seeds in the ground, keep the dog from doing his business on the green beans, and BOOM – it’s Salad Shooter time. How hard can it be? Our store-bought potatoes are growing vines out the wazoo, and they’re sitting in a dark kitchen cabinet next to the Cheerios.

To save her the headaches of my incessant whining, I wisely let my wife take over the garden. She’s currently growing tomatoes, squash and other boring vegetables that aren’t 600 pound pumpkins, as I requested. I suppose it’s neat to enjoy a meal you cultivated with your bare hands, but I’m just too lazy. It’s like ordering a really good stir fry at a restaurant… then waiting three months for dinner.

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I don’t know if you saw the coverage on Sunday of the U.S. Open Golf Tournament. Personally, I didn’t because I was doing one of the 87 million things in this world that are more fun than watching golf. Included on that list are activities like de-clogging the shower drain or sifting through my dog’s feces to check for worms.

If you’re like me and you missed the broadcast, let me fill you in on the scandal. (“GASP! There was a scandal?!”) That’s right, Mr. Parenthetical, there was a scandalous scandal.

NBC began the U.S. Open coverage with a syrupy, patriotic montage of children reciting the Pledge of Allegiance while showing flags and soldiers and other heart-stirring footage. But wait, something was missing. Let’s see if you can spot it. Here is a really crummy copy of the broadcast from our favorite copyright infringer, YouTube.

You don’t have to be National Artifact Expert Nicolas Cage to recognize what’s missing from the iconic American pledge. They said “one nation” but skipped the “under God, indivisible” part. Whoops!

So, was it a mistake? No. NBC has apologized and says it was a “bad decision” made by a “small group of people.”

Now look what you’ve done, NBC, you’ve got a bunch of people in a tizzy about it, burning flocks of peacocks in effigy and such. Personally, the omission doesn’t disrupt my life in the slightest. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s pretty stupid, but not necessarily because they cut out “God,” mostly because they goofed with the words of a very well-known pledge. I don’t know much, but I know wording tends to be one of the more structurally necessary parts of any specific pledge.

Besides, the whole point of including a syrupy Pledge of Allegiance montage is to give the red-blooded American-types a fix of their delicious flaggy-cocaine, which they so desperately need. Why would you cut that flag-cocaine with liberal-left-wing-baking-soda? They’ll never buy from you again!

(Is everyone still with me after that intricate drug-patriotism analogy? I know, it was a rough ride for me too.)

A lot of people are upset about this – and that’s why I think it’s so ripe for parody! So, whether you agree with editing out “under God”, or think it’s an affront to our nation’s founding fathers, or land somewhere directly in the middle (like me), you should always be able to find humor in every part of life.

So, I humbly present this Top 10 Tuesday, along with the words my father so often said to me when I started whining about something: “Hey, it could have been worse…”

Top 10 Ways NBC Could Have Made the Pledge More Offensive

10. Include the “under God” part, but punch a baby at the end of the pledge.

9. Tiger Woods spends the entire pledge impregnating no less than seven audience members.

8. Halfway through the pledge the announcer interrupts with, “Ladies and gentlemen, now performing their hit song from ‘Beverly Hills Cop’, it’s The Pointer Sisters with ‘The Neutron Dance’!”

7. The kids reciting the pledge suddenly stop and yell, “Booooring! Mom, can I go play ‘Modern Warfare’ on Xbox and blast some foreigners instead?”

6. Three words: Bible Eating Contest!

5. A profanity-laced Pledge of Allegiance delivered by a man dressed as both Jesus and Captain America.

4. Directly following the pledge, Phil Mickelson takes his first swing with his brand new club — which is red, white and blue and shaped like a crucifix. And he sets it on fire before every swing. And then he spits on it to put out the flames.

3. Thanks to a time machine, the real George Washington is brought to 2011 to personally read the pledge, only to have the announcer spend the next 25 minutes ranting about his body odor.

2. Preempting the entire broadcast with a 12 hour marathon of Katherine Heigl rom-coms.

1. This text scrolling at the bottom of the screen: “All American flags in this footage were personally sewn by Fidel Castro.”

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