This weekend was my birthday, and I turned 36. I only feel that old because of the events that follow. This is an article I wrote just a month or so after Christmas. It’s my birthday, so I get to ‘call it in’ this week. Sue me, fuck-o. This past Christmas, Santa delivered unto me the realization that I was no longer young.  At over 30 years old, I can no longer trust myself, I constantly use the phrase “when I was your age”, and I find I am having some pain in my knees and elbows from… get this… sitting down.  RELAXING now hurts me. All of this would have gone totally and completely unnoticed if it weren’t for one gift.  One gift out of many others that not only fended off old age, but laughed in its ugly, wrinkled face.  I am a man-child, and friends and family buy gifts for me accordingly.  I received 3 video games, a robot dog that dry-humps your leg, a PEZ-like candy dispenser that “poops” out it’s candy, a Jack Skellington pillow and belt buckle (the pillow and belt buckle are two separate items… lying on a metal belt buckle is uncomfortable.  Ask any gay cowboy that you may know) and other age-inappropriate gifts.  It only took one present to overcome all of these, though… This Christmas, someone bought me a fucking tie.  I had always assumed that, by not having any mewling little human larvae, I would avoid the tie as a gift, so it came as a complete surprise to me… but once the realization settled in, I noticed my head full of grey hair, the aches and pains that accompany old age (when you have to debate whether or not it’s ‘worth it’ to bend down to tie your shoes, or if you should wait it out until the other shoelace comes undone or until you see some money on the ground… you’re old).  I’m not shopping for Depends, looking for real estate in Florida, or eating shit tons of Tapioca pudding or anything yet… but I got a fucking tie as a gift.  How far could I be from all of that other stuff?  Then I realized the other Christmas aging sign…  gift cards.  If you get more than 3-4 gift cards for Christmas, either you’re a complete asshole that people feel obligated to get gifts for (you’re thinking of your boss right now, aren’t you?), or you’re old.  If the ratio of gifts to gift cards exceeds 1:1, then you’re most likely both.

Among the gifts I received was a $50.00 American Express Gift Card from a close friend.  The next time I see this close friend of mine, I will be repeatedly punching him in the ball bag… while wearing brass knuckles.  The kind that have those giant, pointed spikes on them.  Assuming, of course, I can buy the brass knuckles using this fucking card.  It would have been more to the point if he had just bought me a butt plug and handed it to me with a gift tag that read “go fuck yourself”.  He’s more subtle than I, though, but I suppose it all amounts to the same message.  Still… the butt plug would be at least useable.  Essentially, I tried to purchase something via my favorite one-stop-shopping website.  The only problem with that was that you could only use one card… which is fine, as long as I keep my purchase under $50.00… so I figured I would outsmart the system… laugh in the face of my soulless corporate oppressors… I would just buy a gift certificate from the site for 50 bucks.  Freedom isn’t free!  Apparently, it costs about one dollar… the system rejected me, and I did a quick search online in order to find some answers.  The most likely cause: the site I was buying the gift certificate from “holds” a dollar of your gift card to check to see if it’s a valid card.  So I tried again, and bought a card for $49.00.  Corporate Oppressors: 2… Sad, wrinkled, tie-wearing old man with knee pain: 0.  So, I did the only logical thing I could do.  I gave up.  Fast forward a few days, and I see something online that I want from a different website.  It costs 48.99, and shipping is free…  I type in my information, and everything gets accepted.  It worked!  Sure… it was a bit painful to use… but it’s all worth it in the <You have 1 unread email>… motherFUCKER!  It turns out that my card is declined… because the address doesn’t “match” what is on the card.  It’s a GIFT CARD (I exclaim to myself.  Another old-man trait)… how could it have an address!?!?  So I go online, and I can see the remaining balance (which is about a dollar now), but that’s it.  I read the FAQs on the American Express website, and nowhere does this problem come up.  I call up customer service, yell at the automated phone system for 5 minutes (I’m pretty sure I made the computer cry little zeros and ones), and finally spoke to a customer service representative.  That’s fancy talk for “person who is practically inaudible and who’s native language is, invariably, not English (Don’t get me wrong… I’m not the typical Xenophobic American… but when speaking is basically your only job… maybe you should learn the language for the people you’re speaking to).   He proceeds to tell me how wonderful the card actually is (my experience would lean more towards being sodomized with a chainsaw), and then tells me that I have to register the card with my address.  This would be something to add in the TWO PAGE (double sided) document that comes with the card… or maybe mentioned somewhere on your website.  Go ahead and use small print… I can compromise.  Or, maybe… just maybe… GIANT fucking letters in bold on the god damned gift card.  I am then told that, because the card was declined, I will have to wait 48+ hours until the money is available on the card again.  I am currently looking for a butt plug that costs less that $50.00… shipping to my friend’s house included.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had a dog.  When I was very young, we had Newfoundlands,  and then one day (for Mother’s Day), my mom got a “Cockapoo”.  The irony that this was a female dog tickled me all kinds of pink.  I mean… the words “Cock” and “Poo” are right fucking there… how can a teenage boy not love this dog?  At any rate, this was the first “mixed” dog we had ever owned, and she was awesome. At the same time, we had another Newfoundland… a male.  This is when I developed my love for small, female, mixed breeds.  Don’t get me wrong… I loved that Newf… but although I loved that dog very much, I knew that when I got older, I would personally never own one.  There are three rules I have for dogs, and this dog violated all three.  First off, I saw Cujo when I was a kid.  For those that have never seen Cujo, it’s a movie about a dog that gets bitten by a rabid squirrel and then fucks everyone’s shit up.  Rule #1 on my short list:  if my dog gets rabies, it must not be able to kill me.  Currently, I have a mixed dog… a Chihuahua and rat terrier mix.  If this dog got rabies, I would not be afraid to grab the dog to protect my girlfriend.  In fact… I would not be afraid to cuddle with this dog.  She’s like… 10 pounds!  I wouldn’t be afraid of this dog if she had rabies, a knife, and a flaming fucking skull.  The dog is just not scary.  Rule #2 is slobber.  Newfoundlands have a never-ending supply, and gravity+slobber is a terrible combination.  Add to that the occasional head shake, and you’re balls deep in the stuff.  One day, while sitting with my brother and father enjoying a nice cup of coffee, the dog came in and gave us a head shake.  We saw the long, white trail of saliva go up… but we never saw it land.  We looked for a bit, but failed to find it… as my father went to take a sip out of his coffee mug a few minutes later, my brother raised an interesting question.  “Does slobber float, or does it sink right to the bottom?” he asked.  My father, unconvinced that he had an answer for this question, wisely dumped the mug into the sink.  Anytime the dog came near him afterward, he would make an effort to place one hand over his mug.  Rule #3 that this dog broke is the only one you can be 100% sure of them breaking when they are still puppies.  No male dogs.  I will only ever own female dogs.  It’s not because females are nicer or anything… in fact, if you’re getting bitten by a dog, you’re probably getting bitten by a female dog… it’s why we call them “bitches”.  The reason is actually dog dick.  One of the most disturbing things you’ll ever see is a dog with a boner.  There’s just nothing more uncomfortable than playing with a dog or petting him (god forbid rubbing its belly!) and him sporting wood suddenly.   Where do you look?  If you stop looking at the dog, you’re immature… but keep looking at the dog, and you’re some kind of dog-dick-craving pervert.  WHERE DO YOU FUCKING LOOK?  It’s like talking to someone with a lazy eye or when your friend’s kid comes running out into the living room naked.  I keep a metal spoon in my pocket so if any of these things happen, I can just tear my eyes from their sockets and avoid any discomfort… you know… except for the missing eyes.

Speaking of dog-dick, there is another reason (although really, it’s the same reason) to not get a male dog.  If you’ve got kids and a male dog… your kid is going to get humped.  It could be the kid’s butt, face, neck, arm, or leg… but that kid is getting humped at some point.  I learned this rule while playing a board game on the floor with my cousin, and watching my Newfound start dry-humping him from behind.  If you’ve violated rule #1 as well as #3, there’s not a fucking thing you or that kid is going to be able to do about it.  When a Newfoundland wants to fuck you… guess what?  You’re getting good and fucked!

To sum up:  No male dogs, no slobbering dogs, and no large dogs.  Also… put some fucking pants on your kids.  It’s making me uncomfortable!

Dear Percy:

As you are well aware, 5 months ago, I was released from prison after 10 long years.  While being cellmates was fun at times, there are certain things I may have done that could be construed as being out of line.  I have recently entered into AA, and am on step 9, which is the main reason for this letter.  I am a flawed person, for certain… although I am taking the right steps to change this, and in the process, I have realized some of the things I have done may have hurt you in the past. When I purchased you from the Black Dragon Kings during your first month, it was honestly for the right reasons.  As we would be cellmates, and you seemed so ill-equipped to defend yourself at only 120lbs, I really did feel like I was saving your life.  That first night, though, when I slapped you repeatedly for looking me in the eyes while you were forced to fellate me… I know that I did that out of anger towards myself.  Granted, you did technically owe me your life… but we all owe our lives to the Lord, and He tells me it is wrong to raise my hand to my brother.  He’s hazy about the fellatio thing, though… is that technically lying with another man?  Clinton said it wasn’t even sex.  I think we’re in the clear there.  I have asked God’s forgiveness, however, for the times I did brutally sodomize you.  I could have at least put the lid down on the toilet… but if you saw your face at being raped and nearly drown… shit, that was funny!  Anyway… what I’m saying is that I have found Jesus now, and would not do something like that again, and feel just awful about the whole thing.  Also… do you remember when the Black Dragon Kings raped and beat you in the showers, leaving you a broken, bloody mess?  I sort of “greenlit” that whole thing.  See… I was looking for my titty magazine that I kept under my mattress, and when it wasn’t there, I naturally assumed you had taken it, so I asked them to do me a favor.  I know it was horrible for you, but I think you’ll appreciate the humor in this… it turns out I lent the magazine out to Marcus, and totally forgot!  Holy shit… we all laughed about that for days while your mangled body was recovering in the infirmary… but seriously, I am really sorry about it.  I probably should have just asked you about it, but I have this really short temper that comes from my mother.  Oh, shit… I totally forgot your mother just hung herself 2 weeks ago.  I can’t help but feel it may have had something to do with the letter I sent her, detailing the terrible things I’ve done to her son in the past year, but I can’t go blaming myself for someone else’s obvious mental instabilities.  I still find it odd that you would get thrown into the same prison I was in for something like screwing up your tax form.  Especially when you had someone else do your taxes!  I would think they would be in prison… especially since they got all the money from it.  Weird.  It’s like you can’t get a fucking break lately!

I also made some pretty mean jokes at your expense.  I used to call you names like “Doodie Breath” behind your back, which is really mean enough by itself, and would be cause enough for a letter like this.  Sticking your toothbrush up my ass every morning and never telling you until now, though… in hindsight (no pun!), it was childish and I feel terrible about it, and I apologize.

Moving on to updates:  You won’t believe this, but AA has brought such good things into my life.  I have found the Lord, of course, but that aside, I won 16 million dollars in the lottery 2 weeks ago!  I’m getting married in November… which brings me to the 2^nd reason I wrote this letter.  Look… OK… this is going to be tough on me.  I hope you sympathize with me about how difficult this is for me to tell you.  When I left prison, I went right back to doing what I was doing before prison (until God came into my life and saved me!).  I went over to see this wife of yours you were always telling me about.  That wrinkled up, tear-stained photo you keep does not do her justice!  As for the daughter you never met, let me assure you… you did right!  She’s a beautiful little baby…  I’ve enclosed a picture of me holding her with this letter.  Anyway… this is just AWKWARD, man… we kind of hit it off.  At first, I was just selling her (and your teenage sister) drugs, but pretty soon, she ran out of money, and… well.  You know how I roll!  After the third time, though… it was different.  I was in love!  We both entered the program (AA) and are putting that our old lives behind us.  Your sister’s dead, though.  She went tits up after some bad heroin that I sold to her… but she’s with Jesus now, and it was the main catalyst that got me and your (soon to be ex-) wife into rehab so in the grand scheme of things…  Anyway, I should get going.  More letters to write!