Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Put The GD Phone Down and Enjoy Your F*cking Vacation

It seems my entire summer has been nothing but getting barraged by vacation posts on my social media. “Oh, look, so and so is on vacation. Here’s another 30 pictures and five check ins from Tuesday. Oh man, I hope there’s pictures of food in this collection!”

enjoy your vacation
Be more like her.

Guys, we need to have some sort of summit, some kind of “code” where we reign in all this “Look social media!1! I’m on vacation!1!” Here’s what I propose as I decide if I should add this to any of my #VoteForKev2020 platforms.
1)      No more than 5 pics per day. And all 5 shots have to be different, not just slightly different poses. Exception; unless you’re a hot chick in a bikini. In which case, this is likely the only reason I keep you as a FB friend. We both know the deal here.
2)      Only 1 shot of the sunrise or sunset. You can’t have both. What are you doing up so early on vacation anyway?
3)      No more than 5 check ins per week. Plan your attention whoring carefully.
4)      Absolutely no video. Few care to see pictures of your child on the Teacups, let alone video. In fact, you could post a video of an entirely different child on the Teacups, and most of us wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
5)      Absolutely no food porn. Can we just call a halt to this banal practice anyway? I can’t tell you how many bullshit food porn pics have been littering my feed all summer. To be quite honest, no one really fucking cares. Is your ego really that inflated that you think, “I’m am going to post this nondescript picture of what appears to be Michelob Ultra in a glass along side a plate of food that looks like it could be literally from the chicken wing place two blocks away from me.” 
Pop quiz, hotshot

The above is a picture of
1) The finest pizza with expensive beer from a villa in Italy
2) The world famous boardwalk pizza and local craft brew
3) The Monday Night Special from the shitty sports bar

Well, what do you think?

Every time I see something like the above pizza picture, I go to your house and pee somewhere. Pool, garden, doorknob, bed (both dog and human), car door handle, mailbox. I feel no guilt, you brought this on yourself.

I myself abide by the same rules. To wit, this is the first year for Theory Pup 2.0 on the beach. As this is a momentous occasion, it’s only a momentous occasion for a small amount of people. I did shoot a video of his first steps on the beach and brush with the ocean, but that really means something to just me. I kept it and didn’t post it. And since we’re all being honest here, I will tell you I took 64 pictures total. Of those, TP2 was in 58 of them. And while most certainly yes, he was rocking the dorbs, you want to know how many pics I posted? None. Zip. Zero. Nada. I value and appreciate my FB friends that much that I don’t want to waste their time on videos they won’t watch or pics they won’t look at, just long ass blogs they won’t read.

Vacations generally cost a lot of money because they are worth it. Hotels and beach houses are generally expensive to rent because part of the deal is the peace of mind.  You don’t sit around thinking of what picture to hang where or what color to paint the garage door or any other of the subliminal messages those bastards at Lowes and Home Depot implant. You don’t worry about anything because generally, there is nothing to worry about at the hotel/beach house.Yes, there may not be a monetary return on investment, but what you can get out of them is often worth it if you know what you're doing. And that's why you're here because I know what I'm doing. For the record, give me an old school, “back in the day” beach house any day. No, really, please somebody just give me one of those. HMU @ifyouseekev Until that beach house pops up, let’s get back on point. What’s the point of getting away from it all if you take everything with you? You know what I’m talking about; this wonderful device we all use called “the phone.” You finally get there, and you stare at your phone like you do every other damn day? That makes no sense to me.

"I wonder what the weather on the beach is supposed to be like today. I better check."

What is that conversation like when you return to work on Monday?
“Hey, Dick, how was your vacation last week?”
“Hi, Harry, thanks for asking! It was great! We went to the beach and I posted 50 photos a day! Then we went to the boards, and I stared my phone. We ate great dinners while I took pictures and stared at my phone. We ate ice cream and I stared at my phone. I even managed to stare at my phone while we rode roller coasters!”
“Wow, that sounds really awesome! Well, welcome back and enjoy staring at your computer screen for the next 8 hours, dick.”

On vacation, I consciously unplugged, and you know what? It was fucking glorious. I didn’t bring my PC. Left the work phone at home and never checked my work communications once and didn't feel a damn shred of guilt about it. My constituents can go a week without me. I mean, c’mon, when 45 takes his weekly 4-day vacations, you think he has his work phone, or even “the football?” No, he doesn’t, so I see no need for any of us to do any different. I used my phone sparingly. For example; running tracker & music, directions, Yelp to find new places and reviews, weather, tide chart. Maybe FB once a day. I didn’t drunk text anybody. I didn’t check my usual sports sites, besides, what other meaningful sports are in season now beyond NASCAR and UFC? I didn’t check my usual newsites. And you know what I missed? You know what happened?

Nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, for the second time this year, I find myself coming back to a Del Amitri song:

And nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all
The needle returns to the start of the song
And we all sing along like before

You know it’s possible to go to the beach and not bring your phone? I know, right, pretty freaking mind-blowing. I’m so old school, I brought these things called books and this ancient technology called an “iPod.” Not “iPad” but “iPod.” King Tut had one. Go Google it. My mind boggles when people stare at their phones all day on the beach. Yet they do, in scary, big numbers. Doesn’t matter the age, everyone is doing it. And it got me wondering, what’s the point here? Why do you pack a bag, towel, umbrella, food and drink, set yourself up, then stare at your phone the whole time? What’s the endgame here? You can just do that shit at home. Your phone is with you all the time, the beach isn’t. What am I missing here? I could have been sitting on that beach, phasing in and out of unconsciousness (naps, not blackouts) with my iPod on. A tsunami warning could go out, I could miss it and wake up to an empty ass beach with a huge wave coming at me all Rogue One style. Whoops, SPOILER ALERT! Damn it. Sorry. Anyway, I’d just look at that wave with Zac Brown playing in my ears and enjoy my last few minutes of peace. And some chicken fried.

OK, I can hear you naysayers out there, asking, “But, Kev, what if they were actually not screwing around on their phones? What if they actually were reading?” That’s a fair question, and here’s my common sense answer; because I can tell. So, let’s see, when they are constantly tap tap tapping on their screen. When they are lying on their back, neck craned to the left, where their hand is holding the phone. Lying on their stomach, creating a mountain around their phone with their t-shirt so they can see the screen, robbing themselves of the beach and ocean. Taking selfies, Twittering or Twattering or whatever it’s called, checking in, everything from the beach but not actually being on the beach.

Every morning, I would watch this family of 3, a mom and two teen aged daughters, walking to the beach. And without fail every time, the mom was eyes ahead on the prize of the beach, while her two kids mindlessly had their necks craned at 45 degrees so they could stare into their phone.
One day I even saw another teen girl texting while pedaling her bike next to a busy road. Is this where we’re really heading? Using this marvelous thing called a phone to not -oh I don’t know-actually talk to people? Anyone remember when the big threat was people just merely talking on their phone? Now it’s people texting while driving, even though handsfree devices are far less dorkly than previous models. Even when every new car comes with BlueTooth. When I saw this girl texting while on her bike, I had half a mind to run across the street and barrel into her just to teach her a valuable lesson. Alas, I had already run ½ mile in ten minutes before gassing out and just didn’t have the energy. She probably could have beaten me up.

And yes, I know this is Old Man Theory running out into his yard wearing tall white socks, screaming at the clouds and telling those durn kids to turn down their infernal music. I get kids today never not had phones. They’ve probably never bought a physical cd or physical book. Nope, all that stuff today comes magically in the air to your phone. And it stays there. And it gets lost there.

Everyone has their place; their place that heals them, inspires them, soothes them, encourages them. For me, that is the beach. So why would I bring anything to distract me from that? I have a playlist on my iPod called SummerSongs. (Yes, there’s no space in there, and no, I haven’t figured out how to correct it.) And it’s literally hundreds of songs that are about summer, remind me of summer, or were big hit songs in the summers of my current youth.

Some days, I would put my iPod on and just listen to all those songs. Two things would happen. 1) If it was an older song, memories of past summers would come rushing in, much like the tide. Where I was when I heard this song, who I was with, beach visits from the past. 2) Or if it was another song, I would find myself making new memories to it. That kid in the green shorts with matching skim board that always went ass up when he hit the wave. Those 4 girls who were talking about guys they were stalking or “ruin.” The stand up paddle boarders paddling by. Embedding memories in these songs so the next time I heard them, these moments would come back. Pleasant time bombs.

I would venture out into the ocean. Without the books or iPod of course, because that would be stupid. I would wade so far out, the lifeguards wouldn’t whistle me in, because they knew I could fight any shark dumb enough to be coming by. My eyes saw it like this; for 180 degrees, from my left to my right was nothing but me and the ocean. I could see no one else. Just me and the ocean, my ocean. The ocean I can still never make myself pee in. The sun beating a trail down on the waves tracing back to me. A million tiny suns shining back in the waves. Occasionally, dolphins (the fish, not the football players, because that would be kind of weird) would breach way out in front of me. And this was it. I hit my Zen. And




Up to me and what’s left of my brain cells to somehow hit the pause button and remember this scene, this feeling. I didn’t have to post anything about it. I didn’t have to check in about it. It was just me and my ocean. This would have to hold me for another 51 weeks. So, soak it all in. I was able to hit this Zen moment a few more times on the beach. Each time trying to consciously be in the moment. We don’t remember the moments we lifelessly stare into our phones, we remember moments like this.

There were times on that beach where I was just trying to hit the pause button. I don’t think we need the KT Bureau of BS statistics to tell us time flies much faster on vacations. I believe the variant to be at 1.3. So when you get those moments where you have Zen or are able to live in the moment, do it. Don’t take pictures or blab about it on ChatterGram or Friendster or wherever people are jerking off these days. Appreciate where you are and hold onto it for as long as you can. There are actual non KT Bureau of BS Statistics that show people who constantly take pics with their phone remember far less than those who try to be present in the moment.

Top; Tiger Woods teeing off 2002, bottom Tiger Woods teeing off 2018. Progress?

In case you didn't get that joke.
It doesn’t matter where your Zen is. It could be a golf course in Ireland. Setting up camp in the forest. An iceberg in Alaska. (Yea, I don’t get that one, either.) The point here is, find that place and go to it. With my favorite kind of abandon; reckless abandon. Go to it as often as you can. Unapologetically. And when you get there, be there. Put the phone away. It’s just you and your Zen here, kid. No phone can capture that. Only you can. And while we’re at it, keep an eye out for forest fires, because that’s kinda your responsibility now too, champ. Only you…

I also hit these Zen moments while running, of all things. Yes, longtime readers who haven’t yet got quite tired of my juvenile humor know I absolutely detest running. I am only doing this because I have the stupid Warrior Dash coming. But running at the beach in the morning is a whole different animal. I have a running tracker, and music to help me as I huff and puff like an asthmatic Jabba the Hutt. The music I “use” for such occasions is a mix of aggressive, heavier type music, along with a few from my SummerSongs playlist. And I found as those summer songs hit, I was taking more of the sights in. The umbrellas gently moving on the beach, the hotel that somehow had palm trees on some on the balconies, trying to look studly and unfatigued as I ran past the boardwalk webcam that I often look at. Again, the next time I hear those songs, I will recall those scenes in slow motion. Because that was pretty much the way it felt like I was running.

Music is funny that way, you can hear a song you’ve heard before, but when at the right time and right environment, it can capture a memory you want to hold on to. For example, I heard this Michael Franti song while I was eating breakfast outside on Monday morning with a Crabby Mary. The Crabby Mary of course being the drink and not anybody I may have been with. So, of course, I bought this album (people still do buy music) and put it on my iPod. (OK, I might be alone in that behavior.) It will always remind me of this -and really, who has good memories of any Monday morning?- breakfast and the overwhelming gratitude that I was even able to be in this space and time. And that the Visa gift card miraculously didn’t bounce, or it would have been another morning run.

It was on these runs that this blog started taking form. As I sluggishly made my way, I literally see hundreds of people of all ages actively ignoring the beach and the life on the boardwalk to mindlessly stare into their phones. They didn’t smell the popcorn and cotton candy, nor hear the seagulls or waves. If I had the other half of my mind, I’d recklessly careen into them like I am a movie getaway car driving through boxes in an alley. I just couldn’t get away very fast. Plus, those assholes would quickly post photos of me running away. Lousy social media.

And yes, it’s not lost on me that I use a lot of these very same social medias to pimp this blog. I know, it’s lazy. I know it’s the nature of the beast. But at least I am trying to get some good, sound advice out there. And, trust me, this is all good shit. It’s also not lost on me that as I write this first draft (and let’s face it, I’m just gonna run it 95% the way it is) that I have been staring at a screen for 154 minutes now on a beautiful Sunday when I could be reading, hammocking, walking Pup 2.0. Instead, here I am, spouting sound common sense that will largely be ignored. I have faith that one day my work will be discovered and feted. I see a liberal and forward thinking college naming a wing after me.

Let me end this life lesson. If you must surf the Web while on the beach, reading this blog is acceptable. In fact, you are encouraged to let others read it, too. Afterwards, I am sure they will put their phones down and actually enjoy the waves. And if someone actually is reading this blog while on the beach, send me a picture, and I will donate some money to the charity of your choosing. (See, that’s how you use education and social media for good.)

Now put the phone down.

DVD Extra
Bonus scene with commentary

For the most astute of you, you probably notice there has been an unexplained gap from Theory Pup 1 and this New Guy, Theory Pup 2. Theory Pup 1, was lost, so, so suddenly last fall. I thought there was more time. It’s nothing that fits this humor blog, other than I truly miss him every day. Every fucking day. But TP2 is doing a really good job at plugging this dog sized hole in my heart. I mean, not enough to get a tattoo, but you never know. I don’t believe in signs. But the following is true.

As I arrived on the beach on Saturday, the first day of this illustrious vacation, I was rifling through my shorts, hoping for 20s, 50s or something even greater. I fumbled through a few old receipts. And I found a yellow square of paper, a Post it. And on that small yellow square of paper was a series of questions I was going to ask the doctor who evaluated TP1. Ultimately, they were not needed to be asked. TP1 was gone so shortly thereafter. (And yes, this opens me up for how often I wash my clothes, so fire away, fucktards.)

So here I am, at the very same beach TP1 quite possibly had the last, best time of his life. On those shores, in that sand, in front of that ocean, he found his inner pup. Acting, dancing far younger than his 13 years. Squirrel speed. Energy boundless. A part of me, a very big part of me, was dreading this "Yappy Hour." TP2 was proving to be stubborn, but to be fair, he was so much younger, by years, than the first time I brought TP1 down.  TP2 was being a very good boy, but still a bit of a dickhead.

The last day of Yappy Hour, Friday, I held that little yellow square tightly in my hand, TP2 in my other hand. I knew what I had to do. In the Grand Scheme of Things, it was full circle. Again, I don’t believe in signs. But it seemed to make all the sense in the world. As I was walking TP2 along the tide- a struggle in itself- I bent down like a Ninja and placed the small yellow paper into the ocean. The tide knew what to do with the rest. I watched it disappear into the ocean, knowing TP1 would never disappear from my heart. Not now, not ever. I miss you Big Guy, you are a great dog.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

#VoteForKev2020; Stances, Platforms and Ideas Volume 1

A thought occurred to me at my town’s recent 4th of July parade. There I was, 6 deep into my 30 pack, when a local politician paraded by. “Shit! It’s, like 2018! There’s an election in 2 years! And I’m running! I better kill these last 24 and get to work!” 
"America! Fuck Yeah!"

I’m starting to put together some of my campaign platforms; the issues that are important to me, as well as you. High level strategizing for sure. These are some of the ideas and stances I am working on. This of course isn’t everything, but it gives the thinking voter an idea of what kind of President you can expect me to be.

All political offices will now have an ethics clause. I know, how come this isn’t already a thing, right? If we can hold our athletes and celebrities to some sort of standard, why can’t we enforce this for elected officials? Makes sense. If a politician is found in violation of such clause (after due process through Judge Judy. She squares shit away in 30 minutes.), the offender is immediately relieved of his (and let’s face it, it’s probably a dude, anyway) position. And fuck these assholes trying to hide their criminal records, everyone is going to be transparent. To further reinforce this ethics clause, I am thinking of having the opposing political party insert the candidate of their choosing. Kinda fleshing this one out a bit for shenanigans, but that’s a pretty good twist, right? Speaking of political office…

Did you know Congress has off the entire month of August? Did you know the House of Representatives averages 138 “legislative days?” Those workhorses over at the Senate average a mean 162 days a year? By way of reality check, let’s just say the average American works 48 five-day weeks. Quick math on my phone tells me that’s 240 days. So how do we expect to get anything done when the decision makers work almost 100 less days? And yes, to be fair, there is some play in those numbers, click the hyper to read more. They’re all going to work more.  I can’t do all the work around here. And in fact, I won’t be doing all the work around here.  I will be very open during my campaign and say I will be taking nights, weekends, holidays and one floating hangover holiday per month off. I think that’s fair, and I’ll occasionally check email and the White House GroupMes. Don’t worry, this is when my VP will be working. You guys will be in good hands if the shit hits the fan on the weekend. You’re welcome, America.

"Ha! You get my vote over my dead body, Kev."
"That's OK. I can wait."
Two-pronged attack on smokers. It boggles my mind that in the year 2018, people are still smoking. Have we not got all the facts that smoking kills? And yet it feels like I am seeing more people smoking these days. (Don’t even get me started on the nonsense that is vaping.) While I suppose we should all be rooting for cancer to thin the herd here, it’s not happening fast enough. And here is where smokers piss me off even more; they’re GD litterbugs. It seems every genius I see sucking a butt takes that one last, glorious drag, then angrily flicks the butt like it ran over their mother. E-fucking-nough here. It’s not bad enough you poison your lungs, but you poison mine, then poison the Earth? How much of a flaming dickbag can one be? I will do everything to increase the public knowledge of how deadly this habit can be. I will raise tobacco taxes, with the revenue going to increased trash pickup and recycling programs. You’re welcome, America.

Dogs in every house. In fact, I plan to enact tax breaks for people who have dogs. More so if they are rescues. Everyone knows dogs make life better, we don’t need the Kevolution Theory Bureau of BS Statistics to tell us that. To fund this tax break, I plan to ax children. No, wait, I meant to say tax children, my bad. I don’t know why anyone hasn’t thought of this before. Kids are like, kinda free. You pay taxes on every damn thing else, so pay a few bucks for your precious snowflake that will only use up more of precious Mother Earth’s already limited sources. I may be persuaded to give breaks on other pets, too, like cats and hamsters and stuff. But I won’t kid you, I will need to be lobbied on that. Speaking of….
"Face it, the only thing uglier than this bed is your skank boyfriend.. I did you a favor. Good thing you have a coupla extra bucks because of me."

All lobbying will be broadcast on CSPAN. I think I have like 3 damn CSPAN channels now. I know I should watch them, they seem to be broadcasting important things. But CSPAN channels are right after Tru TV. And I usually stop there because I just can’t get enough of those darn Impractical Jokers! Larry!

But seriously, if you’re some sort of PAC or lobbying interest. And you wanna get to me, you are welcome to. It’s just gonna be in front of everyone else, so we can all see your intentions. You should have nothing to hide, big oil, tobacco, NRA, telecom, right? You’re welcome, America.

June 40th is happening. Prepare. #YoureWelcomeAmerica

Cut cancer funding “Kev, you heartless bastard! How could you?” Ok, so hold on, let me clarify this before this gets all fake news and click baity. Cancer’s been around for a million years now, and for the life of me, I don’t know what progress we’ve made, if any. Sure, there are arguments to be made that we should really be addressing prevention and causation as opposed to curing. My point here is conservative numbers proffered by the KT Bureau for BS Statistics notes that approximately 40 kajillion dollars and 42 cents has been raised/funded/donated to cancer research, and what has that got us? Really, I wanna know. So, here’s how this works-

If you’re researching cancer and receiving funds, I just want to see your progress. If you’ve blown through a serious amount of dough and have nothing to show, toss off, wanker, you’re shut down. Instead, those funds will go towards another research outfit, subject to the same evaluation. It’s kinda clear to me we need some new, young eyes on this. These current eggheads in the white coats seem to be doing jack. #YoureWelcomeAmerica

All baseball games end after 5 innings. People are busy and don’t have time for a full nine innings of this bullshit. Also, I will strip it of the bogus “America’s Favorite Pastime.” That moniker now goes to Facebook. #YWA.

Earn those handicap tags. For my real job, (I know; occasionally posting funny ass blogs don’t pay the bills) I travel a great deal. And statistics I have calculated own my own extensive experience reveal 98% of cars that have handicapped plates/tags don’t need them. I can’t tell you how many times (actually I can, it’s like 98% of the time, duh) I see a car with the tag or plate scoot right into the handicapped spot and a very able-bodied driver springs right out. How fucking offensive. If you are driving around with a handicapped plate/tag and don’t need it, you are truly the worst kind of scum on the earth. It’s for people like this I hope karma truly exists and allows me to beat them with a tire iron until until such tag is truly needed. When I’m President, this is an arrestable offense, and civil beatings of these douchebags will be tolerated. #YWA.


You must be licensed to wear a bikini or grape smuggler. This is for your own good, as well as ours. #YWA.

Hard pass.

Hard fail.

I will immediately revoke Pierre McGuire’s visa so he can no longer ruin hockey games. #YWA, but sorry Canada, that’s your problem now. Oh wait, he was born in NJ? GD it, OK table this one, but I will figure it out. 
"Ha! Nice try, Kev. Not today."

Fund musicians. Really. Music is very important to life. And every day, I am truly inspired by how many musicians I see out there, giving us the soundtrack to our miserable lives. Providing the joy, hope, solace, strength, inspiration that pulls us through so much. Yet it’s harder and harder for the truly talented of them to eke out a living in this age of I “Heart” radio, MTV not actually playing any M anymore, low royalties from Apple, Google and streaming sites, less and less venues to play. True musicians need to be fostered and encouraged as they learn and get better. I still buy CDs whenever possible; I’ll download when necessary. I will go to their shows and buy their merch, as long as it’s cool. (It’s a bad feeling when there’s an artist I want to support, and they have shitty merch.) To provide for this, I will cut back on useless government spending from somewhere else. Like the Olympics. Big deal, you won a gold medal in archery or skeleton. Now go find a real job, slacker.

“But, Kev, I don’t really like music.”


Acceptable. You may pass.


Officially recognize “Coconut” Roman Coke as the truly innovative and visionary writer he was. I know only 3 people get this reference, but it’s THE GODDAMNED TRUTH. I would tell you to Google him, but he did such a good disappearing act, there is no web dirt on him. That is truly humanity’s lost. #YWA


Take a wild guess...

Driving under the speed limit is points. More so if you’re in the left hand lane. #YWA


Of course, this is but a sample of all my ideas, stances and platforms. I think you can see my progressive thinking here. For sure there are more difficult issues to tackle like gun control, environmental issues, education, immigration, health insurance. But you guys know this is a humor blog, right? Only so many serious issues I can tackle without some ha-ha’s sprinkled in. Rest assured, I will be working on these for the next two years to earn your vote.

As always, you’re welcome, America.


Tuesday, May 8, 2018

The Kevolution Theory Guide To Living in The Moment and Letting Shit Go

I never thought I would ever write a book. I never even wanted to. My wit and wisdom works in small, measured doses of awesomeness. But today, dear readers, is your lucky day. I have, in fact, written a book. And it’s a book we all need. And since I’m such a righteous dude, I am going to give this book away-FREE even though most of you refuse to ever acknowledge anything I write. (Go figure, I am the only one who can do something nice and still be bitter about it.) So, are you ready for your FREE, and dare I say, life-changing, book? That you can print out at home?

The Kevolution Theory Guide to Living in The Moment and Letting Shit Go

                Chapter 1) Living In the Moment

                                Page 1 Live in the moment

                Chapter 2) Let Shit Go

                                Page 2 Let shit go

                The End

                Be sure to buy the audio book.

Now how do I get this thing on the NY Times best seller list?

Lately, I’ve been getting into some self help books. Some serious and full of New Age hooey, but mostly these two; The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson and You Are a Badass by Jen Sincero.

OK, OK, I know what you’re all thinking. “But Kev, you’re pretty fucking awesome and kind of dreamy, I don’t know that you can get anymore perfect!” Well, you’re right, but also, that is the rub with these self-help books. And by rub, I mean scam.

Also, one of my favorite Del Amitri songs.

There is this God-awful car commercial I see 5 times a night because I’m only watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs. It’s for a hybrid and has these creepy figures from the top of trophies magically come to life and run beside the car. Yea, I don’t get it either, but I am sure the spot cost millions, and teams of people worked to make it look that way. Anywhoo, it ends with all the creepy trophy people saying in unison, “Because better is a never ending quest.” Aside from being one of the most douchy things I’ve ever heard, it is also very, very true. Better is never ending. It always goes on and on. You can always bench 5 pounds more, run a faster mile, earn an extra dollar, etc. That’s the thing about “better”, it’s not quantifiable. There is no end point. And that is the psychology used to sell DVDs, magazine subscriptions and bullshit self-help books.

I am kinda embarrassed to admit I have read more than my fair share of self help books, and generally I find the buy in factor to be rather large. It’s easy for us all to admit we may be lacking in certain areas, and there is a constant voice -or voices-in our head that has a constant dialogue that is nothing but garbage. If we can shut that voice-one book called it “the inner roommate”-up we can largely live in the moment and be present. Which is universally hailed as a good thing.

Here is something I am really embarrassed to admit; I once read an Eckhart Tolle book. OK, more like tried to read an Eckhart Tolle book. It was a hundred pages of dancing around the entire crux (look it up. I’m talking heavy duty topics, so I feel the need to use important words.) of his theory. After tickling your ass with a feather for half the damn book, his big secret is…. SPOILER ALERT….


Huh? That’s it. Like, literally, that’s it? That’s what you’ve been dancing around so long for? That’s the best you can do?  How many people got to that point and threw the book down in disgust and disappointment? The answer? Apparently not too fucking many, because his brand of bull shit made him a bajillion dollars and I’m here in two socks that only match where the holes in the feet are.

Let’s break down his bullshit. YOU ARE GOD.( In his big reveal, he used all caps.) OK….um……no. That makes zero sense. In both the singular and plural use of “you.” If he means the singular ‘you’, then he means me because I am the reader. And I sure ain’t God, because this would be a much better world full of puppies, umbrella drinks and roller coasters. If he means the plural ‘you,’ he means every other knuckle head out there, and we can all see that is clearly not the case. I don’t think you can “God” (“God” being used as a verb here.) by committee. The Avengers couldn’t do it, so us normal folk can’t do it either. Should you need further proof we can’t God by committee, please look at the nearest globe, and realize some morons believe the Earth is flat. I rest my case.

If we back it up just a bit, who the bloody hell has ever met a dude named “Eckhart?” Eckhart is the name of the squirrely guy with the glasses and sweater tied around his neck at the keg trying to fit in by spewing bullshit. Seriously, are you gonna take advice from an “Eckhart?” No, dingus, you’re not. But if you meet a dude at the keg named Kevin… OK, so maybe I am not being very PC by making fun of a guy for his name. But I’m still calling bullshit, this sounds way made up, so I am going to Google his real name.

AHA! I was right! Eckhart isn’t even his real name. Turns out his real first name is Cosmo! Just kidding. His real first name is…Ulrich? What the fuckety fuck?! Given the choice, I’m taking Ulrich every time. He apparently changed his name to Eckhart “in an homage to German sprritual leader, philosopher and mystic Meister Eckhart.” Yea, OK, so not haughty sounding at all. Sounds like this guy is certainly familiar with the ego. I guess that means I can just change my name to Yoda Deadpool Theory and everyone would have to call me that? Dopes.

Now, I have to see what this guy looks like. Maybe the message gets stronger when I see the vessel. And for the record, this is what an Eckhart Tolle looks like

letting things go
A guy who knows his shit OR a guy who is full of shit? You decide.

You buying the bullshit this guy is spewing? No, of course not. But if this bullshit was coming from a 23 year old yoga chick, I would be enthralled because it would be the most fascinating thing I’ve heard all week.
letting shit go
"Honey, I have NO IDEA what you're talking about, but I am all in."
"And who is your friend?"

The two common themes in these quasi self-help books are always live in the moment and let shit go. I have just saved you oodles of time and money. The least you could do would be to buy an autographed copy of my book. You DO believe in karma, right?

“Living in the moment” is truly a never-ending pursuit. Any book will tell you it is incredibly difficult to master. Sound familiar? I will be honest and tell you I have found this to be sadly true. It’s almost GD impossible to live in the moment. There is just too much noise these days, both inside and outside of us. I will give you one pro tip that has helped me. If you are a regular reader of these self-help types of media, you always know, there is a list or a set of rules to follow. So, to simplify your life, and live in the moment, here’s 30 more rules to help you out. Sounds legit.

I’m not gonna be like that. I am not going to give this practice a name, you can do that if you’d like. I will just tell you what I do. Now, if I was a lesser, hack writer like good old Mr. Tolle, I would dance around this topic for the next 100 pages. But I’m not going to do that. So here it is;

letting shit go
"Me swipe right! Look at the brains on this one!"
I do my best to only look at one screen at a time. What does that mean? I put the fucking phone down and watch TV. I don’t Tweet about it or look at the show’s hashtags. The screen can be what you see, so I do my best to not be constantly staring at my phone while I am out. If you ever watch a hockey game, there is always idiots who shell out good money for seats right behind the players’ bench, then they stare at their phone the entire time. Going deeper in a metaphorical sense, one screen is your eyes; what you’re seeing. Don’t waste a beautiful day staring at your phone. One screen at a time. Namaste, bitches!

Another topic these books like to yenter on about is the use of mantras. Some books that are full of sunshine and unicorn farts suggest the use of repeating mantras-or making little notes for yourself, same thing-is quite dandy on your road to bulls…um…living in the moment. The mere practice of repeating the same thing over and over and over and over again will somehow unleash the universe to shine down upon you and make it true. Jimmy Buffett has a song called Creola that I heard in a geezer bar the other day. In it, he has a line that goes something like, “Just repeat the words I say, about a thousand times a day.” Who the hell has this kind of time or OCD? Really, a freakin’ thousand times a day, Jimmy?

To be journalistic and all, I tried the repeating mantra thing. One book (Awesome, IIRC) has you repeating something like, “I am brilliant, bright and beautiful.” I tried it. I never felt bright, brilliant or least of all beautiful. And this was while I was still in the geezer bar. Maybe this mantra thing will work with you guys. Please repeat the following about “a thousand times a day” and let me know what happens:

“Kev Theory is the best thing on the internet and I should send him gobs of money to reflect his talent. Also, I feel pretty.”

Other books (Fuck IIRC, my memory is shit anymore) suggest the use of mantras is quite damaging. His theory is you are only reinforcing the things you don’t have. Can you tell what theory I subscribe to? Just because you say or think something repeatedly doesn’t increase the odds something fantastic will happen. You think any guy just repeats “Even though I have bad hair and am morally bankrupt and probably a racist and homophobe, damn it, one day I’ll be President!” No, clearly that will never happen.

"Wait. I can prevent forest fires AND also do anything? Lucky day, lucky day!"

I’m not saying there is not a time and a place for motivational and inspiring quotes and slogans. Some people use apps that display an inspirational quote on their phone every morning. If these quotes are something that work for you, great. A trip to the book store or library might be in order. Or maybe just start following that one friend again; you know, the one that posts 20 GD inspirational quotes a day. We all have one, and my research shows them to be generally empty shells of people.

Which brings me to another point of wisdom I have gleaned from all these self-help books, articles and posts. You’re never going to find one theory, practice or author you always agree with. And that’s OK. My experience has been optimal when I do find the bits, pieces and practices that I do agree with, believe, or seem to work for me. You may-and most likely-find a book to be 70% bewlshit and 30% useful. Take that useful stuff and let the rest of that shit go. See what I did there?

I could go on. As I take a look at the word count for this post, I can see it’s one of my longest in recent memory. I will wrap up with this. I have given you the information and tools to live in the moment and let shit go. This is not an easy endeavor, but the payoff is (supposed to be) pretty fricking sweet. You have lots of options and routes, and, truth be told, it will take a combination of everything you learn to lead you to Valhalla or Nirvana or whatever I am supposed to call it. Now go live your best life!!!

Yoda Deadpool Theory

DVD Bonus Content
"Here and Now" by Del Amitri I referenced above

Saturday, April 7, 2018

Best National Beer Day Jokes

You know, I've really had it with these new made up holidays. You know what I'm talking about; National Siblings Day. National (insert trendy new malady here) Day, Mother's Day.

 For the first time in a few days, I open up my Facebook and discover today in National Beer Day. Hmm....sounds like we finally got a winner here, folks. 

Since this is pretty much a blog about the poor decisions I make while drinking -like last weeks drunken dare acceptance of getting a Prince Albert- I thank the writing gods for yet another blog about drinking. And look, I'm kind of a busy guy these days. I know a lot of you don't believe that, but it's true. Do you think Fire Sticks watch themselves? No, they do not, and I'm trying to catch up with Eastbound and Down. So, instead of taking time out of my busy Saturday lounging on the couch and debating the chances of me actually putting on pants (Spoiler alert! Low.) I put all my best Tweets that I haven't Tweeted -in other words, what the old folks call "jokes"- in one easy-peasy post. If you spit your beer out in uproarious laughter, I am not responsible for damages. Onward.

Preach on, Brother Homer.

Today is National Beer Day. Or as we call it around the KT offices, "Every single minute of every single day, brah!"

Michelob and Coors seen wondering how to celebrate the day.

I am sure it's unrelated, but my rating on the Hot or Not app just shot up from a soft 4.5 to a solid 5.

Tomorrow is National Gatorade and Shitty Pizza Day.

I was wondering why I woke up feeling more charming this morning.

This is genius logic. Someone one, who should win a Pulitzer or Nobel Prize, looked at the calendar for drinking days and saw this
January-New Years Day
February-Super Bowl, Valentine's Day
March-St Patrick's Day
May-Memorial Day
June-July-August-Fuckin' summer, man! Oh, and 4th of July
September-Labor Day, NFL
October-NHL, Halloween
Wait a minute! April's slacking off! How can I fix this?

Ireland and Canada remain unfazed.

Conor McGregor heard to say, "Fook man, I thought that was Thursday."

This holiday was previously known as "Vomit in the Lyft Car Night."

Social media generated holidays I think we actually need:
National "I Am Only Going To Post One Suspect Link That Aligns With My Current Political Beliefs Instead of My Usual 14" Day
Only Post One Picture of My Kids, Not 37 Day
Please Post Your Most Personal Medical Information Online Day
Flash Yer Boobs Day

Blackout Saturday.

Jesus! I just got over Stone Cold Steve Austin Day.

Statistically, one of you is probably gonna score a level up tonight. Good for you.

I started my day with a shower beer. This was before I knew there was such a thing as National Beer Day.

Because I don't need the man to tell me when to start my dayload!

How many walks of shame will there be on campus tomorrow?

National Beer Day today; pretty bad craft beer farts tomorrow.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

My Best St Patrick's Day Jokes

Yes, OK, I know. It's the 18th. St. Patrick's Day was yesterday, and I actually didn't tweet these jokes. That's because they would be mostly lost on the 4 people that do follow me, and my FB audience-which still largely ignores me, too-seems to respond better. So instead of constantly hitting the pause button on my St Pat's drinking, I decided to save them up and put them all in one place. So, if you did read these yesterday, I thank you. You might wanna read again, in case you forgot a few, as I sure forgot writing a few. Plus, I didn't even use all my jokes, so there's new ones spread through out, as well as day after jokes. So lie back (you ARE still in bed, amirite?), keep putting that Gatorade down and figure out what you want on that pizza as we stroll down foggy memory lane.

I'm drinking so much green beer, my pee is blue.

In kind of a haughty bar. There is a girl next to me drinking 4 Loko. This place clearly does not serve 4 Loko. So she brought her own supply of 4 Loko to a bar. I rarely use the term "spirit animal"....

Pretty sure this "Irish" amber I am drinking is called "Something Else" amber the 364 other days of the year.

I'll admit it. I wasn't really feeling it, but then I listened to "Shipping Up To Boston" like 15 times in a row, and now I'm looking to get good and shitfaced.

Uber driver "Are you drinking a BEER in MY CAR?
Me "No, I'm getting ready to give you a zero star rating."
A consensual-though awkward-silence follows

Pro tip for all the newbs today; NO ONE knows what all these old Irish songs are about. Just nod your head, drink your beer and occasionally say "Slainte!" or "For Bobby Sands!" and you'll be fine.
funniest st pats jokes
I swear, sometimes the jokes write themselves.

Walks into a bar.
Bar is playing U2.
Keeps on walking.

Did you really just order a Bud Light Lime, dude? Get dafuq out of here before you get thrown out.

Pretty sure the 13 year olds in Ireland knock it off with the dancing when they discover the whiskey.

Where will I spend more money today?
1) Bar tabs
2) Uber rides
3) Resulting legal fees and restitution
(Spoiler alert, it was bar tabs. By a LOT.)

Sitting here watching the NCAA tournament. And it got me wondering; were there ever any great Irish basketball players? Or football players? Or hockey players? Or baseball players? It seems to me all the great Irish athletes are fighters. Which makes total sense. I am sure there's probably some great Irish dart throwers as well.

st patricks jokes
Ultimate Irish athlete?

On the 18th, all the pros are out, buying the 50% off crap so we can wear a different green, gaudy t-shirt next year.

The best thing about having no fashion sense and wearing mostly black is all the green stuff is pretty easy to pick out.

Two words; leprechaun porn. Yes, it exists (Rule 34) and after an hour of extensive...uh.."research" I have also discovered I have no shame.

funniest st pats tweets

Kinda off topic, but I have become a huge user of the Irish Goodbye.

Yes, the camera on your phone has the filter that only shows green, and no you shouldn't use it for your social media today.

People in a bar dressed in green on the 17th; "Yay! Fellow partiers!"
People in a bar dressed in green on the 18th; "Fucking alcoholics."

Friday, March 16, 2018

Happy Stone Cold Steve Austin Day!

(Glass shatters.)

Happy Stone Cold Steve Austin Day!

Look, with all the PCedness going on, isn’t it about time to give ol’ Stone Cold his own holiday?  Wait, what’s that? You don’t know who Steve Austin is? What, are you one of my zero female readers under the age of 25? Fine, let’s have a little history lesson here. No, not, like, real history, more like something a lot of people care about; wrestling.

Austin was a key figure in WWF’s “Attitude Era.” The “Attitude Era” is widely regarded as the last time WWE was any good. Mocking a "bible thumper" opponent, Austin famously coined the phrase ‘Austin 3:16 just said I just whipped your ass.” Austin was the central figure who became popular because he drank beer and hated his boss. Sound familiar? Stone Cold attracted millions of eye balls with his shenanigans against the owner of the WWF, the evil Mr. McMahon. Millions lived vicariously through Austin as he tormented his boss. Like his three ex-wives, we all have a little Stone Cold in us. Just a few of the things he did that we all wish we could do

Made Mr. McMahon pee his pants. (Mr. McMahon’s pants. Not Austins. That would actually be pretty ballsy if McMahon somehow managed to pee Austin’s pants.)

"Ugh, I should not have had those 2 cans of Monster before I came out here."

Poured cement into McMahon’s convertible.

Flipped off McMahon multiple times per show.

Drove a beer truck to the ring and hosed beer on the McMahon family.

Now, what I wanna know, is where are these mythological beer trucks that actually dispense beer via hose? Where does one get such a vehicle? Is it the same place Kurt Angle got the milk truck?

Of course, there was also the time he almost got shot by Brian Pillman, but that seems to be largely forgotten.

Also, he was the last real man to wear jorts. (Yea, I said it, Cena. Do your Five Moves of Doom on me because I do see you.)

And even if you are not too familiar with Austin, there are some pretty good memes that you can probably relate to.

stone cold steve austin day

happy stone cold steve austin day

steve austin day

The placement of 316 day is troubling as it is always the day before 317. That’s just the way the calendar works, son. But it is also a kick in the nuts, as this year, Steve Austin Day is Friday and St Pat’s Day is (all day) Saturday. One must gameplan wisely as to how many Steveweisers to have, and still be able to bring your A game for St Pat’s Saturday. For example, I planned ahead, and had my last drink at 11 AM in the bathroom at work, to give my liver some time to recoup and prepare for this weekend’s onslaught.

Just how am I gonna celebrate 316 Day today?

By stomping a mudhole in someone.

By repeatedly saying “What?” when someone is talking to me.

By finishing every phone call with, “And that’s the bottom line because I said so.”

By giving someone the Stone Cold Stunner after kicking them in the gut.

By pouring beer all over me as I stand on the corner desk in the office.

"Now where's that redhead from sales?"

By shoving Mike Tyson.

Find me some of those cans of Whoop Ass in aisle two.

By stunning the President of the United States of America.

Another little known fact about Steve Austin Day; it is said that at 3:16 AM and 3:16 PM spirit guides will be attempting to contact you. Sounds like bullshit, right? Well, some people actually believe this bullshit, so who am I to say?

And to be fair, if/when 316 Day becomes a recognized holiday, I am perfectly fine giving back another bobo holiday. There are already too many, anyway. Gimme 316 Day, and I'll return one of those useless holidays, like Arbor Day or Valentine's Day. Sounds fine ta me.

So pop open a couple of them Steveweisers and toast the ol' Texas Rattlersnake on, OUR big day.

See y'all on 619 Day!