Kevolution Theory Destroys The Idea Of "The Sunday Scaries"

There I am; awake early (!) on a Sunday morning (!!) at the gym (!!!) doing cardio (!!!!) trying to sweat out all the craft beer I had the night before. On the TV is a story about something called “How To Combat The Sunday Scaries.” Really? Really? This is what counts as news, even on a Sunday morning? I’m guessing by the context, the “Sunday Scaries “ is the newest media propagated disease/syndrome that never really existed before, but now it does, so it’s a real thing? Anyone else notice, like over the last 10 years, there’s been an explosion of previously heretofore undiagnosed diseases? Looking at you COPD. But-guess what-there just happens to be a big pharma company that just happens to have the magic pill that can combat said malady! Goodness gracious!

Anyone else diagram out their Sunday? I do a Venn diagram for Thursday.

OK, TBH here, I really do think there is some substance to things like “Sunday scaries” and conditions like road rage. I do “suffer” from this as much as there are just a bunch of asshole drives constantly around me. And while I do ascribe to the thought that there is probably a bit of merit to what the Sunday Scaries are, I am also the fucking smartest writer you read, so you by golly betcha I also happen to have the cure.

Let’s level the field, here. This is the source video. Watch for yourself, and just imagine my heavy breathing and smelling like craft brews right next to you.

Even though this story is my first exposure to it, it apparently turns out that it’s been a thing for quite a while now. The first hit in a Google search takes me to an actual Sunday Scaries website. The folks over at Urban Dictionary seem to have come up with a definition that is pretty spot on

The feeling you have after a long week of work followed by a Saturday full of binge drinking, when Sunday hits you question your entire existence. Typically characterized by laying in bed all day and both regretting past decisions and questioning your seemingly non-existent future. Thoughts like "I"m going to die alone" and "Will I ever get a job that I actually enjoy?" consume you for the entire day while you're battling a hangover.

Wow I haven't seen Chad all day! He must have a bad case of the Sunday Scaries

I think we’re all on the same page (or in Chad’s bed) here. I think we can all agree, this kinda sorta is a thing. While science has better things to do, this does go along the lines of seasonal affective disorder. In fact, I would hazard a guess to say if you “suffer” from the Sunday scaries, you probably also “suffer” from SAD. And you also must not be a party come Sundays in the fall.

Here’s one of my biggest problems with buying into the scaries; it freely allows you to become the victim here. And, dear readers, I don’t think that’s any of you. I don’t want it to be. “Ooh, tomorrow is Monday, so that gives me permission to be a sullen sadsack and suck all the joy out of these 24 hours and try to drag my friends down with me.” Um, no. Newsflash, dickhead. Monday always comes. Just the same to you as it does me as it does everyone damn else. You cannot stop it, just like you can’t stop Tuesday (I’m not gonna bother to research this, but please don’t tell me there is such a thing as the “Tuesday Terrors.” This shit may never end.) Monday is going to happen, and if you are willing to just roll over all Sunday and give up, I have two words for you

No, not those two words, but these 2 words.

Fuck. You.

Now aside from hitting some imaginary quota where I have to tell any remaining readers to fuck off, then lament why no one reads this anymore, this is just also, plain and simple, the truth. By the Sunday Scary logic, you’re just going to give up on an ENTIRE DAY, just to be dreading the next day? Huh? How does that make sense? Look, I’m not saying there isn’t some validity to SS, but I believe buying into it makes you waste what could potentially be a great day. Instead of investing into the “Sunday scaries” how about putting some oomph into “Sunday Funday?” I’m not great at time management-ask me to tell you later-but even dipshit me sees the flaw here. I can see the danger of buying into this “scary” theory, and I have two recent examples to even illustrate the inherent danger..

A friend posted a question to the effect of “how do I turn off Memories, because I don’t want to be reminded of last year?” This upset me for a few reasons. First and foremost, they are immediately playing the victim here, and I’ll get to that in a second. While I emphasize with whatever the pain or issue might be, publicly calling it out might not be the best move here, why call it out at all? Why give it anymore power? This type of “vague booking” just creates more drama, and I believe this person is better than that. Secondly, this person has the power and control to just negate this issue all together, instead of giving it weight on their social media. While turning off Memories is quite possibly an option, I truly don’t know, but I am sure a quick Google search would yield the answer without calling attention to whatever the issue might be. I believe my friend to be stronger than all of this. Now, whatever the issue is, here’s the simple answer that they have had the entire time:

Stay the fuck off Facebook for 30 days. You’re welcome.

And while that seems to be an impossibility these days, you can at least go a few days. The #FacebookFree48 ("Geez, Kev, does EVERYTHING have to back to you?" Yes, shithead, it does, because I have all the answers.) doesn’t have to take place over just the weekend. You could, say, start it on Monday-and-boom! Look at you, your Monday just got a little bit better and you get a whole truckload of time back instead of frittering it away on FB. Point here being, my friend is not in a hopeless situation. Substitute “Mondays” for “Memories” and the situations become similar. And while certain events may be out of our control, we can control how we respond.

In my own life I had the great fortune to recently go on vacation. While I don’t know that it was quite blogworthy , just go here and it’s pretty much the same story. (Also be sure to stay tuned all the way to the very end for the Easter egg you heartless jackals didn’t catch last year.) I had already been in my destination for just a few hours, having an awesome time. Without warning, the Thought popped into my head. I did not consciously invite it. Yet, it was there. I acknowledged it, I knew what it was saying, and I did my best to shut the Thought down. In all that sunshine, it still persisted, until it had to be heard. Finally, it broke through. Just a few hours into my happy place, the Thought said:

“Your vacation is already running out.”

How.

Fucking.

Dark.

The point of the Thought, no matter how dark and premature, was still valid. A few precious hours had already ticked off what imaginary and unacknowledged internal clock I had going. I sat there with the Thought, yet I knew I had power, I had strategies and choices. This may be the first shot, but I can -no I WILL- shut this nonsense down now. In my happy place, with my person, with my dog, a few good beers, with families having a great time, with being so close to the ocean, with already awesome memories, I fired back. I acknowledged the Thought; it was in fact, true, my vacation was already a few hours gone. But I took the power to consciously say (in my head, because in resort town bar, this would be pretty embarrassing, no matter how strong the beer is) “That doesn’t matter. I am not going to let the passing of 3 hours effect the remaining 165. This will not deter me. So, thanks for reminding me, Thought, because I am grateful for this little nudge to make what’s left count. So, now, off with you, Thought, because I can now assure you I. Will. Make. This. Count.”

And then I had about another 4 beers to celebrate my victory. Woot woot!

The point here is that I, just like my friend above, have the power to take control and not be the victim here. We can both at least acknowledge the issue, but we don’t have to let it own us.

We don’t have to let one little brief spurt of time ruin everything else. Dread, fear, worry-all of that is bullshit and a glorious waste of time. Back to the issue, Monday is always going to come. Because I am so smart, I will share some possible ideas that might make it more bearable.

Make Sunday count. Instead of cowering over the fact Monday is bearing down on your, appreciate the time you have. Read, cook a good meal, lay on the couch in your (preferably yours) underwear, volunteer, draw, eat cheese, binge a TV show, write a blog no one reads, go somewhere you’ve never been, hell, even do some work. You have the choice to do whatever it is to Make.This.Count.

(Speaking of Make.This.Count, I gotta start getting tshirts, hats, mugs and other nonsense with that on it on Etsy. KT merch coming soon!)

Prepare for Monday. As we've previously seen, Monday always wins; it always arrives after Sunday. Maybe be a bit mature here (a stretch for this blog, I know) but plan for it. Using my pathetic shell of an existence as an example, on Sunday night -and pretty much every night before a workday-I prep my breakfast and throw it in the fridge, I freeze some stuff for a NutriBullet, ensure my work clothes are relatively decent, my bottle of vodka is hidden in a thermos in the car, I know what I have to do as an elected official of the US and lastly look in the mirror and tell myself how awesome I am. You can do the same, especially the part where you tell your mirror how awesome Kev is. 

Make Monday earn it. Do whatever it is that fills your Sunday up, so that Monday is like all, “Nah, bro, I see you killed it yesterday, you can just use me to reset from all your weekend awesomeness.”

Do something outside your box on Monday.

Do a little research to make your Monday better. My real life example; I have discovered a lot of places have all you can eat crabs on Monday. No matter how much Monday thinks it can kick my ass, come Monday night, I’m freaking Neptune devouring the sea.

Look, this could all go on, you get the point.

Please don’t fall victim to the fallacy that is this Sunday Scaries nonsense. Maybe come up with contrarian bullshit like “Friday Frenzy” or “Adventure Saturday.” Hell, even plan ahead for “Power Hour President’s Day” or “Awesome August 24^th.” These are the types of ideas we should be dwelling in.

I admit, I am not great with math, but I am pretty sure Monday is, like, 1/7^th of your life. Does it make sense to spend most of Sunday -also, I think about 1/7^th of your life-in fear and dread? Narrator voice: “No, it does not.”

You’re free to now go and do whatever it is to. Make. This. Count.

Extras

Director's Commentary

I've spent roughly 4 hours of my Sunday writing, researching, linking, getting pics and videos and editing this post together. 4 hours of a #FacebookFree48 Summer Sunday gone. But what I got back is this post. In my own bizarre way, I have a tangible piece of my "art" out of today. Anything else past that is just a bonus. I am satisfied that I made this count.

#FacebookFree48; The Life I Saw This Weekend

I firmly believe, long after I am gone, history will finally realize that I am a brilliant writer with brilliant ideas. None may be any more brillianter than what I've been doing the last 3 weekends. I've been staying off Facebook and social media. I have currently dubbed this #FacebookFree48. As another Monday morning dawns, I feel refreshed. I feel drama and stress free. I'm also feeling pretty damn haughty about the Free 48 I'm onto. I feel like it's my mental "down dog" and I don't even have to wear yoga pants. Or any pants really.

Dog does not have social media. Be more like dog.

One of the byproducts of the Free 48 is all the -duh- free time. I'm up and out of bed earlier because I'm not on FB seeing whose bitching about the weather or politics. I'm not on the dumper for 20 minutes now. I'm doing healthier things for my mind and body. Now, maybe you're not sold on this Free concept, so I thought I would detail all the "extra" little things in life I got to do and see this weekend. Turns out there's a lot of life that doesn't fit in your phone.


I watched the Endless Summer like I always do during the summer. It's my favorite summer movie-sorry, Jaws and Malibu Bikini Shop-and a great slice of a simpler time. I also enjoy watching it before the PC police come down on it for maybe, possibly being a tad racist in, like 1 or 2 small segments. But I really feel it was naivete and cluelessness on film maker Bruce Brown's part.

I had my faith restored in humanity, which is pretty heavy for a Saturday. As much as I loathe to do this during the weekend, I had to venture out to the store to pick something up. While I was there, minding my own GD business, a guy comes up to me and asks, "Excuse me, do you work here?" One thing I have learned about me is that I appear to look like I work at whatever place I may be in at that given time. (Like, for example, the liquor store. But at least that makes sense because I am there all the damn time, they gave me my own locker in the back.) I politely tell him no, but I also point him to someone who does. He goes over to the employee, whatever. Then the guy comes up to me and thanks me! "Hey, buddy, I just wanted to thank you. What's your name?" I am flabbergasted this kind of courtesy exists in this world. I tell him my name, he extends his hand, "Well, thank you, Mr. Kevin" and he walks away. 

I find myself listening to Michael Franti more and more. However, this is music I can only listen do during the summer. When it’s nice. And sunny. Not raining. (I know, I know, I am a music freak.) I wasn’t even digging Stay Human 2 till recently, then the click came and I dug it. I really think Franti is getting to be to young people what Buffett is to old people. Also, Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers is great summer music. I’ve been getting into the Joint on SXM. Again, when the summer goes, so does the preset for the Joint.

I’m writing more and more. I think we can all be thankful for that. Namaste, world.

Killing it at the gym. Like, to the point, I’m actually sweating. This is good news, as it aids an air of legitimacy to all the over priced UnderArmour I wear.

Cleaned out my computer. Much like myself, I’ve been noticing it slowing down lately. Look, I understand, as far as PCs go, it’s getting pretty old. (I bought it last week). I took the time to go through settings/apps and features to remove anything questionable. And I know what you’re thinking, and, no, none of this was from watching porn. Also, much like myself, I cleaned out all the cookies. My PC should be quicker now, which could mean more blogs! More likely, drunken Amazon purchases. (Narrator voice; “None of this worked.”)

I watched a lotta porn.

I went to the store to buy a frozen pizza. I left it on the dashboard, and by the time I got home, it was ready.

Came across one of the funniest sites I've ever seen

Speaking of, went blackout shopping on Amazon. I’m not even gonna check what I did, I prefer the surprise. One time, Drunk Kev went all next level and got into my subscribe & save. This explains why I have 37 bottles of Orange Glo.

I switched up my direct deposits. Yay adulting!

Finished a book. Pretended to understand it.

Reset my neighbor’s wifi password. Just to teach him a lesson. Can’t be too safe these days. I mean, with a password like FGh56://5tY7Gg5&o2@k%, he was just asking for it.

Filled out every survey at the bottom of every receipt I could find. Back up the Brinks truck!

On Sunday, like a proper and distinguished gentleman, I had brunch:

Accomplished my summer goal ahead of time; collected all 50 different bottles of Mountain Dew. Comes with free diabetes.

Multiple incidents of puppy cuddles. I have to say it boggles my mind when I see people walking their dogs, yet they're staring into their phones. (The people, not the dogs.) Like, you're walking a dog, life can't get much better.


Monday is once again upon us, with it's usual evil precision. Yet I feel refreshed and pretty sure my bullshit meter is low. I had a great weekend in many respects even if it wasn't all amusements parks and beaches. I'm grateful for the extra time I got back and the little slices of life I got to see. Now, maybe the freight train that is the work week has all kinds of bad plans for me, I can't say. But I can say I am coming from a pretty good place, and I really like my odds.

No One Cares What You Look Like in 50 Years

Not to brag, but I had another great weekend. Wanna know why? If so, please read on. If you don’t, then I don’t know what to tell you, and now this whole thing is getting awkward. But it looks like you’re still here, so I guess you do wanna hear about my weekend. And you can tell me all about yours at KevinDoesntCareAboutYourGDWeekend@gmail.com. I totes promise I will read it.

Anywhoo, it was a great weekend, because for the second week in a row, I didn’t check my socials. I am thinking this needs to grow as a movement, so we need some sweet hashtag. #FacebookFreeFriday could work. #OfflineWeekend. I would like to hear yours, so leave them in the comments below. I can’t do all the thinking here.

On wears the week, and I suddenly start getting all these pics of my friends as they will look in 50 years. Uh oh, another FB fad coming.

So why the bloody eff are we in a rush to see what we’d look like in 50 years?

No one wants to see this, and, hell, I’ll save you the trouble of even bothering. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror; fight the urge to take a selfie. In 50 years, imagine:

Grey hair. Lots of it. Some possibly in strange places.

Maybe no hair at all.

At least 1-3 chins. 

Glasses. And they won’t hide the heinous bags under your eyes 50 years in this life will give you.

A lack of knowledge of WeverTF passes for pop music.

Face it, in 50 years, we’re all gonna look pretty gross, if not dead. In which case, we’d be both.

See, now you know, and you didn’t even have to give all yourinfo to the Russians! (Prolly not related, but I guess this means we know who wins the next election. #VoteForKev2020 is our only hope.)

Plus, I have all your information, comrade.

Why are we obsessed with this? We are a youth based society. Just look at our health magazines. All the headlines boast “5 Ways to Look Younger!” and “Do This One Simple Trick and Feel Younger Instantly!” You’re not gonna sell any magazines or books with taglines like “How To Feel 60 and Diabetic in 30 Days” or “Hearing Aid Earrings.”

Spoiler alert kids, no one is as young as they say online anyway. For example, I have been claiming to be single and 25 every year for like 12-13 years now. If I’m any older than that, most of society won’t care.

Here’s something I’ve learned over the years of social media; if there is a sudden app or trend popping up on FB all of a sudden (like what was that big cartoon thing a couple years ago? See, I already forgot.) it’s probably got some malicious intent. But, sheep being sheep and all, sheep just think this is way cool, and click to DL and never read the terms and conditions. Yes, I know, none of us do. But the good thing about these sudden fads are all our stupid friends will fall for it, and two days later their account will blast out redic deals on Raybans. So it’s time we call this for what it is-attention whoring. “Look at me when I’m 50! Reassure me I won’t look this bad then!” The subliminal message here is “Tell me I’m good looking now!”) These same sheep who are so sudden to jump on this are all the vain ones who constantly post bullshit selfies and pics of them 5-10-15 years ago. Hell, I see even celebrities are even getting in on the trend. Couldn't they just take off all the make up and get the same effect?

My picture looks exactly the same, mate.

If I was to walk up to one of these sheep and say, “In 50 years, you will be fat, wrinkly, semi blind, probably hard of hearing, I SAID PROBABLY HARD OF HEARING (that joke never gets old) balding, one eye looking different from the other, wearing white socks and probably smell” you’d want to smack the shit out of me, But, lookie here!1! Here’s an app from an unknown third party source that does it for me1!!1 Let’s go!” I am too lazy too follow this notion up, but I am pretty sure there is some douchetastic wording that invites fellow shallow/sheep friends to say how good looking you are now. Gag.

I do have friends/constituents who are widely considered elders because they are almost 50. As you can imagine, they hate being 50, and don’t understand why “the youngsters” are doing this. From what they tell me, your body starts to go downhill between 30-35. They’ve told me all sorts of upsetting things like multiple trips to the bathroom at night and needing reading glasses. Honestly, they were just droning on and on, and I kinda checked out on the rest. I don’t need to be bothered by this unpleasantness when I’m only 25.

The takeaway here is, just learn to appreciate where you are. You can’t get back your youth. And age is an unrelenting and unforgiving deadline. Learn to be comfortable with yourself, whatever age you are. Fortunately, this is easier to do as you move along in life. Don’t rush things. Only the truly enlightened can stay 25 forever.

DVD Extras
This post is a "q & d" a quick and dirty.

Quick and dirty because the idea suddenly hit me. Quick and dirty because I am sure there already a kijillion posts like this out there already, though none as honest and side splittingly funny as this one and also because I gave myself a time limit to get it on the blog. If you sense the editing is a bit rough, that is why. For me, it's a challenge to put myself on a deadline, and just be OK with it, and "let it go." Also, you're a pretty GD astute reader, way to go, champ! Honestly, this whole topic will burn out pretty quick, so this is also an experiment using some search engine optimization to get a few new eyeballs to this here blog. Even if they have to wear reading glasses to read it. 

What I Learned Staying Off Facebook For 48 Hours

There I was, Saturday morning. It was a good morning as I didn’t get shitfaced on Friday night. Theory Pup 2 let me sleep in a little bit, which is damn nice of the guy. I didn’t know what time it was, but the summer sun filling the room in June colors told me it was about an hour or so later than what time I typically get up during the week. I picked up my phone, just to see the time. I was happy with the extra sleep, and anxious to actually get a full, fun Saturday in. Why stare at my phone? I can see there is a nice summer day unfolding, let’s go get it! Phone goes down, day starts. I am in the gym nice and early, so there’s only a few people who can watch me try not to drop plates and bars on various body parts that are mostly soft tissue. I get a really solid workout in. Get back home, and realize I never “checked my phone.” I can see there are no texts (no one loves me) and no important email. Here, I can make a choice, I can get sucked down the hole that is Facebook. Or I can keep the good flow of a beautiful Saturday going. I make one of those spontaneous decisions I am famous for (Like seeing how much of a pie I can eat) and decide this day is too beautiful and too promising to waste on Facebook. I am going to go 24 hours without checking FB.

This is your brain without social media.

Already, there is a uniqueness to this morning. This is not the typical start. In fact, I dare say most of us start our mornings a little something like this;  I am pretty sure most of my readers are at least comfortable enough with technology, that they have eschewed the traditional alarm clock, and just use their phone. I am no different. However, I soon found myself falling into a trap that I had set for myself. Here’s the scenario; alarm goes off disgustingly early. I open my eyes, and pray I am waking up in my bed, and not a tub of ice in some seedy hotel with a note saying some of my organs were removed, also there is a ton of rented porn on the hotel bill. (Truth be told, those two things may not have a lot to do with each other.) Upon realizing I was in fact in my own bed, I grab my phone, swipe the MFing alarm off. From there I can unlock it, and what pops right up? Right, FB, because that was the last thing I looked at before I went to bed. Now, it was fairly easy for me to stop that useless habit (checking socials and getting fired up at the stupidity I see, which in turns keeps me up all night), but the feeling to “just check FB/socials real quick” got to the point it was a flaming waste of time and immediately put me in a bad mood. Why are we waking up and checking social media? Is it FOMO?

Is it for breaking news? No. No, likely, it is to immediately start comparing ourselves to others. We don’t like what we see, either in our friends our ourselves, and now we’re dark sourpusses all day. if there’s one thing you take away from this blog today; please let it be this:

SEND ME ALL YOUR MONEY.

OK, that was just a test. Here’s the real lesson;ereHe

DO NOT CHECK YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA FIRST THING IN THE MORNING.

Any morning. In fact, don’t let it be the second, third or tenth thing you do. This lesson came quite harshly, as one morning it hit me; there is a perfectly fine and fluffy puppy belly waiting on the couch. And that’s how I start all my mornings now. Alarm goes off, I shut it off, phone goes face down, and I greet the morning with my best friend. That’s the way to do it, not by getting yourself all fired up over some dipshits on FB.

Be proud to be a jomo. G'head, be a flaming jomo all you want.

Back to Saturday. The clock tells me it’s noon, and I am in an unusually good mood and pleasantly sober! Maybe there really is something to staying off the socials, and just living your day.

So what did I do with my vast, newfound amount of freetime?

I spent time with my parents. I spent time with my dog. I read books. I caught up on magazines (Ok, from October 2018.) I binged. (TV, not rum!) I listened to music. I did shit around the house. I napped in the hammock. I found the inspiration to write after months. I spent time with people important to me. I did my best to live in the moment. And I had zero FOMO. I ventured out into the world.

I went to a bar, where everybody-everybody- ­was staring into their phone, even the bartenders and DJ. Their faces aglow in zombie like light. Their screens full of FB, IG, texts, etc. There was a bunch of people here, but it seemed like I was the only one truly there. I watch as a couple comes in and sits at the bar. Husband has on a stereotypical Hawaiian shirt, even though we are about as far away from Hawaii-in many respects- as possible. Maybe it was their big night out, maybe they had a sitter, I don’t know, but they were different. I suspect they Ubered it there, as they both seemed to be politely buzzed. As my man ordered a flight of beer, his inner Jimmy Buffett became unleashed, and he sang along with the music to his wife. A little sloppy, but not rude and offensive. And she was laughing back. They were the happiest two in the joint. Maybe it’s more than just coincidence than neither of them were staring into their phone. They were actually having fun, and almost no one saw that and appreciated it like I did. Everyone else was staring into their phones and socials. But I can assure you, I was more entertained than any other schlub there.

As I awoke Sunday, also still having both kidneys safely stored inside me, guess what? Still no FOMO. In fact, much like the IFChallenge I did a while back, it was all very positive forward momentum. “Hell, I got this far, and I feel awesome! Let’s go another day.” And I did. And, again, it was awesome.

Monday morning comes like a vengeful goblin, and I finally decide to check FB. You know what I missed? Nothing, absolutely nothing. When I logged back in, after the first 6 or so posts, it was literally the same BS. I missed little. My perspective from this experience was fresh, as I scrolled down a few more posts, I saw all the behavior that I didn’t miss in full bloom.

Stuff like:

FB not only enables creeping, it already does the creeping on you. Yes, this is old news, but this is my story. About a week or so ago, I ordered a foam roller because my back needs to crack like its full of painful popcorn. I order it, it shows up, mad cracking commences. Now, here’s the thing. I never used FB to research this, I knew what I wanted because the gym has one that works for me. (sidenote; however rolling on the floor and loudly saying, “Oh yea, that’s the spot, right there!” is not being well met.) Open FB, and wanna guess what the first sponsored ad I see is? Yup, for that exact same foam roller. Just another reminder, FB is stalking you. For some of you sickos, that might make you feel a little better about yourself. Whatever floats your boat.

Stop playing victim/attention whore with all your issues/dramas. Not to get all Tony Robbins here (especially the pervy part), but no one ever fixed a problem or achieved their dreams by just whining about them on FB. Man the hell up, buttercup. I have a theory (duh) that the people who post the least on their socials are the most grounded and self-realized people living full and well intentioned lives.Or they are super busy doing important things. I mean, it’s not like you see the President tweeting or anything. Of course, I also have a theory that Taylor Swift wrote a song about me, so WTF do I know?

Enough with the constant barrage of vacation photos. Yes, all your photos of the sunset/rise are all worthy of a mug on Café Press, but let’s limit it here, eh? You know, it is possible to go away and not post about it? (Go follow Clark Little, and that’s all the photography you need.) Every time I see you go away, I go to your empty house and rub my butt all over your doorknobs.

Kind of unrelated, but anyone know any good lawyers? Seems everybody has video doorbells these days.

Suicide is sadly still a thing. Maybe FB should stop with all the political propaganda ads, and throw in some suicide awareness PDAs and contacts. Just sayin’.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline 1 800 273 8255

@800273TALK on Twitter

I have totally slacked on my Presidential campaign. No biggie, I can just hire some PR firm to put misleading ads on social media. Done.

The amount of requests I get to like y’all side hustle pages is getting to be reGDdiculous. Look, I support small business and friend’s ventures all I can. But if your one of my FB “friends” who never says boo to me (especially on Halloween), never wish me happy birthday, never like a picture of Theory Pup 2, never acknowledge all my hysterical jokes, don’t read this here blog, then don’t fucking expect me to acknowledge your home based tchotchke selling business. You don’t encourage my waste of time and unprofitable side gig, so you can’t expect me to support yours. (Editor’s note; in the process of letting this post breathe a little bit, as I was editing it, a good FB friend asked me to like a band page. She is always supportive of me; she ‘likes’ lots of my posts and comments occasionally, so guess what? That band got a like.) (Editor’s note; I don’t know why I used the term ‘editor’s note.’ I’m the friggin’ editor here. I do all the writing, the pictures and their captions and the editing. Spoiler alert, when you see the term ‘editor’s note’ it’s almost always the writer trying to sound all haughty.)

Taking pictures of your babies every month they get older needs to end. OK, spoiler alert, EVERY BABY LOOKS LIKE EVERY OTHER BABY THE FIRST FEW MONTHS. Like, you could literally do this for 6 months, switching out a new baby every time and no one would notice. Don’t believe me? I triple dog (yes, just cutting right to the chase, here) dare you. Go nuts. Have a white girl baby at 2 months, and a black male baby at 3 months, conjoined twins at 5 months. No one would notice. They’d all just blindly hit the ‘like’ button and comment, “Ohh, it’s getting SO big!!!!” NEWS FLASH-THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS TO BABIES WHEN YOU FEED THEM! You should be calling the authorities if the infant seems to be getting smaller.

It’s apparently a law now that every time you go to the airport, you have to “check in.” It’s apparently a by law that you then have to humblebrag about either your job or your vacation. Well, whoop-de-fucking-do, peckerhead, you boarded a plane! How about this, “check in” when you’re actually flying the damn thing. Outside of that, get over yourself. Pretty sure when Wilbur and Orville Wright first flew, they didn’t immediately dispatch the carrier pigeons bragging how they actually flew and didn’t shit their pantaloons.

"Orville! Call that putz Ford and tell him his autothingamajiggies will never cut it now!"

Oh yea, I have a Twitter, too! Can't tell you the last time I checked it. is Twitter still cool? Have we moved onto something else? I need to know, so I can care less about it.

Apparently, people are now claiming to be something called “breatharians”on InstaGram. Just the fact that this horseshit has picked up so much traction on IG and the main stream media only reinforces my correct decision to not even be on IG. If you seriously think people can go months without eating, and can “breathe” in nutrition, you are truly the r-word we can no longer use. I am pretty sure IG is nothing but hot chicks wearing bikinis spouting off bullshit that everyone takes as gospel. And that’s why I’m not on IG. IG only promotes narcissism and anxiety. (That and the fact the only people I would follow are hot chicks wearing bikinis. It would be embarrassing. Yes, I am a man with flaws, but at least I own my flaws. Sometimes twice a night.)

So what do we take away from this experience, other than I have to get better at writing segues to end my posts? Maybe the time is upon us to pay more attention to what's happening outside the phone. Phones, as advanced and necessary as they are, will always come in boxes. Life doesn't, and if you think it does, you can always step out of that box and live a little bit. Just don't feel the need to feed the beast, and blab about it on your socials. 

DVD Bonus Material

In the whole "editor's note" bit, part of letting a post breathe is giving it a day or two, then trying to put it in a coherent order and getting the pictures and captions (Editor's note; this is seriously about my favorite part of putting the post together.) In this particulate case, much of the time to "breathe" was me spending countless hours researching "fitness girls on IG" all for one joke. But, still, the time invested was well worth it.) You're welcome, fellas. Turns out I didn't even use the joke I had in mind.

The Best St. Patrick's Day Jokes 2019 Edition

They say write about what you know. I mostly write about drinking. Hell, half the time, I drink while I'm writing. So when a muse like St. Patrick's Day wanders along, you get to work. Which I what I did.

Is this stereotypical enough for everybody?

Plus, timely posts like these are a great way to generate cheap hits. Get ready to snort your Tullamores and shit yer knickers, it's time for...

The best St.Patrick's jokes for 2019

I’m chasing brain cells like St Patrick chasing snakes

I am not wearing green underwear, but they might be tonight after all this green beer. I mean, take your pick at this point; front or back

"Ugh, couldn't hold in that rum and Mountain Dew." (This is called foreshadowing.)

Any of you ladies need a drunken mistake? I’m available (8s and higher only please)

I’ve planned ahead and changed my Uber name to Drunk N Apologetic

Tonight, is my favorite night of boxing. There’s nothing on TV, I’m talking about all the Irish bars

Can someone please tell me what a “jarro” is and why there is whiskey in it?

8 AM every Wednesday morning in County Cork.

The good news: I found a place that is dead and the beer is good

The bad news: there is one drunken, boorish, loud, ugly asshole here that’s ruining it for everyone.

The reality: I am drinking by myself.

Dad?

Guys, a brief moment of silence for Lori Loughlin’s kids who won’t be celebrating St Patrick’s Day on campus this year.

Stupid celebrities doing stupid things for their stupid kids.

I have a blender, Lucky Charms, Jamison and ice and I am not afraid to use them.

This bar I’m at is pretty cool. They even have green beer and small paper cups in the bathroom. Harsh drink, but it’s minty enough to cover my breath. 6/10.

Amazon Prime needs some sort of “Drunken Purchase Protection” option because I will be lighting that shit up later on tonight.

My baby picture.

Does Grub Hub deliver to an Uber? Guess I’m gonna find out.

Whew! Finally broke the seal. I mean, as far as proper toilets go.

On a day of diminishing expectations, guys like me can really clean up.

Shit. I have vastly under rated fishing.

Bartender; what are you drinking?

Me; Floaters.

Any of you ladies need a lil’ Irish in ya? I’m available. (8 and higher only please. Twitter needs that filter)

Well, I guess it’ll be rum and Mountain Dew for me today. (Foreshadowing!)

So, apparently green lipstick is my new fetish. Which is so much easier than my old one of blonde Peruvians with Swahili accents who can play pirate shanties on harpsichords of ivory.  

I have too many leprechaun jokes to use here.

This means Lucky Charms are 50% off tomorrow, right?

Hey, can all you runners knock it off this weekend? (Yea, I know this technically isn’t a St Pat’s joke, but I have a real problem with these do gooders trying to be all healthy when I’m bent on self destruction.)

FFFFUUUCKKKKKK YOU

Googles nearest Tilted Kilt: 31 miles away. Twin Peaks: doesn't even come up. Sigh…Hooters; 21 miles away

No, really, leave the head thing on. I'm cool with it.

Me drinking green beer like

Strike one; wearing Notre Dame shirt (What’s the name of the leprechaun?)

Strike two; playing U2 (Name me anyone else in the band besides Bono)

Nope. Wrong guy, doesn't count.

Strike three; orders Ultra

Get that Ultra shit outta here!

I really appreciate me a girl who can look hot with green hair.

Anyone know where Connor McGregor is planning on getting arrested today?

I will never get drunk enough to appreciate Irish dancing, but I’m still not one to back down from a challenge.

"Oh, great, Irish dancing!" Said no non breeder EVER.

I don’t know what the differences are between “potatoes” and “Irish potatoes,”, but I imagine it’s much more fun to hang out with the Irish potatoes. I know that’s the deal with Irish coffee.

JC, I lost my keys an hour ago and I keep praying to St Patrick to find the damn thing…What’s that? He’s not the patron saint of lost shit? Well, who is it then? St. Francis!? Does he get a drinking holiday?

(Bet y’all didn’t see a St Francis joke coming today.)

Fireball + Jamison = Flamison. You're welcome world!

Soon.

Any of you ladies need some regrets from tonight? I am available. (7s and higher only please. It’s getting later and I’m lowering my standards too)

Heads up, because of leap year, next year, St. Patrick's falls on a Tuesday. So we need to come up with an excuse to get hammered on a Monday. I mean, a better excuse than the usuals.

Real World Superpowers I Wish I Had

"Still, Kev, the answer is no. The Captain does not date below General."

Look, I like super hero movies as much as the next guy. I don’t necessarily love them, nor do I feel the need to see every single one that comes out for FOMO. Just like everyone else, I enjoy fit and attractive people running around in cool costumes thwarting evil doers through massive plot holes. However, aren’t we kinda getting to the point where it’s all the same thing? How many times can a super hero “save” the world at the same time entire cities are destroyed and countless thousands of lives are lost? “Good news, Avengers! You saved the world! Again! However, you wiped out southern California.” Which, on second thought, sounds like a fair deal. What I don’t get is when these Meet Ups of super heroes like the Avengers and Justice League are established, why are any of these heroes working alone ever again? Like, if shit is going down, why can’t Batman call up Superman and be all “Yo Holmes, since we’re all cool now and we’ve established our moms have the same name, I got shit hitting the fan here in Gotham. Can you fly in, and we can fix this in 10 minutes?”

"No, no, I'm fine with you keeping the mask on."

I’m kinda bummed, because with every nerdgasm/nerd outrage that comes with every super hero movie, there never seems to be any love cast on a great little series called Kick Ass. Down to earth, real (my god, you mean these heroes actually get beaten up, bruised and hurt?) and really, really funny. Plus, Night Bitch is kinda my cosplay fantasy, IF I ever have to have one. 

Also, the cartoon version of the Tick? Hello? SPOON! Way better than those two shitty live action reboots that I had no interest in watching, so I am therefore blindly ascribing the “shitty” tag to.

With my timeline getting all blown up over a heroine I’ve never hear of named Captain Marvel (so I guess her and Captain America have the exact same rank in the super hero Army?), it got me to thinking, what if I had super powers? No, not the made up and hellacool super powers like flying, being invisible, shooting webs, looking good in a cape and able to run in heels. 

I am talking “super powers” that would help me out in real life. Super powers like:

Ability to actually make someone have a good day.  When I go to the liquor store, and I can tell the cashier has just been beaten down by all the belligerent, drunk asshole before me. How great would it be, if I could grant him a great day? Like, everything goes right for him the rest of the day. He goes to bed recalling all the good, and none of the negativity.

Conversely…

Ability to make someone have a shitty day. I am a vengeful super hero. With great power comes great responsibility and all. So, here’s to you, Mr. Asshole driver cutting everyone off, because of Super Kev, the rest of your day is gonna suck a big ol’ dick.

Ability to hit all green lights

Ability to iron. There are some heroes among us who actually possess this mystical super power, I do not. When I do travel, I have to use Craig’s List to pay someone to come to my room and ….iron. I fear one of these days it will backfire on me, and I will either get rolled or unwittingly get involved in a sex for hire situation. Like Robert Kraft.

Ability to repopulate the kitchen. Open the fridge, there is no food and a moldy bottle of OJ. Close the door. Open it again and -bang! ZOMG Little Caesar’s Pretzel Crust Pizza!

I do possess the ability to change beer to piss. I would like to have the ability to change piss back into beer. Oh, wait, that already exists; it’s called Coors Light. BURN!

Ability to read a woman’s mind. OK, now I know I’m really reaching for super powers here. I’ll settle for

The ability to mind meld with dogs. I would love to know what they think. They seem to have the whole live in the moment thing figured out. I would love to wire into Theory Pup 2.0s head and explain to him how lucky he is to be loved, doted on, provided for, fed, sheltered. I could have him walk himself, and also have him pick up a delicious soft pretzel crust pizza on the way back. And then I would tell him to stop being a raging dickhead with all the eating of furniture. Also, I would train dogs to undo bikinis

Ability to pick the fastest line. I currently possess the opposite power; the needless skill to pick the slowest line at everything; tolls, stores, lanes on the highway. There have been times when I’ve been next in a line, and STILL saw people behind me in other lines get through faster.

Ability to have the Browns win the Super Bowl. Hmm….let me look at that whole read women’s’ minds thing again.

Ability to actually smack some sense into people. I know, so obvious, yet so awesome right? I think we all have that one friend that clearly lacks common sense at times. They could use a swift reality check. And that comes in the form of a bitch slap. Like, a long, reaching back delivery, with a wide open, yet stiff hand, to slap about the jaw. Like, “Wake the fuck up, dude/dudette!”

Ability to no longer have hangovers. In researching this one, I reached out to my elders; you know, people over 40. And they all pretty told me you have about 30 good years before your body starts to betray you. There’s aches and pains where previously there were none. You pee 2-3 times a night. Vision and hearing start to decline. Also, your ability to recover from ANYTHING takes far longer. So, keep that in mind and plan for your lost day after a lost night.

What real world super powers would you like to have?

 DVD Bonus Material

This blog came about as an innocent joke took root:

I don’t know what Captain Marvel is, but I sure as f*ck am looking forward to this Halloween.

I know, solid joke, right? And yes, sometimes using ‘f*ck’ instead of ‘fuck’ just seems to be funnier, or at least make the joke more palatable for some folks. 

Anyway, it led me to thinking about what powers would I like to use in everyday life. And seeing as how Captain Marvel opened with $160 million in it’s first weekend (of which I am sure 90% of ticket buyers had no previous clue who CM is, but just saw a super hero looking cool running around and being all super hero-y), it lead me to strike while the iron is hot, and post a CM themed post.

Deleted scenes

Also, a solid joke that went unused:

Now, all these people -guys, mostly-want to know who would win in a fight; Wonder Woman or Captain Marvel?

The answer is Kleenex. Kleenex would win that fight.

And what's the deals with capes? When and why did they pretty much get to be mandatory wardrobe for almost every hero? What practicality do they serve? What other job necessitates a cape being worn? Are there accountants somewhere that wear capes to work? Nurses? Construction workers? Architects? If I'm a super hero, the last thing I want to do in my ass kickery is to tie a big ass sheet to my neck. How caped super heroes aren't always breaking their necks is beyond me.

True Story

One year for Halloween, I was already so disillusioned by super heroes, I went out as my own; Super Kev. I even had my mom make me a Super Kev shirt and cape. The logo was a simple white square with a black K in it. Looking back, I am pretty sure this is where my rebellious spirit and independent thinking started to take place. I'm sure my mom was kinda proud of me, too. I still have the costume, and writing this post lead me to drag the costume out. And guess what? It still fits. Maybe that's because my mom made it for me last year.

A Brutal Evaluation Part 2; The Reckoning

I’ve been looking at how I live my life lately, it’s a brutal evaluation. (See what I did there?) Are there things I do that are worth/not worth my time? The gist of part 1 was me trying to justify how I spend my free time, the reward I feel I get when I do certain things.  Today, for example, I already

went to the gym, walked the pup and GSD (got shit done) around the house, now I have some precious open time. A part of me really, really wants to be The Undertaker and beat the snot out of some jabroni in the Hell in A Cell. I feel there is reward and release in that for me today. Instead, here I am, laying out hours of my life, cracking jokes no one reads and baring my soul to just about nobody. I hope the sacrifice of me mindlessly playing videogames in favor of writing a blog will be a fair trade. The mystical “word faucet” seems to still be on, so might as well go with it. I’m pretty sure I’m like the Buddha, and 2000 years from now, my blog will make sense to people. Also, my belly is hanging out of my loosely fastened robe right now.

I have 4 bottle caps in my belly button.

Funny story how life can teach you lessons. Last night, I saw one of my favorite musicians. He is truly talented, writes sharp lyrics and is extremely funny. In a proper world, he would be famous. But here in the real world, he’s not. He bared his soul for over 90 minutes to a very receptive room of about 100 people or so. He travelled all day, hiked all his guitars up a flight of stairs. And maybe he wouldn’t admit it, but I am sure he would feel a lot better if he was playing a room of 500 or 1000 people instead of 100 or so. Then he packs all his stuff up, schleps it back to his hotel, gets some sleep and drives for hours to his next gig in a similar room. What he does is tough. So, it makes my infantile whining about “writing a blog nobody reads” pretty freaking insignificant. Fuck, if he can keep going on, I guess I can, too. It’s funny, because what typically happens when you follow a musician for an extended period of time, is that generally, “the early stuff” is the most revered. Everyone loves all those albums and songs from before the artist “broke” and finally had big hits. There is a certain freedom in basically writing whatever the fuck I want, and no one notices. Except for my few faithful readers who I am grateful for.

You know what. I’m drinking right now, so I raise a toast to you guys who read my stuff. Cheers, renegades!

GD it, I just spilled rum on my keyboard. Motherf*cker.

I will be the first to admit, I am a total dick when it comes to “my time.” When I do have free time, I get all haughty and defensive about how I spend it, and everyone else can just go pound sand. I will lay in the hammock as the unmowed grass starts to tickle my ass. I will read a book while I should be paying bills. I am a gremlin with my free time, and I am doing my best to be more efficient. Man, adulting can be mas difficulte.

As a public service to my readers, I will detail things I feel I have to change. Before, I do that, though, this bears repeating:

I AM FUCKING AWESOME AS I AM.

OK. I think we’re all together now. Maybe this post will entertain you. No, that’s a lie; we all know this self-torture entertains you sick mofos. We all love when artists torture themselves. You know how many great songs came about from a divorce? Anyway, maybe, you might learn a few things, or draw some inspiration from just one moron trying to be better. (Note to self; change blog byline to “just one moron trying to better.”)

Stare at My Phone Less. Yes, I have railed on this before, and I have been pretty successful in putting my phone down and leaving it there. For example, if I am going to watch TV, I am going to watch TV. Duh. I leave the phone on a different floor. (Yes, I have a house with more than one floor. Don’t be jealous.) I find I enjoy whatever I’m watching more. Like most people, my phone is my alarm clock. Previously, when the alarm would go off, I would swipe to FB or the web and immediately get enraged. Now, the alarm goes off, I shut it off, and immediately go give Theory Pup 2 bellyrubs. It’s an awesome way to start any morning and will only get better when I train him to give me bellyrubs in return. 

Truth, yo.

It boggles my mind when I watch hockey games, and they show the fans in the seats right behind the team. These are the most expensive seats in the place, and a majority of these dipshits have their heads buried in their phones. I get a take a pic or two, but then enjoy the experience. Same thing when I go to a show. I’ve grown to at least tolerate the behavior, as at least I can go to YouTube the next day and look at video if I want.

Watch Less TV. I’m finding it harder and harder to find good shows to watch. Yes, yes, I know every show on Netflix, Hulu, Amazon, etc is “fucking awesome.” I find I get jealous when I read married people with jobs and kids and bills and houses can still find the time to binge watch a season of whatever, and I struggle to find the time to watch the third episode of Black Mirror. (I hope it’s another pig-fucking one!) Look, there’s nothing wrong with watching TV, but one good thing about writing is at least there is something I am creating that I can leave behind. When that episode of The Handmaid’s Tale is over, it’s over. With writing at least, I can create something with that time and maybe have it entertain a few folks. Tangible. In a very real form, this is my art; words and a screen. And when I do it right, it gets a laugh. And yes, I just called my blog “art” because it is, so deal with it, unwashed commoners. 

What happens when I don't write blogs often enough.

Drunk Text Less. See above, but it has a lot to do with putting the phone away. Previously, all my West Coast friends would get blown up all night by obnoxious Drunk Kev. Now, I’ve gotten so much better at realizing I’m blotto and no one wants to deal with it. In fact, so far this year, I’ve only sent two dick pics to my grandma.

OK, that’s a lie. My grandma is dead.

So it’s whoever has her number now.

Better Handwriting. My god, does my actual handwriting blow. There are sometimes even I don’t know what the hell I wrote. It looks like chicken scratch. I mean, after the chicken gets his head cut off. I know this has nothing to do with how I spend my time, but it’s always bothered me. I’ve scribbled a bunch of great blog ideas that I’ve never been able to decipher. It’s history’s loss.

How this post looked originally. 

Read More. Maybe it’s just coincidence that I am watching TV less. I find myself enjoying a good book. As a failing writer, I try to put myself in the author’s head to see where they get their ideas and style from. Reading can be inspiring and encouraging. Again, look at the return on investment here; I can read and appreciate another’s work, but it takes me far less time and effort to read it than write something on my own.

Drink Less. I know, I know; I’ve said this before. Not that I think I have a problem. TBH, there are times when I can go weeks without a drink. Sometimes that conscious, sometimes it just organically shakes out that way. There are times when I know I just want one drink and I’m fine. There are other times when blood gets on my fangs, and you have to lock the friggin’ liquor cabinet. The sad fact is I can still pretty much drink like when I was younger, the cruel reality is I can’t recoup nearly as quick as I used to. Small steps, for sure. For beginners, I quit knocking back a small bottle of brandy every Wednesday morning, I think that entitles me to a chip of some sort. WHERE’S MY GD CHIP??

It seems all my favorite authors share two traits:

1) They read a lot

2) They drink a lot

1 

I like to read! I like to drink! Hell, sometimes I’m a real rebel and do both at the same time! I don’t have to be a mathematician to tell you I’m, like, ¾ of the way to being a real writer!

Well, came across this one too late.

Volunteer More. A very simple and rewarding thing to do. I didn’t realize how much I slacked on this, till I did my taxes. (Pro tip-you can write the mileage AND any meal you eat to or from -off!) (‘nother Pro-tip; don’t take accounting advice from me.) No matter how cold or dark my…uh…your heart can be, volunteering can make a world of difference. Now, that I’m thinking, it’s almost like volunteering to write blogs no one reads….

Spend More Time with Pup 2. Maybe it’s a walk, or some playtime, or trying to teach him commands. People are nowhere near as good as dogs are. Plus, dog blogs equal hits! Win win! In fact, I can’t write around him because he rocks those puppy dog eyes, and I melt. Thusly, every blog I write is time away from my dog, so you heartless jackals best be appreciating the shit out of my posts.

I feel like this is a pretty solid beginning. And I’m lazy, so this is a pretty solid ending as well. I’ll work on these for now; how much more perfect can I be? If I can stick to these, the posts should be more rewarding. And I’ll write more. And people will read more. And…..