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.

Gifts We Need To Stop Giving

As the calendar nears to December, the full hustle and bustle of the homogeneously termed “holidays” are almost upon us. It’s a time of wonder, tradition, hope, joy. Not so coincidentally, this is also the time most people seem to abandon common sense, and go all ape shit. And if nothing else, this blog has always been about doling out common sense in a world sorely needing it.

So, dear reader (I say that because hits are way down, and I am damn close to having single digit readers), I am here to once again lay down some wisdom on a world that really lacks it, but will also disregard it. Yet, I will still dish it out because it’s what us visionaries do. I will also stop slyly inferring how great I am. For now.

If I can help you at all this holiday season, let it be this. Stop buying bullshit gifts. Right now, the net is all awash in “top ten gifts” lists. The best tech. The best gadgets. The best deals. All noise, my friends, all noise. My gift to you is what not to gift to others. 

Spoiler alert; it sucks, whatever it is.

Fitness Trackers. OK, can we just stop this now? Besides the copious reports that these things don’t actually work, where’s all the owner’s evidence that they do work? Counting steps is bogus at best. Sure it’s all nice and cheery to think that something literally as basic as just meandering around all day will help you lose weight by just more meandering is bogus. Who has ever lost -and kept off- weight by merely just increasing their steps? I’ll tell you who; no-freaking-body. If it was really that easy, people would be walking more. Instead, they’re just driving more, and that’s while staring at their phones. These are the same numbskulls who thought Jared lost all that weight by just eating at Subway. Turns out it was all the whacking off to child porn. Fitbits, etc are just this generations version of the treadmill. Something bought during the holidays with the best of intentions, but ultimately just ends up being decorated over with clothes.

Unsolicited Books. We all have that one daft aunt who thinks she “really knows” us. She wants to show this off by buying us a book we never asked for. Books are huge investments of time, especially if they don’t have lots of pictures or things to color in. Just because we flew in a plane doesn’t mean we would be fascinated by a book about aviation history. Just because Hamilton is the trendy play these days everyone pretends to love, doesn’t mean there is any real interest in reading a droll history of the man. No one really knows me well enough to buy me a book. If you really do know me, you know not to buy me a book.

Anything from Kohls that comes in a box under $10. No, just no. That shit is all $1.99 the day after Xmas anyway.

Anything that is a monthly subscription. How come I just can’t buy anything anymore? How come everything has to be a subscription? Razor blades, toothbrushes, dive bar shirt clubs (Why? Why do I want shirts sight unseen from bars I will never go to? I have a theory this one is all a scam and the “bars” are just made up.) dog toys, dinner, music, jelly? Why can’t I just buy a damn razor or download without being tethered to receiving another thing in a regular interval? (Clue; it’s because you’re much more likely to just receive the shipment than ever actually cancel it from your card.)

Alarm clocks. Can someone please explain to my why alarm clocks are still around? With the prevalence of smart phones, they are just not needed anymore. Put any bell and whistle you want on them (white noise, projection-because what helps you beat insomnia quicker than staring at a giant, illuminated clock on the ceiling as you can’t fall asleep?) Phones have pretty much killed off other things like GPS, radios, genuine human interaction, cameras-why are alarm clocks still around?

These aren't my grandchildren.

Facebook Portal. OK, so let me make sure I understand this. The dominant social media company that does all kinds of sketchy things with our personal data has introduced their very own camera? That can follow us around? Yea, this sounds safe. There’s a reason my FB password is ZuckerburgSucks. It’s also the same reason this blog has been receiving so little traffic from FB, too. Bastard. 

Romaine Lettuce. Obvi.

Anything alive. Really, I mean it. We can start at the deforestation of the Earth for something so trivial as “Christmas trees.” But, really, anything from a plant, to a fish, to a puppy/kitten, horse, actual children (both domestic and shithole countries.) It’s too much.

Cars. November to Election Day; offensive and unrealistic political ads. Election Day to New Year’s Day; offensive and unrealistic car ads. Like, seriously, has anyone here ever received an actual new car for Xmas? Even a beater car? No, because those things only happen in commercials, not to us ham and eggers who live paycheck to paycheck and whittle away what precious little time they have left over on a blog no one reads. One day I aspire to be at a point in life where I have a wife and a job where I can surreptitiously squirrel away enough money from her to buy her a car. If I can do that one year, then hiding the mistress the next should be a piece of cake. #squadgoals

Not shown; the side of the house he had to knock down to get the car into the living room

Ancestry.com C’mon people. You know who works for Ancestry? A bunch of Nigerian princes we’ve already sent money to. So let me get this one straight. These are for people who have absolutely zero going on in life, they to at least have to feel they sprang from noble stock in the past. This same stock would shed tears if they saw what a mess we are. All you do is send them in a swab of your spit There are just so many jokes I have for this part, I literally can’t decide which to use-

Can’t they just get that from the envelope?

Emily Ratajkowski can send in some of mine.

BYOING BYOINGBYOING

What if mine has some chaw in it?

So..if you ask for my girlfriend’s spit…..

Back on point, you just send them a swab of your spit, and, quite magically, your entire lineage comes back! Presto! Totes legit. Well, I got all uppity about this and send an undercover -and sexy! agent to the Ancestry office, and she revealed the cutting edge technology they use

You are Turkish.....and......Ugandan......and...

So trot out Kelly Ripa all you want, Ancestry and their ilk are likely scams. Oh, and guess what they do? They also sell your data. Their biggest finding so far? People who send money to Ancestry.com are stone fucking stupid. Sorry, Susan, you’re not really Navajo, enough with all the dream catchers on your desk. Really, at this point, you might as well throw away your money at DNA testing your dog.

Your move, Ancestry.

Dog DNA tests. Oh, FFS, we’re doing this now, too? This is an even bigger scam. “Oh my god! Sparky actually descended from one of the dogs in Turner and Hooch!” No, no, no. Please stop wasting your money on this. Send it to me; I will set up some bullshit Patreon site. In fact, with the first few patrons, I will roll that money right into an experiment where I send Theory Pup 2.0 saliva to Ancestry and my saliva to a dog DNA site. Science!

Pink Salt Lights. For every piece of evidence you can find from some POS “mommy blog” that goes on and on about the benefits of (Himalayan) pink salt lamps, I can point you to 50 fact based articles that declare them to be-scientifically put-pure hooey. I’m sure if you also wasted your money on a DNA test, your results would come back as “gullible and prone to nonsense.”

Sexy Handmaiden’s Tale costume. I don’t even watch the show, and even I know there’s something wrong with this. What’s that? They already pulled it? Damn! Uh…I mean, good. Not like I was saving it for a special occasion or anything. 

"Kev, do you ALWAYS have to have pictures of half naked girls in your blog?"
Yes, yes, I do, because it takes me 3 days to find just the right one.

Ugly Sweaters. There was a time, not that far ago, when people had holiday parties where you had to wear an ugly sweater. The idea was that you  had to go out, and find an actual, ugly sweater. By the droves, people would go to thrift stores -or their parents’ closets- to find sweaters that were at one time sorta fashionable, but currently termed “ugly.” As this rage grew, it became profitable for companies to premake “ugly sweaters.” Nowadays, you’re just a few clicks away from any number of licensed ugly sweaters; movies, sports, cartoons. Now they light up and play music. This really all defeats the original intention. Personally, I blame all the hipsters for ruining this. I blame them for a lot, actually.

Am I missing anything?

You GD know the next post will be titled Gifts Most of The Morons Who Make Up the General Public Need.

On an unrelated note, be on the lookout for my Amazon Gift List!!!!!!!

Why It's OK To Hate Xmas

Guys, we need to talk. Like, seriously. There seems to be this sentiment out there that we all have to love Xmas. ” It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” the song goes. Every commercial shows happy families greedily tearing open present after present. Meanwhile, there are starving kids in some Third World country wearing Atlanta Falcons Super Bowl Champions t-shirts. Yay holidays!

We spend hours and hours shopping in stores and in the few remaining malls. We waste our precious online time not on FailArmy videos, but shopping for even more shit for people we barely know. The driving, the weather, the people. And this is fun?

Literally, the first image that comes up for "I hate Xmas.'

Look, it’s time we take a stand. It’s OK to hate Xmas. In fact, I am pretty sure it’s in the Bible somewhere. Right after that story about the guy who built the boat and carefully wrangled exactly one male and female of every possible animal. So let’s break this shit down.

All The Xmas TV Movies Suck. I don’t wanna hear another one of you skirts ragging on Saw or movies starring the Rock as “being all the same.” If you can’t see the many layers of the Jigsaw character, you are stone stupid. That is just a fact, and science backs me up here. Yet it’s ok to hunker down on the couch in sweats any my hoodie, eating cookie dough and watching Lifetime and Hallmark channels all weekend. All those movies have the same damn plot. Some broad comes to some small town and saves Xmas.  Every damn time. Look, if you’re gonna watch this tripe at least do this. 

I might even watch with you. Especially if the girl in the movie is hot. Which happens quite often; just sayin’, fellas.

"This is the hand I jack off to you with."
"OK, ga-ross."

Last year, I forced myself to sit down and actually watch one of these Lifetime Xmas movies.

There Are People Who Think Die Hard Is Not a Xmas Movie. These people are to be avoided. For some, it doesn’t feel like the holiday season starts till they see Santa at the Macy’s parade. For people like me, the holidays don’t start till Hans Gruber is plummeting from Nakatomi Plaza. (SPOLIER ALERT! Oh, wait, I should have said that sooner? Screw that, the movie is like 40 years old.)

"But I still have Bed Bath & Beyond coupons! They're 20 per centtttttttt"

Your Family Always Has That One Weird Aunt or Uncle. What’s that you say? Your family doesn’t have one? Hate to break the news to you…

It's like looking in a mirror.

The Songs All Blow. How many freaking times do you need to hear GD Jingle Bells? Enough already! Just who the hell is "decking their halls?" And where do they get the boughs of holly? If Grandma wants to live by herself in the woods, she can stay there. Where’s all the GD Halloween songs?

Ugly Sweater Parties vs Halloween Parties. You decide where you'd rather be.

BYOOIINNGGGGG!!!

The Ugly Sweater Thing Is Over and Done. It used to be fun when you had to scour thrift stores for legit ugly sweaters that, at one time, someone thought passed for formal wear. Now, you can find premade ugly sweaters from your favorite team, band, movie, etc. Much like redheads, these sweaters are soulless. I blame the slacker hipsters for ruining this one.

Yea, we get it. You didn't even try.

There Is No Return on Investment. Like, literally. I’m not smart with money at all, and even I figured this out. Hate to be cold here, but Xmas lasts exactly as long as there are unopened presents. Once all the presents are opened, kiss my ass, I’m playing with all my new toys and games. It’s what Santa wants.

Think of all the time you spend running to stores to find “the perfect gift.” Think of the hours you spend  shopping on the computer when you could be doing better things, like reading this here blog. Then there’s all the wrapping. And, hey, let’s throw in a few parties we don’t want to go to. And let’s house all these cookies and bullshit. And Xmas is literally over in a flash. Presents opened. It’s the 26^th and you’re back to work because you blew what little paid time off you had in the summer on “mental health days.” Ho ho ho, dipshit.

Yes, OK, I know, Xmas is more than that. It’s the traditions. It’s the food. It’s the family and friends. But here’s my dream Xmas morning. Sleep late. Have traditional Xmas waffles. Open presents. See family for as long as I can tolerate, while trying to figure out who our weird uncle is. Return home and bask in my presents. Watch A Christmas Story a few more times.

The Santa Thing is Getting Kind of Creepy. As someone who doesn’t have children (you’re all welcome.), isn’t this everything you breeders tell your kids not to do? Let me get this straight. You take your spawn to meet an old man-a stranger- in the mall? Then you tell little Johnny or Neaveh (and enough with that name, BTW.) to sit on the strange man’s lap? Wha wha WHA? And said old man-rumored to be an actual saint in some corners-promises to lay lavish gifts on the child if they’re “good?” He sees them when they’re sleeping, he knows when they’ve been naughty or nice? Then, jolly old Santa breaks into your house? Um, excuse me a minute as I get on top of my soapbox here:

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE????

That scenario is far scarier than anything on Halloween. Next thing you’ll tell me is there is some creepy fairy that pays them for discarded body parts.

The Hustle and Bustle Sucks. First off, at what other time of year do we use the term “bustle? ”Just what is bustle and why does it get into my hedgerow?  For 4 or 5 weeks, all these nudnicks get in my way; in the store, in the supermarket, in the liquor store, on the roads. Get out of my GD way. And where’s my jetpack? I was told we’d have jetpacks by now.

Enough With the Fake Niceness. Yes, we’re all supposed to be happy and full of the holiday spirit. But what is worse is the people who pretend to have it. They go way over the top to mask their massive unhappiness of being surrounded by assholes for a month. I feel ya there. (That’s what she said.)

Xmas Trees Support the Deforestation of the Planet. You monsters.

Merry Frickin' Xmas, jackals.

Xmas Is Just Rampant Consumerism. Sheeple! You’re only funding the multi-national corporations. Plus, I had the Kevolution Theory Bureau of Statistics tell me that 64% of Xmas gifts never get used properly. 64%! That’s like almost 65%! Yay! Let’s get more crap we don’t need!

You know what we should be doing instead? Giving to charity. Does Cousin Dupree really need a $20 novelty piece of shit you picked up last minute from the Kohls because you forgot he existed? No. Your money is far better spent-as well as karma earned-if you throw a couple of bucks to Music and Memory, who helps people like Henry.

Mistletoe. In this climate we’re living in, how is mistletoe even still a thing? What horny old man-and you KNOW it was a horny old man-came up with this? It was probably some pervy ol’ mistletoe farmer, if such an occupation ever existed. “I know, I’ll invent some custom where I hang mistletoe up. And any pretty ol' lady that wanders under it will have to get a peck on the cheek. And then I jam my tongue down her throat! Brilliant!” How are all these uppity social justice warriors not raging against stores that sell mistletoe, mistletoe balls or even the classy mistletoe belt buckle? Which I may or may not be wearing right now. Ladies? Ladies? Hello?

The Car Commercials. OK, quick impromptu poll. By a show of hands-preferably the one not holding your drink-have you ever gifted anyone with a car?

(No hands raised.)

Uh huh, uh huh. Ok, class, again by a show of hands, have you ever been given a car for Xmas?

(Still no hands raised.)

Ah hah! As I thought. The Kevolution Theory Bureau of Statistics show none of us have ever gotten a new car for Xmas. Can we please get rid of these offensively unrealistic car commercials? (In fact, this will be part of my presidential platform. #VoteForKev2020) In what Valhalla do these families exist where they buy cars for each other? And if you notice, the people still get regular presents in the house! WTF is this madness? Wouldn’t you be kinda pissed that your spouse somehow took out enough money under your nose, they could buy you a car and you never even realized the money was gone? I have a theory about these commercial couples; the one that bought the car has been having/wants to have an affair with the neighbor. The car is just a way to soothe their conscience. Try watching those commercials now, you cheating bastard.

No One Eats Candy Canes Anymore. I have another theory that there hasn’t been a new candy cane made in years. They just recycle the ones no one wanted this year for next. Kinda like the salad at your favorite restaurant.

Tastes like 2016.

Xmas Cards. Again, what a spectacular waste of resources. If you send me a Xmas card, you should just address it to Kevolution Theory Trashcan so the mailman knows where to put it. I don’t even open them. I don’t send them. I truly don’t care if you send me a card, we’re square either way. Just don’t expect a Xmas card from me. Or a birthday card. Or a Father’s Day card. Or a condolence card. I say the same things about holidays as I do when I bounce; Kev don’t card.

Speaking of cards, enough with the creepy cards of just your kids. Chances are I barely know you, so why the blue hell do I wanna see your kids? I want to see YOU. What you look like now. I want to see who you married. Yes, it’s shallow, but it’s human nature. Whenever you send a card with your kids, you are telling the world, “I am now repugnant, hopefully my kids won’t end up like me.” You have given up in life. May god have mercy on your children.

Reindeer Boob. Yea, you’d think I’d be all about the wimmen folk exposing their boobs. Plus, I’m a pretty big perv, too. (Yes, I really am wearing a mistle toe belt buckle now, and no one in this book store seems to be obliging.) But I don’t know how I feel about this one yet.

A lil' somethin' for the ladies.

So, did I miss anything?

Everybody Is Not Crazy About a Sharp Dressed Man; My Day In a Tux

I hate tuxes. (I was once told in a writing class I never took, that your first sentence should set up your piece. And I think that sentence is a pretty strong example of that.)

So I have to get a tux for a wedding I am going to. Did you get that? Not in, but going to. What horse shit is that? I could see if I was in the wedding party, fine. But to go to a wedding? I will have to eat three dinners and just move my chair to the bar to begin to recoup my losses here.

I don’t know whoever came up with the idea of the tuxedo. But if there is a hell, I hope they are there, suffering the worst eternal fate possible. Like, I don't know; WEARING A TUXEDO! While being forced to listen to Celine Dion. In French. Suffer, you sick bastard.

I don’t like tuxedos. I have only worn a tux a handful of times as I have been in a wedding or two. I actually didn't wear a tux to any of my proms. BECAUSE I DIDN'T GO! And I don’t care what those whiny ass bridesmaids say, tuxes are far more uncomfortable than whatever garish nonsense they are wearing.

"Testicles are not part of the deal."

First, the whole process is quite demeaning. You have to go to some hawty tawty store where some handsy little jerkoff has to measure you. They give you a generic white shirt to get your chest measurements. I am sure they wash it after every fitting. They also make you wear a pair of generic pants to get those measurements. Note to the fellas; don’t go to Men’s Wearhouse freeballing. They will NOT like the way you look. Then some dude will run a measuring tape over various parts of your body. I am sure the broad who is Wonder Woman didn't get man handled like I did. I told my guy to not make the chest too tight, as I still had some chest days to do before the wedding. He looked at me and said “Do you even lift, bro?” Asshole.

So let me get this straight. I will most likely wear an undershirt. Then a button down shirt. Then a vest. Then a suit jacket. Then turn the heat on in the oven by restricting any airflow with a tie. How is this comfortable? How is this sexy? I’m pretty sure if you put one of those ghost huntery type heat cams on me, my pits and FUPA would be red. No wonder overheating drunk guys often take off their ties and put it around their head Rambo style. They’re sweating their ass off. I feel like an onion, trapped under layers. As the night goes on, I am sure I will begin to smell like an actual onion.

At least hide a bunny in there or give me those never ending hankies in the pocket so I can do some tricks or something.  I will need a thirty minute head start just to open the door to fit though when I am finished. How does one feel comfortable with 18 layers of clothes on? I feel like the Rock says; “10 pounds of monkey crap in a 5 pound bag.” And who in the blue hell wants a five pound bag of monk…..

"Damn it, Rock! I walked right into that one."

And, o yea, by the way, some other rank dude just wore this same exact thing, so do you really think it’s clean? That thought will keep me up in my hotel room as I sleep in between sheets with my head on the pillow, drinking a glass of water that is also holding the remote control.

This is way too dressed up for me. I am out of my element. I feel most comfortable in flips, board shorts and a well-worn concert T. If I can ever find a job where that is the dress code, I think I will have found my calling. Until then, the only thing I can tell you is that is not the outfit to wear to any job interview. If only Career Builder told me that sooner.

And tuxes aside, why do we need the tie? What purpose does it serve? Is it supposed to cover up the buttons or something? It serves little purpose other than getting trapped in paper shredders and pulling the wearer into a gruesome, yet compact death. Have they done that yet in a Final Destination?

(I've never seen the movies, but I am pretty sure this is all the good parts.)

"What's that? Aunt Cloris died? I'm ready."

I have exactly 6 ties

Fish tie-every guy has to own one 

A tie that is an actual piano that I won at Dave and Busters. Only cost me $67

A tie that lights up-for New Years Eve. And funerals, I guess

A Simpsons tie

A Loony Tunes Tie

A Jerry Garcia tie. What else the formal man needs, I do not know.

(Note; I don't know why the rest is formatted like this. But I am too lazy to change it, so just deal, huh?)

Look, I won’t bore you all the details. I went to the wedding. There were many other tools there, stuffed into ill-fitting tuxedos. We’d pass each other and silently nod, as if we were saying, “I feel you brother. You are not suffering alone here. And did you see the bozingas on the blonde bridesmaid? Woot woot!” 

I was hit on by almost every available girl at the reception, as well as a few of the “taken” girls. All because I had a tux on. OK, that is a lie. I didn’t get hit on at all, and three people thought I was a waiter. That’s OK, because I spit in their food anyway.

My shirt ended up falling out twice. I didn’t even use the cuff links, because who has time for that nonsense?  I took my jacket off, and walked around in the vest like I was some sort of hot shot Vegas card dealer. (I did make a cool 50 bucks playing the shell game.) My feet hurt in my shoes, so I ran around most of the night in socks. I found out the hard way the external pockets on the jacket were sewn shut when I tried to stuff some shrimp in there for the ride back to the hotel. And just because you are wearing a tux doesn’t mean you can pull off James Bond the bar when ordering your Malibu and diet “shaken, not stirred.”

The next day, I returned the tux. Now, you would think they would inspect such a fine garment from such a shady looking character, but they didn’t even bother. Guess they couldn’t smell the left over h'orderves in the pants pocket.

If you have ADD, you can follow me on the Twitter machine @ifyouseekev

DVD Bonus Material

Rejected Titles for This Post

No Tux Were Given This Day

How To Wear a Tux

How Not To Wear a Tux

Tuxedos Are For Cats and Penguins, Of Which I Am Neither

My Baby Fits Me Like a Flesh Tuxedo (massive internet points for anyone who gets that reference)

I Feel Like Taxidermy In My Tuxedo

Christmas Rant 2011

I have a house, it has 4 walls, a slightly leaky crawl space and a roof. Everything I need and want is here: my girl, my dog and my TV. (Although the order of favorites varies.)

And every Xmas I get all riled up. There's too much hassle, too much hustle-bustle. Lost is the original message. I mean, even take all the religious connotations out of it. It can all be for the birth of R2-D2 for all I care. Hell, I forget what the original message of the season is, but I am pretty sure it is not what commercials and circulars from chain stores tell me. I am pretty sure it is not spend, spend, spend. And while that is spurring the economy, putting it on your already maxed out cards ain't helping anybody but the freaking 1%.

Sure, Xmas is fun when you're a kid; believing and all that stuff. But on top of that, the presents! All kinds of cool toys for young minds. But as you grow older, there is less and less 'fun stuff' to expect. I still cling to the idea of cool presents are presents that you need batteries for, or plug in, or light up, or cut people, etc. Unfortunately, this society mostly frowns on adults getting Nerf guns. Alas, it comes time to expect 'grown up' items.

For years I fought that urge that 'older' people get. You know, the urge where they are actually stoked to get clothes, socks and underwear. I fought this for years until I finally realized any new clothes extends wash day, and I am totally down with that. And just about everybody else has a better sense of fashion than myself. Most of my wardrobe-if you can call it that-is black. So the idea of me picking out a non-black item of clothing is rather scary.

Newsflash; after that, it's all pretty trivial. Sure I'd love to get seasons 6-20 of The Simpsons. But the fact of the matter is that I look across the room, and see seasons 3-5 still in their wrappers. What I would really love is the fucking time to watch all these DVDs, read these books, listen to these CDs. Next to my bed are a mound of books (some even without pictures!) why in the blue hell would I need another one? Does anyone even really buy DVD/Blu Rays anymore? That's out of control. Unless you really, really love a movie, is there even a point to buying a DVD of it? Show me the motards that bought Are We There Yet or any Adam Sandler DVD, and I will show you some yahoo with no taste, and the money to prove it.

We already have enough. I drag my feet every year on making a list. Really, I have more than I know what to do with. Presents I've asked for, presents I didn't ask for. I am an idiot. .

Anymore, Xmas lists are just an exercise in excess. Maybe put down one or two things you just haven't bought for yourself. Always wuss out, and just ask for stuff with your favorite sports team/TV show/movie/musician emblazoned on it somewhere. Stuff that's nice to have, but definitely not a necessity. It's a struggle for me to make a list. And you know what? That's a pretty damn good gift in it's own right.

Enough already. Do you not have more shit than you know what to do with? Christmas has gotten fucking out of hand! It's grown to be all about consumption; sometimes even in a conspicuous manner.

Look, I will be the first to say I am the biggest, heartless bastard on the planet. I am largely unmoved by most human tragedy. I can't tell you the last time I cried. (OK, it was reading Marley and Me.) But this is getting out of control. Any stretch of TV watching will see you deluged by lavish Xmas commercials. The ones that kill me are the car ones. Are we still not steeped in a recession? Yet, every car manufacturer has commercials where people are getting cars for Xmas. Really? Really? I mean, it's a nice, grandiose thought and all, but the economy is still in the shitter. The last thing we need is to promote reckless spending. And where the fuck do these people get the big red bows?

The biggest hassle of the holidays is buying stuff for everyone else. And if that is not enough, we have to show some thought about the gift, too. Like make that next logical leap from what the item on list is to fantabulous object that they will love didn't even know existed. I've already admitted to being a blackhearted bastard, so this gift card to the liquor store will have to do. (If the cashier tells you there is no balance on it, tell her she is mistaken.) Generally, those of us with black hearts are not very thoughtful. But we do love rock n roll.

So, enough. Enough Snuggies, LeapPads and shit from Brookstones. What kills me is that now I'm expected to buy presents for the children of acquaintances. Really? Really? So let me get this straight, since you have crotch fruit, it's now on me to buy them another for their avalanche of presents? It's out of control. Now, if you'll allow me to get in my rocking chair and tell you what it was like when I was a kid; before remote control TVs. The only ones who got me gifts were my parents. (OK, my grandparents kicked in a few bucks and cookies, too.) When my parent's friends came over, they didn't bring me presents, nor were they expected to. I would happily be busy playing with my new gifts. Or setting stuff on fire, but that's a different story. Nowadays, kids get presents from parents, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, and friends of any of the above. Huh? Why is it on me to buy a gift for a snotnose who doesn't even know my name? And that's my test. If I am around the kid to the point it (yes, I know I said 'it') knows my name, then a gift isn't that out of the question. However, if said lil' goober doesn't know my name, they can go pound sand if they think they're getting a gift from me. You can't go over any house where they have kids and not see a small toy store morphing out from the tree. Really? Really? What are we teaching these kids when we do this? We're teaching them consumption. When they go from house to house like some demented Holiday Halloween, the parents gotta rent a Uhual for all their presents. We're giving them more gifts than what they know what to do with (and, face it, in some cases, deserve). No way Junior plays with all those gifts, most fall through the cracks.

So let's end the madness here; let's do something. Here's a novel idea. Let's stop buying shit for people who don't know what to do with everything they have; I.e everybody. Take that cash you would have spent, and put it somewhere where it will do the most good. My pocket. Wait, did I just say that? I meant, give it to charity. We can call our new holiday Charitymas. You can be of any race, religion, sex, nationality to participate in Charitymas. Ha, take that, world peace! We can make this holiday ours, not taken over by massive corporations. Somebody tell those Occupy kids about Charitymas, and I am sure that'll clear things up.

Let's take this back. Let's make it something meaningful again. Screw all this bullshit Black Friday madness. If I want to be peppersprayed, I'll go above Occupy protest. Instead, spend the night with your family-if they can stand you-in a nice, warm, safe house. Some folks would be happy just to have that. At your leisure, go out and buy a few gifts for a family that is going through a rough time. Trust me, that shitty five dollar toy train means a lot more more to a kid who didn't get the breaks like your doofus nephew. Don't forget you can also just give money straight to a charity. Hell, it's been a banner year for me giving to the Salvation Army. I am on pace to destroy last year's record of $4.37. Just today I kicked in a boss 89 cents and a few odd coat buttons. Viva karma!

And don't forget our furry friends this year. Shelters are too full of dogs who can make your home complete. And they will never tell you you drink too much. Or to put on pants. Cats you can leave at the shelter. (Damn blackheart acting out again.)

OK, I feel better. Merry Xmas, y'all.