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…..

A Brutal Evaluation: Why I Stopped Writing

In case you haven’t noticed. Wait a minute, let me start that over again. I KNOW you haven’t noticed. I haven’t written anything in a pretty long time. In fact, by this time last year, I had five laugh and pee inducing posts already up. This year, sadness and urine retention rates are way up.

“So, Kev, whaddup wit that?” 

"How can I write when ...I....don't.....have a computer?"

Honestly, it hasn’t been bothering me at all this year. So maybe the fact it WASN’T bothering me should be bothering me? I am so confused. When the words stopped flowing, I wasn’t worried. I’m not one to force a post to come out. Whenever it happens, it just kinda happens. I hope you guys know by now, I value the time you give to read this here lil’ blog, so I am not going to insult you with half baked, bullshit posts. I work pretty dang hard for you 12 regular readers.

Recently, at what I would describe as a “work function” that us elected officials have to attend, we did an ice breaker game to start. Everyone had to offer a fun fact about themselves. When it got to me, my “fun” fact was, “I hate this game because all of your interesting fun facts make my life look lame.”

If there’s two rules of writing (or public speaking) I can offer you, it would be these:

1) Try to make people laugh. Even if they don't, they will appreciate the effort

2) Give a little piece of yourself away

Lately, I haven’t been able to do that. (in dramatic voice) So no post for you!  I haven’t had many experiences worth “our time.”

And that’s kinda it, right? “Our time.” We can do so many things with it. Sure, we all have the commitment of jobs that owns most of our clock. Life is what happens when the hours are ours. (Say that three times fast.) The “free time.” The time we do things that we enjoy. The activities that excite, challenge, inspire, drive, encourage, refresh, renew us.

Man, does anyone have a good fart joke? Because this is where I need one. I am a little rusty.

However, I truly haven’t been doing nothing. Since we’re all honest here, I’ve kinda been doing work on myself.  Now, let’s not get carried away here. I am sure you already know this, but I will say it anyway:

I AM FUCKING AWESOME AS I AM

.

Yet, that still doesn’t mean I can’t get/be better. And, no, this isn’t some hippie, new age bullshit. Think of it more like focusing my efforts where I get the best result. Some days, with the free time I have, I think it will be best if I go to the gym. Or walk the dog. Or read. Or volunteering. I can get a lot back, fairly quickly. But writing…man…

Think of it like return on investment. Sure, I can get a lot of enjoyment out of writing what I think is a funny/witty/snarky/honest post. Then, I can bum myself out by the relative lack of hits, and zero responses. I can let myself get more pissed by further seeing a banal picture getting 200 likes and 300 ZOMG!!!! comments. And I’m working on the whole “let it go” thing. It doesn’t mean I stop writing; it just means do the best I can, then, literally, let it go. There’s so much out of my control. And I am fully aware of human nature NOT to respond positively to anything. Humans suck that way, and I am pretty sure DNA backs me up on this as well.

What takes you ten minutes to read (also another reason I don’t use long words) literally takes me HOURS of time. Time to write, rewrite and edit. Or, as I have seen it eloquently called, “word surgery.” Then find, add and caption the pictures. Do rudimentary SEO in the seemingly vain hope of reaching a broader audience. Then, let it go. If people, respond/react, that is just a bonus.

I believe anything we do with our leisure time is escapism, right? You’ve had a hard shift/day/week, etc, best to blow off some steam. Isn’t that the point? And that escapism can take many forms; some positive, and some destructive. I will point to a few of my real examples, because you don’t have a blog about yours.

Say I’ve had a long week. All my constituents have been all up in my grill, calling my office, emailing me about all kinds of nonsense. “Why can’t we make this a one-way street?” “The street light buzzes too loud.” “I think there’s a meth lab next door.” Ugh, these people are so needy! And they think I work nights and weekends, too. Ha! I’ve never seen what 3:01 looks like on the office clock.

I can release some steam/escape positively by, say, going to the gym. Just me and my music, lifting heavy things, trying to justify the $100 of new UnderArmour I just bought. (That only works out to a t-shirt and one left sock, BTW.) I can be positive and get the pup out for a long walk and try to see this world through his eyes. I can dust off my old PS3, pretend I am the Undertaker and brain people with steel chairs. I can write or read. Discover new music. All positive things.

Me on a Friday and or Saturday night

I can also be destructive. I can drown my day in booze. A lot of times, the lines blur for me. Take for example, writing this here post. As I type, it’s Thursday, and the sun is going down, and Friday morning seems a week away. “You know what would make this post even more funny?” the devil voice inside says. “Rum.” I know you readers probably think the same thing. I can drink and play racing games where I run the opposite direction and try to wreck everybody. I can pretend I’m the Undertaker and brain people with steel chairs.

I’ve been trying to make better choices for myself, because I can’t make better choices for you knuckleheads. Lately, the trend has been to spend less time writing, and more time destressing in other pursuits. As a result, I liken me writing less to prostitution; there’s no real victims here. There is even a theory along the lines the less you do a thing, the better you get at it. I guess I am testing to see if that’s total bullshit or not. It’s a risk I am willing to take for you, dear reader.

Forgoing writing has allowed me to take on another difficult burden; evaluating myself to see where I actually can be better. I am pretty sure a better Kev would equal a better writer for all of us. And oh yea, I am still totes serious about #VoteForKev2020, so I better get my shit together quick. Hmm, a better Kev and a better writer….sounds like……

A SEQUEL!

Coming soon; A Brutal Evaluation Part 2.

The Christmas JackPotLuck Joke Buffet

As most good writers (I guess) I came up with a bunch of jokes, ideas, concepts, etc. that I just didn't have time to flesh out. Blame many things; the hustle and bustle, needy constituents, family get togethers, travelling, black outs, I mean, there's plenty of blame to spread around here, so let's not with the pointing of fingers, eh?

So consider this my late Xmas gift to you. Yes, this is admittedly a half ass post. But two things, here, sport. 1) Even my half ass posts are better than most others' "full ass" posts and 2) WHAT THE FUCK PRESENT DID YOU GET ME?!?? Exactly, so read on you soulless bastards.

Even if the government is shut down on Christmas Eve, you know who' still gonna be working? The mailmen/women. You're GR right, that's their big day.

"Oh, I have a tip for you."
"Great, I'm used to handling small packages!"

So, as I click past the 17 channels that are showing holiday movies 24/7, I can't help but look at some of the lead actresses and think, "Ya know what? I probably would."

Would

You know what I would like to give the world for Xmas? And excuse me, if this a bit of a #VoteForKev2020 post, but I would like to make mandatory that ALL cars come with turn signals. I've been doing a lot of travelling lately, and it seems the closer the Holidays get, the worse the driving gets.I mean, if you're gonna cut through 3 lanes of traffic to barely sneak into that exit that was CLEARLY marked for the last 3 miles, at least use the GD turn signal.
What, what's that? Turn signals are already in ALL the cars!?!?
Well, fffuuuucccckkkk me. So why aren't you assholes using them? C'mon man, a little common courtesy in this holiest of made up holidays.

Here's a pretty cool Xmas medley that is KT approved

And the best new album of new Xmas music as well. JD McPherson

Random Thought; If I wanted to have a rainbow party during the holidays, could I get away calling it a candy cane party?
Asking for someone who already sent out the Evite.

Would

Anyone else finding themselves missing the excitement that was the Bell Helicopter Bowl?

Question for the fellas; is the girl in the GMC red/black commercial growing on you as well? She has a very breathy, porny "Yea?" at the 7 second mark

If you're one of the 5,000 people Chevy just laid off, how steamed are you at Chevy Family commercials?

Where can I get some goddamned figgy pudding? These dang kids won't go until they get some.

They won't go until they get some.

They won't go until they get some. (C'mon, you know you were already singing that in your head.)

Would.

Bowl season the the male equivalent of Hallmark movies.

Is there any Star Wars character Disney hasn't put a Santa hat on yet?

I'm not gonna miss all these freaking Jared commercials. Fellas, can I get a high five here?

Would

I drink my Ovaltine.

Would

I hope you can all come see my Christmas band play this weekend. Our name is Sleigher. (And, yes, I used that joke on FB, but it's just that dang good, I can use it again.)

Topic for debate; when being gifted underwear, do you wear them right out of the box or wash them? I know what I do, but what would you do? Thoughts?

Would

Knock it off with all the Elf memes about Christmas being 364 days away already.

Hey, Let's Just Ban All Xmas Songs!1!

If there’s one thing you’ve figured out about me by now, it’s I hate Xmas. Not pretend, shallow male Lifetime Xmas movie character hate Xmas. No, this is a long standing, battle tested attitude. I will just never understand the love for “the holidays.” Ergo, if I hate Xmas, then it’s a pretty safe bet that I can’t stand Xmas music. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again; “Just how many times does one need to freaking hear Jingle Bells?”

One of the viral stories from this holiday season is the sudden outrage over a little holiday ditty called “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” In case you have a life, story here. Full song lyrics here.

If you’re reading this, you’re probably busy assembling your own attitude about this song, and you want to get an intelligent take. Here’s my take; so you can go into work tomorrow and pretend it’s yours, you sonna bitch.

The song was written in 1944, which is, like, a hundred year ago. And here’s two facts; at no time is there any mention of Xmas in the song and it was written by a husband to perform with his wife. It was written to play at the end of a party to send everyone home. 

I have this hanging 24/7.

Like most ‘classic’ Xmas songs, it’s a relic from a different time. And while I honestly don’t believe it was written to be predatory, times change, we evolve, and lo and behold, now it’s kinda, maybe, a bit not PC. Again, I don’t think there are shenanigans going on here, much of it was the language and social norms of the day. I don’t think the male is trying to spike her drink, keep her against her will, throw her down a hole, rubs the lotion on its skin. This song reminds me of another song from that era; “One More For My Baby (And One More For The Road.)” Some Jersey guy named Frank made it popular. The story of that song is some poor sap ‘bending the bartender’s ear’ about a ‘brief episode.’ The gist is it’s closing time and in addition to asking for one for his long gone girl, he also wants ‘one more for the road.’ And this is another example of how society learns and evolves. Back in the 40s, it was apparently the norm to ask for ‘one more for the road.’ That meant you got another 4 fingers of Scotch, threw it down, got behind the wheel of your Model T, maybe drove through Farmer Joe’s corn field just a little bit and went home. In the morning, everyone would laugh it off, and you’d take the car to the town mechanic to repair. Now we know that is a pretty stupid move, so that phrase has gone the way of CB radio, but it’s still a great fucking song. When do the SJW come for that?

So, what was I talking about?

Oh yea. I think it’s time to just play it safe and ban ALL Xmas songs.

Yes, maybe that’s a bit of a knee jerk reaction. But guess what? If you actually listen to some Xmas songs (like I have for the sake of this post, and I am now scarred for life. See what I do for you guys? Where’s my damn Pulitzer?) I listened to a bunch, and guess what? Each and every one contains something offensive. So let’s bubble wrap everything and protect the snowflakes and get rid of all the Xmas songs. Don’t think we should? Well, as Aerosmith sings, “Read on.” Or I think that’s what they say.

Jingle Bells. Offensive lyrics:

Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh

That’s animal cruelty in 2018 folks. Why are we enslaving such beautiful creatures (looking at you, Clydesdales) to pull our ass around? Haven’t you seen the commercials? We’re all getting new cars for Xmas!

Deck the Halls. Offensive lyrics;

Deck the halls with boughs of holly

Don we now, our gay apparel

You jackals! I don’t know where holly grows, but do we need to rip it from the Earth to deck our halls? Why do halls even need holly? And just how much holly IS a bough? It’s probably too much. And GAY apparel? How the blue hell have the SJW not gone after this song? What is gay apparel? Ha! You’re evil for just even thinking about it, you homophobe! I’m really starting to feel dirty researching this post. (And, no, the Xmas porn I’ve also been “researching” doesn’t count.)

Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer. Offensive lyrics: (oh boy, where do we even start? And this song is relatively new compared to the others)

Grandma got run over by a reindeer

She’d been drinking too much eggnog/And we begged her not to go/But she forgot her medication/And she staggered out the door into the snow

She had hoofprints on her forehead/And incriminating Claus marks on her back

And the blue and silver candles/ That would just have matched the hair in grandma’s wig

To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves

Man, I swear, these songs are dirty. How is mainstream radio getting away with playing such un PC songs? Where do I start? Just the image of a poor, helpless grandma getting run over by a flying reindeer? How is this Christmassy? How does the imagery of animals colliding into the elderly evoke joy? You specters with your “holiday music.” You all should be ashamed for listening to such violent songs. Go settle down and listen to the gangsta rap channels. And why are we painting Gamma as an alkie as she stumbles out into the snow? Sure, she forgot her medication; so now we’re assuming she has dementia. I know, this will make a great Xmas song! And then let’s not only find her body, but put hoof prints on her forehead and make Santa all handsy! Elmo and Patsy -if that’s even their real names-should be arrested. If they’re still alive.

OK, so devil’s advocate. So what is this is a response track? What if the titular Grandma, is actually the Baby in “Baby, It’s Cold Outside?” What if it’s actually good ol’ grandpa trying to cajole her to stay safe, instead of wandering out into the night full of murderous deer? Different spin, now, huh? I’ll give you a second for your mind to recover being blown before I ruin another holiday classic.

12 Days of Xmas. Offensive lyrics;

Just about every damn line

Wow, let’s gather the kids around the tree as we sing about deforestation (pear trees), what I am pretty sure in animal abuse; giving partridges, turtle dove, colly birds, French hens, geese a-laying (which I am pretty sure means they are pregnant. Pregnant geese, this year’s perfect Xmas gift), swans that were formerly swimming. But let’s continue with stereotypes of “ladies dancing,” “lords a-leaping” and whatever twisted imagery you conjure up for “maids a-milking.” This song is rubbish, and I will say as much to the manager on duty the next time I hear it at Target.

Wanna keep going?

Have a Holly Jolly Xmas. Offensive lyrics;

Kiss her one for me

Not cool in light of all this Harvey Weinstein business, bro.

Domenick the Donkey. Offensive lyrics:

Oh fer chrissakes, take your pick

Stereotype much?

White Christmas. Offensive lyrics;

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

Supposedly, this is the official Xmas carol of the White House

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Offensive lyrics;

Make the yuletide gay

I'm not even gonna caption this meme, you guys should get this one.

Again, I’m fairly sure “gay” had a different connotation when this song was first written. Still, it could be taken as a slur, so we’re best just ditching the entire song. You guys happy now? This also means we gotta scrub the Flintstones theme song, now, too. Hey, I don’t like it either, but rules is rules, and I didn’t start this mess.

Santa Claus Is Coming to Town. Offensive lyrics;

He sees you when you’re sleeping

He knows when you’re awake

He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake

"If you have no problem with this song, give it a thumbs up."

Hey kids, let's sing a song about a creepy old dude who watches you when you sleep! Why are we celebrating a guy that allegedly watched kids when they’re sleeping and “knows” if they’ve been bad or good. I didn’t even bring up this supposed list that keeps track of the naughty and nice. But, fuck it, let’s put this guy on Coke bottles and CBS specials.

Ok, so let me ask the breeders and Earth haters out there a question. If there was some strange dude sitting in the mall, would you send your precious little snowflake to go sit in his lap and confess their deepest desires? No, of course not. So why do you do it when there’s a stranger dressed like Santa in the mall?

Santa Baby. Offensive lyrics;

Hurry down my chimney tonight

Come and trim my Xmas tree

Everyone knows chimney is slang for vagina. Also, we all know what "trim my Xmas tree" really means. We're all adults here, some with nicely trimmed chimneys.

^^That is seriously the best line I have written all year.^^^

It appears the girl in question in the song desires Santa to be her sugar daddy; she also wants a convertible, yacht, diamond ring, duplex and checks. Now, I ain't sayin' but there's a word for women like this. 

Look, I am sure there are more offensive Xmas songs. The fact of the matter there are just so many I can subject myself to in the name of science. But I think I’ve more than proven my case. I don’t think we need to hear anymore Xmas songs. Ever. It’s apparently what we want.