Noice: For When You Need To Sound Like You Care More Than You Actually Do.

Noice Start!

This year has been off to an odd herky-jerky, chuggy sort of start. Minor sickness, minor injuries, minor woes keep interrupting the routines. None of these are anything to get upset or worried about. They’re just preventing me from attaining a cruising altitude feel. The sensation of having enough momentum to plow through anything that happens to come along.

On top of all those numerous vague issues, I’ve also been far more sleepy than I have in past years. Falling asleep during a movie was never an issue. However, I would at least wake up early and grab life by the short and curlies. Now, I sleep in. I think I’ll chalk it up to a change that I’m able to recognize. I’m getting older.

Douchebaggery De Evolution

Another change I’ve recognized is my newly formed propensity for saying, “Noice!” Yes, that word that conjures images of bros and douchebaggery has found its way into my lexicon. The first time I said it, I nearly threw up in the back of my mouth. The second time I used it, I felt such shame. Now, I’ve said it so many times that I’ve lost count. That is, if I were ever counting at all. You see, in order to count, one has to give a shit. As I’ve come to find out and readers will soon discover, or are at least already somewhat aware of, people who use the word, “Noice!” do not give a shit.

Noice Brah, I Totally Care

What do they not give a shit about? Well, it could be anything, but it’s probably about whatever they experienced in the moment before saying, “Noice!” It’s kind of like that Meatloaf song, the one about doing anything for love, but not doing that. Where that is something that happened in the previous verse. Instead of not doing that for love, people are saying, “Noice!” for whatever happened the moment before. This version of the song could be called, “Well I Could Actually Give A Shit (But I’ll Choose To Say Noice!)”

For those singing or whispery mouth moving along at home, it kind of works doesn’t? For those who don’t know which song I’m talking about, go listen all eleven minutes and fifty eight seconds of it. Let me know what you think below. Noice!

Crossing The Street: Take One Of These

Crossing The Street

Crossing the street is a dangerous thing many of us take for granted. We stop and wait for the little man to tell us to go, look both ways before crossing the street, and then we step off the curb and into the rest of our lives. Which honestly may not be much longer than the next split second. Some car could run a light or whip around the corner and we may not be the wiser.

This is something that happens at the intersection by my work all the time. It’s a weird spot where two winding roads cross and there are straight and left turn lane combos. There’s also not a lot of street lights and a merge lane. One more thing, it’s in the middle of a hill. Some people are climbing others are coming down. I’ve almost been hit by a left turner and a red light runner.

It’s Dangerous To Go Alone Take One Of These.

I have friend, Olympia Von Schuttlesqoot, she’s been nearly hit three to four times in the last year alone. That’s crazy! Someone should write the city! Hey, don’t look at me, I’m already doing my part.

Anyway, Olympia, tired of nearly being hit by a car to death, decided to do something about it. She went out and bought a glow stick that she wears around her neck as she crosses this silly intersection. Some people think it’s so she can be easily seen while crossing the Devil’s Gap. However, I believe it’s so she can squeeze in one last dance party while she lays in a broken heap. Let the beat drop.

No, No, One Of These!

Instead of a glowstick, I chose a much better and more versatile item, a good looking person. Another friend, MccLanahan McGoodlooks, and I were out walking our dogs one day when we happened upon the cursed intersection. We stood and the dogs sat while we waited our turn to cross. There was some chatting, but I was more concerned with taking in my surroundings. I looked from left to right and repeated. He didn’t seem to care and carried the conversation. How could he not be concerned? Maybe he didn’t cross at this intersection much.

My thoughts were driven away as I zeroed in on a left turner. A woman in an SUV sat with her blinker on. Her mouth in a chewing fashion as her hand moved away from her mouth. She looked down, was she looking at her phone? Was she aware of us standing on this corner?

The light turned green. With trepidation, I let the dogs’ feet and my own move forward. MccLanahan stepped out and continued his story. I looked once more and that was when I saw it. The double take followed by the lingeringly lustful gaze. At that moment I realized a cosmic truth. An answer to my questions. She had seen us. MccLanahan wasn’t worried because he didn’t need to worry. Good looking people are always seen, even when crossing the street. If they aren’t, their homely friends typically take the brunt of the attack.


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Shrugs: Why Do I Go To The Gym?

Shrugs, Proof That Humans Don’t Know They Are The Punchline

Shrugs are a silly exercise that requires humans to grab far more weight than they can comfortably lift and then proceed to repeatedly shrug. As if to answer the questions they silently ask themselves, “Why did I grab so much weight, why do I do this to myself, and wait, do I make that face during sex?”

In Order To Look Good, You Have To Look Stupid

This is essentially the gyms unspoken mantra. In order to look good, you have to look stupid. Cross your arms and fold in half! Squat then explode up while thrusting your pelvis forward. Heck, just lay on your back, put a weight on your hips, and thrust, thrust, thrust.

Things that come up, must come down. Something is always coming in or going out. Such is life at the gym. Shrugs are absolutely no different. If one does shrugs in front of the mirror, which surprise, everything is done in front of the mirrors – except for treadmills because gym owners don’t have an intentional sense of humor – one is in for a life-altering experience.

A Lovecraftian View of The Seven Faces of Orgasm, Yours Specifically

It’s like looking into the pit of madness itself. If you truly love yourself and are not in love with yourself keep reading. If this doesn’t fit your description, perhaps you should stop. You may not possess the mental and emotional fortitude to survive.

As any good narcissist can tell you, looking at yourself in the mirror during sex is interesting. Although, most of us don’t find it interesting in the same manner a narcissist does. Something also tells me that many of us don’t finish while looking our mirror-selves dead in the eye.

That’s why shrugs were invented. Faces change with each subsequent shrugging of shrugs. Like a skateboarder doing a different rad trick each time they come out of the halfpipe. All of the expressions you make during sex are there and you don’t know about a single damn one:

  • The Macho Teeth Grit
  • The Whimsical Smirk
  • The Look To The Left
  • The Ho-Ho-Ho, What’s This (interrobang)
  • Open Mouth McClosed Eyes
  • The Meaningful Tilt
  • The Hey There Lassie, or Laddie.
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s Reminiscent of The Rock
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s More Common and Reminiscent of Eugene Levy
  • The Very Special Episode
  • The Nyuck-Nyuck-Nyuck
  • And The Wakka-Wakka

While, in the heat of the moment, these expressions may pass quickly and can be easily missed. Mistaken for a trick of the eyes. All of your lovers have caught glimpses of them. Now, each expression is completely explorable and can be broken down on each agonizing shrug. If one isn’t driven mad and has an ounce of humility, surely, they will laugh. Then the biggest challenge is not dropping a weight or pulling something.


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Everybody’s Hugging Everybody: The Great Unification of 2018

Everybody’s Hugging Everybody.

Everybody’s hugging everybody. Champagne and other alcohol fly in every which way. Little pieces of paper descend from the sky. People turned to gravity and said, “Hold my nachos.” Whether people were shockingly disappointed or super duper excited, people dropped whatever they were holding and clung to one another. The Eagles won, or so I’ve heard, the internet wouldn’t lie would it?

Not That I Care.

I didn’t watch the game. In fact, I wasn’t even planning to capitalize on the trending beast, then I had a thought. America loves football, a lot. Either people love those teams outright or hate one of them enough to root for the other. If nothing else, people like snacks and need something to talk about between throat lacerating fistfuls of Doritos.

Then I Had This Thought.

At some point in time last night, a Republican and a emocratD unwittingly treated one another with the decency that is given to everyone. I’m not talking about people who know how each other voted. I mean strangers at bars and at parties. Those people who just joined in comradery or be a contrarianism. Who chose to hate or love one of those teams at some point in their lives. Whether it was fifty years ago or two weeks, they were unified.

In those final moments, they consoled one another or tossed a cold one the other’s way. That had to happen somewhere in the 9.8 square kilometer* of country. People left the MAGA hats and the “I Watched Hamilton and All I Got Was A Boner.” t-shirts at home.

I Could Be Wrong

That is of course unless every democrat chose to cheer for the deep state establishment called the New England Patriot. Not only would that be typical, that would mean that there were a lot of green jerseys and red hats. I have to admit, that sounds very festive.


Err.. I mean.


*google the miles.

I Bought A Mouse And Gained A Kindred Spirit Acquaintance: Chad

I Bought A Mouse.

I bought a mouse over the weekend. After six years, two of which involved a lot of false double clicks, I pitched my Razer Naga and bought a Logitech M720 A.K.A Triathlon. I realized that I wasn’t so much into gaming mice anymore. While I do play games on my PC, I don’t think I necessitate a mouse devoted to gaming. Basically, don’t require a mouse that resembles dung beetle Transformer named Shithouse* that was living proof that a disco ball fucked an Atari.

The Technobabble Was Free.

Back to my new sweet wireless mouse that has the unifying receiver and Bluetooth connectivity. First, the unifying receiver allows me to hook up six compatible devices to one receiver. That’s more than I need, but the ability to free up USB ports is always welcome. Then there is the Bluetooth which allows the mouse to be hooked up to three devices at the same time. With the simple push of a button, the active device is switched out and the cursor jumps to the next device’s screen.

The real kicker, files can be copied from device to device with the mouse. Make it active on one device, grab a file, hit the button, and hit paste on the next device. Done!

Then There He Was…

When I walked into the store I had two mice in mind, the Triathlon and the Marathon. Both were wireless and had years on one battery charge. The Marathon didn’t have Bluetooth, but it was cheaper. I found them both out on display where I could see how they felt and looked. I’d managed to check-out both before hearing, “Can I help you.”

My soul rolled it’ eyes. I figured it was some kid who didn’t really care what I said next. His manager had probably forced him to talk to me and was watching him. I turned around and there he was, Chad.

At Least That’s What His Name Tag Said.

Chad was excited and super helpful. He knew everything about the two mice in question and many things about everything else in that aisle. It should be noted that Chad knew all of this even though he broke his wrist and was now relegated to the exclusive use of mice with trackballs.

How do I know that he broke his wrist by falling down some stairs and that his brother sustained less severe injuries from a car accident? Do I really need to spell it out for you? Chad and I kindred spirits acquaintances on the same journey to find the input devices that best suit our needs!

Will We Meet Again?

While I don’t think Chad and I will ever meet on top of the Empire State Building at midnight with our favorite input devices** or anything. I think there is a chance that we will meet again.

You see, I think keyboards and mice are the bee’s knees. Out of those two, keyboards are the bee’s knees-i-est. I have several keyboards that I swap out from time to time.There’s my eleven year old main one from The Source and the gaming one. Plus a few randos, because you never know.

While looking at mice, I have to admit, I also stole a peek at keyboards. Chad told me all about them as well. Until the gentle nudge of a text saying, “Where are you?” brought me crashing back into reality from an input device euphoria.

I love my wife and my eleven year old Centrios keyboard, but man, those wireless, waterproof, multi-device Logitech keyboards sure did intrigue me. See you soon, Chad.


To my wife, I apologize. Not for Chad, but for wanting to buy another keyboard. Never for Chad.

*In all honesty, Shithouse would have been a Go-Bot.



2017 Ate All The Dicks

2017 ate dicks!

All of them. It was literally the worst fucking year of my life. It could be said that most years have been pretty great so that maybe 2017 isn’t all that bad. While the former is true. That latter isn’t. 2017 was terrible. 2017 sucked shit through a silly straw. Hey, 2017, I loathe you. I will look back at 2017 like the festering speed bump made gawhd god-knows-what organic matter – I swear I see severed limbs and a horse’s head sticking out of it – that it was.

There was a prologue to 2017 called 2016. As far as years go, it was kind of fucky. Until 2017 blew the doors off this muth and showed people what a terrible year looks like. From a statistical standpoint, the quality of years seem to be in a downward trend. Good news is, I’m not alone. Ever since that human toilet fire showed up on a debate stage, almost everyone’s quality of life has been trending down. Even if their head’s up are shoved up their racist uncle’s ass. It won’t grant them immunity as it isn’t the ring of protection the nerds are prattling on about. Now having their head up their rich as fuck racists uncle’s ass, well, that’s a different story.

It’s not just the politics though. It’s not the fact that I can’t go on social media without stumbling upon some trash heap post that’s somewhere between smoldering and five-alarm. Whether it’s from a friend or some troll bot 5000, it doesn’t matter. It’s sucked the fun out of social media. There’s a bit of anxiety. It’s like walking around downtown and happening upon a greasy back alley handy-j while someone is yelling “This is my opinion, my opinion is fact!” Let’s say, I’ve muted a lot of people this year.

Take A Break.

I’m sorry, that last bit was kind of gross. On a personal level though, I’ve been obliterated. Bad shit occurred. The kind of terrible real shit that we all eventually deal with and though many have, there’s no good way to deal with it. It’s rough, different. Lives have been forced to change and it can never be undone. That’s why, once again, I’ve vanished for a while. I wish it were because I was working on my novel for nanowrimo, but that has about one days worth of writing against it. In general, I just haven’t felt like sitting in front of the PC and tippy-tappin’ out the words. I’m basically forcing myself to do this right now.

Thankfully, I’m fuelled by rage and the need a laugh. Laughing hasn’t been as prevalent during the last few weeks. Which is too bad because I’m a fairly funny person. Although, since it’s taken me the better part of two months to write this, more laughs have occured. I like to laugh and enjoy making others laugh.

Back to the laughing.

2017 and to that end, life, are like a horse. But not just any horse. One of the big black evil bastards that bites everybody and kicked one of his trainers into a well. Of course that was when he was young and in a good mood. Now he is more days behind him than he does in front of him. The racing days are over due to arthritis. That’s why he started taking PCP*. And to support his cool habit of taking hard to come by drugs he had to get a job. So he hauls trash carts behind him. Basically, that brings him full circle on the hipster scale. Old drug, old job, old technology, in general being a drip with a penchant for black.

At any time did I mention that the trash cart is on fire? No? Doesn’t seem like I did. Well, it goes without saying that fire freaks horses the fuck out and makes them run in the opposite direction. That’s just a regular horse. Not a horse on PCP, hauling a trash cart that is perpetually on fire and four feet behind the asshole, both literally and figuratively.

In closing, 2017 sucked. Drive an oak stake through its heart. Chop off its head. Salt it. Burn it. Bye Felicia.

Can’t wait to see how fucky 2018 is!

Before the Chicken Soup for the Soul demographic get after me, there are plenty of things I’m grateful for. I’m just, pissy.

*PCP ( ) is a horse tranquilizer that was taken off the market in 1965. People took would become dissociative and feel nothing. Case in point, in the original Terminator movie, the police thought that the Terminator was on PCP. Turns out he was a time travelling killer cyborg from Austria.

Alarm Clock: Keep On Ticking

I woke up this morning before my alarm clock. That’s not uncommon. In fact, it happens so much that sometimes I wonder if I even need an alarm clock. Yet on this day, it was preferable to the recent bout of insomnia that caused me to wake up around four and then mostly stare at the ceiling for two hours. For that reason, I wasn’t at all upset that I beat the alarm by ten minutes.

With that extra time I was able to devote a moment to reveling in the splendor of my alarm clock. My early morning mind was simply ponderous about that little alarm clock, boxy with just a few buttons on it, a green digital display that’s still working, and most of all the logo on the front, Aiwa.

Aiwa was a brand that had existed for almost fifty years before the majority share holding Sony simply bought the brand completely and retired it. For a brief moment, around the millennium, Aiwa commercials were everywhere. They were the new, less expensive kid on the block. It seemed if anyone was getting new audio equipment, it was Aiwa. Then they simply vanished. Yet, according to wikipedia the brand returned in 2015 and made some bluetooth speakers. According to the global webpage, Sony has since bought the company again.

Around the time that Aiwa was huge and stereos were turning silver, I was graduating from high school and moving to college. I’d hadn’t really had a reliance on an alarm clock before. Having the safety net of parents to wake me up had served me well. There I was, twenty years ago, ready to move out into the world and I needed this little thing to come with me and make sure I didn’t sleep through the whole day. Which is a strange threat to live under because now it’s wild times if I make it passed seven.

Over the last twenty years I’ve had countless phones and computers die on me. My Aiwa alarm clock has been a constant. While those other electronics were used on an almost daily basis, so has that alarm clock. Sure they were far more complex and all the alarm clock has to do is tell time and chirping like the sentinel of not sleeping in and gainful employment that it is. May it live for another twenty. Perhaps I can be buried with it. Wouldn’t that be ironic. I’m seriously starting to entertain the idea of being buried with it.


Break Time: Time For A Break

Hey y’all, it’s time for a break, break time! I’m going to do the responsible thing first and say, that I’m not planning on any new posts for the next three weeks. No, it isn’t because you’ve done anything wrong. It’s definitely me. Furthermore, I can neither confirm, nor deny, that there may, or may not, be some sort of thing resembling, or fully considered to be a post over the next two weeks. Who knows. Anything could happen. Likewise, nothing could happen.

So, be pleasantly surprised if there is something new in the next three weeks. Until then, there are over two hundred in the archive to keep ya busy.

Here’s A Few of Mine:


Dr. Pepper


Shitslinger: The Legendary Oscillating Fan of Judgement



Here’s A Few of My Fave Blogs:


Bitter Ben

The Bloggess


Thanks for reading!

Ollie’s One Year Anniversary: We’ve Had Ollie For One Whole Year!

It’s Ollie’s one year anniversary! We’ve had Ollie for one year today! How amazing is that? We adopted this little blonde dog a year ago. He peed in our car before we had even crossed back over into Canada. Which was only about eleven blocks. He just couldn’t hold it.

When he and Bleu met, they exchanged one small bark each, sniffed, and decided to go on a walk together. Which was better than we could have hoped. However, it was then that we realized how much work Ollie was going to be. While he didn’t mind walking on leash, walking an anything other than grass was an ordeal for him. He tried to walk on the grass at all times. Any attempt to correct this was met with his contempt. Not only that, but he would not go through doors, up stairs or get on an elevator. It’s taken months, but all of this is corrected.

Then there was the big one. He was scared of pretty much any person and dog, except my wife and I and Bleu. We took him to the park and while one smaller dog was okay, the minute more than one showed up, Ollie panicked. He would run off and try to hide against the fence. We took him away immediately. Then we found out that, while on leash, he hates pretty much any dog.

That walk was so telling of what we had to work on in the coming year. A year from that day, we have a nearly rehabilitated dog. He loves people, in fact, he’s staying with some friends right now. He goes up stairs, through doors and gets on elevators without a care. Our biggest victory is his love of life at dog parks. Ollie’s the first one at the gate, ready to welcome newcomers to the dog park. He loves almost every dog he runs into, granted he isn’t on leash. That’s something we are still working on.

We love this skinny, bouncy blond dog. Ollie has made his way into our hearts and is a pillar of our family. Plenty of other people like him to. They like to pet him. Watching Oliver run and bounce brings joy to many. Speaking of joy, immeasurable joy comes to those who have witnessed the magic that is his flutter butt. This tailless, blonde bouncy dog has impacted many people’s lives. In turn, they’ve impacted his. Made him a better dog.

When it comes to making Oliver a better dog, Bleu has been a big help. In fact, he makes the role of little big brother seem effortless. Of course, he did learn from the best. Oliver and Bleu love hanging out and playing with each other. It’s amazing to see a little eleven year old pooch chase a year and a half old pup around. Basically, they get along better than we could have hoped. Below is a non-staged photo of them snuggling at work. Yes, I can bring my dogs to work!


May the joy of The Bouncy King shine upon ye!

Nintendo Classic: Revenge of The Virtual Boy or Wii U

A ways back I wrote this charming piece about the Nintendo Classic. In it, my abject skepticism for the Nintendo Classic was expressed. I had no hope and wasn’t looking forward to feeling like a T-Rex when holding the controller. Then I saw one in action and my stance softened. Then Nintendo killed it with no specific reason given, but I believe I know why.

Turns Out I Was, Somewhat, Wrong

My friend, Oregano Scrupplesworth, had thrown caution to the wind. Even after reading my post. It’s nothing short of big ol’ dumb bravery to ignore the words on, but that is what Oregano did.

When he approached me with a smug look and said, “Come here, I have something to show you.” I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he bought a new guitar or a puppy! Next thing I know, I’m at his desk feigning enthusiasm for this thing that I’ve slandered. I was relieved when he told me he had read my post. Not only for narcissistic reasons, but I could also drop the act and was able to speak a bit more freely. Open up my mind. Lay my opinions on the table and prepare to take in the good stuff that I may have ignored.

Meanwhile… Nintendo Classic Is Dead

Days later, for some reason, which was not specifically called out, but has lead to much speculation, Nintendo discontinued the NES Classic. It seemed like a weird move because people still wanted one and Nintendo simply didn’t want to make more. Maybe it was because of hacking and cracking, maybe it was that they said they were going to make the SNES Classic.

Regardless, people looked up to the dark rain cloud laden sky. Their eyes closed – except for the nerds wearing glasses – to keep all the rain out. Some let loose a roar so ferocious and long that it it turned into a gurgle once their mouths filled with rain. Their pants got muddy (*gasp*) their respective mothers will be so upset.

I on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. The time spent at Oregano Scrupplesworth’s desk and softened my opinion. Sure, the controller cable, at one point in time, had been destined to become a nunchuck for the Wii/WiiU. That is until, the demographic that enjoys playing games while impersonating an epileptic T-Rex, petered out and moved on. Yes, the Nintendo Classic only had thirty games and people would have to hack it to get more. Oh, the sound was kind of weird. Was there sprite flashing? I think there was, but I can’t be sure. I think I commented on it because I wasn’t expecting it to happen.

Yet, there was something magical about it. The pixel perfect mode was great, the controller was responsive and the UI seemed like the creators cared. In other words, it had shortcomings, but it was a quality product. Unlike similar consoles that do the same thing, but craptasticly.

The Heroic Procrastinator’s Journey’s Destination

I had left Oregano’s desk fully prepared to write, Nintendo Classic: Maybe I Was Wrong. Yet, I didn’t for a myriad of reasons. Most of which involved me doing something else instead. I pondered purchasing a Nintendo Classic, but standing in line and paying an arm and leg for something because of scalping? That dog will not hunt! Now, I’ve written and you’ve read* this.

Ah, I do have one possible answer as to why Nintendo killed the Nintendo Classic. Not owning a Nintendo Classic has given me a lot of time to stare at the wall and come up with theories. Who wants to play video games?

I remember like it happened yesterday, back in nineteen ninety – whatever- Nintendo released the Virtual Boy. It was a giant, strobing, colossal failure. That was the moment when kids realized that Nintendo wasn’t perfect. Not very many people bought one. Fast forward twenty years to the Wii U or as I like to call it, the Virtual Boy 2. Similar story there too. People didn’t know what to do with it and they really didn’t want it.

Nintendo is just showing us not to bite the hand that feeds it. We did this to ourselves!

I’m going to go play Dreamcast!