20 More Parenting Facts That I Just Made Up

98% of children under the age of 5 have no fucking clue where their shoes are.

83% of parents fantasize about beating the living shit out of another parent at their kid’s school.

92% of parents lock themselves in the bathroom to eat in peace.

60% of children are excited at the thought of a home invasion so they can set up all the booby traps that Kevin from Home Alone did.

I still wanna fuck Andy from The Goonies. I’d probably let Stef jerk me off if things didn’t work out with Andy.

By the end of every family vacation, 99% of parents are capable of murder.

75% of parents await pay day like children await Christmas morning.

85% of parents fantasize about building a time machine just so they can go back and start using condoms.

100% of children throw up wherever the fuck they feel like it.

92% of fathers use the word “goddamn” as an adjective.

There is no better feeling as a parent than when your kid rips a well-timed fart.

I hate giving Santa Claus credit for the presents that I bought.

82% of mothers seriously considering having their uterus filled with cement after the third child.

75% of parents’ sexual experiences are interrupted with pounding on the door and someone asking, “What are you doing?”

45% of parents enjoy sitting in their minivan by themselves.

8% of parents at kids sporting events can actually just shut the fuck up and let their kids play.

94% of parents who did a shot of liquor every time Caillou whined during an episode had alcohol poisoning by the end of the show.

80% of dads enjoying crushing their kids in Connect Four.

61% of dads are embarrassed by their inability to successfully complete the monkey bars after seeing their kids do it.

19% of parents eat all the Lunchables in the fridge just to be a dick.





Category: blog

An Open Letter from Dracula

Good evening.

Just finished walking around Transylvania, taking in the Halloween festivities and I have a few thoughts. One, this neighborhood starting going to shit once these castles became Section 8 approved, but that pales in comparison to the bigger issues that have been weighing heavily upon my mind since the mid 1600s. Just in case you weren’t aware, I am COUNT Dracula. Not Dracula, not Mr. Dracula (that’s my father) and certainly not fucking Drac, as at least one of you fucking mutants with an axe to grind against polysyllabic names tends to call me every fucking Halloween. Get it right. It’s Count, cunt.

Now that this name bullshit has been settled, let’s move on to my next issue. No, I am not, nor will I ever again, hand out candy on Halloween. I used to love handing out candy. However, after about the 45th kid in a row told me that he couldn’t have peanut M&M’s because he has a peanut allergy, I had to literally sink my teeth into my own forearm to keep from shapeshifting into a bat and flying into that 45th kid’s mom’s vagina to prevent any semen from ever entering her uterus again and producing more of these peanut sensitive mongrels. Whatever happened to kids who had to eat a half bowl of gruel then walk through town while tapdancing around plague-ravaged bodies just to collect a goddamn pail of water from the hunchback’s well? Pussification of Transylvania if ya ask me!

Finally, and this is a big one, did it ever occur to you mortal jerkoffs that dressing as Count Dracula may be the least bit offensive to me? It’s 2015 and you are still wearing white face? Un-fucking-real. White face is offensive enough, but then plastic fangs too? Do you have any fucking clue how much that shit bothers me? Just so you know, these fangs of mine, which are very fucking real, have ruined my sex life for close to 600 fucking years. I fucking loooovvvveee to eat pussy, but these fangs have cockblocked me since day one. Nothing would make me happier than to bury my face in some clam (if it’s during menstruation then two birds with one stone!) and just take my frustrations out with my tongue on some mortal clit like a boxer working a speed bag. But no, I simply cannot, but that doesn’t stop you assholes from rubbing it in. I recently found out that dentists actually give out Dracula teeth in their treasure chests to reward compliance from children during exams and I wanted to fucking open my curtains and fly through the fucking window into the blinding sunlight and just fucking end it.

These issues are just the tip of the iceberg as to how often I, a fucking Count for Christ’s sake, am disrespected. Just last night, I stopped into Burger King before turning in for the night and a group of teenagers started heckling me. They asked what I was “supposed to be.” I responded, “I am not supposed to be anything. I AM Count Dracula.” One of the young gentleman, and I use the term “gentleman” loosely, responded with, “Dracula? Muthafucka you look more like Scott Bakula!” Before I could even retort amidst the roar of ridicule, I was knocked unconscious, pissed upon and had my loafers stolen.

Walk a mile in my shoes. Well, my fucking socks, because I no longer have shoes. Just because I am undead, it does not mean I do not have feelings. Maybe show me a little respect and perhaps, and that is a big fucking perhaps, I may lighten up and hand out candy next Halloween. And hopefully, I’ll also get the opportunity to start eating pussy, as well. Remember ladies, your time of the month is my time to munch.


Count Fucking Dracula


Category: blog

Work Vs. Family Time

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a miserable jerkoff. When I’m at work, I’m aggravated that I’m not able to spend time with my family. When I’m spending time with my family, I inevitably end up fantasizing about the quiet misery of work. My typical trains of thought are as follows:

At Work

“What the fuck? I have no idea why the fuck I even bother coming here. I’m eating rice and beans for lunch for the next fucking three days because I have the financial planning skills of a chimp in community college. I fucking hate this place. I don’t make any money, I want to choke slam 90% of the people here and I miss my fucking family. I would kill to be at home right now, on the couch, cuddling with everybody while these dildoes at work talked their simpleton gibberish to no one in particular. I fucking hate these people. Almost every day, I fantasize about being seriously hurt at work so I can hang out at home, eat Percocets and watch Goonies with Jaime and the kids. Maybe I’ll take a shit for the next 45 minutes, then it’ll be lunch ti…but of course I got fucking rice and beans again. Fuck. God, I would suck some smelly dick for some hot cheese right now. I swear to God if my boss calls another friggin’ end of day meeting and makes me get out of here late, I’m gonna shit in her Thermos and throw her fuckin’ family picture out the window like a fuckin’ boomerang.”

At Home

“Every second that I’m with Jaime and the kids, I feel like I’m conducting a press conference. Do the fucking questions ever stop? Christ. I said we are going to the park, not to the fucking Congo. Just put your fucking shoes on and get into the car. And of course nobody can ever find their shoes. I feel like these kids have access to a time portal where they enter another dimension just to take their shoes off then come right back to now. And would it kill these kids to watch a show that isn’t a half hour of screaming tweens? I swear to God, if I make dinner tonight and one of them asks for waffles, I’m getting in the car and not looking back. I’m gonna live off of Budweisers and hot dogs for the rest of my life. I’ll have a heart attack at the age of 40 and when they’re reviewing my medical records to notify family of my impending death, I’ll overhear them say, ‘Oh wait. Says here he has a wife and 3 kids who wouldn’t ever leave him the fuck alone. Let’s just put a pillow over his face and let him enjoy silence while he enters the afterlife.’ And I’ll just smile and nod. Oh shit. Look who found his shoes. Christ almighty, Monday can’t come quick enough.”

Category: blog

Five Years of Mikey

In two days, Mikey will be five years old. Five years seems like such a short period of time, mainly because I feel like he’s been here forever. I’ve been in love with him since the day we found out we were having him and he has been everything that we could have hoped for in a son.

Jaime and I knew that our third child would be our last, so I was really hoping we would have a boy. Our girls are the most beautiful, sweet and loving daughters that we could ask for and I’m lucky to have them for a million reasons. But I feel like I always wanted a son, in large part, to be all the things that I wished my dad would have been for me.

My dad is somebody I admire for a lot of reasons, but he’s from a generation that is more inclined to eat glass than say, “I love you.” Even now, whenever I talk on the phone with my dad and say, “I love you,” he reacts like Nancy from Nightmare on Elm Street when Freddy stuck his tongue through the receiver. That was always something that bothered me, as I figured if somebody never says those three words, then they must not love you. I should have known that’s not the case, as evidenced by how easily I cry every fucking time I watch Field of Dreams and Ray’s father says he wants to have a catch with him. The action speaks the words that aren’t spoken. As beautiful as that movie moment is, I’ve always wanted Ty Cobb to emerge from the cornstalks, call them pussies and ruin their moment. It’s still a perfect scene, nonetheless. The coolest thing about that scene is that I feel like it exemplifies how baseball often serves as a vital link between a father and son, as it gives both a reason to be in each other’s company without having to exchange anything emotionally. One of the things I looked forward to most about having Mikey was that I could watch Phillies games with him and have that bond. The day he was born was the first game of the playoffs and I got to hold him throughout the game. It was everything I hope for and more, as Roy Halladay threw a fucking no-hitter. I’m surprised Mikey’s head didn’t fly off of his neck as I shook him like a bottle of fucking champagne when the final out was recorded. My love for him almost resulted in shaken baby syndrome, so I’m glad he checkout okay and I can just express love a little less enthusiastically from then on out.

With Mikey, I make sure I tell him and show him that I love him each day. But, I also know that I’ll do something which will inevitably make him hate me just a little bit and that will serve as a motivator for if and when he becomes a father to a boy someday. I kind of feel like he already does hate me a little bit, as he doesn’t think twice about challenging me, blatantly ignoring me when I tell him to not do some things. It’s still the cutest fucking thing in the world. Few things compare to when I tell him to get a cup for orange juice, then he proceeds to slug juice out of the gallon jug while making eye contact with me the entire time. He is such a jerkoff and it is part of what makes me crazy about him.

Regardless of whatever I do that fucks him up, I hope Mikey knows how much I love him. I really have loved him from the time we found out we were having him. I would have dreams about him and would feel that warm feeling in my chest just from thinking of him while I slept. Since being born, he has just done shit that makes me love him so much that my chest hurts. When he was a baby, he would crawl over to me when I would be taking a nap on the couch and kiss my face. It was one of my favorite things and one of those moments that I’d trade anything for to happen again. But, the impermanence of such beautiful moments is a large part of what makes them beautiful. I feel lucky to have had them at all. Thankfully, I still get a similar feeling from watching him play, hearing him say funny shit, telling him to put on underwear when he’s walking around with a huge smile on his face because he is in the living room with his bird out, watching him say and do sweet things for his mother and sisters and seeing him just being him. He has helped me reach a point in life where I don’t give a fuck about anything but spending time with him, Jaime and the girls. I don’t think a person can be any more special than simply making another person just want to be in his presence. He is that for me. I’m lucky to be his dad.







Category: blog

Sometimes Kids Just Need to Be Left the Fuck Alone

Last night, I rolled out of work at 730 and headed to my mother-in-law’s place to grab the kids. Whenever the kids are at Nana’s, the girls are usually ready to go. Nine times out of ten, Mikey has no fucking clue where his shoes are. Last night he was ready to go, but on the way out, out of nowhere, he declared, “I’m not taking a tub. I’m not taking a shower. I’m laying in your bed, playing Club Penguin on the pickuter (Mikey’s pronounciation of computer).” Normally, I’d shut his shit down right on the spot for talking to me that way. But I felt like he had a tough day and sometimes, kids just need to be left the fuck alone.

When I was a kid, I used to hear adults constantly say that being a kid was the best time of their lives. That scared the shit out of me because I was in a constant state of anxiety about my weight, having friends, not doing well in school and girls. On top of that, the family members that I was around 99% of the time were fueled by negativity. If this was the best that it got, then I’d prefer not to live past thirty.

Being a kid is exponentially harder than being an adult. You have no context for anything and you are at the mercy of a handler 24/7. If you have a shit parent/parents, your world is fucking horrendous and it is almost impossible to envision living a peaceful life. Even if you have good parents, one small thing can seem like the end of the fucking world because you simple don’t have the brain development to think, “Well tomorrow’s another day.”

Hearing Mikey say what he said reminded me that I need to be more mindful of the fact that just because my kids are cared for and treated well, they’ve barely experienced anything in life and that the world is an expansive, terrifying place for them outside of the comfort of our care. Problems are problems, no matter how old you are. It’s hard not to imagine how tough processing the world is for my kids, especially since I’m 36 and still occasionally think in the middle of the night that someone under my bed will get me if they see my feet hanging over. Hopefully, we’ll both overcome our fears. If not, when I have that momentary feeling of being gotten by my under-bed monster, I’ll probably just play Club Penguin on the pickuter with Mikey in my bed until the sun comes up.


Category: blog

The Best Way To Describe An Evening Without the Kids

Yesterday, my parents took the kids overnight. The experience was liberating and refreshing. There are a million thoughts running through my head, but the best way that I can sum up having an entire night without kids is as follows:

Being home without the kids for 24 hours felt like getting paroled, then on the way out of prison, Jaime and I were picked up in a limousine filled with all my favorite thick, famous chicks, who marveled at my new, chiseled physique and who ultimately ending up fighting over me, leading to me having to tell the driver to pull the limo over to throw Pink, April from Eastbound and Down, and Eva Mendes out of the car so that we could continue driving to Vegas to celebrate freedom, but not before enjoying the limo hot tub and me coolly and calmly explaining to Serena Williams that we could likely never be together, as I am deeply devoted to Jaime.

When we arrive in Vegas, Bill Gates is there to greet me at The Bellagio, to not only compliment me on the size of my muscles, but also to tell me that he is fed up with all that “giving money away to charity” bullshit and that he thereby bequeathed his entire fortune to me. I nod, smack him lightly on the cheek then tell him he has done the right thing. We then head inside The Bellagio, where Aloe Blacc is there to serenade me with “The Man”. We then get into the elevator, where I see Ray Rice and I promptly knock him out just because. The elevator gets to the penthouse, where Jaime and I get butt naked and ride around on the complimentary tigers that The Bellagio was gracious enough to provide for us. Somehow, Aloe Blacc shows up again singing “The Man” while I ride my tiger around the suite. I politely tell him, “I get it, but leave me the fuck alone.” He starts crying, calls himself a stupid dummy, then runs toward the door. My tiger picks up on this, views him as prey and immediately charges after Aloe Blacc, ripping him to fucking shreds in the foyer, while I hold on for dear life and accidentally set a tiger rodeo world record in the process. Jaime can’t contain her passion for me in the midst of me setting world records, looking super muscle-y and inadvertently causing Aloe Blacc to be ripped to fucking shreds. To be honest with you, I totally get where she’s coming from, so I have my way with her.

After we’re finished, we get dressed up because David Copperfield has found out I’m in town and he has comped us two front row seats so we can watch him do magic and he can get a load of me and see what it’s like to be a fucking winner. On our way out of the suite, I see Pink, April from Eastbound and Down and Eva Mendes running towards me, wild-eyed, sweaty and dirty as shit as they’ve run to Vegas from the spot where I kicked them out of the limo. They’re all pleading with me at once and I simply raise a finger, causing them to all fall silent. I explain that Jaime and I are on our way to enjoy the magical stylings of Mr. Copperfield and if they really want to please me then they can pick up all the Aloe Blacc carnage that has littered my suite. They oblige before the words even leave my mouth.

Jaime and I step over Eva Mendes and we are on our way to see some magic that is nowhere near as cool as the natural magic that oozes out of me since getting out of prison, but normal people magic that will suffice for the time being. The elevator comes, I drag Ray Rice out into the corridor, then offer my arm to my lady.

So, in a nutshell, that’s how it felt to not have the kids for a night. Wear condoms, ya’ll.

Category: blog

A Simple Man

Lately, I’ve really felt disconnected from all three kids. I’ve worked a ton this summer and Jaime and I went on vacation by ourselves, so my time with the kids has been very limited, especially over the past few weeks. So, this morning I decided to take a long walk with them just to pick their brains, catch up, see what’s new with them and just find out what’s been on their minds. Bella slept late, so Olivia and Mikey went with me as we set out on our walk. I was now all theirs and asked them to unload a summer’s worth of thoughts onto me.

Olivia spoke first. When I asked what things have been on her mind lately, she unleashed a tsunami of kid worries, hopes, fears, and observations. She left no stone unturned when it came to block parties, vacations, going back to school, whether or not Jaime and I would ever get married, the neighbor’s dog, Toy Story, getting her band back together, VIP passes for her band’s performances and the work schedules of Jaime and I. By the time she finished, I felt like I had just given birth to a litter of bull mastiffs after wrestling Gabourey Sidibe. I tried to digest everything I had just heard, then I felt like I owed it to my little guy to ask him what was on his mind and give him the same amount of listening that I had just given his sister.

After a few breaths, I asked Mikey the same question. “So Mike. What’s been on your mind this summer?” He replied, “I want Mario Kart.”

A simple man. Lynyrd Skynyrd would be proud.

Category: blog

I’m Suspicious of Happy Family Photos

Today, I saw something on Facebook that made me so uneasy that I had to step away form the computer. I see it at least once a day and it never gets any easier to digest. I’m not referring to police shootings, movie theater massacres or dogs being left in hot cars. I’m referring to pictures of families where everyone genuinely looks happy.

What the fuck is wrong with these goofballs? The photos of these happy families that are most troubling are the ones where they’re all dressed in the same outfit on the beach at sunset, beautiful blonde hair blowing in the wind, with all having the smiles and eyes of Mormons. Every husband, wife and child looks like a goddamn serial killer. How are these people so happy? They have to be hiding something.

Any picture taken of me since we’ve had our three kids, I look like a failed gold prospector who blew his life savings to travel west, only to have his horse die of dysentery after receiving a letter that his wife was leaving him for some dork elixir salesman.

Jaime always looks hot no matter what, but she also has that glint in her eye indicating that the kids are one XBox argument away from making her rip through her goddamn clothing and just tear the house to fucking shreds like some sexy ass Incredible Hulk.

Kids always look happy in every family’s photos no matter what, though. In their defense, how could you not be happy when you have carte blanche to throw up wherever you want, leave your clothes wherever you want and just turn your parents into service robots like Rosie from the fucking Jetsons?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just miserable and refuse to believe that people can genuinely look happy, healthy and energized after having children. Nah. You’re right. They’re definitely serial killers.



Category: blog

A Beautiful Moment Ruined

One of the things I love about my girls is that they always tell me they love me. Mikey will do it occasionally, but he does it so infrequently that I really have to savor the sentimental moments with him. They are few and far between, so most days, I just have to assume that he loves me.

Tonight, I was listening to a Boyz 2 Men playlist as I made dinner on the grill. I came back inside to get a spatula and Mikey ran up to me. I naturally assumed he was going to punch me in the balls as he typically does every hour on the hour, like a goddman disgruntled traffic reporter. Instead of hammer fisting me in the nuts, he jumped towards me and just wrapped his arms around my neck as I lifted him up.

He laid his head on my shoulder and it was one of those parenting moments where you realize that nothing else matters and that is all about them and how they bring out the best in you and make every bit of bullshit in life worthwhile. I swayed back and forth with Mikey for a good minute, really just taking in the moment for all it was worth because I just didn’t know when it would happen again. Then, I realized we were slow dancing to “I’ll Make Love To You.” I smacked him off of my chest like he was a spider, did 50 pushups and ate a handful of raw ground beef just to recalibrate the testosterone in the room.

From here on out, it’s just fist bumps for us.

Category: blog

Typical Day at the Pool with Kids

I used to love going swimming. However, now that I have three kids, swimming is one of the last activities I want to take part in. I’d rather dress racist horses up in their white outfits for Klan rallies. If I get in the pool with the kids, I’m not so much swimming as I am getting kicked in the balls constantly while being partially submerged in water. If I’m not in the pool with the kids, our time at the pool typically consists of me sitting in a chair, saying the following for the duration of the outing:

“Yes, I’m watching. Very cool. Yep. I see. Whoa. Awesome. Daddy sees. Uh huh. Yeeeaahh. I see. For the love of God, just swim. Yes. I see what you are doing. My eyes are locked onto you right now. I clearly see what you are doing. For Christ’s sake, I see what you are doing, I acknowledge that you just did a handstand in the pool and I have stored it away as a memory that I will recall thousands of times when I question whether or not I’ve ever watched you do anything. Holy fucking shit. I have been watching you the entire time you have been in the pool. Great. I’m watching. I assure you, everything that you have done in this pool, I have been a witness to. I am now considering wearing a body camera from here on out for my validation and yours. Just. Fucking. Swim. If you don’t just swim and enjoy yourself, I’m going to tie the cooler to my ankle and jump into the pool. Fuck. No you cannot go to the snack bar if I tie the cooler to my ankle.”

Category: blog