The Point of the Story

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Month: January 2021

Stop Sabotaging My Love Life, You Dirty Bastard!

31 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, and it’s time to get your funk on, baby!

But first, you’re gonna have to get that funk the funk off you…

When I was a studly young Sophomore in high school, I lived on the farm with my dad in dusty-ass Southwest Kansas. Occasionally my unpaid labor on the farm wasn’t enough to get the job done to his satisfaction, so Dad would hire a farm hand to help him out.

Well, it just so happens that during this epoch in my life, Dad’s go-to guy was ol’ “Dirty Bob” Harris. I shit thee not–this was this guy’s actual nickname that people used when speaking directly to him. This moniker was well-deserved, too: he was a bachelor probably in his 60s who lived south of Rolla in a little shanty of a trailer, chain-smoked, and, when feeling particularly hygienic, would bust out his pocket knife and clean out the grit from underneath his grubby-ass fingernails. In fact, the one condition Dad had for his continued employment was that he had to take a bath at least once a week. Talk about setting the bar, pretty low, right?

I always thought that was kinda gracious of Dad, seeing as how a weekly bath wasn’t nearly enough to keep him from imparting a semi-permanent stank to our pickup, tractors, and other implements in which he spent more than 5 minutes. I would beg Dad over and over again to consider spending just a little more money on external farm labor, hoping that he would hire Clean Bob instead. But, NOOOOOO, apparently Clean Bob was outside of our price range. So there I was, stuck with the privilege of having Dirty Bob’s b.o. rubbing off on me any day I had to ride in the pickup with him.

It got worse though. You see, even though there were only three employees on the farm, there was definitely a power hierarchy. Dad (also a “Bob” FWIW), unfortunately, wasn’t afraid to pull a power-move when he had to. So being El Jefe of the whole operation, he got exclusive use of one of our two tractors to himself…meaning that us peons, Bob and I, had to share the other tractor.

His own flesh and blood–can you believe it? He made his own last-born son share a tractor with the stinkiest mother- ----- in all of Morton County! I really should have called Child Protective Services on his ass and reported him for cruel and inhumane child abuse….

As much as I loved working on the farm with the Bobs1https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rWP_PGfiow (huge ----- eye roll here), what I really enjoyed doing with my time was chillaxing with my city-slicker bestie, the infamous, Phillip K. Ballz.2Featured thus far in: Solamente Selena, Back In The USSR, and Blowin In The Wind.

If I was lucky, I would get to hang out with him on the weekend. And if I was real lucky, I would get to hang out with him the one and only Saturday night Leslie, his hot-as-hell cousin from Texas, was coming to visit him.

Sure, I may have been a bit, uh, “ambitious” thinking that my scrubby butt had a chance of romancing her, but what can I say? I’m a dreamer and an optimist at heart. In BF-Egypt3Bum-Fuck, Egypt, for you geography scholars out there. Kansas opportunities like this didn’t come along very often, so I had to give it all I had, right?

I could feel it in my bones that colder winter day in ’97: that evening I was sure to have a date with destiny. But first, I had hot date with Tractor #2, as Dad had graciously agreed to let me take off a little early that afternoon once I finished plowing one of our many huge tracts of land4Inappropriately applied Monty Python reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=g3YiPC91QUk first.

When I got in the tractor that morning, I could definitely tell that Dirty Bob had been stanking it up in there quite recently. But, I figured it would be no problem–I would just take a nice hot shower afterwards and go on my merry way to Phillip K.’s. Look out, Leslie! Here comes your Casanova!

Now at this point, you may be thinking to yourself, “Wait just a tick there, Buddy! I know the Boss Lady’s name sure ain’t Leslie. That must mean…no. It can’t be. How ever in the world did your plan to court and marry your high school best friend’s cousin from out of town go awry?!? ‘Twas foolproof!”

Funny you should ask. In the end what screwed me over was Dirty Bob’s dirty smoking habit. Apparently when you smoke as much as he did and rarely bath or wash your hands, it turns out those hands will get covered in the most horrible smelling layer of smoke/nicotine/sweat/dirt funk. And then when you drive a tractor, you forever funkify the steering wheel for the aspiring young Don Juan that has to drive it after you.

It was only when I got home that evening and had washed up that I made the gruesome and horrifying discovery–now my hands smelled like Dirty Bob! I washed them over and over until they were almost bloody, but to no avail at all. I was doomed. Doomed, I say!

I lathered them in Old Spice aftershave, hoping that would overpower my dear sweet Leslie instead of the scent of Old Dirty Bastard Spice that I couldn’t seem to quite shake, and headed on over to P.K.B.’s house in town. Ol’ Phillip K., though? He sure noticed the smell and started endlessly ribbing me about it.

Figuring he would have some sympathy for a brother-from-another-mother looking to become a cousin-from-another-grandmother (you know, by marrying his hot-ass cousin, and what-not), I shared with him how distressed I was on account of how the Universe and Dirty Bob had conspired and done gone and blown my chances with Leslie. Big mistake. My god, he simply would not let me hear end of it, about how absolutely ridiculous I was, thinking I had any chance in hell with her.

Harrumph! What a prick.

Oh, and it turned out that she decided at the last second to not come hang out with us after all.5At least I don’t remember hanging out with her… So it was a basic all-around shit-show in the romance department for me that weekend.

The point of the story is, don’t ever let your dad hire anybody who unashamedly has “Dirty” in his name. But if he does, at least you can always blame him for the reason why you’re not dating the hottest 17-year-old in the 5-State Area. And that’s the only reason.

After all, you’re nothing but a studly young Sophomore stallion, right?

Content created on: 27 January 2021 (Wednesday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

How To Be Grateful For The Mediocre Man (Hood) In Your Life

28 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

So you think you’re a tough guy, eh?

Well, I bet you’re no Sylvester, though, you little punk…

“Bad-ass.” Oh, what a great phrase–and versatile, too! It can be used as an adjective: “Mess with Chuck Norris, and you can expect to get one bad-ass roundhouse kick to the face.” It works great as a noun: “Jackie Chan is such a bad-ass!” You can even add an ‘-edly’ and take it for a spin as an adverb: “He bad-assedly walked away as the building exploded behind him.”

Okay, so maybe that last one doesn’t work so well. But no worries–it doesn’t really matter, because we are only really interested in using it in its noun form today.

So I’m not gonna lie to ya: I’ve spent most of my life wishing that I, myself, were indeed “a bad-ass.” I mean, who wouldn’t want to be one? At least when it comes to the average American male demographic cohort, amiright? Perhaps at times I have achieved minor bad-ass status, but I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever sustained it for any length of time.

And if I ever get too cocky and catch myself me-thinksing me-self to be a full-time bad-ass, to keep my feet grounded I have found it helpful to remember the true bad-asses I’ve encountered in my lifetime. I would even argue that every non-bad-ass out there–and that’s most of us–should have that One True Bad-Ass that they can look to to disabuse themselves of any foolish notions that, when left unchecked, might lead to foolish choices like, say, buying a motorcycle or a completely unnecessary leather jacket.

“But, who’s your One True Bad-Ass, oh Wise and Noble Blogger?” you are absolutely most definitely asking me right now, even though you know I can’t hear you through the computer screen, right?

Well, my One True Bad-Ass is Sylvester.

No, not Sylvester Stallone–aka Rocky, aka Rambo. In all honesty, I think that guy’s a bit much, anyways, don’t you?

When it comes to bad-assery, my Sylvester is the real deal, yo. The romantic partner of one of the Boss Lady’s random co-workers from many years ago, a chica named Rose, I sadly never actually had the pleasure of meeting him in person, but let’s just say I’ve heard a story or two about the guy.

For starters, he was a bona fide gang member from some Central American country–think the infamous M13 gang–and to make this extracurricular association clear he had the bangin’ neck/face tattoo to prove it. Further, he had several deportations under his belt, so you know this guy had no problem with commitment.

Anyways, let’s just say he was more committed to their relationship than dear Rose was. For example, after one of the first times she thought she had got what I think we can all agree was a bad influence out of her life, this guy shows up to her work, with his 10-year-old son in tow, both of them wearing matching tuxedos, each carrying a bouquet of–you guessed it–roses. Because this mother- ----- believed in true love and figured that it was high time he proposed to the woman who just dumped his ass. Sorry–his bad-ass.

Yeah. That happened.

But my favorite Sylvester/commitment story is about one of the other times she had thought she had finally rid herself of him.

One day, she came home from work to find that her apartment had been broken into. To her horror, she found that nothing had been stolen. No, instead, that crackhead had broken in and moved all his shit back in. I mean, talk about legendary. If that move’s not gangsta af, I don’t know what is.

And that sure must have been one confusing 911 call: “…hold up one second, Ma’am, so…has anything been stolen or not?!?”

Oh, that rascally Sylvester…

*Wags finger disapprovingly yet with a mischievous grin on my face*

Yeah…now that I say it out loud, if being a bad-ass means being a complete ----- psycho dripping in toxic masculinity, well, then I suppose I’ll just find a way to be content with my lightly aromatic and pleasantly fragrant version of modest masculinity instead…

Content created on: 28 January 2021 (Thursday)

10 Easy Steps To Becoming Parents Of PhD-Worthy Little Pussycats

24 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
6 Min Read

So you’ve finally decided to take the plunge and expand your family, eh? But before you go and make any rookie mistakes that might doom your young’uns to a life of ignominy and infamy, here are 10 quick and easy pointers to help you help them get started down the path to prosperity instead…

Part Un: Preparing For And Procuring Your Pet

1. Do It “For All The Right Reasons”

Just like having kids in an attempt to save a marriage, getting pets for the wrong reasons can come back and bite you in the ass. For example, you may think this is a good way to teach your children responsibility, but be warned that will probably just end with one or more resentful adults in your household.

It is therefore critical that you have righteous motivations for your decision. If you want to rest easy at night, save yourself the heartache and choose from one of the following to justify your new lifestyle:

  • Companionship: Because making new friends is ----- hard.
  • Stress relief: Petting a furry family member can be quite therapeutic.
  • Family memories: You had the joy of growing up with pets. Why deprive your kids of that?
  • Paranormal sentry: Many people get way into real ghost stories and become paranoid that supernatural entities may be watching them while they sleep, but have formulated a theory that animals experience reality at multiple quantum resonant frequencies which allows them to see disembodied spirits from parallel dimensions that aren’t normally observable at the resonant frequency of the average human brain, thus making them excellent watch-cats.

2. Let Others Do The Leg Work

Now that you’re confident expanding your household is the right move, it’s time to make your dreams a reality. Many people make the mistake of trying to handle the impregnation and carrying of a kitten to full term themselves. But this is extremely difficult and requires technology that hopefully will never be invented. Don’t work hard–work smart: let somebody else do all the heavy lifting for you and adopt!

3. Buy In Bulk

Let’s be honest: nobody would choose to be an only child if they were actually given the choice, so why inflict unnecessary suffering if you can avoid it? Adopting brothers/sisters or a bonded pair of feline buddies may cost you more, but will pay off in the long run, as the natural sibling rivalry will toughen them up for the cruel world that awaits them. Also, the assholes at most adoption agencies won’t let you take a singleton kitten home with you, even if you wanted…

Part Deux: Choosing The Purr-fect1Go ahead and call the Pun Police on me. See if I care. Names

Acquiring the cats was the easy part. Now for the truly hard part: giving them names that will make them winners in life. After all, you plan on living vicariously through them, don’t you?

To demonstrate how to go about this daunting task, consider the curious case of these two cats: Flotsam–aka Brett (Figure 1) and his sister, Alana–aka Rylee (Figure 2). Cute cats, yes, but let’s not ignore the elephant in the room. The cold hard truth is that they’re guaranteed to go absolutely nowhere in life with loser names like those. Let’s see if we can fix that…

Figure 1: Flotsam/Brett.
Figure 2: Alana/Rylee.

4. Listen When The Universe Speaks…

Inspiration is all around you, if you only choose to look and listen. Take the time to carefully observe your new housemates. What/who do they look like? Sound like? Smell and/or taste like? Now close your eyes, clear your mind, and say the first ten names/phrases that come to mind. Congratulations! Now you and your co-parent have narrowed your name argument down from (1/2 x infinity) possibilities, to just 10!

Now let’s apply this principle to sweet ol’ Rylee. Despite looking like a clone of a previous pet and tasting like salty chicken feathers when licked, it just makes too much sense not to go with this little kitten’s most distinguishing feature…

“Alana”? Nope! “Rylee”? See ya later, you bougie-ass name! Ladies and Gentlemen, meet…Checkers! Because, uh…you know, the whole mouth-thingy…

5. …But Don’t Go For Looking Signs That Just Aren’t There

Like with any pair of siblings, parents tend to expend all their creative and emotional energies on the first one, seemingly giving the other one the short end of the stick. This is normal, so don’t feel bad about it. Pat yourself on the back for the job well done on Number One, and realize that efficient pragmatism has its value in life as well.

In practice, this means that the Pet Formerly Known As Brett is going to get the name he’s going to get and he’s going to have to learn to live with it. Buddy, you don’t necessarily look like a “Chess”, but, hey, we’ve got other important shit to do today.

6. Pets Are People, Too!

Now that you have their nicknames settled, you can decide what those cute monikers will be “short for.” This is your chance to truly give them the dignity all members of your clan deserve, so let’s start by giving them your last name–a solid choice, and frankly, a no-brainer.

Oh, and speaking of last names that end in “-on,” the inherit renown they bestow make them excellent candidates for first names as well. I dare you to tell me that Chesterfield Anderton and Checkerson Anderton2Not their real last name. But close… don’t sound regal af to you–you simply can’t!

7. Seek Inspiration From The Written Word

If they’re going to be distinguished in life, it is imperative to chooses names that help distinguish your wee ones from all the other “Emmas” and “Evas” in their kindergarten class. If you’re not sure where to start, French literature can provide an absolute abundance of options for high-falutin and uncommon names.

In fact, a renowned author’s last name always makes for a very memorable first name. I mean, how could you ever forget a Flaubert3https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gustave_Flaubert Checkerson or Dumas4https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexandre_Dumas Chesterfield Anderton5Again, their last name has been changed to protect the privacy of the minors. once you’ve met them?

8. You Gotta Keep ‘Em Complicated

A great way to make your kids–er, I mean, ‘kittens’–seem more interesting to strangers than they really are is to require them to recite a short novella every time they have to explain that their legal name and the name they go by aren’t exactly the same thing. Your parents hoisted such a burden onto your shoulders; it’s only right that you pass that burden down to the next generation.

When down the road they’re at a fancy conference of professionals, they will no doubt be thanking you for this automatic ice-breaker:

“So, I saw on your LinkedIn profile that you’re listed as Flaubert Checkerson ‘Checkers’ Anderton.6’Anderton’ is merely a nom de plume, people! How interesting!”

“Well, it’s a funny story actually…”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t need to hear–“

“…you see, my parents didn’t want me to lead an average life…”

9. Throw In A Dash Of Prestige…

With full names in hand, you’re finally ready to put the finishing touches on your masterpieces before introducing the kiddies to the rest of the world. If your looking to really up your name game, you can channel your favorite pretentious author and insist that people refer to them by their first initials and full middle names.

You can already hear it now, can’t you: “…and the Nobel Prize in Literature goes to…F. Checkerson Anderton!7Not. Her. Real. Last. Name. Amazing! This is the first time in history that one family has produced winners of the Nobel and Pulitzer Prizes in the same year. You folks at home may recall that her, brother, D. Chesterfield Anderton,8You do understand the concept of changing names to protect the innocent, right? took home journalism’s highest accolade but a few months ago…”

10. …But Lastly, Keep Them Humble

Nobody likes a pompous prick. Nobody. To keep the haters at bay and your kits’ egos in check, it is highly recommended to throw in at least one slightly degrading detail before you close up the epithet shop for the day.

You never know when such attention to detail might come in handy. For example, if you ever catch F. Checkers trying to tell her kiddie kollege friends that her name “is pronounced ‘Flow-Bear’, like that old pervy French novelist,” don’t hesitate to step in and put her in place with a firm rebuke such as “Don’t listen to her bullshit! It rhymes with ‘Robert’, like that one renowned 21st-century American blogger. I knew I should have named her Flauberta instead…”

And of course, if you ever hear D. Chesterfield claiming “the D is for ‘Doo-Maw’ like that other old French guy,” you can remind him that he will always and forever be nothing but a “Dumb-Ass.”

Content created on: 13 & 23 January 2021 (Weds/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

More Force-Fed Advice From A Wee Bit Of An Expert

21 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

Dammit, I’m a grown-ass man.

I don’t need no kid telling me how to eat my fries…

Just the other day, I had left the kitchen1I.e. “bathroom” door open when I went to put some ketchup on my fries,2I.e. “take a whizz” but instead of sitting like I usually do, for reasons unknown I decided to change it up and stay standing as I garnished my side dish.3I.e. “did my biz”

The Younger of our two daughters,4I.e. “The Younger” who just turned 3, walks in to chat me up, but immediately gets entranced by the stream of ketchup,5I.e. “stream of urine” flowing like a waterfall right in front of her little eyes. After all, she had only ever seen people saucing while sitting before, so this was indeed a novel and fascinating experience for her.

At first she felt the urge to state the obvious, yelling so EVERYONE in the house could hear (including my poor mother):

“KETCHUP-KETCHUP!“6I.e. “PEE-PEE!!!”

“YOU’RE KETCHUPPING YOUR FRIIIIIES!“7I.e. “YOU’RE PEEEEING!”

I tried shushing her, but only with moderate success.

She curiously watched for a few more moments then shared her wisdom with me:

“Squeeze it, Daddy!”

“Ummm…what’s that you say, Kiddo?”

“Squeeze it…real hard!”

Trying not to chuckle too much, I asked her why I should do that, and she told me I needed to “Get it all out.”

I replied, “Well, how about I just ‘shake it gently’? Does that work for you?”

A few days later, lightning struck twice and she wandered in on me standing while I put ketchup on my fries8I.e. “standing-to-pee” again.

This time, though, she seemed to temper her advice a wee bit, thanks to my feedback from last time.

She gazed at the process for a few moments before suggesting what I can only imagine was a compromise in her mind:

“Squish it just a little bit, Daddy.”

I grinned and graciously thanked her for the handy tip.

What can I tell you, though? She just must be one of those people who have an opinion on everything.

I mean, she’s never even touched a bottle of ketchup9I.e. “a penis” in her life, for crying out loud!

…

OK, now go back and read it again, but pay attention to the Footnotes this time, will ya?

Content created on: 22 December 2020 & 20/21 January 2021 (Tues/Wed/THurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Are You SURE You’re Making The World A Better Place?

17 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

The White Jesus Savior Complex is a lot like the Rapture.

You never really see it coming…

Ah, the New Year. It’s always the perfect time to take a moment and reflect on ways to be a better person–and then try to come up with strategies to make these ideal life-goals reality. For my part, one change I would like to see this year is that I would be more proactive about being a mindful and considerate friend, family-person, and citizen.

For example, last week I found myself on the far side of town after spending my whole ----- morning getting our car serviced at our formerly-local Toyota dealership. Since it was about lunch time and I was already in the area, I figured I would surprise my family by coming home with four extremely large containers of the Triangle’s tastiest Korean fried chicken from a nearby restaurant.

I was able to call in my KFC order ahead, and I had timed it just right where I could pull up, run in, pay, and dash on back out the door lickety-split. Such efficiency was necessary, as I still had a 40-minute drive home and my window of lunchtime opportunity for my famished fam was closing quickly.

When I pulled up into the parking lot of the strip mall where the restaurant was located, I was delighted to see that almost all the parking spots directly in front of it were wide open for the taking. It seemed as if Karma had seen the kind deed this plant-based hombre was doing for his carnivorous loved ones, and was rewarding the kindness with a sweet front-row parking spot.

As I swung into my luxuriously appointed stall, I realized that on the bench directly in front of me sat a young guy who looked very much down on his luck. He was wearing a surgical mask and had a heavy overcoat draped over him, so it was hard to get a good take on him, but he seemed a bit spaced out.

“Dang it!” I reflexively thought to myself. “I bet he’s going to ask me for something, and I just don’t want to deal with that right now. Arghhh!”

Fortunately, though, I was rocking my prescription too-cool-for-school sunglasses, and was able to largely avoid eye-contact as I scurried from the car straight into the restaurant.

However, while paying for the food, I remembered that I was wanting to put more goodness out into the Universe this year. Then I also remembered that a few days earlier I had intentionally put a couple of $20 bills in my wallet for situations just like this. I was actually a little embarrassed that my initial reaction was to avoid the inconvenience of this guy at all costs, when the reality was that I had never been in a better position to be financially generous in my whole life.

Lightly pleased with myself for having a change of heart just in the nick of time, I decided, “You know what, I’m going to spare this guy the indignity of having to beg for money, and just give him $20 without either of us having to say a word!” So I pulled out a fat Jackson–and promptly doused it in hand sanitizer to ensure that positive vibes were the only positivity I would be passing on to my newfound acquaintance.

Food in one hand and the money in the other I headed out the door, and as I went out of my way so I could pass directly by him, I handed him the unsolicited financial assistance.

“Hey man, here you go,” I said all casually before heading to my car.

Three steps later I heard the guy call out to me, “Hey, wait a second!”

“Yeah?” I turned around, no clue what to expect.

“Uh…you don’t happen to smoke do you?”

“Sorry man, I don’t.”

He paused for a moment, staring confusedly at the money in his hand, before looking back up at me.

“Why did you give me this $20?”

Well, that was a question I wasn’t expecting.

I started to second guess myself. Had I accidentally succumbed to a White Jesus savior complex? Was I actually being a condescending rich prick without realizing it?

“Oh man, I hope I didn’t insult you. I thought you might be able to use it, but if you don’t really need it, just pay it forward to someone who does.”

“Oh, no. I really appreciate it…”

Thinking that the conversation was wrapping up, I started to turn to go on my way.

“…I’ve just been having a really bad day.”

Out of empathy I stopped and turned back towards him.

“Sorry to hear that, man.”

“Yeah, I just…I just got hit by a car, and can barely walk now.”

Well, this conversation really took a turn into uncharted territory.

“Oh, wow, that’s…that’s just terrible.”

This was followed by a long awkward pause because apparently neither of us really knew what to say at that point. Eventually, auto-pilot took over for me–not that it did me any favors, though.

“Welp! I’ve gotta roll…so…hope your day gets better?”

And just like that, off I rode into the sunset, feeling much more unsettled, conflicted, and awkward as my reward for all my humanitarian efforts…

Honestly, I would rather not talk about it. That encounter made me feel all sorts of weird, and I even considered never telling a soul about what transpired.

For some reason my thoughts kept coming back to How To with John Wilson, a show I had just watched the night before. In the first episode, he tackles the topic of making “small talk.” At one point, he makes the keen observation that it is crucial that small talk never veers off into deep topics. It’s a violation of some unspoken social contract or something like that–I don’t remember the exact way he put it, but the upshot is that most people haven’t signed up to bear the weight of all your issues, yada yada ya.

And now…

And now I can’t stop wondering…maybe this was Karma’s way of telling me–over-sharer extraordinaire–that this whole time I’ve been the one walking into one polite conversation after another, casually announcing “Well, I got hit by a car today…”

…

Well, isn’t this just my luck? Most people have emotional baggage. But me? I am emotional baggage.

*awkward pause*

Welp! I’ve gotta roll, so…

Content created on: 14/15 January 2021 (Thurs/Fri)

Perhaps The Most Outstanding Man Is He Who Sits Down

14 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

You know how many a woman will tell you that they are deathly afraid of sitting down on the toilet, only to find that the seat has been left up? Well, ladies, you can rest assured that at least some of us fellas are listening.

Back during my first year of grad school I shared a house with three female roommates, and likewise shared a toilet with two of them. Being the thoughtful guy that y’all know and love me to be, I, in a moment of pure genius, decided that henceforth I would stop standing when I needed to go #1, and began regularly sitting during my time in the loo, regardless of the business at hand.

Though I’ll please have you note that I’m conveniently leaving out the fact that in doing so, I eliminated1No pun intended, but dang if that isn’t a clever one… any incidents of “stray spray”–because with no other males in the house to blame it on, the others would always have known whom to blame for any wayward droplets of urine. Yeah…we can just ignore that maybe my decision was just a wee bit self-serving, too.

Either way, the end result? Seat down, all the time. Problem solved! Ladies, considered yourselves considered!

You know, I even endured the mockery of pretty much all of my male friends and acquaintances, but nevertheless, I persisted.2I maintain that an Elizabeth Warren reference is always warrent-ed. Oh! Somebody stop me! Why? Because I’m a man of ----- character, that’s why!

Anyway, that’s not the point of the story. The point is, I believe I’ve discovered some sort of beautifully twisted symmetry in this Universe: all males should be TERRIFIED of the bizzarro/inverse scenario. Have you ever stopped to consider what might happen with the lid is down unexpectedly, hmmm?

Let’s just say it’s…uh, “disorienting” to scurry to the bathroom for a quick pee in the middle of the night, only to have your family jewels forcefully squashed up your ass by a cold and unforgiving toilet lid. Well, one of the jewels, at least…

I find this turn of events rather disheartening, indeed: my goodwill towards my fellow toilet-users has come back and ungratefully bit me in the ass.

Bit me with my own dang gonad, no less…

As the youths on the Twitter would say:

#IAmPrettySureThisIsNotHowKarmaIsSupposedToWork

I’ll leave y’all to ponder the cruelties of the Universe and/or develop a previously non-existent phobia of toilet lids with a little clip from the YouTubes. To all of those selfless and considerate ever-sitting men out there, this one goes out to you…

Content created on: 8 October 2017 (original Tweets) & 14 January 2020 (Sun/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Now Is A Great Time To Become Ace Of Plant-Based

10 January 2021 / / 2 Comments
5 Min Read

There’s no time quite like the New Year to look back and question your questionable life choices!

“I mock your so-called ‘lifestyle choices,’ Good Sir!”

It was the morning of January 2nd, 2020, and I was standing in front of the mirror. It all seemed so bizarre; I barely even recognized the caricature of a middle-aged man gazing back at me. And honestly, I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I found myself pointing a judging finger at this be-ponytailed stranger, smugly deriding his better judgement.

I paused briefly to appreciate the absurdity of the Dr.-Jekyll-And-Mr.-Hyde moment I was having with myself.

Seriously, though, how the hell did I end up here?

Well, I’m glad you asked! Why don’t you pour yourself a nice cold glass of kombucha and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll tell you the little story of exactly how this came to pass…

You see, it all started out back in March 2019, when I finally grew sick and tired of constantly looking like I was having a never-ending allergic reaction to bees. Needing anything that would help me be even slightly more “healthy looking” on a sustainable basis, I turned to a keto diet.

Or at least I thought I was doing keto. It wasn’t until a few months into my new lifestyle–not ‘diet’–when a nutrition-savvy friend at work pointed out that my half-ass version of keto was essentially just its less-glamorous runt brother, your basic low-carb diet.

But really, I didn’t care because it was actually working for me. More importantly, it was sustainable on account of the fact that I was in heaven, getting to eat all the meats and cheeses and bacons my heart desired and what-not. In fact, the only time that I had any second thoughts about it was when I thought I was going to die before I turned 40, all because of the, um, “repercussions” of my eating habits.

Now while my physical health was overall looking pretty good, it turns out that my half-ass keto wasn’t helping out any in the marital bliss department. That tends to happen when you all of sudden are asking your partner to accommodate your borderline-arbitrary dietary restrictions when it comes time for them to cook up the family meals. Fortunately, the Boss Lady loves me so much that she eventually volunteered to do keto with me, all for the sake of our marriage.

Sounds good, right? Right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong, my friend. No, this is where things started to go awry.

Now it wasn’t because she didn’t put effort into doing keto with me. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You see, unlike me and my half-assery, she went all in–even to the point where she moved beyond just watching YouTube videos, and into actually doing extensive research in the scientific literature on the topic.

For my part, I was rather quite content in my ignorance. I was dropping the pounds and enjoying every bite along the way. I even warned her “Don’t go asking too many questions–you might just answers you wish you hadn’t!” Last thing I needed was some pesky “statistically sound scientific evidence” to go and ruin my fun.

Nevertheless, she persisted. And I couldn’t help respect her tenacity to sort through all the information, noise, and hype around which diet is “The Best.” Making a truly well-informed decision was something I just didn’t have the emotional and/or executive capacity to do.

She did have those abilities, though. However, she ultimately came to the conclusion that there was no definitive answer. While keto seemed good for your health in at least some situations, there wasn’t much insight into the long-term effects of consistently pumping your arteries full of high-cholesterol animal-based goodies.

One alternative option that she kept coming across (and therefore bringing up in conversation) was the so-called “whole foods plant-based” diet. In addition to sounding like it would inevitably be good for your health, it also had an edge on keto thanks to long-term studies showing that it’s a solid choice for your heart health. And after my aforementioned half-assed brush with a premature death a few months earlier, I had a newfound appreciation for taking the long view on my health.

Over the course of a few months, I could hear her becoming more convinced that she wanted to adopt a WFPB lifestyle. Much to my chagrin, though, she started playing the “I would do the same for you” card on me in an attempt to get me on board.

“Come on!” she would say. “Just try it with me for a few weeks, like I did keto with you.”

Every time, I would give her the same reply “If ain’t broke, don’t fix it, dang it!”

But the truth was that it’s hard to have a completely clean conscious eating all those delicious meats and cheeses and butters and real creams in the coffees. Sure, I was carrying around less adipose tissue (aka ‘body fat’), but deep down in my heart I could just feel that it all couldn’t be without consequence…probably because deep down in my heart I was well on my way to a clogged artery or two!

Ultimately I gave in to the Boss Lady’s wisdom and judgement. My respect for her in these areas was just too much for me and my dubious justifications for my debaucherously dangerous ways . Eventually I was convinced whole-heartedly (pun intended?) that investing in my health via a more clean and proven food system was the way to go.

Although it was September when this descent into madness with the Boss Lady had started, it wasn’t until early December before we began to seriously discuss both of us committing to making the big switch over to whole food plant-based together. We decided that once the holidays were behind us, the New Year would naturally be the perfect time to do it, giving us a whole month to logistically and emotionally prepare for what was to come.1LOL, it’s so cute to hear that phrase used so innocently right before 2020.

Now, it couldn’t have been into no more than 2 or 3 of these strategic planning sessions when I had finally had it with how inefficiently-named our guiding principle was.

“Man, saying ‘whole food plant-based’ sure is quite the mouthful,” I lamented. “We spend half the time in our conversations just saying it. There’s just got to be a shorter way to refer to it…”

There was a heavy pause in the air, in which you could almost hear the wheels grinding in my head.

“Wait just a minute…”

The realization–no, the horror–was beginning to sink in.

“…isn’t that the same thing as…”

No, it couldn’t be. How could have I let this happen to myself?!?

“Oh shit. Are we going…vegan?!? Noooooooooooo!”

Ja, it’s true, my friends. Believe it or not, not only did I have to find a way to survive the hell-hole on earth that was 2020, but I did it all without the comforts and conveniences of all of those delectable animal products you heard me salivate over for these last 4 minutes. And of course I just might have a story or two about my trials and tribulations experienced therein to tell y’all, but those will have to wait until another time for now.

Let me just take a moment to be proud of myself for going this whole time and not saying a word of my secret lifestyle to another living soul…

Okay, that’s not completely true. I was 100% vegan for the last 12 months…except for when on vacation. Or during any Federal holiday. Oh, and pretty much the month of December.

But I regress…

Content FINALLY created on: 10 January 2021 (Sunday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Hindsight Is 2020: Good Riddance To An Insanely Interesting Year

7 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Friends & Countrymen, lend my thy ears! Hear-ye, hear-ye, as we find ourselves in the third and final installment of the Point of the Story’s reflection upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here. Of course, don’t forget about the first 6 months of “The New Normal/These Uncertain Times.” You can find the tip o’ the hat to them here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So lay down, give up, and pour yourself a medium dosage of whatever sedative you can find laying around, because, admit it: that’s what all really should have done for the last 3 months of 2020…

October: Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

Click here to read Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

You know what got talked about alot in 2020? Race. Me-thinks that maybe his/her/its friend Gender might have been feeling left out, so I thought: “Why not throw the G-Man a bone with a little trip down memory lane, in which we learn the how to properly celebrate the Holidays?” Yes, that is bound to do the topic justice…

Honorable Mentions:
Note To Self: Benzene On The Boys Is Never Bueno
Your Complete Guide To Betting On Interplanetary Birthdays

November: The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Click here to read The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Did I mention the many times I thought about death during 2020? In case you missed one of the ~13 or so blog posts on the topic, The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked is a good place to get a more light-hearted version of those many thoughts of mine. Uh…just be sure to shield your kids’ eyes first, please…

Honorable Mentions:
The Best Place To Share The Ancient Wisdom Of Gongpu?
Now, That’s What I Call A Second Act!

December: All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

Click here to read All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

In my book, 2020 was such an utter turd to us all that it didn’t deserve a Christmas. Instead, Christmas’ younger and much less handsome brother, Festivus, is much more on brand for the year that was 2020. Don’t know what Festivus is? Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? Join me, as I celebrate Festivus by picking a bone with one of my high school teachers from Festivuses long, long ago…

Honorable Mentions:
Talking To My Parents About Drugs Sure Was Informative, Man
Famous Last Words Of A Guy In Need Of A Reliable Ride
The Forgotten Dreams Of A Promising Young Boy, Revisited
The Gift Of The Magic Fire Water

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Hindsight Is 2020: Taking The Plunge Into The New Abnormal

3 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Amigos! Amigos! Welcome to the second of three episodes in which the Point of the Story reflects upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So sit up, brace yourself, and pour yourself a tall glass of the strongest clear alcohol you can find, cuz don’t you know trying to relive the middle half of 2020 is going to be a bumpy ride…

April: Sign Of The Times

Click here to read Sign Of The Times

Sign Of The Times was significant for not only being the first post written in quarantine, but also because it captured something we all no doubt dealt with: trying to find humor and/or newfound appreciation within the shit-storm swirling about us. I just happened to find both in…sign language?

Honorable Mentions:
Death By Hangnail/Pants Epidemic-Full Version

May: Chairman Of The Hoard

Click here to read Chairman Of The Hoard

I like to consider myself not your average Joe in many ways. Giving into the panic of securing supplies during lockdown was a painful exception to this. Well, I wouldn’t say I panicked, per se, so much as “got out of hand planning for the uncertain future of the baked-goods supply chain”…

Honorable Mentions:
Kindergarten Cop Out
A Good Day To Dress Like A Tourist

June: The Prize Pig Story

Click here to read The Prize Pig Story

If you were anything like me, by time June rolled around, I wanted to be as far away from 2020 as possible. Even if I couldn’t be there physically, in my mind I was reliving my quest-for-glory days in Kansas, 1984…

Honorable Mentions:
A Parenting Parable
The Case Of The Cat’s Cradle

July: Woke Whack-A-Mole

Click here to read Woke Whack-A-Mole

Like you, I spent much of 2020 internally wrestling with the various flavors of systemic injustice that COVID-19/the murder of George Floyd/fire tornadoes made uncomfortably obvious to us all. While there is not a singular post that captured this, one of the more entertaining takes on getting involved in the social justice scene was Woke Whack-A-Mole. Somethings are just too important to half-ass. Instead, they should be double-assed, I say…

Honorable Mentions:
I Was Told There Would Be Pitchforks
Stripping In The Name Of!
Ode To A Nurseryman

August: I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

Click here to read I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

If you felt like you didn’t know how to tactfully go about engaging in the many race-themed conversations swirling about you by time late summer rolled around, well, you were not alone. Here to say that’s a-okay is…a guy of unknown ethnic origin?

Honorable Mentions:
The 3-part series beginning with The Little Engine That Could Not Give A Damn.

September: The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

Click here to read The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

It’s only September, so why stop talking about race now, amiright? You can relax, though: no racists were harmed in the making of this story about anti-dentites crashing at your place overnight…

Honorable Mentions:
The Earthling’s Guide To Social Gambling
Also, no 2020 would be complete without grappling with your own mortality, as documented in the 4-part No-Shit Sherlock series!

Next up: October-December

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

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