Category Archives: carnage

CSI: Coolidge Scene Investigators

The victim appeared to be a 110-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback

If you ever have to dispose of a body, do yourself a favor and don’t chop it up and transport it in the back of you car. Just ditch the car – wipe the prints and roll it off a mountaintop.

I can assure you: The trunk of your car will never be the same after it’s housed a dead body. The clean-up is long, loud and ultimately impossible. There will be blood – lots of it – and some day far in the future when you’re thinking you’ve managed to escape the long arm of justice, some crafty crime scene investigator or blood-spatter analyst will come along and bust your ass¹ for busting a cap in someone else’s ass.

I know this because Pat and I spent $354.31 and two hours last night cleaning up the aftermath of Coolidge Carnage™.

Those of you who are faint of heart may not want to read on or access our Gallery of Gore™.

Continue reading CSI: Coolidge Scene Investigators

The Heartbreak of Home Improvement

Because admitting you have a problem is the first step: Pat and I suffer from a stage-3 case of Might-As-Well Syndrome (MAWS). We’re sharing our story to spare you the heartbreak of home improvement.

Symptoms of MAWS include repeated, illogical refrains of “as long as we’re _____, we might as well _____.” The resulting complications from this debilitating affliction include inability to set boundaries with hardware store employees, inflated credit card debt, paint-stained clothing, compulsive list-making, marital discord and weekend-long blackout periods not brought on by excessive drinking.

If you find yourself bleary-eyed on a Monday morning, wondering where your weekend went while crossing “touch-up baseboard paint” off a list written on the back of an envelope, you might as well ask your doctor about Might-As-Well Syndrome.

Continue reading The Heartbreak of Home Improvement

A Plague Upon Our House

Day 5: We have reverted to a feral state. Unencumbered by internal shame or external judgment, we fart audibly. We sleep in our clothes. We trudge through the detritus of Christmas Day to the refrigerator where we drink straight from the carton.

We haven’t changed the sheets. We sleep with the dogs. It’s a wonder we manage to feed them or ourselves at all. We just plunge our dirty spoons straight into unheated cans of marginal sustenance and slurp up what remains. The clock, languid in its expression of life force, lurches onward to that blissful four-hour interlude when we can down our shots of Mucinex like the fire-breathing tequila of high school spring breaks.

We are on our third (3rd) bottle of this life-giving elixir, and I can say from experience that Theraflu is distilled from the Devil’s urine cup. It could not touch this plague upon our house!

Instead, we fight it with bags upon bags of cough drops – lemon-honey, mixed berry, soothing syrup center! Armed with a warhead of eucalyptus vapor, we blast at its encrusted mucosa with our weapon of mass humidification. It gurgles and burps past the blockage that sits on my chest like an iron pig. Deep inside this maw of honking coughs, we hork up great chunks of lung butter and cast our soiled tissues into this dark landscape of undone dishes and unwashed laundry.

Though Pat initially mocked me when the chills descended on me like a hard freeze and receded into the painful ache of a feverish afternoon, he knows better now (his fever was longer and karmically more intractable).  But now, we fight this pox together… in sickness and in health (if we ever get there again).

Let this be a warning to you all: Civilization is flimsy veneer, blasted away by the expulsion of just one uncovered sneeze. You are only a few microbes away from eating crackers in bed.


Barre None

Bye-bye, Dignity

Complete the following simile:

Stacy Bertinelli and balletic grace go together like …

a) Turds and punch bowls

b) Rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga a dong

c) Sarah Palin and Rachel Maddow

d) A and C but not B

e) A and B but not C

f) All of the above

So when my Team Limoncello partner-in-crime Kellee Stooks suggested we take a Ballet Barre™ exercise class to test our physical fitness and steely resolve… well, stop me if you’ve heard this before.

Ballet Barre™  promises a tough, calorie-blasting workout that lengthens your legs, strengthens your arms and lifts your butt. As I rapidly approach 40, I’m all about lifting my butt, as long as my dignity remains intact.

I can assure you that at Ballet Barre™, it did not.

Continue reading Barre None


Let this be a lesson for you: Long-distance running and high-fiber diets don’t mix.

Especially after you’ve spent a week-and-a-half ingesting 15 pounds of sausage and schnitzel – that’s 6.8 kilograms for those of you measuring in Germany.

And don’t say I didn’t warn you: Long-distance running and high-fiber diets certainly don’t mix when that 6.8 kilos of pork product have been washed down with 2.5 liters of German beer (which is the metric equivalent of two-thirds of a milk jug). And now, in your old age (39-and-10-months), you really don’t drink much beer anymore because your digestive system doesn’t really tolerate it to0 well.

It gives me gas. Bad gas. Gas of the mouth and ass variety. You have been warned. You can still turn back – and you can still respect me in the morning…

Continue reading Runs