Saturday, June 21, 2014

Excerpt from Life Without the BS: Rants, Raves & Other Crazy Stuff

Coming to Amazon readers in July
Okay, I've been slaving away at it for over a month, and the new book is almost finished. It's called Life Without the BS: Rants, Raves, & Other Crazy Stuff, and it should be available sometime in July. Here are a couple outtakes from the book, let me know what you think.

Getting Shit Done

There must be a million and one ways to do that, who’d have ever guessed your way would be the best?

Of course, it wasn’t. But, dad always had a way of winning those arguments. I cut grass against the grain. I dried dishes wrong. I ate the wrong food. I watched the wrong TV shows.

Let’s just say I did a hell of a lot of things wrong when I was a kid, and now that I’m in my fifties that string of wrong moves just seems to keep multiplying.

Let’s see if any of this sounds familiar.

My dad’s big on telling me I eat too much.

He’s probably right on that score. What grinds on me is the way he approaches it.

Every time I visit, he sends me off to the Chicken Ranch to fetch dinner. Deep fried chicken, greasy potatoes, BBQ sauce. I can feel my arteries clogging just thinking about it.

The thing is I love fried chicken, especially the skin. Man, just dip that shit in BBQ sauce, and you got a treat no one can match. So picture this if you will. Here I am dunking my chicken in BBQ and shoveling that shit into my mouth as fast as I can, and here’s the old man. He’s carefully picking all the skin and fat off his chicken, piling it in heaps beside his plate. After he’s got his chicken just right, he moves on to his potatoes. Deep fried potato wedges. Again, he carefully chops off all the skin and brown, taking it down to the consistency of a baked potato. And, all the while he’s doing this he’s giving a lecture on how bad that stuff is for you.

He just doesn’t see how I can eat it.

I don’t see how he can keep buying it week after week if he’s so sure it’s going to kill me, unless… There may be some ulterior motives here.

But, wait. The plot thickens even more.

When dinner’s finished, and the lectures on watching your weight, not eating chicken fat, and not having a job are finally finished – out comes the pie, cake, or the ice cream.

Good thinking! A nice sugar filled desert is sure to counteract the chicken fat.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I mean who else is going to spring for a chicken dinner every time I stop by.

You know who else is always right?


Guys, I know you’re with me on this one. It’s okay, you can look around and make sure your wife or best lady isn’t within earshot. I’ll wait.

How did that old book put it? “Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars.” If you’ve ever tried to argue with a woman, you’ll appreciate the subtle changes I made to that line. “Women are from Hell, and men are from, Get me the hell out of here!”

It’s no surprise domestic quarrels are the most dangerous calls for law enforcement officers.

Have you ever seen a woman gone wild, swinging a frying pan?  She’s acting like she’s back in cave man days. The guy, he’s looking at her like she’s a raging mastodon. All he knows is he’s got to get clear of there or take a cast iron skillet across his forehead.

And guys, just to make it clear. If things have gone this far, there’s no chance of getting any make-up sex tonight. Just keep running. Just keep running.


Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of Congress, but I repeat myself.
Mark Twain

Politics, like sex, is an acquired taste. Some like it rough. A lot of people talk about how big it is, or how it happens more and more in dark alleyways, and shady hotels.

My neighbor likens politics to marriage. After three or four years you’ve seen it all. A dick's a dick, and tits just keep sagging south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

If you’ve ever noticed, prostitutes and politicians have a lot in common. After you’ve spent a little time around either one of them, you can’t help but have yourself checked for diseases.


Have you given any thought to the upcoming elections?

Hillary is lurking around the corner waiting for her turn at the wheel.

The last election it was a race between black and white. This time it’s going to be a contest between fat and ugly.

Pick your poison. Hillary? Or Rush?

You’ve got to respect this guy, fat, stupid…not happy with the millions of fellow bigots that listen to his daily radio show, Rush recently decided his best shot at the big time was to infect young minds before they had a chance to fully develop.

To this end, he developed a series of patriotic history books.

Who hasn’t heard the tale of Rush Revere, and his talking horse, Liberty? Together they travel through history, righting wrongs, and rewriting historical events to better fit the Conservative agenda.

If I were Hillary, I’d take a few tips from Old Rush. She should take a few tokes of whatever he’s been smoking, and start writing about alien abductions, and how she was carted off to the Planet Probula, where she was ravaged by a band of sex starved half blind mole people.

Forget about writing all of those political books. Nobody wants to hear about Iraq, Iran, or the Arabian nights…tell us more about those aliens.

And, can you picture Bill? You know he’s over there in the corner, salivating at the thought of getting back into the White House. He’s thinking hot damn! Gonna grab me some interns, and head for the “Oral Office.”


Some things are better than sex, and some are worse, but there’s nothing exactly like it.
W. C. Fields

Everything I know about sex and dating I learned from perusing the Craigslist ads.

Don’t get me wrong, I used to have a pretty good idea of how to handle myself, but after twenty years of marriage, I figured I better polish up my dating skills before getting out there again.

Apparently, the new ritual is the guy posts a picture of his thingy, along with a catchy slogan like, “I’ve got a really big package for you,” or “Cum take a ride on my rocket.”

If everything measures up the female will respond back with a picture of her “boom box” or “tater tots.”

Last time I was in the dating game, it took a minimum of three dates to get that far.

But, as they say, everything moves faster in the internet age.

No comments:

Post a Comment