My Anniversary

I missed it! Not my real, like marriage anniversary. My anniversary for having a blog! What the shit! Why did I not have a reminder?! What am I doing with my life?! I'll tell you what. Not a goddamn thing. And with that, I dedicate this to my wife, with whom I did share an anniversary with yesterday and did not prepare with adequate flowers or gifts:

Brad and Noelle Got Hitched

That's right, it happened. One, I posted and did not let three months go by. Two, Brad and Noelle got hitched. Now to be fair, they got legally hitched back in January/February. But last weekend, they got ceremonially hitched. And do you know what they did? They held the ceremony at the goddamn zoo. Do you have any idea how fucking cool that is?! They had an opportunity to feed fucking giraffes!! That's right, live giraffes! And man do they have long-ass tongues. I mean, I had read and heard that they did. But holy shit! I learned this first hand, when I was holding a carrot "out of reach". Little did I know that the tall motherfucker would stick his tongue out, reach a foot down, and yank that sumbitch out of my fingers. Not going to lie, he licked me in the process. I gotta tell you, giraffe tongue feels like sandpaper.

Yeah, that's right, I had a derby and a cane. And yes, that's also right, I got glutes that you can bounce a nickel off of. You know it's a good day when your wife takes a picture, comes up to show you said picture, and comments about how you got "dat ass". And for the record, I can help you get "dat ass". It's real easy, if you know what the secret ingredient is. Here's a hint: sweat. It's sweat. Also training. But I digress. That giraffe was awesome, though.

They also had a red panda exhibit. If I were the zoo, I'd have chained the door to the re panda exhibit. It would be remarkably easy to just hop the glass and have a pet panda. And gosh are they adorable. Seriously. When they get angry, they stand on their hind legs and stick their front paws in the air. What they consider an intimidating threat, I consider an invitation for a hug.

The rest of the celebration was pretty tame. They had an open bar. Considering how many times I went back for straight tequila, I'm impressed that I wasn't cut off. The same goes for my wife, and whatever-the-fuck she was drinking. It was orange with red in the bottom. Looked delicious. And based on how quickly we both got plowed, you could tell that we were finally out for a night without the kid. You know what they say, "When the kid goes to Nai-Nai's, the parents get schwasty-facedd. 

Beyond that, the night was generally tame. Noelle commented that she knew Brad was "The One" when she was playing a video game and he brought her soup, and left without saying a word. Romance. And so that's it.

Moral of the Story: Brad and Noelle are hitched, and I imagine that giraffe was a real hit with the ladies, back in high school. Or at least auditioned for KISS. 

Holy Shit, Russia

Holy shit, Russia! In the past week, you have visited my shit almost 100 times! France lit me up with 40 hits! That's fantastic! That also tells me that someone fucked up. Why? Because Russia doesn't seem to hit my blog unless they are in the news, Trump is in the news, or some other shit is going down that will result in my ridiculing Russia. On a side note, I cannot help but wondering if the boost in Russian and French visits is related to the fact that two pornographic websites are the top referring URLs.

I still don't know what that means, but it makes sense. Why? Because I could see France being related to a naked woman. And I can see Russia being related to hotel nudes. After all, I hear that Russia owns Chechnya, and thus has a monopoly on organ harvesting. How do you harvest an organ? By luring stupid Americans to hotels with naked women. And why are they stupid Americans? Because who the fuck else would willingly travel to Chechnya? They have literally started exterminating homosexuals. Nobody wants to fuck with a country like that. Except to bomb the shit out of them. But that would kick off another war. On a side note, Chechnya needs to simmer the fuck down on their work and death camps. Goddamn. 

Speaking of which, dear ol' Donny Trump fired the FBI director. Whether the media is making a big deal of it or not, Trump looks fucking dumb for doing it. "Hey, you are investigating me, because of Russia. Fuck it. You're fired." Come the fuck on. On a separate note, I am going to be curious about what role Russia has had in our politics. I remember Mitt Romney warning about Russia during his presidential run. He lost, of course, but it was curious. 

Beyond that, I don't have much to say about Russia. Y'all are trying to take over the globe. Y'all seem to be doing okay at it. It would appear Russia has finally figured out how to do something besides drink, wear grey, and be depressed. I'm teaching my son some Russian. Not much, but he's going to know a lot of profanity in the future. 

As for France, I got nothing. I hear that you have a beautiful country, and that it is marred by how shitty the French personality is - very judgmental, and laced with anti-Semitism. Fuck that noise. As a brief disclaimer, realizing how convoluted the politics are in the US, I am not Russian and I don't fuck with Russians. They are crazy and I don't fuck with crazy. 

Moral of the Story: Thanks, France and Russia!

My Wife Had Crabs

Not that type of crabs. Pervert.  I'm talking about the seafood. It should be noted that we saw our Game Night Friends on Friday. It was an impromptu meeting, as we thought we were going to be launching our website. Instead, my wife prepared a crab dinner for everyone. I'll tell you, though, there was a problem. She bought live crab. Not only were they alive, but she put them in the fridge to kill them. As it turns out, they did not die. Nay, they chose to link arms/claws in a sign of solidarity and protest. That's right. Five (5) crabs were staging a sit-in.

So what did we do? We Googled how to kill crabs. As it turns out, the most humane way to kill a crab is to lobotomize it. You take a screw driver and crack the crab in the top and bottom of the shell. Evidently that neutralizes the nerves so that the crab doesn't feel pain when you flash-boil it. Or, if you don't have enough orange juice for a screwdriver, you just boil the suckers. Of course, while we figured all this out, a few of us started to get into the moment.

Tod-d names one of the crabs Jack, after Jack Daniels. I named on Rhonda. And I think a third was named Steve. The other two were unnamed extras. My wife gave Tod-d and I a look of disgust, and promptly explained, "Al the crabs are girls. What girl is named Steve? Or Jack? The fuck's wrong with you?" I immediately mentioned Stevie Nicks, while Tod-d mentioned that Jack could be short for Jacqueline.

My wife's response:

Of course, this was around the time that my wife came in to say farewell to the crabs, and thank them for their service. That also happened to be 10 minutes before we got the water to boil. I joked that it would be like going up to someone diagnosed with a terminal disease and offering to help them into the grave. Sure, they may not have a long life to live, but that doesn't mean they are ready to be buried right away. 

(Okay. Technically I said it was like finding out that someone has cancer and then thanking them for willing their Walkman to you. And technically I think I am still going to hell. At the same time, there is a problem when the Jew, who cannot eat crab, is the one responsible for killing and preparing crab.) 

Even so, everything was fine until the crabs got near the water. Little known fact: Crabs will projectile launch their limbs as a defense mechanism. I had to use two sets of tongs to grab the rally chain and move them to the water. As soon as the steam hit one, limbs were flying everywhere. Somehow, one managed to launch their claw and pin one of the tongs to another burner. It was like Jack had laid down the block, "GO! GO! I've pinned his metal pincher!! Run, Steve! Run!" 

Steve is sitting over there, like, "I can't! I shot my legs as a diversion! I ain't got no legs!"

Meanwhile, Rhonda landed in the water. Her sacrifice would be in vein. And yes I misspelled vain. And yes, I am planning to reference the word-play. What word play? The fact that someone ate Rhonda, digested her, and the nutrients were transported through the circulatory system. And yes, I know that it works differently. And no, I don't care. Fuck you. SCIENCE!

Moral of the Story: My wife ate crab, and I'm probably going to hell for my joke. 

(It was this day)