Since our first summer that we could understand English, we have all been told that the Fourth of July is America’s birthday. Well like Dec. 25 for Jesus, it’s a fucking arbitrary date picked out of their ass by politicians with a marketing agenda.
I’ve ranted, raved and complained like a 2-year-old with no cookie about the United States Tennis Association. And just when I thought I was out for good, they pulled me back in.
I learned something deep and dark about myself. If two of my friends ever go to hunt down the last white tiger on earth, the Bear and I would tag along, not say a fucking word, and laugh at all the wrong times.
Sounds awful I know.
The joke continues. Rants and Swears “re-nominated me” for a Sunshine Award.
I’ve got no evidence to prove it, but I’m convinced I almost crushed a woman just to support the patriarchy.
Went on the Alaska Cruise with the Bear. The forecast said cloudy and rain every day. Just what we wanted when we booked this trip for June. We figured it would have been over 100 degrees for a month in Arizona by then.
We figured wrong.
There’s some shit for bloggers called a “Sunshine Award.” It’s for those who exhibit:
I know what you are thinking… and fuck you I could spread Sunshine…
It had been a long day and a half in a crowded room listening to stories about work while not getting any work done. I couldn’t wait to head over to Hooters.
It had been built in our imaginations like a combination of Camelot and Plato’s Retreat. It was the first Hooters in the state — newly opened in downtown Phoenix.
Let’s start this rant on a topic no one wants to discuss: Abortion and fucking religion. (This is why I only get invited to Savage dinner parties — nobody wants to listen to this bullshit).
Specifically, I’m talking about the Christian fucking religion.
I fucking knew Josh and Angry Ed would not be able to let that go. I would have bet a month’s pay it would be Angry Ed… but it wasn’t.
Please stop trying to expand my mind. Maybe it’s just me, but every where I turn people are talking about psychedelics like I’m doing something wrong because I haven’t tripped balls with a Peruvian Guru.
Shaman, sorry, Peruvian fucking shaman.
After years of physical therapy and anti-inflammatories, followed by months of injections and finally artho knee surgery, I finally found my “miracle”. Cortisone.
The Bear and I inherited a grand-dog — 12 pounds of a manipulating mutt — and now it seems we can’t go to dinner without her.
We were at the Bear’s second cousin’s wedding in New Mexico when it happened. I drank too much, and said something I thought was funny…
There’s more and more research to show that cussing makes you:
Tolerate More Pain
A Better Communicator
Reduce your level of Stress
You know, just a better fucking person than all those stuck up assholes who act all butt hurt when you tell them their religion is bullshit.