So I worked late and hurried home, then into the shower after quickly pausing the DVR at the introductions. I was so excited about watching the Rays actually in the Series that I could barely get through lather, rinse, repeat. After hurriedly drying off and throwing on some shorts, I settled into the recliner to watch the game. Fast-forward through the Philly lineup (who gives a fuck, right?) and listen to the cheers for the home team, and then came Armageddon.

Whose idea was it to invite the Mickey Mouse club to sing The Star Spangled Banner anyway? Bad enough they looked like an ensemble of fluffers on their way to some gay porn shoot, they came with their own arrangement of our national anthem too. I get it, you can move your hands when you sing and it magically seems to change the pitch of your voice. What kind of namby-pamby barbershop quartet bullshit was that? That song is supposed to conjure images of naval battles, patriotism and fighter jets flying overhead. It is supposed to remind me how much I love this country and how fortunate we all are to be American citizens. I am not supposed to find myself wondering what the performers would sound like being eaten alive by a pack of jackals on the grounds of Fort McHenry. Do you think any of them even know what the word “rampart” means? No, it is not a component of a Dodge truck nor is it something all four of you douchebags could do simultaneously to Britney Spears. I wonder if they each got a copy of the lyrics with phonetical spelling so they didn’t get confused.

Can’t wait to see who they parade out for the remaining games, may be Roseanne is available for an encore crotch-grab… Gotta go, I just missed the first at-bat.

Here is a little background on me and doo-doo. I do not like public restrooms. At all. Not even a little bit. I will not go number two in them. Ever. I will clench my ass cheeks and shuffle my feet all the way home to avoid an encounter with one of their possibly SHF (Google it if you are not up on infectious diseases) infected seats. In fact, maybe Bush should “liberate” all the Circle K and 7-Eleven potties before he is run out of the Oval Office if he really wants to find some WMD’s.

The last time I had to go in public I was on the way home from work. I had a sneaking suspicion I may shart if an immediate evacuation was not forthcoming. I stopped at Albertson’s to pick up some odds and ends, my first stop was a beeline to the restroom. After seeing the stall, I was convinced that they had filmed Saw in this very location. See above paragraph regarding ass-clenching and feet shuffling, as this is what came next – although at an increased pace since I was now convinced that Jigsaw was after me too. After taking about ten minutes to try different methods of bending over to pick up a 12-pack of Pepsi, I was on my way. As I was shuffling through the parking lot pondering the difficult transition of getting into a vehicle in my current state, I heard a sound that I had only heard previously from the south end of a horse during a parade I attended as a young lad. King of a moist SPLAT… Right there, in the parking lot, I had miraculously dropped a little gift from the bottom of my shorts. After a quick glance to be sure that I missed my leg , sock, and shoe – plus the requisite corn-check and some serious laughter (which didn’t help matters) I kept going as if nothing had happened. My only regret is that I was not around to witness the poor bastard that stepped in it.

Anyway, I digress. I have a son who seems to have inherited this trait genetically. I’m walking through the house the other day, about to light some incense and I notice something atop the television. Bam, a small brown trout out of water just staring up at me. The dog is way too old to pull this off, so I got a fresh CO2 cartridge out and went in search of the asshole cat. Then it dawned on me – this was human dookie, much like the time I shit in my aunt and uncle’s closet because I was afraid to go out of my bedroom one time on vacation when I was 8 or 9. Long story short, the boy doesn’t like the bathrooms at school and was not sure what to do with the nugget he had been keeping warm like a penguin in his butt-cheek nest once he got home. The logical solution, toss it behind the TV so you don’t have to get up from the recliner and miss any of Naruto. Except he didn’t have the arm to make it all the way. Once the biohazard element had been contained and the boy disciplined I took some time to reflect on this catastrophe.

I concluded that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and I love my turd-flinging boy with all my heart. In fact, he is one of my greatest sources of joy and pride. For those of you that have seen “Waiting”, he can also perform a flawless batwing and breast-of-chicken.

At least they’re not hippies in trees protesting this. So it could be worse.

I understand why my employer does this: Less flu = less sick days = more work. And my logic for getting the shot was as easily understandable: Wife + new baby = Daddy can’t be sick.

So I went down, waited in line to get my shot. I was given a form to fill out. Nothing unusual there. However, while waiting, I proceeded to read the back of the form. This is where they attempt to hide the evil truth about flu shots. THEY MAKE YOU SICK! The flu shot is a “purified, non-contagious strain of the flu“. Nothing but the highest quality for my immune system! They tuck in that little tidbit of information, hoping you won’t notice. Well, I noticed. And I rolled up my sleeve and got it anyway.

They say that you might feel tired or run down, or perhaps experience a sore throat for a day or so. That was Tuesday. This is Sunday. I’ve been living off Tylenol Cold & Flu and Chloraseptic since Tuesday. My body is sore, I’ve been coughing almost non-stop, I even lost my voice a few times, and I overall feel like complete shit. Now mind you, I haven’t taken a sick day for this, and (to date) no one else in my home has gotten ill. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

The Rule

We’ve all seen PCU. Jeremy Piven as a college student…great casting move there. But anyway. The scene were Gutter is getting ready for the concert, and it moshing it up in his room. Jeremy Piven comes in and reminds him “You don’t wear the shirt of the band you’re going to see. Don’t be that guy”. Well, tonight, I counted no less than 20 people proudly wearing their new Against Me! shirts. Nothing against getting some merch. And, in a pinch, wearing it. However, these people were putting the new shirts over the existing clothing they were wearing, then walking around. One girl had a shirt from one band (Cobra Skulls), then put an Against Me! shirt on OVER it. That’s a double negative, right? Well, besides the fact that going to the show reminded me that I’m now one of the old guys at shows, it also reminded me of a time when we had rules. Sadly, these seem to no longer exist.