About a year ago, a dumb shit friend backed into my car and screwed up the bumper and hood. He didn’t want to report because his son was getting on his insurance. Fine. No problem. So this guy, we’ll call him “Dumb Fuck Jeep Driver,” sends me to this body shop.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be a fucking author with a few decent books under my belt. And writing for some heavy duty publications. Maybe nursing a decent drinking problem and knocking back drugs: hallucinogens, weed, possibly a drop or two of speed. Yes, I wanted
Before I begin the tearing open of this newly made wound, let me say a few things. 1. I thought this game would be tough, I didn't see the Titans fucking winning. 2. I though our loss to the Colts in a divisional game was tough. No fucking way. 3. SHIT FUCK DAMN
My wife and I have been married for 18 years. For 17 of those we lived in the same townhouse. Entropy sucks. We were going to move several times, but the vagaries of the economy and my attitude, which resulted in getting canned and fucking up our income, prevented us
So we enter into the 8th week of the NFL season and the Ravens are...I'm not too sure of what we are. Lamar Jackson's an MVP! No, he's a running back! No, he needs to learn how to pass! Good Christ I'm fucking tired of how every second of every day
Why would a grown man, with a job, and children purchase and wear a gigantic sparkly belt and wear it over one shoulder like a barbarian wearing a wolf’s pelt? Because he is attending a professional wrestling event in Baltimore. And because I am standing behind him with my two sons
My calendar tells me that summer is coming and other events I’m looking forward to, including “Testicle Scraping”, “Trepanning with a Sharp Stone”, and “Prostrate Exam at Local Prison.” Summer is a shit time of year. In Baltimore, summer means three H’s: hazy, hot, and humid. It also brings the three M’s: