This posts isn’t about the comedy and absurdity to life that I sometimes explore…well maybe it is. Take from it what you will. It is though largely about keeping your mouth closed and listening when interesting people are talking. A none pervasive element in today’s society of unintelligent talking heads.

Last week, your hero, i.e. me, decided he needed a haircut for the first time in six months. Keep any comments you may have to yourself, I can pull off the look. But while I may be able to, no longer wanted to, felt like I was using an entire bottle of shampoo everytime I showered. Also my arm was sore from the hours of brushing

after. So yes it was time for a haircut. The place I selected was a comfortable establishment called simply, “The Barber Shop.” Direct and to the point right? It also one of only two places in town to get a haircut, well there is that beauty salon, but that’s for limp-wristed sissy boys, not real men, but I digress.

Sitting down for what turned into a much longer stay than I could have ever imagined, (there was only one barber there and he’s the owner) I listened as the man in the chair turned out to be a cowboy rancher with legitimate cattle interests not only in the U.S. but Argentina where cattle is as much of an industry there as here. He was here to purchase some cattle because it turns out the county where I live does serious trade in that business. Live and learn.

And speaking of learning the man pontificated on everything from work, to history and politics, and he was well informed on everything. Listening to him was so much fun that I suspected the barber was deliberately cutting his hair slowly because he enjoyed listening to the cowboy so much he wanted to hear more. A suspicion confirmed two customers later when it was finally my turn in the chair.

The next man in had worked cargo ships and had interesting stories to tell about Venezuela, pre-Hugo Chavez, and post. Followed by a former successful high school football coach whose son-in-law was recently his party’s nominee for governor. Finally it was the turn of your favorite narrator and mine, but especially yours me.

As the barber trimmed the hair away from my ears the subject of baseball came up where it turns out the barber, whose name is Don, (might as well put that out there) and I are both lifelong fans of the Cincinnati Reds, which naturally led to a discussion of the Big Red Machine of the mid-70’s. Can’t talk about the Reds without talking about those glory years. The team of those years were when I first became a fan of baseball, and it have remained one ever since. Johnny Bench rules.

Speaking of him…yes I have more to say…Don the barber even showed me pictures of him from when he was younger and met many of thrm when he was staying at a hotel with his parents. Sparky Anderson, Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, George Foster and of course Johnny Bench. He even had pictures of himself with some of the Dallas Cowboys of the 70’s, but that is another story. Point being, great stories and even greater Americans are all around you. You just have to be willing to look, and when you find them, know when to keep your mouth shut and listen.

Until next time. 🇺🇸

Yesterday was the 75th birthday of the greatest American hero since Archie Bunker. A man who has given us such timeless lines, such as, “you’ve desecrated the toilet that I call home,” and “marriage stinks, have a kid, kid stinks, have another.” A man who once scored four touchdowns in a single game for Polk High, and the Fates, having decided that was enough glory for a single man, sentenced him to a life selling women’s shoes. Yes I’m talking about Ed O”Neil, or as all you know him, the immortal: AL BUNDY.

Yes. There has only been one Al Bundy. The man who like his father could play a toilet…but only a Ferguson was acceptable, like a violin. He even built his own bathroom in the garage to house that cadillac of pooping stools. The most loyal patron of two of Chicago’s best known landmarks, the Nudie Bar and the Jiggly Room, where he and his friends expressed their appreciation of the art of surgically enhanced hooters. Those were the days.

But Al also had his romantic side which he never shied away from showing his beloved wife Peg, such as the time he said, “I love you. I just wish you wouldn’t touch me though.” Or who could forget, “just because I never tell you I love you, I don’t want to spend any time with you and the sound of your voice often makes me cringe, that I want another woman. You’re the only one for me.” A lover if there ever was one.

Al was also a great father. An example of which is the day he came home to find his son Bud alone on the couch and said, “Son are we alone?” and upon finding they were told his son, “Then you’re the only one I have to get rid of.” Or what about the time a he had a tender moment with his daughter Kelly and showed his love by saying, “yeah yeah. Go away now.”

Happy Birthday Ed O’Neil, a.k.a. Al Bundy. Husband, father, good neighbor, bane of fat women everywhere. If we had more like you this country would be as great as ever. 🇺🇸

Today would have been my parents 53rd wedding anniversary. Marriages don’t come like those of my parents anymore. Married 49 years before my mama passed away in late 2017. Being married to someone so long the loss never goes away. It was a marriage that had it’s ups, downs, good times and bad, but they always stayed together. They were each others soulmates. We should all be so lucky.

Until next time.

Hello everyone it’s been awhile, but I couldn’t let International Women’s Day go by without comment.

And oh how I’m going to comment…and then some.

This is the day we celebrate those who mop our floors, cook our meals, and do all of those things that we men, as the superior sex, refuse to do because it is beneath us. That’s why God, created Eve. Not so Adam wouldn’t be alone, but because he needed someone to bring him a cold beer from the fridge, while watching the game.  That whole apple thing is another story for a different time. Needless to say it was a woman’s fault.

But seriously folks, women are important. Without women, men (again the superior sex) would be few and far between.

So yes. I do love women. It would require some seriously weird lifestyle choices, to love something else. Also without women, what would we put on the cover of the Sport’s Illustrated Swimsuit Edition?

Let’s give the women their day men, after all, the other 364 are about us. We love our women. They take care of us. That’s their purpose, remember. They are our angels, who clean our homes, run the errands we refuse to do and cook our dinner. Then patiently wait for us to finish and say, “You call that dinner?!” Give them today, because tomorrow, it goes back to being all about us.

Until next time. 😎

Three years ago today, my mother Sandra Armstrong passed away at the age of 70. I miss you everyday. Heaven is a much better place with you there. I love you mama. 😘🌹

I’m not going to say much, im fact very little, only this. 2020 has been the worst year of my life. I’m sure many feel the same. Now after everything instead of just going out quietly this shitty fucking year has proved to have had one more in it. Fuck 2020.

This blog post as the title indicates is to teach you how not to win a football game, courtesy of last years defending national champion LSU Tigers.

Step 1: Graduate almost every player from last year’s team.

I know. That can’t be helped. True. So let’s move on.

The way you lose a football game is to first have a starting quarterback who throws an interception to an opposing player, one who is so wide open you can only assume said quarterback was confused, and thought he was playing for the other team. Once that’s done the next step is to stand there like your feet are encased in concrete while the other player returns it for a touchdown.

Score: 7-0

Next, one possession later have the same quarterback who has just shown his expertise at digging you into a hole, fumble the ball, again deep inside his own territory, followed instantly by a defender recovering and running the ball in for a touchdown.

Score: 14-0

Down two touchdowns and the other teams offense hasn’t had to do a thing.

Another sure way to lose a game is late in the first-half, pin the opposing team back at their own 1 yard line, and then on the very first play from scrimmage, allow the running back to break out for a 25 yard gain. The rest is easy, from there let them to drive all the way to your 1 yard line where they cap a 99 yard scoring drive with only a few seconds before halftime. Just something to tide them over before the next half starts.

The next step in how to lose a football game is to totally collapse in the 3rd quarter and have the other team score on you at will so you can then enter the 4th quarter trailing 48-3. Down 45 points with still an entire 15 minutes left to play. Can’t do it any better than that. If you’re going to lose, lose big. Just like the saying, “Go Big, or Go Home,” and I’m sure LSU wanted to go home at halftime. Needless to say the 4th quarter did not get better, so there’s no reason discuss it. Anyway, if you want to lose a game, do everything I just described. If you want to win one, do the opposite.

Until next time. 🇺🇸

Just yesterday I received a book in the mail courtesy of Poops Ahoy (I’m still not going toilet shopping with her) titled, “The Perfect Rivals,” documenting the Notre Dame-Miami football rivalry that absorbed the attention of college football in the late 80’s.

The game I’m going to talk about is the ’88 game in South Bend where the Hurricanes were ranked #1 and the Fighting Irish were 4th. The game was nationally televised on CBS. The game was dubbed Catholics vs. Convicts named from a t-shirt that perfectly captured the atmosphere of it. Before the game even began the two teams were involved in a shoving match. I remember seeing this at the time and thinking, “oh yeah, this one is going to live up to the hype.” Needless to say if you knew anything about Miami’s team behavior for 25 YEARS!, you’d understand why Notre Dame were considered the good guys that day. Even people who as a rule hated the Fighting Irish were cheering for them. I was in that group.

The game ended in a 31-30 Notre Dame win breaking up a Miami two-point conversion having just scored a touchdown a moment before. Those type of games and rivalries are what indeed make football worth watching. In closing, again…I’m still not going toilet shopping with Poops Ahoy.

Until next time. 🇺🇸

“I’ve put crinkle cut fries on the shopping list for when you visit,” I said.

“You better change that! I’ll throw them off your balcony!” says a spoiled and irate Poops Ahoy.

Poops Ahoy discriminates against french fries crinkle cut french fries. That’s right you heard me. She would say she has discriminating taste. See? She just proved she discriminates.

Doesn’t mean she doesn’t like French fries. Poops Ahoy loves them. As long as they’re straight. Holy cow! She even discriminates against them for not being straight. Who knew? I wonder if she could be sued for this. That said Poops Ahoy only favors straight fries. It’s not as though crinkly cut fries can help not bring born straight. But McDonald’s fries, Burger King, sure but those poor crinkly cuts who’ve never done anything to anyone, she won’t have anything to do with. Booooo!

Until next time. 🇺🇸

Last night while discussing with my girlfriend, who is still named Poops Ahoy, what it takes to begin a successful business, I suggested hiring an Indian. By Indian I don’t mean one who lives in a teepees and sends smoke signals. (Oh my god! That’s so racist!) I’m sure someone just screamed that. Fine. I don’t mean one of those that run casinos and takes all your money. Better? No? Well anyway. As I was saying, I don’t mean one of those kind. I mean the kind that wear that little red dot in the middle of their forehead like someone is staring at them through a sniper sight. The kind that’s better than everyone at math and science, that’s the type I’m talking about.

The reason is appearance and as they say appearances are everything. Understand what I’m getting at…come on you can do it. Still don’t get it, okay, don’t feel bad neither did Poops Ahoy. The reason you hire an Indian is that when someone calls about your product it will give the appearance of a successful business if they think that they’re speaking to an Indian in a call center somewhere on the Indian subcontinent. (Oh my god! That’s so racist!) Really? When’s the last time you called a customer service number and didn’t get somebody with a thick accent you can barely understand tell you their name is Bob? Makes sense now doesn’t it? (Oh my god! That is so racist!) Is it really? They take these names because they assume westerners cannot pronounce their real ones since they have 18 consonants and 1 vowel. What’s that you say? They’re right, we can’t. Oh my god! That is so racist! Now you know how it feels. Anyhoo…as I said, appearances are everything so hire an Indian with a thick accent to work the phones, hell hire two, make that one a woman, that way no one can accuse you of gender discrimination. 😁

Until next time.