Last year’s was off the chain. Our HR department just up and quit.
Category: Can I Be Frank
Tattoos are mainstream.
Tattoos are everywhere.
Tattoos are, apparently, cool.
Confession, I have a tattoo.
Yup, meet “Pat“, the drunken, angry jackoff leprechaun that lives in Right-thigh-ria on the pale continent of Frank. However, I got my tattoo more than 20 years ago; when men were men, tattoos were dangerous and needles were, most certainly, infected. Whatever, I made my bed.
Today, however, getting a tattoo is like getting a haircut to these young-ins. Like, NBD (does that even mean ‘no big deal’ or did I manke that one up?), bro. Kids, snap out of it. That ink is permanent, yo! It aint washing off like your spineless, ADD, Gen Z personalities. It’s just not.
When my old man first caught glimpse of my artwork 22 years ago he made 3 statements:
1. “Is that real?”
2. “Asshole!” (with a vicious finger point)
3. ‘Tattoos are permanent proof of temporary insanity.”
(he probably slipped in a few more a-bombs in but who was counting, right Dad?)
I fumbled with my retort as you can imagione but hey, whatcha gonna do? After that he never has mentioned it since.
So, enough of my (newly) 40 year old ranting. I simply want to impart the “Rules of Tattoos” that both men and women should adhere to. Since there is no accounting for taste, I wont even bother to pontificate on what is appropriate/cool/tasteful for your preferred tattoo. At the end of the day, regardless of your inclination for skulls, rainbows, chinese proverbs or your favorite Family Guy character, you will regret this decision, dummies. You just will.
Here are some basic guidelines for WHERE acceptable and inacceptable parts of your anatomy to place that permanent shitshow of idiocy:
Men (acceptable)
Legs :Upper thigh and calf, but I would go with less-is-more kinda thinking
Arms: Best if you have some type of muscle tone. Trust me – Pee Wee Herman can’t rock a panther on his 6″ guns – neither should you.
Shoulder/Shoulder blade: helps if you have a shape not resembling play dough
Men (unacceptable)
Torso: Nope. Uh ah.
Neck/ Face: Unless you have served time for murder, I would stay clear
Feet : Would any self-respecting dude get a foot tattoo?
Lower back: Don’t make me explain why this is a terrible idea for guys
Women (acceptable)
Upper thigh : Good
Torso : Better Lower back : Yes, yes and yes please
Women (unacceptable)
Arms: Yuck, Brutus
Feet : Yeah, this just in, feet are, to quote Jimmy Fallon, EW!
Neck/face : Hi, you must be Miss “Orange is the New Gross”
Just some healthy guidelines before you pollute your skin with that delicious insanity.
Kanye West refused to continue his show on Friday night in Sydney, Australia until the entire audience was standing and dancing in physical Yeezus worship. Unfortunately for Kanye’s self-esteem, one of the audience members had a prosthetic leg and another used a wheelchair.
One concertgoer told the Daily Mail that he addressed the crowd saying “I can’t do this show until everybody stand up. Unless you got a handicap pass and you get special parking and s**t.” The fan waved her leg in the air and Kanye so kindly continued the show, stopping again when he saw there remained a single seated fan.
According to the tabloid, he then halted performance of “Good Life,” saying “‘This is the longest I’ve had to wait to do a song, it’s unbelievable,” before sending over a bodyguard to check that the fan was differently abled.
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I probably should have let our resident anger blogger @pistoffirishman take this one, but my fingers were already typing.
Question: Is there a worse human being in the world that Kanye West? This egotistical, arrogant narcissistic scumbag has once again hit a new low (I thought marrying that fat-ass a would be the bench mark, but bravo Mr. West, you managed to top yourself).
What really needs to happen to Mr. Stronger is he needs to contract a disease from the Ironic Torture Chamber?
What would be ideally suited for this talent-less dipshit?
If you could invent the Kanye-bola, what would it include in it’s symptoms?
My thoughts would be…
A. Instant muting.
The very first symptom would be the losing of the tongue. Not only would you lose ability to speak, but your tongue would literally fall out; painfully and slowly fall out with the taste of Bruce Jenner’s 1976 Olympic jock strap filling every taste bud as it happened over several long months.
B. “Carltonism”:
We all know Kanye perceives himself as quite the dancer, well, upon contracting Kanye-bola, the victim could only dance like the goofy Alfonso Ribeiro character, Carlton, from ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’. It would like an uncontrollable tick that happened only when cameras were on you.
C. Ass-Displacement:
Immediate retention of Kim K’s gi-normous backside would come next. This odd symptom would eliminate equilibrium causing the victim to constantly fall backwards with every step they took.
D. Genital Pins and Needles:
And just when you think it could not get worse, the 4th and most painful symptom of Kanye-bola hits you; a constant, sharp, dagger-like pain inflicted upon the genital area. Picture a human pin cushion with a thousand needles that never stop poking away at your “Gold Digger“. Ouchie.
E. Bankruptcy
Sure, it doesn’t seem to fall in line with a medical disorder, but so what, I am calling the shots here. Immediate, total, and irreversible poverty strikes the victim, so don’t think you can hire an entourage to help you manage the K-bola. Uh uh. You will be shacked up under a bridge playing ‘Keeping Up with the Smelly Homeless Guy’.
More bad news, Kan, you, and only you, are the only living organism capable of contracting Kanye-bola on earth. Bummer, huh?
There is, however, a silver lining, K-Man (adding more fuel to the irony of this unique affliction) you get to live for 1,000 years! Yep, longevity is final symptom. What are the odds?
Have a ‘Good Life’!
Maybe you can pray to Yeezus for help?
In case you forgot, arguably the most exciting event in golf is happening this week – The 2014 Ryder Cup. From Glasgow, Scotland (If its not Scottish, It’s Crap), The United States will face the highly favored European team. I have said it before, you don’t have to like golf. You don’t even have to like sports. But you MUST love your country! The Ryder Cup is everything that is right about sports and competition. It’s like the Olympics, only interesting and not fueled by steroids (apologies to the Russian Women’s Water Polo team, but you know it’s true you commie, face-shaving she-males).
The Ryder Cup is not about money, rankings or fame. It’s about trying to decimate people from other parts of the world who talk funny. It’s pissah!
For those of you saying “golf is too slow/quiet/boring/uneventful”, check this video and get back to me when your goosebumps go away. (by the way, people NEVER cheer when golfers are hitting, in case you don’t get it, dummahs!)
Well, if that didn’t make you feel excited about sports in America, then try this on for size…
USA USA USA!!!!
Well, after nearly 700 hundred years since (or at least since 1995) William Wallace delivered that famous inspirational speech before leading his army of Scottish soldiers in to battle, it appears as if Scotland may finally be free of being a part of the United Kingdom. A very exciting time and a great victory for Ireland’s smaller, angrier little brother.
In honor of that, let’s recognize 7 of the greatest Scottish characters in history. (interestingly, most of these Scottish characters are played by Canadian Mike Myers)
Now, let’s get pissed!
William Wallace
Fine, let’s get him out of the way. If Wallace was in fact real, then he was a coolest, toughest Scotsman that ever threw a stone. Badass to the core, he was perhaps the root of the freedom they may gain today. Mel Gibson’s portrayal was epic and here he delivers his most memorable speech; except, of course, for his anti-Semitic tirade.
Shrek
Big, fat, ugly, green do-gooder from the world of Disney, Shrek has to make the list. But like every worthy Scot, Shrek could kick some ass with the best of them.
Montgomery “Scotty” Scott
Nice guy Scotty was the heart and soul of cult followed 70s program, Star Trek. Innocent Scotty was the composed voice of reason of the starship Enterprise and always kept his composure even after being told to ‘Beam up’ that fat, smug, know-it-all Priceline-pushing bastard, Captain Kirk, a million times.
Scrooge McDuck
A Disney spinoff of the Dickens’ character, Scrooge McDuck epitomized an angry Scotsduck. Ruthless, unforgiving but somewhere inside that fluffy chest beat a heart full of haggis.
Begbie
This memorable lad from the dark and dreary Trainspotting set Scotland back a few centuries. An absolute madman, Begbie perhaps epitomized every Scottish stereotype ever imagined. But what a great kicker of the nuts.
Groundskeeper Willie
The Simpsons…..as a key member of the cast of the longest running sitcom in history, Groundskeeper Willie was the most animated man in town. Redheaded, fiery, and incredibly jacked Willie was the Scottish staple that kept the Springfield Elementary School clean and kept for more than two decades.
Stu MacKenzie
This father figure in the less-than-memorable So I Married an Axe Murder is my absolute favorite Scottish character of all time. The drunken, bitter but affable Stu (of course, played by Myers) embodies the Scottish spirit. Here is a compilation of Stu’s funniest scenes. Now, go give your mother a kiss or I’ll kick your teeth in.
Remember, if it’s not Scottish, it’s crap.
Dusting off another “oldie” this week in honor of my good buddy, Mark, who is going through this very passage of life today. Godspeed, sir.
(First published in October 2012)
Again, I am dropping my proverbial pants (pun intended) to review a topic with you that is very personal, intimate and embarrassing all in the name of humor; Vasectomies. More than three years have passed since I went through the incredibly easy, but equally humiliating, “procedure” of being neutered. Snipped. Spade. De-manned. Vasectomized.
As I watched (well, not ‘watched’, I mean ‘witnessed’…I mean 2nd hand…bad choice of words – ‘HAND’ – …damnit! Nevermind.) my best friend go through this passage of life for a significant population of married-men-with-children-who-want-no-more-children-and-their-wives-are-finally-putting-their-foot-down-after-all-their-bodies-have-endured-giving-birth-to-your-kids-you-selfish-son-of-a…population, I was reminded how difficult this journey was to manage.
Before you jump down my throat, ladies, I do not mean to suggest that this minor surgery is nearly as physically painful (in most cases) compared to delivering a child, but I will contest that the mental anguish which we brave SeaMen endure is worth recognizing. I am not even going to attempt to compare this experience to the ‘joy of childbirth’ (isn’t that what you all called it BEFORE you went through it?). I won’t do it, but let me relay the internal strife we, as men, must undergo to get through the process of being neutered like your cat, Mittens.
A walk down men-mory lane….
May 2009
After 3 children and nearly 3 years since the birth of our youngest, my wife ‘encouraged’ (and by ‘encouraged’ I mean ‘demanded’) that I ‘cut the cord’, ‘close the barn’ and host an ‘all-things-must-go sale’. I finally conceded to her and decided it was my time to step up and face the scrotal-carving music. After all, she was right. She bore us three beautiful children (of course, I did have ‘something’ to do with it, no? Probably a bad time to bring up that old adage about Men vs. Women? If you put 1000 women and 1 man on an island, in theory, you could have 1000 children one year later, while if you had 1000 men and 1 women on an island….yeah, right….forget I mentioned it) and it was time to move on to the next phase of our lives as parents.
Visit 1: The Consult
Before we soon-to-be-sterile suckers get the privilege of having our seed bag scraped open by Dr. Notsofeelgood, we must first take part in a ‘consult’ visit. Without knowing what to expect during this initial visit to the medical practice of Dewey, Pinchem & Howe, I did have the presence of mind to know I was going to be a nervous mess, so I did the logical thing; drank heavily before my appointment. After several mini-van sized draught beers I was ready to embark on this testical journey. I calmly walked into the office, checked in, sat down and tried to relax before I met with the nurse practitioner, Ms. Squeezy Van Nuttwister. Now, I am no Norman Einstein (by the way that is a reference to a slip of the tongue by NFL Legend-turned-Sportscaster, Joe Theisman. I know Einstein’s first name was really ‘Harold’) but I do not recall any ‘consult’ I have been a part of which required another party to take a firm grasp of my twig and berries for exploratory purposes? Maybe I am wrong but my recollection of a, so called, ‘consultation’ usually involved a conversation, a cup of coffee and an exchange of business cards. Never heard of the kind that would require my ‘potato sack’ to be fondled by Nurse Ratchet?
I tried to provide some levity to the uncomfortable situation.
A serious and stern woman, the nurse attempted to be very business-like in her pre-surgery instructions to me…
“Now, you will need to shave your scrotum just prior to the procedure,” she explained.
“Just another Thursday at the McCabes, Sweetheart,” I sarcastically responded.
Without cracking smile, she continued….
“Also, following the procedure, after adequate rest you will need to ejaculate approximately twenty-five times before returning with your test sample.”
“Makes sense to me. By my calendar I should be back here on Tuesday then.” The oh-so-funny-inebriated-and-terrified-patient retorted.
Finally, a small smirk appeared on her face.
“Look, I am sorry to be a wiseass. I am just really jumpy about this whole thing,” I implored.
“Have no fear, Mr. McCabe, this is actually quite an easy, quick and painless procedure,” reassured the person who has never had a ‘ball and chain’ attached to her anatomy.
I walked out…not feeling a whole lot better about the situation.
Moving on…
Visit 2: V-Day
You may recall when I wrote about Panic Attacks in which I describe an episode of anxiety so worrisome I actually called an ambulance to come to my aid. What I did not include in that story was that incident occurred just 2 days before my castration vasectomy. Coincidence? I think not.
Walk into ‘Dr. Kevorkian’s Office of Ill Repute’ in a state of pure horror for what was about to happen to me and ‘my boys’. After what seemed to be an eternity out comes my buddy, Sir Balldesack, to murder the fruitful existence of my ‘two oldest friends’.
A funny and affable guy, Dr. Derection, guided me to the operating room. After a few jokes and some general guidelines to how he was going to be ‘Deconstructing Harry’, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.
First he was going to inject a local anesthesia into ‘the twins’? OH SHIT!
Here it comes…..ah…ah……whew, that actually wasn’t too bad. What’s next, Doc?
Oh, time to slice open the ‘bag of peas’ (which, ironically and literally, would become my best friend during recovery)? Super.
Eyes clenched (along with my butt cheeks), I anxiously awaited the pain to begin. Amazingly, it was not so bad and before I knew it, it was over.
“Mission Slay Bells”: Complete.
Amen.
After a few more off-color ‘cookie’ comments from Dr. Junkenremover, I was on my way home to rest my, now retired, ‘Generals’.
Job well done, men. Thanks for the memories.
Can I Be Frank & Crew? 