Well, my nephews are official celebrities! After an awe-inspiring display of sportsmanship and kindness by the Westford, MA an Dracut, MA Pop Warner programs my nephew, Matthew was given the incredible opportunity to score the first touchdown of the 2015 season this past Sunday. Matthew is bound to a wheelchair due to his diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA). He was not expected to live beyond the age of 2. Well, Matthew, now 6, is fighting the good fight everyday as we hopefully get closer to a cure that would allow him a longer, healthier life.
I decided to video this incredible event and with the reach of social media, it spread like wild fire.
You will see Matthew’s brother Noah (#15, who is on the team) hand the football off too him and the rest was history!
As of today, close to 300,000 views and nearly every local (and a few national) media outlets picked up this story.
In a time when all we hear of is kids bullying eachother and outrageous acts of violence and hatred, this should make everyone proud that goodness is still around us.
I gathered all the growing news coverage in this one spot for your viewing pleasure. Prepare for the goosebumps and the dusty eyes….
Alright I know, I haven’t posted in quiet a bit but tSohings happen in the summer that you can’t control. Between the working 2 jobs, a couple vacations, screaming kids, buying a new house, golf, drinking and more drinking its not exactly easy to get to a computer screen to type out some shit. So where do I start, do I bitch about Deflategate, Espn, start of the NFL season, ISIS, Donald Trump, or the fact that Bruce Jenner still has a cock. So since I am way behind on a lot of this crap that people seem to care about I figure I will just hammer out my nonsense opinion and hopefully only offend half of you people.
Espn is aweful, we all know this but trying to find Fox Sports 1 on my cable guide is like trying to find One Eyed Willies Treasure. Yeah I am sure it exisits but finding it, I need a rag tag group of kids, a deformed super freak, and at least 2 BMXs. I don’t have that kinda time.
Deflategate….Please, all these assholes in the league are pissed that Brady told them to study the rule book. Did he know about the balls pressure, or order the code red. YOUR GOD DAMN RIGHT HE DID. He has a greater responsibility then you can possible fathom. You weep for Baltimore, and you curse the Patriots, You have that luxury. You have that luxury of knowing that the Colts and Ravens losing sucked for their fan base but probably saved lives. Brady’s existence while awesome and unbelievable saves Patriots fans lives. You don’t want to talk about the 4 Superbowls because deep down in places you don’t talk about Brady’s 4 rings, but you need him on that wall, you want him on that wall NFL. The Patriots use words like honor, code, loyalty. The NFL uses these words as a punchline. The Patriots don’t have the time or inclination to explain themselves to the other shitty teams, make them millions and then have them question the manner in which New England did so. Brady would rather the NFL say thank you and went on their way. Either way The New England Patriots and Tom Brady don’t give a damn what you think!!!!
If your at the Beach and your playing paddle ball with someone who doesn’t know how to play paddle ball then your not playing paddle ball. This also applies to Frisbee.
Stop giving Bruce Jenner credit for playing dress up. Until he cuts it off, he is just doing what the show “The Kids in the Hall” did for a decade.
If you fart and then pause to see if you shit yourself, then you shit yourself
Moving to a new house is a lot like getting a colonoscopy. You cry a little bit, Everyone is up your ass about every little thing, you wake up sore in the morning, and its a life changing experience.
It was a hot summer but every time some asshole tried to rationalize it by saying “we deserve it after the winter we had” a Angel was caught jerking off by Jesus.
Donald Trump is like a drunk uncle, everybody loves him but nobody takes him serious. We all just say “oh don’t mind him he is harmless, just get him some Dewars on the rocks”.
Pringles are not chips, they are crackers because they come in a sleeve
Camping for people that own a house is like role playing being homeless
I figure you aren’t rich until you have and use a bathrobe on a constant basis
Why there isn’t a sequel to the movie “Let it Ride” is beyond me
I believe every office should have some kind of Time Out system where you can tell whoever you want to go fuck themselves then spend 10 mins in the corner until you have to lie and apologize
Why isn’t there a Gold bond station on the golf course?
If your a single guy and don’t go the dog route. Here is the scale according to women. Having a kitten makes you cute, a cat is kinda creepy, bunny is a ticking time bomb to domestic violence and multiple cats is a serial killer. So get a puppy and save lives.
If you want to go to a Red Sox game you should have to check your phone at the gate. All these fucking James Taylor loving, multiple degree having, satchel wearing, proper English speaking, robe wearing fuck faces need to pay attention at the game. Stop bitching about the dental bill you have to pay because you were looking at face book to see when Muffy was having a Newburyport social to support Cat lovers. You paid $300 for the god damn ticket, pay attention, and stop yelling about getting a net. Take it from someone who got hit with a foul ball from Mike Greenwell when I was 10 years old. My Dad didn’t make the play, nor did I, it went off my face, almost broke my cheekbone. Bounced off my face 5 rows away, only reason I got the ball was because the crowd chanted “give the kid the ball”. I ended up getting the ball signed by Greenwell too. The prick signed it “nice catch”, you believe that shit. He put nice catch in quotes. What a dick. Ellis Burks was always better anyway.
I need a Hammock for reasons I can’t explain
Any time somebody asks me for specific vodka when I work I always give them Poland Springs vodka, fuck them they have no idea.
It was a cheap, foolish tawdry affair that meant nothing to me.
I betray a more than 20 year relationship for a pointless fling and I can only hope to repair the damage it has caused.
This is my confession.
I joined the Dollar Shave Club in July betraying my longtime companion, Gillette, and I regret it every day.
(No, this is not me, but does kinda look. Damn, that Google machine can find anything)
After months of being teased and flirted with, I finally succumbed to the temptation that DSC continually threw in my face. The sexy marketing. The creative advertising. The fun packaging. The social media onslaught. And, of course, the too-good-to-be-true price. It was intoxicating.
No longer would I feel the sting of expensive shaving products being held over me by the blade behemoth, Gillette. No longer would I lie awake at night and wonder if there was something better out there for me? I couldn’t take it anymore. And just like that…I conceded to my emotions. A few drinks, a few clicks later, I was a Dollar Shave Club member.
At first it felt refreshing, new, exhilarating. When would my first shipment arrive? Would they include some of that sensuous shave butter I had viewed in the promos? Would this experience live up to all of my expectations?
And then it happened.
My first packaged arrived. I remember it was a Saturday. My family was all around so I decided to open it in secret. My wife had just bought me a fresh package of my “old faithful” brand and I can’t imagine the sadness she would have felt if I chose to tell her about this new partner.
I closed myself off to the world and did it for the first time. I shaved with this stranger of a blade.
Initially, it felt good, different. A sensation I had never experienced before. My heart was racing….partially from excitement…partially from guilt and fear of being caught. But I did it anyway….and continued to do it several more times.
Quickly I discovered this error in judgment was just not worth it. This relationship had no future. This product was inferior and quickly I simply felt cheap and abused (no, literally ‘abused’, these blades suck). This reckless experiment proved futile.
I could not even look myself in the mirror any longer but I just had to (again, literally, I had to look or my sideburns would have been uneven, I would have missed that weird neck patch, etc.). I have cheated that man in the glass.
With a clear and full heart, I decided I needed to end this; and end it right away. I immediately dispensed of the evidence in hand and went straight to the source. I knew the best way to cut off something like this is to just do it quick and without emotion. Within a few minutes and some confusing tears, it was over. My membership was cancelled and I could try to rebuild my life with my faithful companion.
But I needed to bare my soul and tell my dear Gillette Fusion what I had done. So, I wrote this letter in hopes that he (or is it a she? Hmm…never thought about that?) would take me back….
——————————————————————————————-
My Dearest G-F,
I am writing to apologize. I am writing to say I am sorry. I am writing to confess. I am writing because I don’t think I can take you out of the package without completely falling apart. I made a mistake. A big one. After nearly a 25 year partnership, I have strayed. Over the past several weeks I have been carrying on with another razor. I guess I just got bored and bought in to the old ‘blade is always sharper on the other side’ mentality. I was completely wrong. It only took a few – meaningless, I promise you – shaves and I knew I had made a terrible choice.
I can’t go back in time and change things, but only offer you this heartfelt apology and ask for your forgiveness. The pain I feel cuts like a knife (or rather a shoddily-built cheapo shaving kit) and I want it to end. I miss your silky smooth touch. I miss your dependability. I miss you.
What was I thinking that I could actually do better? I mean, you have an NFL stadium named after you. (A now exonerated!) Tom Brady plays under your watch! What a fool I have been!
All I can say is I am truly sorry and I hope we can make amends?
Sincerely,
Frank’s face
P.S. Don’t forget about No Shave November when we part company for the month. I don’t want to send mix signals again. XOXO
(Yes, another repost from back in 2013 but my blog team sucks and, frankly, so do I. Either way, its that time of year so here ya go, suckers. Dedicated to all my teacher folk -{pouring out to my homies})
No matter your color, creed, political affiliation or ethnicity when you hear the phrase “back to school” it elicits an emotion. From the time we can comprehend the concept until we are in our golden years those three words mean something to just about everyone; especially students, teachers and parents. But even for those beyond the educational starting-line that is “back to school”, the expression conjures up some feeling be it past, present or future. Every one of us has had to manage the passage of returning to school for some portion of our lives and later, many need to manage this annual happening with our offspring.
With the beginnings of another school year upon us again I began to think about the feelings that are mustered up when we hear those three little words And so, here is my review of the emotional roller coaster we each ride over the course of our lifetime when we hear that timeless expression.
Age 7: Wonder & Excitement
First grade baby! Are you kidding me? What on earth is better than 1st grade? You have already survived the politics and mind games that you surely confronted in kindergarten. Now it’s time to party. No more naps. No more half days. You have your own little friend posse and you are ready to take it out for a spin. First grade may be the last grade you enter with no real expectations or demands put upon you. Show up, shut up and smile…you’ll get straight ‘As’. Fact.
Age 11: Confusion & Uncertainty
Well, you have now dominated elementary school. You have been to the top of the mountain. King or Queen of that K-5 hill and now it’s time for the next chapter. But, not so fast my friend. It’s not that simple. Not only are you entering into those years with perhaps the largest age bracket of punks, sneaks and (future) criminals, you are in an all-out war with your hormones. For the fellas, they are noticing they are growing hair on more than their heads. What is this? Not to mention your voice sounds like you are the next of kin of Michael J. Fox and Peter Brady. Oh and let’s not forget about your, ah hem, newfound acquaintance with your…never mind. As for the young ladies, you are meeting two new close “friends” and not sure how you should manage their inauguration. That’s all I really know about girls (back then and now). As for the academics? Spanish? Algebra? More than ONE teacher to deal with? How do I get out of this one? Junior High sucks…on most levels.
Age 14: Fear & Loathing
Congratulations! You have managed the daily minefield that was Junior High School but now it’s time to take off the training wheels. It’s a brave new world. While you almost have your newfound adult form in check, you are now the littlest of tadpoles in the big pond. For the young men, you are getting pounded by the upper classmen; on the field, in the gym, in the hallways, in the parking lot. NO escape. Your only saving grace is there are REAL women here for you to gawk at! Yeowza! No more wearing sweatpants to school. I’ll leave it at that. And for you poor freshmen girls…that is how you are viewed by your elders; ‘girls’. Prepare yourself to be mocked ad nauseum by every single older female you come across. They will judge your clothes, your hair, your shoes, your friends…everything. Even if you are a squeaky clean all-American girl, you will be mocked and probably be rumored to have made out with the janitor, Carl, before Columbus Day. For you early developing 9th grade ladies, I always hated you. Why? Because you were not wasting your time with a silly co-ed freshmen boy like me when the senior captain of the basketball team named ‘Scooter’ has just asked you to the prom during orientation.
Age 18: Hip Hip HOORAY!!!
You made it! Graduated high school. You can vote. In some places you can drink! You have big dreams and ambitions. The world is your oyster. Oh, here is the really good part for the lucky ones; COLLEGE baby! On your own. No more parents and curfews. New friends to meet. Ridiculous theme parties. Fraternities. Tailgates. Awesomeness aplenty. Going ‘back to school’ for the 18 year old is the apex of life…so far. Breath in that higher educational air, start an ultimate Frisbee game, and chug that beer!
Age 21: Depressed & Scared
Where the hell did college go? What do you mean it’s over? Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? What do you mean I am not going ‘back to school’? I need to pay my own bills? What in God’s name is going on? Even for you brainy slicksters that continue on to law, med or grad school, the joke is on you. The school work is harder, the party has ended and, likely, so has your parents’ generosity. For the rest of you, grab a helmet and welcome to the real world. It stinks.
Age 30: Jealousy and Bitterness
You are likely at some mid-level job you hate. You may have gotten married. You may even have a kid or 2 of your own. Life has become just too real to fathom. When you see all those ads for ‘back to school’, you muster up intense feelings of envy and sadness. You can finally appreciate just how awesome school really was compared to the ‘real world’. You contemplate if there is any possible human way to turn back the clock? There isn’t. Put your head down…you are in for a long haul.
Age 40: Hopefulness and Joy
By 40, you probably have a few kiddos of your own running around the school hallways. You have channeled your previous anger and jealousy for the college years into positive feelings of hope and excitement for your children. For many of us, ‘back to school’ is once again awesome…but for totally different reasons. Those summer-time-dependents of yours are, once again, someone else’s problem for six hours a day for the next 10 months. Break out the bubbly!
Age 50: Oh Crap
By 50, you have two overpowering emotions that you have no idea how you will control and manage when ‘back to school’ is mentioned. Number 1, my ‘baby’ is leaving for college and 2, how on God’s green earth am I going to pay for it? In a related story, you are middle aged and gross. BOO!
Age 60: Oh well
The kids are grown up, moved on and no longer your problem; financial or otherwise. ‘Back to school’? Who cares? We are headed for Boca come October anyway.
Couple weeks late here but a subject near and dear to my heart….
Props to Frank for re-sharing the informative post regarding the Irish Exit- one of my most notorious and highly overused party tricks. (If you didn’t catch it you can read it here) https://canibefrankandcrew.com/2015/07/09/the-irish-perf-exit/
However, unbeknownst to some people, the Irish also invented another social faux pas- one that I happen to perform usually as just prior to the Irish Exit, and this my friends is the almighty IRISH WHISPER. This would be the art of thinking you are quietly saying something to the person sitting next to you, usually regarding someone/something within ear shot- but in reality you are actually quite audible. This is usually partnered with either a beer in hand or a nice glowing wine buzz.
So before you decide to talk about the guy at works’ divorce as he’s sitting with collegues just one table over, remember this helpful anagram:
B- Boisterous. Be sure to keep your voice low enough that you cannot hear what you’re saying. Having the person you’re speaking to say, “what?” Is much easier than having to wave at the person who just heard you say their name. Am I being to boisterous right now?
E- Ease. Slowly ease into the whisper by first checking to make sure you are in far enough away ear shot. Then proceed with your gossip.
E- Eavesdropping. Don’t let someone close by be able to hear you. They may have an Irish whisper as well, and might not know this handy anagram.
R- Run like hell. Irish exit. Irish goodbye. If all else fails, sidesaddle your way towards the door and pretend you were never there.
BEER. Excellent! Now that everyone is ready for the weekend, get out there and get your smack talking game faces on!
What a week in the news it has been! After what seems to be an endless stream of media discussing only Deflategate (BTW – I hate this whole ‘gate’ thing. There was ONE gate in this country’s history – Watergate! That’s it! End of story!) the world has been exposed to, at the very least, some interesting and bizarre news this week.
Jared from Subway sandwich-endorsing fame appears to be going away for a while for not only child pornography but also for having sex with underage prostitutes. (Insert your ‘footlong’ joke here. Haha, “insert”.) They say addicts often substitute one addiction for another – maybe booze or cigarettes would have been a better replacement for food instead of 16 year old hookers, Fatso.
Ashley Madison, that oh-so-naughty website encouraging married folks to have an affair, has been hacked and leaking hundreds/millions of names of all you little cheaters! As my man @therealdantobin commented, the list consists of mostly dentists and kids soccer coaches (DISCLAIMER: Dan has no basis or proof of that statement, but I chuckled)
Addiyi, the female version of the drug Viagra, was officially approved and released this week. In my day they just called it Spanish Fly or, ya know, ROOFIES! But hey, tomato tomaaato. Enjoy the Lady boners!
BUT, my favorite story of the week hit the newswire last night when a 15 year old Iowa farm boy launched his 2016 Presidential campaign under the nomer “DEEZ NUTS”.
And guess what? His numbers are pretty solid!
Go get ’em Mr. Nuts…you have my vote, sir.
As usual, the New England Patriots were way ahead of the rest of ‘Murica especially the World’s Most Interesting Man, Rob Gronkowski
I guess it really does all come back to Deflate-GATE. Shit.
Can I Be Frank & Crew? 