Tattooed Catholic


If you’re still following this blog for some strange reason, please feel free to continue to follow me over at my new, more serious blog called “The Tattooed Catholic”. I’ve moved on to bigger and better things now than talking about boobs, beer and baseball. Please check it out if you have a chance:

http://tattooedcatholic.com/

Also, continue to follow me on Twitter (@RealPapaK), Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/TheTattooedCatholic) and Instagram (@RealPapaK).

God bless :)

Real Housewives Of (Insert City Here) Are In Fact As Fake As Bruce Jenner’s Face


I’ve been making some rounds on the expansive internet. Without trying to toot my horn too much I would like to direct any readers that I’ve still maintained after a 4 month hiatus to a couple website where I’ve been exposing my skills as a writer.

I’ve written three articles for a new up and coming website called “Joe Crazy.com”. The website is trying to model itself after other websites like “Cracked.com” or “CollegeHumor.com“. While it’s going through its growing pains I would recommend you guys check it out for a laugh or two… or at least to read my stuff.

Check out these articles at www.joecrazy.com: Moustaches Trying Too Hard To Be CoolTop 5 Questions To Ask Before Getting Your Tattoo and 10 Celebrities Who’ve Cheated Death (So Far).

Lastly, I wrote a bit for a website called TVStoreOnline.com about my all time favorite comedy: Tommy Boy. It’s pretty good (I think) as I dish about my love for Chris Farley and his best movie by far. Check it out here: A Look At Tommy Boy: A Movie You Need To See Again. 

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Several years ago, in an effort for the Bravo Network to stay in the ever growing competitive market of reality television and to feed off the success of Desperate Housewives on NBC and The Hills or Jersey Shore on MTV they created what could very well be the most damning evidence as to why terrorists want all of us dead: The Real Housewives of Orange County. 

I would throw that orange away. It looks spoiled.

Let me say first that I didn’t (and still don’t) watch this show religiously and I probably would never had watched it if it wasn’t for my wife.  The show targets women, but more often than not the men in their lives are trapped on the couch next to them where they’re forced to continually throw up in their mouth over and over again.

Unfortunately, the orginal show was a hit. So some greedy network executive decided to make more. Out sprouted New York City, Atlanta, New Jersey, Beverly Hills, Miami and Washington D.C.

What’s next? I dunno… Antartica maybe?

In the vein of all reality shows it follows around individuals who just happen to make “great television” by living their lives as they normally do.  In this instance, these individuals happen to be “housewives” living very affluent lifestyles with nothing better to do with their time than spend their husbands/sugar daddies/ex-husbands/boyfriends money.  Hilarity, drama, and “real life” bullshit ensue.

A typical storyline could be this: “30-year old Gretchen stays at home to attend a party while her 80-year old fiancé travels out of the state to get treatment on his leukemia.  From his hospital bed he buys her a new 10 carat diamond engagement ring.  And a motorcycle.  And a new car.  And a bracelet.  And a small to scale replica of the golden gate bridge carved from the femur bone of fossilized mammoth.”

Oh, how much she loves him! So she calls him and tells him with tears rolling down her cheeks in front of several Bravo cameras held by staff members urging her to cry just a little bit more.

"Oh whoops! I misplaced your medicine with hydrochloric acid!! Sorry!! You'll be fine. I want a new Porsche."

Or this:  “Top heavy Kim’s sugar daddy only known as ‘Big Papa’, buys an 8 carat diamond engagement ring and proposes to her gigantically disgusting breasts despite the fact he’s still married with children.  At a party showing off her ring, everyone is too busy looking at Kim’s boobs to notice her ring.  Other  housewives are disgusted and talk about Kim behind her back while they pick delicacies like chocolate covered bald eagle embryo and sour stem cell candy from their bowls made from the skulls of orphan children.”

"Me? Why yes... I am a skank"

What’s even more disturbing is what the producers of this show deem what a “housewife” is. Most of them on the show aren’t even married and some don’t have kids!  A more appropriate title might be “The Most Spoiled, Money Grubbing Chicks Without Souls On The Planet.”

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of this abomination is that it creates role models out of these women who really have nothing to offer but saline enhancements, catty bickering and dependence on material things. The last thing I want is my daughter growing up thinking it’s no big deal for her to suck the final pennies from a dying man in order for her to “love” him and, to add insult to injury, televise her ploy for the whole world to smirk at and call a skank.  Or even worse, grow up to be a beautiful woman hell bent on destroying the marriage of a man with children and parade herself as the “other woman” in his life whom he’ll leave his family for one day.

Are we sure these are the people we need to be giving a reality show to?

With the media having you believe that a housewife can be nothing more than a cheap, made up, cheating floozy who can barely raise her Chihuahuas… then we’re headed towards our demise faster than anyone anticipated.

If You’re A Bad Tipper, Then Your Genetics Suck


Thanks for the service. Now... go buy yourself a nice box of crayons.

Waiting tables, at times, can be a harrowing experience if you wind up servicing an individual who seems to think that they created the Universe. Almost undoubtedly, no matter how well you service this douche… you’re going to get a crappy tip.

Until just recently, all waiters have been able to wish their bad tipper will contract a hideous flesh-eating disease shortly upon their departure. Now, with the release of this article it seems that if your a waiter whose left a 2% tip then you may have to look at them with Michael Landon eyes instead.

I feel... so sorry for you and your tipping defect...

It seems that researchers who have nothing better to do than figure out why some people give shitty tips came to find out that “generosity is built into human nature and isn’t solely a result of social pressure.”

So basically, if you’re an asshole in real life then you’re going to be an asshole tipper. But that’s okay… because you’re a genetic asshole.

I have an incredible amout of respect for those individuals who respect their waiter (within reason). In fact, I think it shows what kind of person you are in the way you treat and tip wait staff.

What do you think?

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Enjoy some more of my stuff at www.JoeCrazy.com. My most recent piece: Top Five Questions to Ask Before Getting Your Tattoo

Kim Kardashian Ready To Marry Former Cro-Magnon Man: Kris Humphries


 Cro-Magnon men are well-known as the earliest modern humans with traces of their existence dating back about 35,000 years ago. From what scientists with brains larger than the average watermelon can assume is that their forehead was straight, with slight browridges along with a prominent chin and a tall forehead. They stood around 6 feet 3 inches tall and their limbs were long making them stand like a stretched-out Stretch Armstrong. All in all, you could expect them to look like what the ugliest human alive today might look like.

"Hmmm... What for dinner? Wooly Mammoth or that dude that died yesterday?"

It has long been assumed that these Cro-Magnon men died out long before the Wal-Mart deli made catching a saber-tooth tiger in order to feed your family seem like a desperate act of suicide.

Well, that’s what scientists with brains bigger than the average watermelon want you to think. What they’re not telling you is that several years ago they discovered one of the Cro-Magnon men completely well-preserved in a frozen pile of mammoth dung.

“The best we can tell is that he was the unfortunate recipient of a major blockage inside a very constipated wooly mammoth,” said Norwegian fecal scientist Ole Vogelstein who discovered the giant pile of crap. “Uh… judging by the fact he had a spear in his hand when we found him, we assumed he was sneaking up on the mammoth as a means to run him through with a spear. It didn’t pan out as he’d expected.”

Scientist Ole Vogelstein stands near the discovery of the largest pile of mammoth dung ever found. Shortly after this picture was taken, the frozen Cro-Magnon man was found inside.

The frozen Cro-Magnon man was found in the mammoth feces shortly after it was attempted to move giant pile of preserved poop.

“We ran a couple seismic tests on the pile and came to find a rather large, unusual lump within the pile that, had it actually come out of a wooly mammoth, would have torn it a new asshole.” said Ole. “Since it is just poop and we weren’t really worried about keeping it in mint condition, we broke it open and found a caveman inside, frozen all these years with a scream still on his face.”

Ole and his fecal scientist associates unfroze the cro-magnon man, named it Kris and taught it how to play basketball.

Unfrozen caveman basketball player: Kris

Before too long, the former Cro-Magnon man who was perfectly preserved in a giant pile of wooly mammoth shit, garnered attention from several basketball scouts from America.

“It appears that the mammoth shit he was preserved in helped his body stay warm and moist while slowing down his heart just enough to stay alive,” said New Jersey Nets scout Humphrey Smithbalm, “What most of us couldn’t imagine staying in for more than a few minutes, this kid survived in for 35,000 years! For what it’s worth, I think the mammoth shit regenerated his cells to a point where he’s almost unbreakable! Which is pretty amazing considering wooly mammoths only really ate tundra grass.”

For a life that began over 35,000 years ago in an arctic cave and seemed to have ended under an incredibly large meadow muffin, Kris’ life has really turned around. Several months ago, Kris asked reigning reality show queen Kim Kardashian to marry him (after he smashed her across the cranium with a giant club as was his former custom).

She said yes.

Going with what he’s known for the last 35,000 years, Kris runs to the next closest thing to a giant, steaming, rancid, frozen pile of mammoth droppings.
“Me like her,” said Kris in broken english, “She have big ass. I like. Not big like mammoth but still pretty big.”
 
“You know, he’s just the sweetest guy,” says Kim, “Other than those moments where he starts sweating and smells like a giant turd.”
 
 

Spiked Heels Look Good And Could Kill Someone


Having an interest in heels doesn’t have to scare a man away. While (I hear) heels aren’t the most comfortable shoe to wear 16 hours a day, they do add to the sensuality of a woman. It’s hard to be slump shouldered in a pair of heels meaning they force her to stick her chest out and walk with a little zip in her do-da.

Why wouldn’t we, as men, take an interest in our women’s interest in high heel shoes? While they aren’t something that affect the way we look, it does affect the way our wife/girlfriend/robot wife feels about themselves which in turn makes them happy. Aaaaand if there’s one thing I know to be absolutely true, it’s “if mama ain’t happy… ain’t nobody happy.”

I ain’t no fashion expert. I certainly didn’t know how to dress the better part of my life before Bunny stepped into it and showed me that dressing like the Salvation Army had thrown up on me wasn’t going to make her swoon over me too much longer. Regardless of the fact I used to dress like Billy Madison, I have been able to pick out shoes for her since we’ve been together.

Call it… a gift.

So the other day when we were walking through Dillards I stopped at the sight of some shoes that looked like this:

What appears to be a medieval torture device is actually a shoe

“Ooooooo honey you’d look great in these naked with that new outfit you bought!” I said.

She actually rolled her eyes at me! ME! The shoe aficionado!!

Ever since that moment, I’ve tried to talk her in to buying a pair because I think that they’ll grow on her! I’ve also come to find out that wearing this spiked footwear is quite the rage with the famous folk and cause some fairly significant damage to someones ass should you choose to kick it.

I don't know who this person is but they appear to be famous and are wearing spiked shoes. Isn't that enough of a reason?

I mean, c’mon… at least I’m not asking her to wear this:

These shoes were made for GWAR

While I certainly don’t suggest that my wife wear high-heeled shoes without any clothes on all the time, I do think she could make a pair of these look EXTREMELY sexy.

 Your thoughts on this spiked footwear? Perhaps if I get enough positive feedback than I can get Bunny convinced that this is really the coolest thing since rat-tails.
 
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For those of you interested in reading some more of my stuff, I’ve got a guest spot on a new entertainment website called Joe Crazy! It’s so crazy… I can hardly contain myself. Anyway, I wrote about the 10 Celebrities Who’ve Cheated Death (So Far). I think you’ll find it both entertaining and emotionally stimulating.
 
Seriously… go there. Make a comment! NOW!!

Hide Yo Kids… Doug Hutchison Is Creepin’!


51- year-old character actor Doug Hutchinson recently hoped to expand our minds when he decided he wanted to stop being seen as “that guy who looks like he’s going to murder you with an axe” and instead be seen as a loving, caring individual who believes love has no boundaries. He accomplished this by marrying a 16-year-old (at least we’re made to believe she’s 16) aspiring contry singer named (Courtney) Alexis Stodden. 

Doug Hutchinson is creepy. Not just because of his most recent marital situation, but because of his face:

If you’d asked me who Doug Hutchinson was a month ago, I wouldn’t have known who you were talking about right away. If you’d have told me, “He’s that creepy dude from The Green Mile!” Then I would have said, “Oh yeah! That guy who is always looking like he’s going to murder the world as he stares at you from underneath his protruding brow!”

 

Perhaps age is “just a number”. It seems these days old dudes can now climb Mount Everest and old grandmas can give birth to twins so why can’t a man marry a 16 year-old girl who is 35 years younger than he is! Oh yeah, wait… did I mention she looks like this:

Uh….

Let me guess what you’re asking yourself right now: “So, you’re telling me that this:

Plus this:

Equals this?”:

Yes. Yes that’s exactly what I’m telling you.

While I don’t advocate that love can’t be found between three and a half decades of age difference and the mere fact that the man happens to look as though this face was run over by the San Francisco 49ers but, you have to admit… this is just a tad creepy.

As you can see in the video below, what would even possess a man 35 years old her senior to put up with her annoying cackle of a laugh and obvious lack of life experience other than the fact she’s perhaps an automatonic Barbie robot he built in his mad scientist basement.

“What we’re here to do is touch each other and love each other the best we can.”

*shiver*

Well… who am I to argue with God. I guess they really do love each other.

What do you guys think? Creepy or is this legitimate (I’m trying not to laugh) love.

Like The New Digs? It’s Still A Work In Progress.


I’m making a few new changes ’round here. What do you think of them? They’re of the “Free on WordPress” variety but I think the ol’ blog needed a little overhaul don’t you?

I’ve updated a few pages. Feel free to check them out if you like (here, here or here). Nothing huge… but it still leaves me up until 1:30 in the morning to do (It’s called “having OCD”).

Since this is a post about nothing, I might as well make it worthwhile and plug my Facebook and Twitter page. If you don’t follow them already then you need to.

More to come.

I’m An Asshole


I haven’t called.

I haven’t written.

Hell… I haven’t made a single attempt in the last several weeks to reach out to you: my readers.

I’m like that person you dated who you really, really liked and you thought everything was cool only have me not call you back, return your texts, avoid you in the hallway, assimilate myself somewhere else other than where you are or do everything I can to avoid eye contact with you at 7-11 because if I do that means I have to talk to you.

I, my dear readers (of whom many I have lost I’m sure), am an ass.

What if I were to tell you that I want you back?

What if I were to tell you that I’ve seen the error in my ways? That it wasn’t you… it was me? I just needed to find myself! To spread my wings and fly only to find myself back here where I belong!

C’mon… I’m crying here…

I sold myself and my talents to the industry giants who paid me only to throw my talent to the curb like I was a dirty, snot soaked tissue incapable of absorbing any more phlegm or containing one more rouge booger.

WHO ARE THEY? THEY DON’T KNOW ME!

You know me… and I missed you.

I’m coming back. It’s official… if you’ll take me (and tell everyone we’re back together via email, Facebook, Twitter, carrier pigeon, etc.).

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Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m making a few changes! I know it kinda looks like poop right now but I’m doin’ the best I can with the time I have.

Word homeys.

I’m Considering Something Quite Extraordinary


I’ve never been one to commit to something and not try to be the best at it.

It’s my OCD I suppose.

Perhaps it is also why I haven’t been able to get back on the blogging horse. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to commit the time that I want to towards it. While writing is a joy to me it also becomes a job when trying to think of something to write about every day.

Unfortunatly, I think about new ideas and themes for a blog all the time.

Now… I think I may have one.

One that won’t require a heaping amount of time yet I would still be able to feed that insatiable desire I have to spout either widsom or crude jokes regarding bodily functions.

I’m on the precipice. I’m about to pull the trigger but know that commiting to blogging again will take effort.

By the way… can I borrow $17?

A Dream Realized


We all have dreams.

Some of us might have aspirations to make lots of money, have a huge bubbly butt or meet Carson Daly.

TRL? More like “TRSEXY!”

One of my dreams, for a while, has been to have a man cave.

When Bunny and I began to search for a new house several months ago, my one and only request was to have a place to call my own.

I didn’t care what it turned out to be. It could have been a third garage, it could have been attic space, it could have been a closet, it could have been a freakin’ sod house for all I cared. I just wanted a place where I could get away. A place where I might be able to kick back, watch a baseball game and look at the newest swimsuit issu…. er, book with words in it (no pictures!).

We looked at what seemed like two billion houses. Some with a media room, some with a third garage, some with sheds in the back yard and one with what appeared to be a room where they kept their demon possessed child.

Since I’m a simple man with few requests when it comes to buying a house, I saw potential in each of these rooms (except the satanic one). I could imagine a projector and screen, a wall filled with nothing but a wide selection of movies and a space to set all my Texas Ranger’s paraphernalia. Each room would have been suitable for my needs… but Bunny couldn’t find what tickled her multiple fancies in any home.

Bunny needed an island in the kitchen, a floor plan that included a “mother-in-law plan”, a gas stove, bigger master closet (for all those damn shoes), an office, four bedrooms and cubby where she can store the lock of Justin Biebers hair she bought on eBay for $4,000.

My one request was indeed easier to fill than Bunny’s multiple needs because we eventually “settled” on a house that lacked the “mother-in-law plan” and cubby for her Justin Bieber lock of hair.

Unbelievably, it had the best man cave option of all.

So without further ado, allow me to let you (ladies included) to view within the confines of my man cave.

Looks fairly unassuming right?

BOOM! (Notice the manly Dora the Explorer seat next to the manly recliner)

What’s a man cave without an ode to his favorite professional team?

What’s a man cave without a wall FULL of autographed pictures of famous hotties! Okay… so it’s not full… YET. I’m working on it.

What’s a man cave without a line of autographed baseballs SURROUNDING the perimeter of the recessed lighting above? Okay… so it’s not surrounding the perimeter just yet… but I’m working on it.

What’s a man cave without a GIGANTIC television!!! Okay… so it’s not gigantic YET… I’m working on that too.

Quite frankly, before you get a judgey and say, “Well… that man cave doesn’t look all that spectacular!” just remember that we just moved in about a month ago. Aside from spending a small fortune on the movers, a new fence, a new refrigerator, a security system and a professionally installed stripper pole for Bunny’s strip aerobics I feel like the man cave looks pretty effing awesome.

My long-range plans include surround sound, a bar complete with bar stools, some theatre style seating, shag carpet and a piranha aquarium.

The man cave is a work in progress but it will always be a place where I can go to wind down and ponder the dreams I’ve been so lucky to see come together in my lifetime.

I must be doing something right.