Monthly Archives: February 2010

The Hangover: Pre-Papa K Style (Part 2)

Read Part 1 here about how I came to look like this:


Somewhere in the land between complete blackout and a consciousness I could hear a voice… but it wasn’t registering with me.  The words were there, but they weren’t coming together.  I don’t know where I was or why I was there or really what my name even was!

Suddenly the voice became very clear:  “Chris!  Wake up!  It’s 10:30!”  It was Flapjack (also protecting her identity because she is married to Wolfgang now), Wolfgang’s future wife.

Somehow… I suddenly came to and sat straight up.  “It’s 10:30!”  I said while immediately noticing the room was spinning and I was shirtless and had been laying on a dirty mattress in the corner of Brad’s little rental house.

“Yes… I’ve been here since 9 AM trying to wake you guys up!  What happened last night?” she said as she pointed to Brad and Wolfgang.

In perhaps one of the funniest moments I’d seen up to this point in my life… both of them were laying on Brad’s bed (fully clothed)… spooning each other.

An illustration of spooning

While understanding the barrage of questions Flapjack must have had at that point in time while also wishing I had a camera… I had a bigger issue at hand: I had told my dad I would be home at 9 AM to help him mow our lawn (all 5 acres of it).

I was an hour and a half late.  If I wanted to survive the wrath of my father… I needed to get home… NOW!

With the room still spinning and feeling as thought my head was being squeezed in a vice grip… I scrambled for my belongings.  I quickly realized I didn’t remember where anything was.

I found my shirt in the bathroom then went to the mirror imagining that I must have taken my contacts out and put them somewhere next to the sink before I passed out.  They were nowhere to be found.

It was at this moment I looked in the mirror while brushing a few stale Dorito crumbs off my cheek when I saw a very large rug burn the size of Mikhail Gorbachev’s birthmark on the right side of my forehead.

Yes… it looked something EXACTLY like that!  Except not so far up on my head.

With no time to investigate or contemplate what had happened I rushed to find my keys and hopelessly search a few other places for my contacts.

Upon realizing I was going to have to drive home without the aid of my contacts, a feat not exceptionally easy being that I have the eyesight of a shrew, I positioned myself in front of Flapjack and said, “Okay… how do I look?”

I can only imagine how silly this might have looked to her as I stood in front of her with my eyes looking as though every capillary had busted in them, I had a rug burn the size of McDonald’s cheeseburger on my forehead and a stench of sour alcohol about my person.

Without really missing a beat, she said “Chris… you smell like a bar.”

Great.  There wasn’t anything I could do about it.  I had to get home.

I barreled out the door without saying goodbye, leaving Flapjack and my two buddies to spoon a little while longer.

When the bright morning light hit my eyes my head literally almost exploded.  I understood what it must feel like for the unfortunate undead who get caught outside their coffin when the rising sun pierces the horizon.

This is how I felt.  Except I wasn’t wearing a helmet.  And I’m not that tan.  And I didn’t have a goatee.  Whatever… it was the best picture I could find to illustrate the way it felt.

Fighting back spontaneous combustion and the urge to retch, I climbed into my truck and took off.

I thought of different excuses to tell my father when I got home… but none of them really explained why I smelled like a dirty, beer soaked bar coaster.  I didn’t know what I was going to say.

It was 11AM when I finally pulled into my parent’s house… a full two hours from the time I said I was going to be home.  My dad was already on his Kubota tractor.   This was a blessing because the flying grass and dust that surrounded my father would mask the smell of the alcohol that was now pooling up as sweat on my brow.

Kubota tractor: front end loader, rototiller, lawnmower and supreme masker of kids with rug burns on their forehead soaked in alcohol

I carried myself to meet my dad somewhere in the middle of the yard.  I was prepared to take the full brunt of the tongue lashing I was undoubtedly going to receive.  I conveniently positioned my self in a dust cloud to mask any wafts of Southern Comfort my dad might catch in his flared nostrils.

Dad put the lawn mower in neutral and sat there, staring off into space with a look on his face like he was six and just lost his puppy.  For a few awkward moments we sat there and he finally spoke up, “Where were you?”

“Man, Dad… I just overslept.  We stayed up late and… uh… watched some movies!  I told them to wake me up at nine but they were still asleep when I left!” I said semi-convincingly.

I was ecstatic the smell of ground grass and dust was keeping my stench from eroding my dad’s olfactory senses… I’d really lucked out in that respect.

My dad then turned his gaze from whatever he was staring at in the sky to look at me and say something incredibly deep to make me think about what I had done… but stopped,  “What happened to your forehead?”

I was so wrapped up in my good fortune concerning the masking of my stank aroma that I had forgotten about hockey puck sized rug burn on my forehead.

I stammered.

“Uh… Well… you know how guys are dad.  There were other people over there and Brad always wants to show that he’s stronger than me so he challenged me to a wrestling match.  I just hit my head on the carpet that’s all.”

My dad just shook his head, lowered his gaze in extreme disappointment, sanctioned out my chores, then returned his lawn mower to “full mowing” power and took off… leaving me to stand there and think about what I’d done.

I was actually able to complete my chores… but not before I dropped behind a stone wall by the garage where I could not be seen and threw up my liver and small intestine.  Grass never grew there again.


You may be asking:  “So… how did you get that rug burn the size of a small cat on your forehead?”

It was a mystery for a little while.  I came to find out that Wolfgang also wound up with a bruise on his chest that ran horizontally from one underarm to the other.  Turns out he didn’t remember how he got that either.

Brad was the only one who could fill the memory gap… and he could barely do that.

Apparently… I was outside throwing up what can be similarly compared to crude oil when Wolfgang told Brad to “watch this!”  He proceeded to run up and punch me in the face.

After recoiling and regaining my composure… I chased Wolfgang back into the house where I promptly tackled him over Brad’s weight set.  Wolfgang landed on Brads curl bar, explaining the bruise on his chest, and I created a divot in the carpet with my forehead.

I envision it looking something like this… except I wasn’t riding a horse.  And I wasn’t a woman.  And I wasn’t outside.  And it was on carpet not grass… I think you get it by now that I have NO PICTURES of this occurance so I’m trying to keep you involved in the story and this is the best way I know how!

After that… Brad couldn’t even really remember.  He vaguely remembered cramming chips and crackers into my mouth to “soak up the alcohol”… but that was about it. 

I think that after slamming Wolfgang onto Brad’s weight set while mixing my forehead DNA with the carpet… I started to pass out on Brad’s dirty mattress in the corner of his room.  Brad must have worried I was never going to wake up so he tried to forcibly feed me junk food.  With no avail in getting me to regain the ability to function, he left me on discarded mattress to sleep it off (or die).  My contacts must have worked their way to the back of my eyeball… and dissolved into my head.

Then Brad and Wolfgang had a nightcap.

I’m kidding…  I think.

Believe it or not… this wasn’t the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life.  I did walk 15 miles to get to my car once… but we’ll save that for another post.

Movie Review: The Uninvited (And Incredibly Awesome Lips)

Starring: Emily Browning, Elizabeth Banks, David Strathairn, Scary Crap

Total Running Time: 87 minutes

After watching the latest “Real World” episode on DVR with my Real-World-junkie wife last night, we happened upon “The Uninvited” on one of the movie channels we shell good money for… yet hardly watch.  We were sans the first couple of minutes… but I’ve seen plenty of movies like this in my time. 

If you’ve seen “The Grudge” (FREAKIN’ SCARY), any M. Night Shamalomadingdong movie (Signs, Sixth Sense, Unbreakable), “Scream” (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10) or “The Others” (also known as The Sixth Sense… only not) then you know there’s got to be a twist at the end!

I’m usually pretty good at figuring these movies out halfway through.  This leads Bunny to think I’m some sort of Zen Master or something.  Truth is… it’s hard to trick someone when they’ve seen all the tricks before.

This movie was no different.

The movie deals with two sisters trying to put the past behind them as their bedridden mom was accidentally killed when the house blew up.  Oops.  But accidents happen right?  Unfortunately for them, their dad quickly moves on with the nurse who took care of their mom RIGHT BEFORE SHE BLEW UP!!! 

See the plot line thickening?

Come to find out… the nurse isn’t who she really says she is but…. HOLY SHIT!!! LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!!!

Ha… got you.  You thought some zombie was about to stab you in the neck with a syringe full of air didn’t you.  You didn’t?  Okay then… moving on.

Elizabeth Banks is the nurse/future step mother who seems to be out to claim what’s hers… no matter what gets in her way!  I love Elizabeth Banks.  She’s an excellent actress… but I’m not sure horror movies are her game.  I didn’t think the match-up between her and Steven (actor David Strathairn, the cheating sonofabitch dad) was all the believable.  I mean… he’s old.  She’s young and cute.  How does that work out?  I envision her in movies like “The 40 Year Old Virgin” and “Role Models” when she was funny… I don’t like her serious and scary.

Elizabeth Banks Photos

Better funny… not spooky

While Elizabeth Banks was the most recognizable actress in this movie, I found myself drawn to the lead, Emily Browning who plays Anna, the youngest daughter who’s dealt with her mothers death by means of a trip to the mental ward… and now she’s seeing ghosts and shit.  Aside from the common plotline… I found myself drawn to her in a way other than her acting ability but I couldn’t figure out why.

Eventually Bunny pinpointed it, “She’s got great lips doesn’t she?”

Suddenly I felt as though the scales fell from my eyes and I was staring at the most perfect pair of puckers I’d ever seen!  “Why, yes they are!” I said.  “They’re… beautiful… so… beautiful.”


I… am… hypnotized…

While the rest of her face was “eh… okay”, it was her lips that were incredible!  When she talked they were like two giant flesh-colored, jelly-filled croissants slapping together.  This made watching the movie all that more enjoyable. 

Every scene that took away from “lip time” had me craving more and more lips.

I could put my entire DVD collection in those…

The other sister, Alex (actress Arielle Kebbel), didn’t have near as nice of lips.  This made me question the casting director’s decisions on who to cast for this movie because I would think you’d obviously want to create some semblance of uniformity in the family with these “genetically superior lips”.  If the uniformity was to take place… the whole family would have to have lips as incredible as those the lead so proudly purses throughout the movie.

Far, far less superior lips

The movie ended with the typical twist I was expecting, i.e. “Oh… you’re a ghost.  I’m crazy.  She’s not a loon.  I am.  What the F did all those scary visions have to do with anything other than make the audience jump?  Wait, I still have unanswered questions.  And finally… my lips are awesome.”

The Uninvited, on a scale of other horror movies of its kind, gets a paltry 1 out of 5 pencil thin lips.

On the other hand… if I were to rate Emily Browning’s lips in the movie… I’d have to give them five out of five pencil thin lips.

That adds up to a total of 3 out of 5 full luscious lips over the course of the whole movie.

Those lips saved this movie.  Those lips should win an Oscar for their performance.

The Papa K “At Home” Workout

If you’re like a lot people… you find it hard to make it to the gym every day.  Maybe you had to work late.  Maybe you had to meet a client after normal working hours.  Maybe you ran over a homeless man in your car.  Maybe you couldn’t wait any longer to get that sex change operation.  Maybe you think your gym is ground zero for the next meteor shower.  Maybe you urinated in your big boy pants.  Maybe you can’t afford those high priced “at-home gyms”!

Believe it or not… this one folds up nicely and can be placed in your garage.  You’ll only have to give up TWO parking spaces!

Or maybe you can’t afford to have this chick to scream at you all the time…

Jillian Michaels tells a Biggest Loser contestant to slim down or she will punch her in the neck… or necks…

Whatever the reason… here are some simple exercises you can do at home to get yourself that body you always wanted… and you don’t have to spend ANY MONEY!!!


Touch your toes

Jog in place

Pull your face back

Rip your sc0tum doing the splits


Push-ups (works your chest, biceps, triceps)


Push yourself up… then let yourself down.  Repeat 300 times.

Sit-ups (works your abs)


Sit on the floor with you hands behind your head.  Lower yourself to the floor using your abs then back up again.  Repeat 5000 times.

Triceps Extension w/ Dog (triceps)


Find a small dog (or one you’re able to life above your head), grab in by the front legs and lower behind your head.  Slowly extend the dog over your head and sqeeeeeeeeze those triceps.  Feel the burn.  Repeat 800 times.

Bench Press with Pillows (chest)

Find the largest pillow on your couch and press it until you see stars.  If you accidentally drop it on your face it won’t hurt… because it’s a pillow.

Tear a phonebook in half (wrists, forearms)

Tear the largest, fattest phone book you can find IN HALF!!!

… but if you can’t… then find something you’re more capable of tearing in half… like a page from your wife’s day by day calendar.

Blink Hard (eyelids)


Open your eyes as wide as you can… then shut them really hard and fast.  This will help you become lightening fast at blinking.  Repeat until you cry.

Smell Hard (nose)

Suck in with your nose so hard that you pass out.  Then get up and do it again  you big pansy.

Couch press (Quads)

Put one end of the couch on your back then slowly squat to the ground and lift yourself back up again.  Repeat until you crap your pants.


Ride your cat (hamstrings, grip)


Ride that buckin’ feline until it splits your face in half.


Once you’re done with these excercises and you heart rate is going at a good steady pace (200-250 beats a minute)… it’s always good to cool down.  This can be done by putting your hands over your head and walking around for a little bit…

Whew… good workout people…

Or by sticking your ass in the freezer.

This is the part you look forward to for the whole workout people.

Follow these simple excercises with these EVERYDAY ITEMS you have around your house… and with hard work and good genetics… you could just look like me!

Happy excercise everyone!!

Five Facial Hair Styles Bunny Never Wants To See Again

So a quick note: JOIN MY FANROLL!!! Seriously people… get yourself some traffic and use your creative genius to send me something cool!

Also… for those of you who’ve been asking about “The Hangover: Pre-Papa K Style (Part 2)”… you’ll just have to be patient (read Part 1 here).  It’s coming.  I promise.


I get bored with one look pretty fast… so consequently I’m always trying these different facial hair styles.  These are the ones that Bunny hated… and I have to agree… they did kind of make me look like a douchebag.  I’m going to count down from the “least douchebaggy” to the “most douchebaggy”.  Also, if you sport these facial hair styles, it doesn’t mean you look like a douchebag… it just means you much be much cooler than me… which is pretty hard to do.

5.  The Chin Strap

This is me with my much more tan brother (and a large mug of apple juice).  I’m actually pretty partial to this look and I don’t know why.  It’s really hard to keep up with it and make sure it’s even all around your jawline.  Maybe I liked it because I liked Smash Mouth when they were still around.

Steve Harwell… Smash Mouth lead singer and chin strap beard wearer extraordinaire.

4.  The goatee (with moustache):

This look is just an example of me trying TOO HARD to look like Colin Farrell:


For whatever reason… my moustache hair doesn’t grow out very thick or very dark.  Also the thin line connecting my ‘stache to my chin pubes… isn’t very strong either.  So, I wind up looking like a complete douchebag.

3.  The unkempt:


This is where I throw all caution to the wind and say “Screw this… I’m not shaving for several weeks and I’ll just see what happens!”  The result is Grizzly Adams:

Alright… maybe not quite… but it’s certainly on its way.

2.  The goatee (without moustache):

Okay.  So I’m beyond looking like a douchebag right here (if that’s even possible).  I’ve now moved to “Chode” status (Mom… Chode is a derogatory slang word for Moron).  Why I felt the need to  look like this… I have no idea.  I also look slightly bloated like and if you pricked my face with a safety pin I might just explode like a helium balloon.

I guess I could always dye it like I did in college:

Yes… I was even a douchebag in college.  Wanna read about me burning the crap out of my chin trying to look cool?  Click here.

1.  The pirate and/or porn star beard:

Let me just say something… I never grew this for public consumption.  I would never wear this in the midst of unfamiliar people for fear of being eviscerated.  The only reason I grew it was because I was on a two week hiatus between jobs and wanted to freak Bunny out.  I succeeded.  When she walked in the door and saw me for the first time, I said, “ARRRRGG… I want me some of that booty.”  She then kicked me in the face.

So… let’s review.  Esentially… no facial hair looks good on me.  What should I try to grow next? 






Join my Fanroll.  Click here, here or here to do so.  Instructions on how to do so are here, here and here.  For a picture of a kid stuck in a toilet, click here.

The Night My Mom Kicked My Ass

My mother is a saintly woman. She’s the dainty wife to my father who was lucky enough to snag the former beauty queen over 40 years ago.  She was always the problem solver, always knew the right thing to say, never gave a hug that wasn’t full of love… and wasn’t afraid to kick my ass (literally) when it was called for.

I was 19 and just starting to exert some form of rebellion.  I was attending a junior college so I still lived at home.  I also, much to my parent’s dismay, had acquired a girlfriend!!  Shocking for me who a mere four years ago couldn’t put together a distinguishable sentence when a girl told me she liked my hat!

Her name was Marshmallow Wings, or something like that… I can’t remember.  She was really the first girl that aggressively pursued me and consequently, faced with female affection for the first time, I fell “in love” with her.

This scared my parents half to death.  I lived in this fantasy world where everything played out in my mind like a movie.  Somewhere in my mind I played this relationship out like the movie “Say Anything” i.e. our love was going to stand the test of time, we were meant to be together, I was going to profess my love to her one day by holding a boombox over my head, etc. etc. etc.

I also wanted a cool, tan colored trench coat.

High school (or immediately following high school in my case) romances are a joke.  Looking back on what I know now… I didn’t know a flying case of crap balls what I was doing.  But at that point… you couldn’t have convinced me otherwise.

Quick note… I’m not saying high school romances don’t ever work out.  My sister is a prime example of it flourishing (25 years and 12 kids!).  I’m just stating “as a whole” most high school romances don’t stand the test of time… especially for little shitheads like me.

Anyway, I was 19 and wanted to exert my freedom.  I wanted to stay out late and come home when I wanted to.  I was 19 and officially an adult.  Just because I lived in my parent’s house still didn’t mean I had to abide by their rules, right?


I usually was ordered to come home midnight or so because as my father always said, “Nothing healthy happens after 10 P.M.”.

I hated this.  I wanted to be like some of my friends whose parents could care less when they came home.  I usually left Marshmallow Wings in a heap of sadness because I couldn’t stand up enough to my parents to stay just a little bit later with her.

One evening, during winter break, I figured I had kept my streak of returning home on time long enough.  I did not give my mother a time of when I was going to be returning.  Rather… when she presented me with a time of 2 A.M. to be home, I vaguely agreed with her that it would be somewhere around 2 A.M..  I thought I created some cloud of doubt that I was actually going to be home at 2 A.M… and it was implied I was going to be home later.  The fact my mother said nothing… was my confirmation that she understood. 

I left to go to Marshmallow Wings’ house around 8 or 9 P.M.  I came home around 4 A.M.

I turned off the lights to my truck as I pulled in our driveway and gently coasted into my parking space.  I lightly opened and closed the door to my truck as I got out and tip-toed to the front door.

I wanted to make as little sound as possible so as not to wake up my parents.

I moved as though I was being watched by a motion activated security camera.  I extracted the keys from my pocket and stuck the key into the back door like I was picking the lock to a safe.

A good five minutes later I was in the house and shutting the door behind me like it was made of paper mache… any overly tense move and it would shatter.

Finally, I turned around and was faced with total, utter darkness.  The back door immediately opened into the kitchen so all I could really see were the vague outlines of the kitchen table and chairs.  My eyes were still trying to adjust to the complete blackness in the house as compared to the moonlit darkness outside.

This is what it looked like in the house.

I stuck my arms out to grab the wall and get my bearings as I started to make my way back to my bedroom.

“Good.  They’re asleep.” I thought to myself, “I ‘got away’ with it”.

Just then, I saw another vague outline… only this one was moving… straight at me.

My mother pierced her shroud of darkness like a cyclops who’s been waiting for the perfect moment to pounce its prey and immediately began wailing me about my head and face.

Initially, I didn’t even have time to get startled or scared because everything happened so fast.  Fear did set in though as I realized she just might kill me.


She then started kicking my ass… literally.  I kid you not.  She followed close behind me as I covered my head and ran for the safety of my room kicking me in the rear the whole way there.

My mother was never mean to me, she never raised her voice at me and she NEVER EVER hit or kicked me.  So… I was led to believe I must have REALLY pissed her off by not coming home when I said I was… not when I implied I was.

Once I reached the safety of my room, I quickly realized that like a rabid dog she did not care that I had reached my room.  She crossed the invisible line of privacy and entered my sanctum to continue her pummeling of me while I tried to get a word in edgewise.

I eventually got enough space between me and my enraged mother that I was able to separate us by means of a locked bathroom door.  She briefly pounded the door to the bathroom as she had done to my head, face and ass cheeks just moments before.

She eventually finished venting her frustration with me, my head, face, ass and bathroom door.  She said one final thing through the bathroom door… and I honestly don’t remember what it was.  I think it had something to do with more physical harm if I ever lied like that again… but I’m not sure.  I was too busy huddling in the corner of the bathtub waiting for the door to get kicked down and the pounding to start again.


My mom can kick your moms ass…

Eventually, after several minutes of silence, I assumed she had gone back to bed.  But I wasn’t willing to test my theory.  I was too scared to leave the bathroom for fear of my skull getting cratered, my chest getting collapsed or some kind of decapitation so I pulled up the bath mat and laid there until the sun came up. 

I think in my heart of hearts I knew I got what I deserved.  Any incident I created that resulted in my mother, the Mother Theresa of mothers, kicking my ass to prove a point must have been warranted.  She was only extremely worried about me and in a day and age before cell phones… her mind could have only gone so many places she didn’t ever want to think about.

A few months later, Marshmallow Wings broke up with me.  My mother wiped my tears away and assured me that life would go on despite the “only person I was ever going to love” was now gone.  The memories of her beating the snot out of me were now replaced with more familiar memories of her caring for me when I needed her the most.

My mother has looked up at me and told me how much she loves me many times since that incident.  I know she did it out of frustration and fear that her youngest was dead in a ditch somewhere instead of home in bed where he should be.  A fear I know now to be very real with a one and a half year old daughter aging faster than fruit fly before my very eyes.

I know that there’s a possibility moments like this may occur as my little girl grows into a young woman… a future I’m not willing to think too deeply about at the moment.  But if it does happen… it’s not going to be my kitchen I’ll be waiting in.

It’ll be his.

With a Louisville Slugger.

And a chainsaw.

Who knows… if she hadn’t kicked my ass… I may have never found myself in this wonderful position


Not much to say other than that sometimes I feel like I’ve got so much to offer this freakin’ world yet it feels as though I’m destined to go unnoticed, underappreciated and forgotten.  There’s nothing I’m more afraid of then to wake up one morning and I’m 80 years old and my talents have been wasted.

Sometimes it gets so old seething in quiet desperation for someone to notice your God-given gifts.

I’m not average.  I’m not ordinary.  I’m not vanilla.  I’m destined for so much more… just ready for it to come to fruition…

Happy Squishy Mushy Kissy Huggy Squeezy Valentines Day

I feel that it’s been a while since I poured out the love I have for my wife (known only to you as “Bunny”) on here lately.  I know, I know… you’re saying, “Papa K… c’mon… talk about farts PLEEEEAASE!!!”  My answer today is simply, “No… maybe tomorrow.”

Valentines Day is upon us and in true Valentines Day fashion I feel the need to let THE WHOLE BLOGOSPHERE KNOW how lucky I truly am.  Sometimes I feel that my openness about my “obsession” with Kim Kardashian or my occasional post about something overly “man-ish”… may start to bring to question my complete infatuation with my wife, her style, her confidence, her soul and, yes… her incredibly sexy curves in all the right places.  I’ve come to the point in my blogging career where she doesn’t read my stuff every time I post it so I don’t even know if she’s going to read this… so don’t think I’m posting this to expect “something in return”… I’m doing it because I love her.  I love her exponentially more than when I met her over seven years ago.

Marriage is tough.  People always tell you that when you’re young and getting married is about the furthest thing from your mind.  But looking back, those people certainly knew what the hell they were talking about.  For this very reason… I love Bunny because she puts up with my shit (and, yes… I put up with hers).  I had a pretty high opinion of myself for a while.  I thought I was the ultimate husband.  But I fell… and I fell hard.  Several times.  As the saying goes: “The higher you go… the harder you fall”.  But as any spouse should be, despite her indifference, anger, frustration or sympothy… she was there for me every time.

As a result of all this… I fall in love with my wife in an entirely different way every day.  I knew what love was on paper… but to feel it in my soul is an entirely different experience all together.  My hope and prayer is that everyone gets to feel a love like this in their lifetime.

In many relationships these days, when the going gets tough… it’s over.  We’ve been married for almost five years, a small sample of our married life when we look back on it in 50 years, and I’m not naive enough to think there won’t be more hard times ahead.  But I can tell you there isn’t ONE PERSON I’d rather have with me… than Bunny.

Happy Valentines Day Bunny: my incredibly sexy wife, wonderful mother to our beautiful daughter, caring friend, soul mate and Playboy centerfold that never happened.

I love you endlessly, incredibly, unendingly, foreverandadayfully, etc., etc., etc.

Papa K

And now… Bunny and Papa K in pictures throughout the years.  Try not to fall asleep.

Quite literally… the most ancient picture of us.  We’d known each other for a couple days and I attended her graduation.

Notice the beauty of Bunny… and the pancake batter complexion I have… what did she see in me?

Shortly after we had been dating… I deteriorated into a seemingly malnourished glob of pasty white adhesive compound.  She continued to stay with me despite my unwillingness to come into direct sunlight.


Miraculously… I managed to bring myself back to some sort of humanoid looking fellow and was actually capable of GETTING TAN!!!  Unbelievable!!! (Notice her shirt says “I Love Dorks”)

I took the opportunity (while I was tan) to take her on a cruise and….

… propose to her.  She said “yes”.  Yeah… no shit Sherlock.

It didn’t take Bunny long to get the engagement photos.  This is one of my favorite… it hangs over our bed today.  And “no” it wasn’t really raining.

Another engangement photo… I’m amazed at how young I looked just FIVE years ago!!

Then we did it.  We got married on Shipwreak Beach in Kaui, Hawaii.  Doesn’t get much better than that.

No matter the time or place… I’m always up for a goofy pic…

Yes… that’s me with a wad of cash about to stuff it down Bunny’s ample cleavage.

If you can’t tell by the look on my face… we were on to bigger and better things….

Like going to Halloween parties…

Mardi Gras parties (yes… I was a bad kitty cat)…

Murder mystery dinners (can you see the excitement on my face)…

Hot air balloon rides (can you see the fear on my face?)…

Winery tours (yes… we’re drunk)…

And trips to Disney World.

There was this one trip to Dallas and a tour of the Texas Rangers stadium though that was particularly memorable…

… because it resulted in this…

… which led to this…

… and ultimately this.  See that dot on my shirt near my crotch… it’s DLG’s poop.

Bunny and I… we’ve been through so much and I’m looking forward to 50 more years…

I love you honey… Happy Valentines Day.



Choose Your Fate

Do you remember those books when you were a kid that made you the decision maker on the fate of the character in the book?  They were called “Choose Your Own Adventure”.

For example, from the book “The Cave of Time”:

You come to a fork in the road.  If you travel to the left you are going down a paved road that would seem to be easy on your aching feet and there also appears to be a Hooters at the first  intersection.  If you travel to the right you are going down a beaten path through the horrible woods of Cragglesnot, known to be a place where people go to have their muscles torn from their skeletal system .

If you decide to go down the road to the left, turn to page 37.

If you decide to go down the road to the right, turn to page 89.

If you were like me… you’d go down the road on the left!  “HOOTERS!!  Hell’s yeah!!”

What a combo right!? (wanna make your own sign? Click here)

But… SURPRISE!! I’d turn to page 37 to find out that:

You travel down the paved road to the left and you were right… it’s much easier on your feet.  As you reach the Hooters… you realize it doesn’t actually say “Hooters”… it says “Zombies”!!  Shortly after your initial disappointment you feel a stinging sensation in your right calf.  Looking down you see one of the patrons of the restaurant latched to your calf and gnawing away at your leg which quickly becomes torn from your hip socket.

And you thought you were going to Hooters… SUCKA!!!

Now with only one leg, and like a wounded animal, you try to escape back to the fork in the road where you made this awful decision.  But it’s too little… too late.  A few of the other restaurant employees catch you before you make it much further.  They divide your body into white and dark meat sections and you’re consumed for Friday night’s dinner special.  They shrink your head and then they fry it until it’s a nice golden brown and placed with the other fried, shrunken heads as part of the appetizer known as “Fried Heads”. Who knew these Zombies were so efficient?

The last thing you think before being separated into drumsticks, thighs, lats, pecs and delts… is “I wonder what was down the other path?”.



Wow.  You didn’t see that one coming did you?!  I thought I was going to be enjoying some “tasty” wings at the “fine” establishment known for its “tasty food” when BAM!!!!!! 


Now… if you were suave enough to notice that the road to the left was “too good to be true” and decided to take the more treacherous path… well… let’s see what happened if you turned to page 89:

Believing that what you’re seeing must be too good to be true… you decide to take the path to the right which appears to be more dangerous. 


As you travel down the path, you are continually startled by the sounds of cracking twigs and rustling bushes.  You’re minds playing tricks on you.  You fully expect at any moment to be torn to pieces.

Suddenly, you walk into a clearing and are shocked to find yourself standing on the beach.  Sand dunes stand taller than houses, a cool breeze runs through your hair and you can hear the ocean calling you.  You make your way over a few sand dunes and walk onto the beach.

grayton-beach-dunes.jpg image by 1HOTWGN


As you stand staring at the ocean, wondering why there was such a horrific story associated with this forest, a beautiful model in a designer bikini splashes out of the ocean.

It’s not just any model… it’s a tall, beautiful, brunette fitness model.  She asks you if you want to play beach volleyball with her and her other fitness model friends.

A few short seconds later, you’re the only guy in a bikini volleyball game between The Girls That Exist Only In Your Dreams and The Girls Who Would Never Give You The Time Of Day Except In This Stupid Book.

The furthest thing from your mind at this point was what could have been down that other fork in the road.

To “accidentally” fall on that tall brunette to your left, turn to page 55.

To impress the girls by finding some way to flex your muscles, turn to page 98

To pretend you’re having a heart attack just so they’ll try mouth to mouth resuscitation on you, turn to page 22.

To poop your pants because you don’t know what else to do, turn to page 100.

Wow.  You didn’t see that one coming either did you?!  You thought you were going to die and all of a sudden you were playing a volleyball game with buxom girls in bikinis!

So what’s the point of this whole post?

I really don’t know. 

I had a reason when I started and then my mind kind of wandered off in a different direction as I wrote.  Maybe because those kinds of books are stupid?  I don’t remember.

Regardless… I may have happened on a fairly interesting concept for blog posts here!  I could post a situation with a few options on what to do.  Then you (the reader) could leave me a comment on which path to take.  Then in a following post, after all the votes are tallied… I can write the outcome!

What do you think?! 

If you want me to continue on this path… leave me a comment.

If you don’t want me to continue on this path… leave me a comment.

Either way… leave me a comment you commentless bunch of readers!!

A Few Things… Then Five Questions…

So… I wanted to remind everyone about sending me their pictures of themselves holding a sign professing their undying love for Hands To War.  It’s never too late… and you’ll get a little free advertising for it too (if you want).

Also, I was contacted about a week ago to start writing movie reviews for this website.  Perhaps I’m more famoust then I thought… or just more gullible!  Anyway, I’ve submitted my first review… so check it out if you get a chance!  But then again… if you’re a regular reader of my blog then you’ve probably already read it.


NOW…. Five questions…

1.  Who’s your celebrity crush

Do I even have to tell you again… 

2.  If boogers tasted like ice creame and/or cake… would you eat them?

In all honesty… they don’t have to taste like ice creame or cake for them to be DELICIOUS!!

3.  If I grew my hair until it was long enough to put in a pony tail would you still read my blog?


I imagine myself looking like this…

While Bunny imagines me looking like this…

4.  Have you ever had that dream where you go to school and you’ve forgotten to wear anything at all!  Yep… I’ve had it too.  What about forgetting your locker combination?  Yep… I still have that one.


AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…. I’m naked and forgot my locker combination!

5.  If you saw this:

Would you think you were watching a children’s show or would your life be flashing before your eyes because you were about to get eaten by a red, giant, wart-infested Cyclops?

What Makes A Man?

Every man in the world today is fed forcibly, whether they want to or not, the complete and total sexuality of women.  It sells bubble gum, tennis shoes, cologne, energy drinks and any other sellable product you can think of.  It comes in the form of skin-tight clothing, the lack of clothing or the conveniently placed triangle.  It’s in the books we read, it’s in the movies we rent and it’s in the department store magazines that arrive in our mailbox.

It’s everywhere and unless you live in a volcano… it’s inescapable.

The development of the male mind over the centuries has gradually been eroded and desensitized to believe what is acceptable for their wives, daughters, grand-daughters, girlfriends or just the random passer-by to wear.  Just ask your grandpa what grandma had to wear to the beach “back in the day”.  Probably something that exposed – ‘gasp’ – her ankles!!

I simply believe that whether you’re trying to or not… your mind will conjure up something.  This is the nature of the beast that is our human nature… or you can call it sin nature if you like.

In this day and age, as men, how are we supposed to escape the never ending barrage of sexuality that’s shoved down our throats?  Well… we never fully can.  I’m not saying you can’t chose to avoid a lot of it… but to completely deny the fact that grandpa saw some other women’s ankles on the beach other than grandma’s and thought to himself, “Now those are some nice ankles!” then you’re in for a harsh awakening.

Mmmmmmm… these are a few of grandpa’s favorite things…

I think if you find an old couple like grandma and grandpa, you’ll find two people who know how much they love each other.  You’ll also find two people who are extremely open with each other.  Grandma was well aware of grandpa’s penchant for the occasional glance and appreciation of the beauty of some woman’s ankles and that was okay!  She might have even said, “What do you think of that girl’s ankles?”  Grandma was comfortable enough with herself, her ankles and her husband’s dedication to her to know that he would never go for another woman’s ankles other than her own.

That’s okay because Grandpa also knows that grandma has an occasional inkling to admire a man’s bulging forearms when given the chance.

“Nothin’ better than a good set of forearms!” She’s been known to say.

So what’s the point of this post?  The point is it is okay to admire the attributes of other people other than your significant others.  It’s silly to think it never happens!!

The line can be crossed though in a number of ways:

   1. The amount of time you find your self looking

   2. You put yourself in a situation your significant other wouldn’t appreciate you being in.

   3. You’re emblazing an image in your mind that won’t be forgotten most easily accessible by a number of mainstream media outlets

   4. You freakin’ cheat on your significant other obviously!!  Dumbass!

   5. You believe in your mind that your significant other obviously knows all “this” goes on inside and outside your gray matter because “you’re a MAN!”… but she doesn’t ask you about it because it’s kind of an “unspoken rule” not to do so.

FYI – she had no idea it goes on.  

In most men’s minds these days, they think its biology and “human nature” to need to look and satisfy an insatiable desire to see more skin.  That is not what I’m saying in this post.  To blame the infidelity of your eyes, mind or even your whole body… is spineless and is no ones fault other than your own.  I’m not saying this in a “mightier than thou” tone either… I am, in effect, calling myself spineless because I did not adhere to some of my points I listed above for quite some time.  My wife now trusts me when I am on the computer alone.  A scenario not so easily discussed a little more than a year ago.

Bunny is not naïve enough to know that I may steal a glance at the Victoria’s Secret commercial on TV, enjoy watching the swimsuit competition of the Ms. America pageant or notice the revealing outfit of an overconfident woman at the supermarket.  I’m a dude… cut me some slack!  She too takes a longing glance a Paul Walker (despite his acting ability) at moments when I’m in the room and he’s on television… but I know she has a school girl crush on him. 

Paul Walker: my wive’s “Kim Kardashian”

We do not deny we do these things to each other.  She is my wife and I love her and she realizes the nature of my brain leads my eyes to cleavage… it’s the amount of time my eyes stay there that warrants gouging them out with a fork.

So… what makes a man?  A man who’s honest to himself, who’s honest to his wife, who’s honest to his God and in turn… is honest to the love he confessed to having for her on his wedding day.  If you can accomplish that… you’ll find yourself old and withered together one day, sitting on a park bench admiring all the pretty ankles walking by.

Grandma’s got the best ankles… and look at those forearms on paw!