Monthly Archives: January 2011

Some Things You May Find Interesting

Since February is the month in which Valentines Day is contained I figured I’d dedicate each week during the month to something that I love.  So the upcoming schedule for the month of February is as follows:

February 1st – 7th:  Any post added during this time will be about DLG
February 8th – 14th: Any post added during this time will be about Bunny
February 15th – 21st: Any post added during this time will be about baseball
February 22nd – 28th: Any post added during this time will be about boobs (  .  )(  .  )

Now I won’t be posting every day… just any post during those blocks of time will be about that weeks “person/thing that I love”.


If you haven’t already asked me a question… then do so.  You’ll be automatically entered to win a $15 iTunes gift card from ME!  It’s that easy.


NEWSFLASH: I finally figured out a way to get Kim Kardashian to follow me on Twitter.  It seems some genius came up with an idea to raise money for charity by getting certain celebrities to auction their Twitter follows, retweets and such on eBay.  For those of you unfamiliar with Twitter… what I mean is that I could bid against several other hopeless stalkers like myself JUST to get Kim Kardashian to follow me and my spectacular tweets!!  For a moment, I thought that I might be the only one who knew about this auction and be able to get Kim to follow me on the cheap!!! $50 AT THE MOST… I was sure.  Unfortunately JUST to get her to follow me I would have to pay (at this point) more than $177… and there’s still almost a week left to go.

This guy probably has money to blow…

Dammit.  I ain’t payin’ that much.

Oh well… there’s still Will Sasso, Tom Arnold and Jamie Kennedy still available on the cheap (at least at the moment I published this).

I guess unless I have an anonymous donor to the “Get Kim Kardashian To Follow Papa K On Twitter” fund then I’ll have to just try to get her to follow me the old-fashioned way: bugging her incessantly.  That’s how I got Jenny McCarthy to follow me.


I can’t wait to see this movie:

Wait… crap… I mean this movie:

Or this movie:


Anyone else looking forward to Super Bowl commercials!  At no other time during the year am I more focused on the advertising than the actual programming.

I have my reasons for not liking football…

If you wanna have a laugh check out’s “10 Most Controversial Super Bowl Ads“… guaranteed for a chuckle or two.


Finally, if you’re on Facebook and you haven’t “liked” my blog page then c’mon…. seriously… what’s wrong with you.  DO IT!! NOW!!

If you’re on Twitter and you don’t follow my tweets… don’t make me have to pay for you to follow me.  Just do it.  Jenny McCarthy does…

Lastly, I love pictures for my Fanroll.  Don’t pretend like you have something better to do than take a picture for my fanroll… cuz I know you don’t.


Papa K Enjoys Your Questions So Punish Him With Some More

Was Papa K once employed as a part-time mime?

What famous douchey guy did Papa K once aspire to be?

Does Papa K enjoy sitting on his own face?

Who made Papa K so mad that he converted to momentary cannibalism?

Can Papa K crush an entire life force with nothing more than his forehead?

Was Papa K arrested once for being way to hot for his own good?

How many transients has Papa K kicked in the gooch?

What cassette does Papa K currently have playing in his Walkman?


The answer to all your questions is… I don’t know! 

Why don’t you ask him?


I’ve done these question and answer things before… and I quite like it!  Sometimes as a writer I struggle in my creativity and your questions help.  My creativity diminishes mainly because I write at night when I can concentrate i.e. Bunny and DLG are in bed and my work is done.  Mr. Sandman usually shows up not long after Bunny and DLG are in bed.  We usually cut-up and carry on… then we wind up doing a few lines of sleeping dust (it tastes like chicken enchiladas).  It doesn’t take long for my eyelids to close and along with it goes my creativity.

And, for the sake of a good time, I’ll throw a giveaway into the mix.  Simply ask me a question and you’re automatically entered to win a $15 iTunes (or any other you prefer) gift card!  Since I didn’t get as many participants in my last giveaway as I would have liked… I’m going to extend it into this post.  If you were a poster on the previous blog post where I was doing a giveaway then feel free to comment away on this one and double your entry into the drawing for the $15 iTunes gift card!

No question is a bad question and no question will go unanswered.  As you have seen on some of my past posts I will put forth due effort into answering any question regardless of how hilarious, serious, inappropriate, appropriate or random (Do you cry after sex?) they are.

So ask away folks!  I eagerly await!  If you do… there could be a $15 iTunes (or any other you prefer) gift card in your future!


It’s late.  I’m tired.  I just thought this was hilarious.

Who Wants A Papa K T-Shirt?

In a shameless attempt to get someone (Kim Kardashian, Megan Fox,  to wear a T-shirt promoting myself and this little blog I rather half-heartedly put together a rough draft of what I think could be the most awesome T-shirt since Ed Hardy smoked all that crack.

What do you think?

Would you buy one?  If not… would you wear one for free?  If not… would you at least use it as a dust rag?

I dunno… I think they’re pretty awesome.

This Wine Tastes A Little Snobby

The night before Texas Rangers FanFest, Bunny and I decided to spend some quality time together sans DLG.  We don’t get to enjoy each other alone very much… there’s usually a two-year-old chatterbox interrupting pertinent conversation with questions about why the kitchen smells like a fart or when she’s going to have her own playroom.

This trip down to Dallas offered us an opportunity to “cut loose”.  We decided to waste our time over beers and game tokens at the closest Dave and Busters next to our hotel:

HELLS YEAH!! I just won 120 tickets!  Good enough to win a beverage napkin.

Believe it or not… it was the first time I’d been to a Dave and Busters since I was about 19-years-old.  It won’t take me that long to go back.

After we spent a small fortune on tokens to play the games which in turn gave us tickets to “buy” partially used Dave and Busters chapstick we decided to carry on the evening as we’d planned.  We ate dinner at a fabulous gourmet mexican restaurant called Javier’s then found ourself at this fantastic wine bar called “Wine-Tastic“.  It wasn’t my first choice for after dinner drinks as I’m not a serious wine drinker… but I don’t mind the occasional dip into the more cultured ambiance of a wine-drinkers tavern.

Perhaps my taste buds are shot from eating all the fake meat from Taco Bell and drinking too many energy drinks but I cannot for the life of me taste strawberries, walnuts, watermelon, pork rines or anything else they say you’re supposed to taste when drinking wine!

Bunny and I decided to get the flight of current red wines they had on special and each of the wines had its own description.  The following are excerpts from an actual menu I hijacked:

Guenoc Claret – North Coast, CA – 2008
This Claret is a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Petite Verdot and Petit Sirah.  The smell of this is really enticing cherry, red currrant, raspberry and chocolate covered cherries.  While in the mouth, it rocks with plenty of gutsy substance and character.  The flavors of black cherry, red plum and black raspberry, along with a touch of dark cocoa powder and spicy black pepper.

“Ah yes.  I smell a little spicy black pepper.  Uh-huh.  Oh, and could swear I smell someone’s backwash!  Wait… this is water!  What the hell!”

Line 39 Cabernet Sauvignon – Lake County CA – 2007
The 2007 Cabernet Sauvignon starts with aromas of bright red fruits,  blackberry, tobacco and cedar.  This elegant wine offers chewy black fruit flavors with subtle tannins on the finish that don’t overpower this easy-to-drink Cabernet Sauvignon.

Bunny reflects on how remarkably chewy her wine tastes!

“Chocolate covered cherries?!”

“Smells of tobacco and cedar?!!”

“Aromas of bright red fruits?!!!”

I tried really hard when I tasted these wines to pick out the flavors they described.  I arrived at the conclusion that I didn’t want to think that hard and would rather just get a good buzz.

I’m not saying that all the wines didn’t taste different and that perhaps I did have a favorite but who cares if you can taste the subtle nuances of whether this wine has pureed rabbit embryos in it and that wine has a fermented Three Musketeers bar in it! 

I suppose I’m just not cultured enough or have much better of a reason to drink wine than to ultimately look like this:

Never. Again.

Papa K Solidifies Himself As Superfan

Stay plugged in until the end of this post where you can enter to win some really radical stuff!


As a pre-pubescent boy I grew up idolizing Nolan Ryan, his stoic toughness and his seemingly effortless ability to throw 100+ miles per hour.

As a hormone raging pre-teen, I used to pretend I was Juan Gonzalez when I hit rocks out of our driveway on the family farm.

As a member of the Ponca City Wildcats Varsity baseball squad, I tried to fashion my batting stance much in the same way Alex Rodriguez (when he was with the Rangers and before he was a tremendous ass-hat) stood in the batters box.

Then I hit a hiccup… as a drunken college student I seemed to lose the passion I had for the sport of baseball and in the process sold nearly all the souvenirs, baseball cards and baseball equipment I’d accumulated in my life up to that point.  I was more interested in girls and partying than I was about the Rangers.  Now, I’m kicking myself in the ass for selling all my things for a 30-pack of Keystone Light (or whatever it might have been).

To make up for my incompetence, over the past several years I’ve made it a point to watch EVERY SINGLE Rangers game that graced the tubes of my television.  I make the trip to Arlington for a couple games every single year (including a playoff game last year).  I’ve read every book, scowered every article and placed as many Ranger players in my fantasy leagues as I could manage. 

Bunny and I at game 2 of the American League Championship Series last season (Yankees Vs. Rangers)

I take being a fan seriously… there will be no bailout for beer money again.

Until recently, I haven’t tried to recoup some of what I lost during my beer fueled college stint.  I’m 31-years-old now so I don’t get my kicks from buying packs of baseball cards.  I get them from collecting autographed memorabilia.

Memorabilia mainly for my man-cave.  Well… my future man-cave.

I’m still new at the art of obtaining autographs so I’m not savvy in the tricks of the trade outside of organized signings.  So, until I perfect the art of getting autographs outside normal means, I’ve been sticking to these organized events.  There was one organized event that I’ve been chomping at the bit to be able to go to:  Texas Rangers FanFest.  For the past two years, inclement weather has kept me away from the event since it’s a good four-hour drive from my house.  This year, the weather threatened again… but not enough to keep me away.

Unfortunately… it didn’t keep the whole Dallas metroplex from coming too:

Since this was my first time to FanFest… I wasn’t aware that if you wanted first dibs on autographs for some of the more marquee players you had to show up around 7:30PM the previous evening (the event started at 9AM the following day).  So, when I arrived 30 minutes before the doors opened, all the spots to get Nolan Ryan’s autograph were already gone.


Once inside, I was unfamiliar with all the processes on how to obtain autographs (I won’t go into it… its way too confusing) so I missed out on a few more opportunities to obtain some other players I was interested in but I did run into this guy who just so happened to be standing next to me.

“Who’s that guy?” You may be asking.  Well… his name is Chuck Greenberg.  He’s the CEO and part-owner of the Texas Rangers.  He’s freakin’ filthy stinkin’ rich.  He’s also a good buddy of mine on Facebook.  He also said he’d give me a job plunging toilets at the Ballpark if I wanted it.  I told him I’d think about it. 

After I changed my underpants because Chuck Greenberg signed a baseball then actually put his arm around me and confirmed with me that he’d be my real life friend, I managed to get the hang of maneuvering around this massive amount of people in order to get my balls signed (get your head out of the gutter).  I managed to scrape up three autographs: CJ Wilson (pitcher extraordinaire, World Series Game 2 starter, Bunny’s Ranger crush), David Murphy (4th outfielder, quality dude, eater of lots of tacos) and Gaylord Perry (Baseball Hall of Famer, former Rangers pitcher).

CJ Wilson: the only way I can get Bunny to watch baseball.  Me: Giant-looking douche.

David Murphy: Always smiling… except after consuming too many tacos

Although I was unable to obtain Nolan Ryan’s autograph due to my obvious ineptitude at the proper procedures at these types of events… he did in fact WALK RIGHT BY ME ONCE AND BREATHED THE SAME CUBIC FOOT OF AIR  I WAS BREATHING while I was standing in one of the many lines I stood in that day.  It happened so fast that I wasn’t able to rip my camera from my pocket in enough time to snap his picture.  I was so starstruck by him that I fear I may have looked like one of those screaming teenager girls I’ve seen in pictures screaming at Elvis Presley back in the 1950’s.

Oh well.

Even though I wasn’t able to snap a picture of Nolan Ryan invading my personal space, I was able to salvage a few pictures worth keeping:

That would be Taylor Teagarden (a back-up catcher) and I (a helpless lump of skin and flesh)

This would be Derek Holland (a 24-year-old future superstar pitcher) and I (a 31-year-old world-famous superstar blogger)

What Josh Hamilton would look like with my head.  I think he should keep the one he’s got.

That’s the American League Championship Trophy.  That’s me doing “The Claw”.  Eat your heart out Candice.

Anyway… I’ve bored you enough telling of my passion for the Texas Rangers.  I’ve really just done all this work on this post in hopes that Chuck Greenberg might read it and decide to give me a better job offer than plunging toilets… like being a bat boy or something.


Wanna win something just for making it to the end of this post?  Just leave me a comment telling me whose autograph you’d LOVE to have and why and you’ll automatically be entered to win and autographed picture of ME (YES!! I KNOW!!! EXCITING!!!!) and a $15 iTunes gift card (or whatever gift card you’d like) from me!!  It’s that simple.

Comment away.

“Why Do You Have A Headache Daddy?”

The following scene takes place at story time, between the hours of eight and nine o’clock as DLG is winding down before bed time.

Papa K (Reading “Where’s My Teddy” by Jez Alborough):  “Eddie’s off to find his teddy.  Eddie’s teddy’s name is Freddy.  He lost him in the woods somewhere.  It’s dark and horrible in there. ‘Help!’ said Eddi…”

DLG (Interrupting the story): “Why”.

Papa K: “Why what?”

DLG (Pointing to the woods in the picture book): “Why izzit dark and horrible in da woods?”

Papa K (Reeling at the simplicity of such a question): “Well, honey, because when you have so many trees close together like this then all their leaves will blot out the sunshine and it looks scaaaaaarrrry!!!!  So, anyway where were we?  Oh yeah, ‘Help! said Eddie.  I’m scared alrea…'”

DLG (Interrupting again): “Why izzit scary?”

Papa K (Slightly irritated): “Because it’s dark, honey!  Remember?  Because of the trees?”

DLG: “Why?”

Papa K:  “Because the tree branches cover up the sun!”

DLG: “Why?”

Papa K (Increasingly more irritated yet slightly amused):  “Because that’s what trees do, okay!!” 

DLG: “Why izzit what trees do?”

Papa K (Now looking for a way out of this conversation):  “Because.  Okay?!  Not everything has to have a reason.  It’s just the way it’s always been since the beginning of time.”

DLG: “Can I have some gum?”

Papa K (shocked at the sudden change of subject): “No honey!  We have to go to bed!  You can have some in the morning.”

DLG: “Why?”

Papa K (Here we go again): “I swear to Zeus if you ask me ‘why’ one more time I’m going to have a mental breakdown.”

DLG: “Why daddy?”

Papa K: *sob*


Jokes have been made at how trying a child’s inquisitive mind can be and I always thought they were exaggerated… but I’m here to tell you they ain’t.

My kid asks so many questions that by the end of the day I feel like the biggest idiot because I could only answer about a third of her questions with a solid answer.

Her young brain is so in need of stimulation I trust she feels the need to ask questions incessantly.  I’ve never been one to deny her the answer to any one of her questions… even if I am the biggest idiot on the planet and all I can muster is an “I don’t know honey” or “that’s just the way it is sissy”.  I witnessed on numberous occasions a parent snapping at their kid because they asked “why” too many times or simply asked too many questions.  But I don’t see her asking questions as a negative… but rather an indication of their need to learn.  Why deny her of that?

Sure, it get’s annoying at times and leads me to the point of feeling as though I may just tear the hair from my ears.  But after the questions end I’m left with a smile on my face because not only do I find the whole thing slightly humorous…I know she’s never going to stop until she gets all her answers.

And I’m really okay with that.

Me Grog. Me Can Buy Shoes Good.

Several months ago, I wrote this really fantastic post for Gucci Mama.  I’m now choosing to post it on my blog because at the moment it feels as though I have a giant Cinnabon stuck between my brain and the back of my left eyeball.  Needless to say I don’t feel like thinking very hard lest I put too much pressure on the Cinnabon causing it to spread potentially fatal doses of cinnamon and sugar coursing throughout the circuitry of brain.  I hope Gucci Mama doesn’t mind me stealing my post back and posting it here… she is such a dear for letting me post on her blog.

Anywayz… enjoy.


I am a Neanderthal man. I communicate with my wife through a series of grunts, hand motions and one or two-word sentences that only she can understand. I mostly dress in tattered clothes I stole from other Neanderthal men after I’d collapsed their skulls under the enormous force of my caveman club. When I’m ready to make babies I give her a look under my protruding, furrowed brow and unkempt eyebrows that says, “You! Me! Make Baby! Now!”

Papa K’s true Neanderthal identity

But there is one skill I possess that other men do not that has proved to be beneficial to me on more than one occasion: I’m really good at picking out heels for my wife!

Perhaps I’m evolving at a faster rate than most Neanderthals like me. At certain times during the year when gift giving is at hand and I’m galumphing through the shoe department, I look up and see other of my male counterparts scratching their butts, digging for nose food or staring into a vast expanse of nothingness.

While I am able to complete the task of visualizing what my wife would look like in heels (naked), my male counterparts seem to revert to the evolutionary stage that preceded them rather than making the leap forward. Strange… yet slightly empowering I must say!

Does this alarm you?

It obviously alarms the entire department as I meander up to the cash register, shoe box in hand, because all male and female eyes are on me. When I slap down my payment consisting of wild boar teeth and raccoon skin the lady behind the register becomes awash with what appears to be complete and total despair.

“I wish my husband picked out shoes for me!” she says.

“ME PAY! NOW GIVE TO ME!” I will usually scream at her while simultaneously snatching the box of shoes away from her and entangling my arms around them in a vice-like bear hug. A few of the other Neanderthals start to holler and bang their open hands at my expense on the glass display tables adorned with Jessica Simpsons new 3-inch heels. I have evolved beyond that point. All I want to do is run away and show what I’ve captured to my beloved who might show me her boobs as a reward for capturing something so rare and beautiful.

A funny thing happens upon my presentation.

Incredibly, when presenting my newly acquired prize to my beloved, she doesn’t see my hunched shoulders, hairy back and lower jaw protruding well beyond my upper lip. She sees beyond that simply because I tried. I tried far beyond what most Neanderthals would do… and that’s simply making an effort.

Me Grog. Me pick out shoe. Polka dots pretty!

Not to sound like I’m dogging my own species too much… but isn’t that the least that Neanderthals should do? Just making an effort is all it takes to turn yourself from a slobbering, hairy, animal-pelt-wearing, club-carrying caveman into a debonair, suave, black-suit-and-tie-wearing Romeo capable of doing just about anything once the woman in your life is happy.

I’m no relationship therapist… but I’m just sayin’…

“What’s She Doing With Him?”

Have you ever seen a smokin’ hot chick with some douchebag and wonder to yourself, “How and why is SHE with HIM?”

Case in point:


First of all… that dudes skin tone is about four or five shades lighter than an egg, his teeth resemble rusted scrap metal and it appears as though his left pectoral fell off into his shirt!  It’s a tragedy such a beautiful woman wound up with such a bag of leftover human parts.

You gotta give him props though I guess.  He must run an extremely successful blog to get such a rockstar wife.

Tattooing Your Toddler The Right Way

As DLG nears her third birthday, her mother and I wonder when she’s going to start inquiring about when she might be able to pierce her ears (like her daddy).  I’m not one to go and pierce her ears before she’s able to tell me that’s what she wants.  In my humble opinion, once she’s reached an age she can make that kind of decision, I think she should ask for it.

She asks for oatmeal in the morning… so I give it to her.

She asks to go to the potty… so I take her.

She asks me why baby’s cry… I tell her it’s because they don’t have a daddy like me.

She asks me “Daddy, if you have two blocks of clay in cube form and the edges are 10 cm then how many spheres with a radius of 5 cm can you make with that amount of clay?”… I tell her three.

She’s reaching an age where she can make decisions and ask hard questions.  Who am I to hold her back from what she wants or wants to know?

She told me she wanted some tattoos just like me today… so I took her to my tattoo guys and she came away with a pretty awesome tattoo sleeve:

She said she wanted “hearts and stars and rainbows all up and down” her arm… so that’s what I made sure she received.

Before you go getting all judgemental on me for getting my kid tattooed before she’s even in preschool then I challenge you to a fist fight in the Wal-Mart parking lot… no one challenges my parenting abilities.  I just want my beautiful daughter to be happy.  If tattoos are what she wants… then tattoos are what she gets.  That’s the right way to do things.

Oh… before we left the tattoo shop she said she wanted to get a big heart tattoo on her tummy so I let her get one of those too:

I’m… so… proud… of her!!!



What do you think of toddler tattooing?
then x = ?

Pooping Your Pants Ain’t Cool DLG

All the things I feared before becoming a father seemed to mostly center around poop and other bodily functions.

When I used to babysit my nieces and nephews long before I was a father, I had to MAKE ABSOLUTELY SURE my sister(s) had taken them to the bathroom and/or changed their diapers before she left.  There was no way in hell I was going to wipe a butt or change a poopy diaper… that was just disgusting.

I looked forward to the day I would become a father so I could relish in all the fun and rewarding things about being a parent… I just wasn’t sure about “the dirty work”.  The fears of how I would handle certain scenarios loomed large in my brain.  Certain scenarios such as:

Changing a diaper (yes… that was a fear of mine)
Getting thrown up on (been there)
Getting peed on (done that)
Getting pooped on (that too)
Having your kid poop in the tub (read about it here)
Wiping their booty during potty training (every day at this point)
Handling diarrhea (unfortunately so… I don’t even like writing that word!)
Potty training in public restrooms (you gotta do what you gotta do)

Mere minutes into fatherhood and I was already changing a diaper… and checking that fear off my list

If you’ve been a parent for any length of time… you’ve undoubtedly had your hand (quite literally) in these situations.  In a backwards way of thinking, I believe I was ready for them to happen so I could say, “Whew.  Okay… I got that out-of-the-way!  Now, give me my ‘Fatherhood Valor Award For Those Who’ve Been Pooped On.”

None of them were as bad  as I’d anticipated them.  In fact I lived through all of them so they couldn’t have been THAT bad!!!

Although… an item I didn’t list above that I was still scared of was what I would do if DLG pooped her pants (not with a diaper on)!  I’d been waiting for quite some time to administer the necessary procedures to mend such a scenario.

My fear became a reality at Chick-Fil-A (we go there a lot if you haven’t noticed) DLG had eaten her lunch then had just got done playing in the kid’s area for a little bit when she approached me with a simple request, “Daddy…. I need to go poo poo”.

I sprang into action as I  knew the window of opportunity to make sure these turds got flushed was decreasing with each passing second.  We carved a path and prayed that the men’s restroom stall wasn’t occupied.

“Hallelujah! There’s no one in here!” I thought to myself as I entered the lone bathroom stall that Chick Fil-A has in the men’s bathroom.

Upon entering the stall, I noticed the warm glow emanating through DLG’s jeans and onto my bare arm.

“Sissy!  Did you poop?” I asked her.

She said, “Yes Daddy!” as though it were completely obvious.

The next several minutes were spent trying to figure out how to effectively manipulate everything to where I could change her clothes, get her dirty clothes put away, make sure she’d gotten all “it” out and keep her feet out of the apparent pool of urine directly in front of the toilet (dudes… seriously?  C’mon now).  Keep in mind she is two-years-old and extremely hard to keep focused.

It was an adventure to say the least.

Poop has no business being in your underpants DLG… let’s keep it in the potty from now on.

“Okay daddy.  Okay.  I won’t poop my pants anymore!”

But at least I can mark it off my list!

Oh… and I need my medal.