Category Archives: Rants Of All Kinds

Sometimes I just freakin’ gotta cuss it up and say bad thing about things and whatnot. Darn it to heck!

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”. The website is trying to model itself after other websites like “” or ““. 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 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 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. 


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?


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

Road Rage Consumes Me

A while back I wrote about the idiocy of those drivers who can’t seem to get it through their thick skulls that you’re DRIVING 55 MPH IN THE FAST LANE!!!  MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!!!

I’m not an aggressive driver, I’m not even an overly fast driver… I just have my cruising limit and I don’t like to break it.  Yet it happens without fail that every time I drive on the highway there is bound to be some inbred toddling along in their Hyundai as if they’re the only person in the Universe. 

Road rage is imminent.

Quite recently, Bunny and I were returning from my hometown from a visit we had with my family when we came upon a person driving in the fast lane who hadn’t seemed to notice that a good number of cars had to go around her in order to continue their route.  I’m not someone who approaches confrontation often and I usually resort to giving the driver an icy stare as I swerve around them in hopes they’ll notice my bloodshot eyes bulging from their sockets.  But I didn’t feel like doing that this time… I had swerved around too many blockheads without them even registering what the hell they were doing wrong.

So this time I rear-ended them.  This caused their car to fishtail then flip over the side rail of the bridge we were on.  I didn’t stop but as I looked in my rear view mirror I did notice a small mushroom cloud.  Hopefully that’ll resolve that problem.

I’m kidding.  I didn’t do that.  I can’t say I didn’t imagine it though.

Instead of crashing into the car on purpose I simply continued to cruise on as I would if I expected the car in front of me to move.  They didn’t despite the obvious 15MPH+ faster I was going.  When I was a good half second away from their bumper I slowed down and flashed my brights at them.  When nothing happened… I flashed them again.



Needless to say I didn’t do the most Christian thing I could have done at that moment in time.  I was caught in the moment and extremely frustrated. 

So after doing my un-Christian activities, I did what I’ve always done a thousand times before that: I swerved around her and iced her with my bulging eyeball stare.

I could not believe the audacity of this person!  Even after I sped well in front of her I watched in my rear view mirror as other cars had to swerve around her.  Are people seriously THAT clueless?  I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt a lot but c’mon… buy some Miracle Grow and sprinkle it on your brain stem because there ain’t nothing there.

So, since neither of these two methods have worked for me up to this point, I’ve decided to spell it out for these jackasses.  Every time I pass by someone holding up the fast lane I’m simply going to place this sign in my driver’s side window:

If that doesn’t work I may just have to start carrying a bazooka.

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’s Dad Almost Kills A Man

My dad was one busted blood vessel in his head away from killing a man once.  A stranger at that!  I could picture myself in court months down the road explaining why my father tore this man’s still beating heart from his ribcage.

My dad can kick your dad’s ass…

I was 17-years-old at the time and the unassuming scene was set up quite like most others out on our family farm: it was a nice spring afternoon, my father and I were outside working on my truck and mom was inside cooking dinner.  I wasn’t much of a gear-head (still ain’t) and I was undoubtedly thinking about why the girls in my high school didn’t talk to me instead of listening to my dad ramble on in increasingly excited tones about how an internal combustion engine works.

My truck was positioned next to our house which was planted squarely in the middle of a 160-acre plot surrounded mostly by pastureland and wheat fields.  A long, gravel driveway connected us from the middle of our plot to the dirt road that led to “the city”.  If you ever had intentions of sneaking up on our house… you couldn’t because there was simply no cover to bathe in.  Anyone who had a motive to drive down our driveway had to know that their cover was nonexistent and their element of surprise was shot.

This wasn’t such a big deal for friends or family members but if we saw a strange car or truck rumbling down our driveway the thought was always, “Who the hell is this guy?” 

This particular afternoon, that exact scenario unfolded.

Somewhere between “internal combustion this” and “internal combustion that” and “blah blah blah” we caught the image of a large foreign truck rumbling down our driveway.  We continued fiddling with the car as the truck pulled up and out stepped a pudgy guy similar to what I would imagine a man would be if he was filled with nothing but Jell-O. 

“How can I help ye Ol’ Pahd-Nuh!” (that’s farmer talk for ‘How can I help you, friend’?) my father said.

Mr. Jell-O went into his spiel.  I don’t remember that there was particularly anything wrong with his spiel… he just thought he and my dad were old chums and he didn’t know when to quit.  After an arduous few minutes, it quickly became apparent TO ME that my dad didn’t want to buy whatever it was he was selling (some vitamin enriched product for crops I think).  Mr. Jell-O didn’t get my fathers subtle hints that he didn’t want him bothering us anymore.  He also was completely unaware that my father is quite possibly one of the most intimidating men you’ve ever seen when he reached his boiling point. 

Immediately following Mr. Jell-O’s attempt at making himself more comfortable by hiking one of his feet on top of the rear bumper of my dads Toyota Land Cruiser, my father flat out lost it on him and flipped the switch.


This is what my dad looks like when he’s screaming.

Honestly, I’d never seen a more deflated human being than the man who my father had just verbally assaulted.  No sooner had the first booming screams escaped from my dads mouth than the man turned into an extremely frightened puppy and practically ran back this truck. 

Shortly after Mr. Jell-O had peeled back down our driveway to get away from my father and change his pants he just pissed in… my father simply turned around and began going back into his lesson to me on internal combustion engines.

I wasn’t thinking about girls any more.  I was thinking how close I’d almost seen my dad kill a man.


I learned a valuable lesson that day (as I wound up in sales almost a decade later):  Don’t be a douchebag and you won’t have fierce old men almost tear your heart out with their bare hands.

You can thank me later for that bit of advice.

Wal-Mart: The Weirdo-Freak Capitol Of The World

One positive thing about becoming Paris Hilton would be that I’d never have to go to Wal-Mart.  But, if for some strange reason I did become Paris Hilton, I’d have to say I’d gladly go to Wal-Mart in exchange for a brain and/or the removal of all the venereal diseases I have swimming around in my reproductive system.

Regardless… Wal-Mart is a strange place.  While I understand it’s a “monopoly” of sorts I cannot ignore the fact that their oatmeal  is twenty cents cheaper than Homeland’s, their canned mandarin oranges are ten cents cheaper than Target’s, their adult diapers are almost a dollar cheaper than Geriatric World’s and their fertility testing is almost a thousand bucks cheaper than the local hospital’s!

Although, low prices don’t always tend to attract financially saavy individuals hell bent on saving money for retirement… they also attract some of the weirdest damn freaks you’ve ever seen!

Case in point:

I myself fell victim to a Wal-Mart troll about a week ago… although it wasn’t so much what I saw than what I heard.

Allow me to explain…

DLG and I had just turned the corner of the bread aisle because we were looking for some tortillas to make chicken enchiladas for some friends that particular evening.  A quick glance down the aisle revealed I was sharing it with one other man.  He was an older gentleman carrying a food basket.  He sported a very trailer-trashy ensemble with a long trench coat, flowing greasy hair and combat boots.  This indeed really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Wal-Mart but as we closed in on crossing paths I noticed he was talking on the phone in very hushed tones.  I’m not one to really try to listen in on other people’s conversations but as we passed I couldn’t help but catch what he was saying in very forceful tones:

“I’m sticking my tongue in your mouth and I’m swirling it all around all in your mouth.  Oh.  It feels so good…..”

Needless to say I was slightly taken aback… yet strangely intrigued by this multi-talented man who could apparently shop for bread while deeply engrossing himself in such an emotional phone call.  I don’t stare at people EVER… but this just wasn’t any old people.  This was perhaps one of the weirder things I hope to ever see at a Wal-Mart.

So, I positioned myself amongst the wheat breads in such a way where I could keep an eye on this guy and see if I could hear anything else he was saying.

I didn’t have to wait long.

As he continued strolling amongst the breads he stopped and began slapping his hands together right next to the receiver of his telephone while saying, “… And I’m spanking your ass so hard!  Oh, and you like it!  Oh yeah, c’mon baby!”

For as quickly as I was intrigued by this dude… I was just as quickly completely disgusted and felt a bit like vomiting on the english muffins.

I tucked tail and got out of that aisle as fast as I could lest I contract some airborne “freak-weirdo” virus and feel inclined to conduct a phone sex call in Wal-Mart or something.

While it could have been any number of scenarios, I believe he was more than likely a phone sex-operator on the phone with “a client”… or he was just a complete freak getting his rocks off on a phone-sex call!   I’m not one to judge (okay maybe I am), but isn’t there a better place to conduct such a phone call than in the bread aisle at Wal-Mart?

I felt a little less queasy once I came home and took a shower to wash all the heebie-jeebies off.


I wanna hear good stories from you all on some of the weirdness you’ve seen at Wal-Mart.  C’mon… gimme somethin’ good!

Papa K Gets His Hulk On


Many things happened on my blogging hiatus… but none more interesting than the one where I almost self-destructed in a mix of blind rage and absolute confusion at the idiocy and hatefullness of some people.

Alas, I’m not allowed to really divulge into much of what happened but I can tell you it involved several people lashing out at my wife for no good reason other than to make themselves feel better.  I’d seen my wife suffer through the indecency of “these people” for quite some time and, quite frankly, had seen and heard just about enough of it.

My “fuse” is the length of several hundred football fields.  It takes quite a feat of dumbassiveness to reach the dynamite stick containing all the pent-up frustration I have against the human race’s more inept species.  Unfortunately, some of the inept burnt the last bit of my fuse.

And then…

I’ve always been the mediator, always the problem solver, always the one there to calm everyone else down and always the one ready to forgive at the moment a truce is given.

Not this time.

This time heads would roll, hearts would be ripped from rib cages, ears would be worn as necklaces and rectums would be turned inside-out.

I think after years of calming enraged fraternity brothers, standing between friends about to strangle each other and listening to my wife groan about not finding any jeans that fit… it was my turn to show a little rage.

And I did.

I said things that were 100% true (with a perhaps a little too much color commendation) but had my peace and at the urging of my wife was reduced to keeping it at exactly that rather than expand the timeline of hateful exchanges until the end of time.  I was like the Energizer Bunny: ready to keep going and going and going and going and going and……………well….. you get the idea.

No physical punches, slaps, face-raking, eye-gouging, crotch-kicking, skull-crushing or intestinal-carving took place… although mentally I can’t say I didn’t imagine it a few times.  Verbally, I think my words cut like poison arrows and I hope they continue to seep the angry words of truth coursing through their rotted veins and black hearts. 

It wasn’t an enjoyable experience but one that required action on my part to defend what I cherished the most. 

I’ll finish by saying that there is no more room in this world for narcissists to create their own reality where nothing they say is wrong.  What they don’t know is that “narcissist” is a nicer word than “complete dumbass idiot freaknut poopbrain face”.

Yes.  I said “complete dumbass idiot freaknut poopbrain face.”  I never knew I could be so cold.


Anyone else know any complete dumbass idiot freaknut poopbrain faces our there?

Prop 19 Didn’t Pass! How Totally Non-Bogus Dude!

The smallest utterance of politics makes my brain shut down into a lifeless, steaming pile of toad poop.

I can’t get into it.  I can’t get passionate about it.  It doesn’t interest me.

I know, as an American born American, I should… but I simply cannot.

All I know is that no one is ever going to agree on anything.  In a perfect world there would be no arguments, there wouldn’t be any Republican or Democratic parties, there would be no Hillary Clinton and we would all have nothing to argue about.

I know… boring, right?

Although, I have to admit, I was slightly interested in seeing if “Prop 19” would pass.  For those of you who don’t know, Prop 19 was a ballot initiative to legalize marijuana (aka pot, dope, Mary Jane, ganja, giggleweed, reefer, bud, cryptonite, doobie, grass, hocus pocus, happy backy, rainy day woman, wackytabacky, pretendica, etc.) in the state of California.

California’s Future Governor: The Honorable Mr. Snoop Dogg

It didn’t pass.

Honestly, I was going to be really surprised if it did pass… even for California!

I couldn’t even imagine the drove of patchouli-soaked hippies that would move to California to bask in the glow of the legalization of marijuana.  Perhaps that’s why California residents voted to keep it illegal?  I mean… who likes the smell of patchouli other than dirty hippies right?! (Sorry Matt)

Anyway, as someone who’s *cough cough* never smoked wackytabacky myself *cough cough*… ahem… I’m a little under the weather (or am I?) I apologize… what was I saying?  Oh yeah, in my humble opinion I don’t think it’s a good idea to legalize it because of the sheer chaos it would cause.

“But Papa K, marijuana is much safer than alcohol!” You might say, “No one has ever died from smoking too much pot!”

It’s true, no one has overdosed from inhaling too much cannabis… they just become incredibly stupid.  Nothing irritates me more than someone who is high.  While the recipient of the head change is on another planet, his or her surrounding peers have to put up with the idiocy of his or her actions.

Can you imagine how long it would take to get through the check-out line at Wal-Mart when the checker is as high as a hot air balloon? 

What if the person driving in the lane next to you just sucked down a whole blunt and their idea of exiting the highway is to change lanes by smashing through your luxury Sedan?  I don’t think you or I would have much sympathy for someone after picking ourselves out of a ditch on the side of the road to find out the reason they ran you off the road was because their sensory skills were inhibited by the giggleweed!

Yet… I have some sympathy for the “legalize marijuana” advocates.  I see Marijuana, as with EVERYTHING, in excess is too much.  Too much beer is bad, too much ice cream is bad, too much sex is bad (well… not that bad), too much of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen is bad and too much pot is bad.  Now, if you could GUARANTEE some resiliency on the part of those who want to smoke a little Mary-Jane and limit their intake only to times when they’re out of harms way or not in a position to severely affect every one elses busy schedules… then fine.  But it wouldn’t be that way because Americans like to abuse their privilages.

I could go on and on.  The argument between smokers and non-smokers will carry on much like arguments about capital punishment, prayer in schools and whether or not Elena Kagan is a man.

Sir… ah… Ma’am… uh… hey you!

Whatever the case may be, I honestly don’t have a problem with people who want to smoke an occasional doobie much in the same way I don’t have a problem with someone who wants to have a few drinks.  The problem is how many dirty hippies would abuse their right to smoke pot free and clear.  While this would increase profits for those who invest in IHOP, Denny’s and Waffle House it would also increase the amount of one-sided ass whippings given to smoked-out hippies that fried the final nerve of many clear-minded individuals.

So, with that, thank God Prop 19 didn’t pass.

That’s what I think… what do you think?

BTW – I didn’t inhale.

Papa K’s Gonna Spew A Random Selection Of Crap I Wanna Talk About

If you wanna enter to win an EIGHT PACK of Mr. Men books all you have to do is leave a comment after this post!!!  Time is ticking people!!


As I prepare for San Francisco Giants to meet their ultimate demise at the hands of MY Texas Rangers… I’m momentarily distracted and at a loss for words at exactly what to talk about today.

So here are a few things:

 – I had a car accident yesterday. 

My first one EVER!  It was even a HEAD ON COLLISION!  fortunately, I’m a fairly decent defensive driver and braked as the lady on her cell phone tried to cross my lane of traffic when I was a mere 100 feet from her going a good 40 to 45 MPH.

It was really much worse than the camera can portray.  The accident surely destroyed my radiator and possibly the water pump as there were multiple fluids leaking from the car… most noticeably green antifreeze.  A word to the wise: don’t be doing anything on your cell phone while driving.  If you are, then you could get smashed by giant SUV.

 – DO NOT watch the movie “Legion”

It really really really really really really really really sucks.

 – I hate jackass New York Yankee fans

Some drunk idiot reacts after clearly interfering with a play that could have been caught by Nelson Cruz: the Rangers Right Fielder

During the most recent series the Texas Rangers had with them they were rude, obstinate and just plain bad sports about everything.

Reportedly, Cliff Lee (whom the Rangers traded for and who are in competition during the off-season to sign him to a multi-year deal) had his wife in the stands and she dealt with some real asshole fans during the Rangers three game stint in New York for the ALDS.  If you were a Yankee fan it might be best NOT to piss off the one giving it up to Cliff Lee!  The more toned down and appreciative Ranger nation are much more acceptable to deal with than the mutated Yankee “faithful” who also enjoy leaving the game early if it looks like their team isn’t going to win.

That’s all I’m gonna say about that… I could go on forever.


I’m in the process of digitizing a ton of my old college sketch comedy pieces. 

I graduated from college with a degree in Broadcast Communications with and emphasis in production, aka “Probably One Of The Easiest Degrees To Get” and one of the funnest!

A buddy of mine, Nicholi (who also saved me once from certain death), and I were the cut-ups of the department.  But for some reason, we were trusted all hours of the day with some of our University’s most expensive camera equipment.  We used this to our advantage to complete “homework” that was giving to us by certain professors looking for “documentary-type” pieces, 30 second news spots, etc.  What they received instead were the demented workings of two dudes with multiple personalities.

The first clip is of Nicholi and I (Pre-Papa K… and pre-19-tattoos) making fun of a cooking show that we regularly produced through the University called “Cooking With Carol”.  We called it “Cooking With Fire”!  Enjoy:

The second was a 30-second-piece that Nicholi produced where I simply was the “bad guy ninja” called “Cowboy Tim”:

I’m telling you people… there ALOT more of this where it came from.  Stay tuned and be ready.

Road Rage Rages On

The idiocy of people amazes me.

Not only do a surprising amount of parents not wipe their kids snotty noses but an even more surprising amount of individuals who own a driver’s license do not know how to drive on the highway. 

For those of you who THINK (for some reason that escapes me entirely) that you’re entitled to drive slow in the fast lane… allow me to draw you an illustration of the way it should be:

Now… if you’re viewing the road from above… the fast car stays on the left side while the slow car stays on the right!  This enables an easy flow of traffic!  If you’re the fast car you don’t have to worry about veering off into the other lane in order to pass those slower drivers who most of the time are either talking on their cell phone, texting, eating a taco, slapping their kid in the back seat or trying to take off their pants.

Absolute idiot drivers focusing on anything else other than driving usually result in the situation looking something like this:

What has to happen now is the fast car has to veer around the slow car in order to get where it’s going!  This not only defies the logic of the road but also simple common sense!   Something of which I fear is quickly becoming an endangered trait with most people.

Enter road rage.

Don’t get me wrong… I’m not an overly aggressive speedster with a goal of running 90-year-old nuns off the road.  Sometimes I’m just in a groove.  I have my cruise control on, I’m making good time, I’m jammin’ to some Britney Spears on the XM and life is good.

Then… Mr. “I Have A Tapout Sticker On The Back Of My Truck To Go Along With My Truck Balls” decides that he’s setting the pace in the fast lane by going 60 MPH.

Then… I have a complete and total mental breakdown because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that even the Universe is screaming for things to go right.

Enter road rage.

Get a clue drivers… before you get something like this in your face: