Hello? Anyone There?

It has been what feels like an eternity since I penned any words on ye olde blogge.

How are you? I want to know. Have you popped that huge cyst that was growing in your underarm? Have you made sweet love to the homeless man on the corner of Robinson and Kelly yet? What about the serum you were working on to cure penis envy?

A lot of happened since (1) I bid a momentary farewell, (2) I fell out of love for Kim Kardashian and (3) I paid homage to the tush.

For one… Bin Laden got shot in the face. Go USA.

Secondly: in keeping with my promise to all of you, I lost 2o mother effing pounds!!!

I hate me in this picture but I think it illustrates the weight I’ve lost… especially in my face… as opposed to my huge gut and double chin in the pictures below:

An extra scoop of double chin fat for anyone? Anyone?

Thirdly: we got all moved in to our mansion.

Gratuitous outside shot not really lending much to what the inside of the house looks like.  Don’t worry… I can tell you about it later.

Fourthly: Bunny lost, like… 15 pounds and now looks like she could crush Brooklyn Decker in a “who’s hotter” contest.

God I love them both…

Fifthly: I now have a man cave.

Yes… it’s messy. Yes… it’s a work in progress. Yes… I’m getting a bigger TV. Yes… I’m planning on writing a blog post about it. No… Bunny and I haven’t christened the room yet (dammit). No… you can’t come over.

Sixthly: There are at least eight billion things to talk about.

I’ve been out of the blogging business for almost two months. I haven’t kept up with reading some of my favorite blogs (I’m looking at you, you, you, you, you and you… sorry). I haven’t really tweeted or Facebooked. I haven’t really done much of anything worth relevance in trying to promote my douchness.

What I HAVE done is earn some money with my writing skills. I must say it is nice to get paid to write… but I can’t write about what I want to write about. This delivers a near fatal blow to my creativity. I miss pouring my life in so many words to the faceless readers who so diligently follow my walk through life like I was Johnny Depp or Kat Von D.

I’m ready to do it again.

I can’t promise the diligence I once had to update my blog every couple of days. I CAN promise that I won’t leave.

I can’t promise that I’ll always be at www.whoispapak.com. I’ve learned that writing and getting paid is desirable. I just might pigeon-hole myself into a blog focused on a theme.

I can’t promise I’ll always be so fraggin’ sexy. When I’m 183 I might not be all that smokin’ hot any more. In fact… I could be dead if they don’t figure out a way to regenerate frozen bodies soon.

I CAN promise I’ll always try to make you smile, I’ll always try to make you laugh (and cry… maybe… at times) and I’ll always try to get Brooklyn Decker (no more Kim Kardashian) to know I’m alive.

“I’m Papa K’s new #1!!!! *Squeal*!!!!”


It’s Not You… It’s Me

It’s not you… it’s me.

If you’ve ever had your heart broken then you’ve probably heard the above phrase.  Unfortunately… you’re going to hear it again.

It’s not you… it’s me.

Can we just be friends?

Blogging is a lot of fun.  Unfortunately, it’s more of an avocation than a vocation for me at this point and it doesn’t pay the bills.  I tend to be a perfectionist and the time it takes me to perfect each posting can take me well into the morning hours at times.

For these reasons I’ve decided to take a massive step back at trying to become the worlds most massive blog for the time being.  Additionally, it has and will become and even lower priority over the next several months for the following reasons:

     1.  We finally sold our house (including the giant wine glass) and have signed the dotted line to move into another one.  If you’ve ever moved before you’ll understand the time and effort it takes to move your pile of shit from one place to another.

     2.  Along with my part-time, work-from-home job, I have been fortunate enough to find a freelance opportunity that will pay me to write!  Couple those opportunities together with chasing around a two-year-old and that makes for a pretty full schedule.

     3.  I’m putting a softball team together for the spring.  It’s been over a decade since I’ve been competitive (unless you count rowing or that strong man competition) in ANYTHING!!  I’m finally taking the bull by the horns and putting together my own team.  We’ll play a double-header every Wednesday night for the next several months. 

     4.  Baseball season is almost here.  Last season my Texas Rangers went to the World Series and that is only because I watched every single game that season.  I plan on doing the same this season.

     5.  Bunny has certain “demands”.  This is nothing new but it is the truth.  We need our date nights, our alone time and our time to play with DLG.  By the grace of God himself I have started to do a little cooking and I know that this excites her and takes time from me being able to orchestrate thoughts on a computer screen.

     6.  I’ve been going back to the gym.  I’ve managed to lose about 10 pounds as of this moment and I plan on keeping up the momentum.  I don’t want to waste away into a Slim Jim but I am eager to look like someone on the front cover of Men’s Health.

     7.  I’m having penile enlargement surgery.  I’m kidding.  I was just seeing if you were paying attention.

All of these things just added to the daily struggles I (and I’m sure all of you) deal with… blogging is the weakest link.  While I still plan on keeping my blog updated it won’t be the regular three to four posts you see from me a week.  You’ll be lucky to get that in a month at this point!

I’ll still be around.  I’ll still post occasionally.  I’ll pop in to post unattractive pictures of myself for your amusement at times like this one:

You can still follow me on Facebook and Twitter and submit pictures to my Fanroll if you so desire. 

I can never fully let go of blogging I and hope you can never fully let go of me either.

This isn’t good-bye, but rather… until next time.

I’m just so damn busy.

It’s not you… it’s me.

Search Engine Silliness, Part 3

The internet is like… big and stuff.  A lot of people use it.  A lot of them use search engines (Google, Bing, AskJeeves, etc.) to help them find what they’re looking for.  What follows are search engine terms that people have used to find my blog (quite mistakenly I assume… or I hope) for the last month or so.

So I present them to you for your entertainment (search engine terms in bold).

Wanna see part one?  Click here.  Wanna see part tw0?  Click here.


do guys go to hooters just to see women
I can tell a woman searched this…

the uninvited lips
“Were those lips on the list?  I didn’t think so.  Get ’em outta here!”

best birthday present for horny man
Hmmmmmmmmmmm… is that a rhetorical question?

yorkshire terrier sandwich
$5 footlong at Subway now I think

baby i hate you i wanna stab you in the nuts
Ooh. Well… I guess whoever you are you can at least take solace in knowing she still is calling you “baby”

what is my real name? no more than name. where is my real face? i have no face anymore
Uh… sounds like you’ve got some serious questions that Google ain’t gonna be able to answer for you

ugly blonde giants
I laughed at this initially… then I realized they happened upon MY blog while searching for ugly blonde giants.  Am I an ugly blonde giant?

farting at badminton
In case you didn’t know it takes extreme talent and concentration to be able to do both of these at the same time

jillian michaels tongue punch fart box
I don’t watch The Biggest Loser but I’m pretty sure I still wouldn’t know what a “tongue punch fart box” is even if I did

knitting pattern for penis
Hey… “it” gets cold too

why do my testicles move
By themselves?  That’s a little frightening…

my wife is making me get boobs
I can’t say I haven’t considered getting a pair myself…

how to be hilarious 
If you have to ask Google how to then you’ve probably got no chance…

And perhaps my all-time favorite search engine term that people used to find my blog:

you’re the most handsome man in the world
Believe it or not, NINE people found my blog by searching this phrase… kinda makes up for the “ugly blonde giant” from earlier!


If you’re the proud owner of a blog… what are some of the funnier words or phrases have been used to find it?

Kim Kardashian And I Broke Up

Those of you who know and read me are familiar with my crush on the socialite gone mega-super reality star, Kim Kardashian.  I’ve mentioned her one too many times on this blog and have kind of made it a running joke for those of you who read me often.

I understand my fascination with her.  It isn’t her wit or wisdom or ability to make me laugh.  It certainly isn’t the fact she made a sex tape with Ray J who might possibly the Universe’s biggest douchebag.  It honestly was because of her looks.

But even I can’t maintain a celebrity crush based on that alone.

When someones fame becomes far larger than the galaxy in which they reside… it kinda turns me off.

She’s everywhere.  She endorses everything.


Fast Food:

Weight-Loss Supplements:

Silly Bands:

The Dodgers:

Giant Mouth Bowls:

And along with a million other products… she has her very own song for the love of everything holy.

How much more exposure does she need?  How much bigger can she become?  The Kardashian mafia made over $65 Million in 2010 and they command such outrageous demands as $25,000 for a tweet to endorse a person or product!  No wonder I could never get her to follow me on Twitter!  I don’t have $25,000 to throw at her so she can make more in one second typing something on Twitter than most people in Cambodia or Somalia make in their entire lifetime.

Kim is very pretty but I believe her head has become bigger than her ass at this point… and that would make for one gigantic head.

I’m sorry Kim… it’s over between you and me.

Please stop crying.  You’re embarrassing me.


So, as the former holder of the number one spot on my list, you might be thinking, “Who are you replacing her with?”

I’m celeb crushin’ on Andy Roddicks wife: Brooklyn Decker.

You may have seen her in Adam Sandler’s most recent movie, “Just Go With It.”

She seems to be the antithesis of Kim Kardashian (for now) and that’s alright with me.  I just hope fame doesn’t make her ugly because I can move on pretty fast once that happens.

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.

Wasted Youth? I Think Not.

It may come as a surprise to all of you that I was a sheltered youth.  It was my fault mostly.  I begged to be homeschooled after I couldn’t adapt to private school once my family moved back to the States from Norway.  I had endured a year and a half of this school and had enough of being the social outcast.  I wanted to bury myself within the confines of my house walls and never have to worry about conversing with anyone ever again.

I did a pretty good job of making that happen.

I did such a good job that I was completely socially inept by the time I did enter the confines of a public school four years later.

In those formative years where I should have been learning how to talk to girls and dealing with awkward pubescent moments I was doing things like this instead:

Keanu Reeves in a gray tunic with matching skirt

I had to find ways to fill the empty moments where I could have been playing with my equally awkward friends.  So… I cut the heads off of famous actors in magazines and glued them over the faces of women in my mom’s Avon Fashions magazine.

Arnold Schwarzenegger in a nice, quality, pinstriped suit.  Doesn’t he look nice?

I think despite running through the gamut of weirdness as a middle-school loner I somehow wound up being quite normal.  Well… as normal as a kid who got his kicks from pasting Leslie Nielsen’s face on some other woman’s face in an Avon Fashions magazine. 

Leslie Nielsen in a nice pair of Dockers (at 20% off)

What you might be wondering is, “How the hell do you still have these?”  Well… it seems my mother saw the creativity in my work and kept the magazine in which I had pasted all these famous people’s faces in.  I have her to thank for preserving memories like this one:

Danny De Vito in a hideous jacket and equally hideous pair of “mom jeans”.

Before I go and scare you all away from reading my blog again please understand I haven’t done this in at least a year and I don’t miss doing it at all……………………………………… well………………… maybe just a little.

Wasted youth?  I think not.

Ripped Pecs To Man Boobs And Back Again

For the final week of February I had chosen to write all about boobs.

Well it’s the final day of the final week and I am still going to stick to my plan.

But I’m gonna talk about my boobs.

My man-boobs.

There was a time when my boobs weren’t boobs… they were rippled pecs. 

I’m 31-years-old these days and although I may appear not to be overweight… I can feel myself slipping away.  I used to be able to eat ice cream every night, beer every weekend and an entire pizza if I was hungry enough and still look like this:

Circa 2005

Now, after years of consuming mass quantities of various crap foods without consequence… it’s finally starting to catch up with me:

Circa a few months ago…

Or this:

Circa a year ago…

Or more specifically this:

And this:

I’ll spare you a picture of my sagging breasts even though I know you’re begging to see them.

I’ve been noticing my body taking the “I’m a married man with kids and I’m just comfortable” form for a while.  While I still think it’s humanly impossible for me to become grossly obese it doesn’t mean I’m impervious to being grossly out of shape, overly buoyant or just looking like a pasty outta shape dude.

I’ve alluded to taking this weight gain seriously on this blog several times and set out to obtain Ryan Reynold’s abs numberous times… but nothing has materialized.

But luckily for me, my wife sprung this question on me several weeks ago, “Hey honey… do you want to do Weight Watchers with me?’

I was in the process of cooking some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls for breakfast but I didn’t waste a second in answering her, “Yes.  Absolutely.”

It was that morning almost three weeks ago that I decided to get happy with my body (and my man-boobs) again.  I’ve started sweating my ass off in the gym and sticking to the Weight Watchers method of eating correctly for almost three weeks.

And I’ve lost nine pounds already and my beer gut is steadily shrinking along with my second chin.  My nipples may point straight ahead again some day.

I’ve never dieted before… EVER.  I’ve never had to.  But my age is showing and I’ve got to adapt.  I’m ready to be ripped again.  I’m ready to be sexy again like Bunny.

You wait and see.  It’ll happen.  I’m gonna be a sexy beast (with a six-pack).

What Are Your Unspoken Rules?

Believe it or not, I’m looking forward to March 1st so I can start talking about whatever I want to talk about again.  This February challenge I put upon myself (to set aside each week during the month to blog about someone/something I love) is wearing on me!  I appointed this week (February 2/22 – 2/28) to talk about boobs and it’s quite difficult to write about them without sounding too much like a total Neanderthal or erotic novelist.

But I’m doing my best.  Only a couple of days to go…


While upping my tweets yesterday, I happened upon a new “celebrity” I wanted to follow.  That “person” would be Quagmire from the delightfully obnoxious show Family Guy.

Giggity giggity goooo!!

His most recent tweet said this, “Girls complain when guys stare at their (boobs) when they talk, but If our (wiener)-was on our chest I bet they’d do the same thing.”

Hmmmmm… that would be exponentially more weird but I think it’s pretty true.

It would also be exponentially more disgusting than this point of view

Some time ago, I established some rules for what I believe to be the acceptable amount of time every straight, red-blooded, married or single male should be allowed to glance at a woman.  Let me be clear:  I do not think that all men should ogle at girls and claim its the evolutionary nature of men because that’s a total cop-out.  What makes a man is acknowledging beauty when he sees it and treating it with respect.  I know I make a lot of noise about how much I love boobs on my blog (because I do) but I also value and respect the relationship with my wife.  I wouldn’t say or do anything to disrespect her.  I’ve been there and done that once and I’ll never do it again.

So with that being said, what do you think is acceptable?  It’s hard for me to accept that NO MAN should ever look at cleavage other than their wife or girlfriends.  It’s quite unavoidable sometimes and should be treated with some kind of rules. 

I’ve given you mine… what are yours?

When Is Science Going To Bring Mannequins To Life?

Anyone ever seen the movie Mannequin?

If you haven’t then consider yourself lucky.

It happens to be one of my wifes favorite movies and every time we happen upon it while channel surfing she demands we watch it despite my groans of agony. 

In the movie, a female mannequin comes to life and the clerk involved in arranging her in the department store window falls in love with her.  “Hilarity” ensues.

It’s all fine and good but I dislike the movie because it gives certain individuals an unrealitic view on a time where, through science, we will be able to bring mannequins to life.  It’s not fun to toy with people’s emotions like that. 

While the mannequin in the movie was a semi-attractive one, there are some mannequins that would scare the partially digested BLT right out of me if they came alive.  You know the ones I’m talking about.



What’s up with that?  Are these mannequins with half a head or no face a product of department stores that can’t afford the rest of the head and/or face?

Anyway, while most mannequins are pretty creepy, there are a few who warrant some sort of futuristic plasma ray gun that brings them to life.  Like this one:

Bunny, DLG and I were in Miami last year going in and out of souvenir shops when we happened upon a shop that had nothing but extremely realistic looking female mannequins.  Well… perhaps I should say they were realistic looking “erotic swimsuit models with unnatural enhancements” mannequins.

It was a little shocking and I had to stop myself from staring.  I had to look away because I thought I might get beat up by the mannequins boyfriend once she tells him how much I stared at her.  This is of course after he’s brought to life through the miracle of science in probably another year or so.

I quickly arrived that we were in Miami and that there’s really no way for an enraged mannequin-boyfriend-just-brought-to-life to find out where I live in a years time.  So I did this:

Yes.  I’m five.

It’s been a year and I haven’t had a silver-faced dude with the upper half of his head sliced off knocking at my door yet so I assume I’m in the clear. 

In closing I… wait a minute… there’s someone at the door.  OH HOLY SH…………………………….

helllo mynam is bret and i am a mannequin brot to lif throo the miracle of sients i jst smashd papa k face wit a larg steel beem becaz he exposd my grlfrend boob last yeer let this b a warnng to al of yoo to stay awa from my grlfrend

sory its hrd fr me to tipe becaz the top haf of my hed is slised off,,,,,

Gluteus Maximus Finally Receives The Recognition It Deserves

I make a lot of noise about (  .  )(  .  )’s on this blog because… uh… well, because it’s my blog gosh darn it.  I happen to be a hormone-enriched Neanderthal of a man and am not afraid to admit my fascination with God’s most fabulous accessory creation.  Men are visual creatures and I am no exception to the rule.  Rather than worship them in hushed tones, I choose to say, “Hey… I’m a Neanderthal!  Me likey!!”

But this post isn’t about what I’ve written about in jest several times before this.

“But Papa K,” you’re asking yourself, “You’re supposed to be writing [all classy-like] about boobs during the whole fourth week of this month of February [where I set aside a week to talk about individual people/things I love]!”

I know.  I know.  But this post isn’t about boobs. 

It’s about the derriere.

I was somewhat horrified when scanning everything I’ve written in the two-and-a-half years I’ve been doing this and not one single post was dedicated to the tush.

What a horrific revelation!

I have nothing against rear-ends.  In fact… I quite fancy them!

Thus my fascination with Academy Award winner Kim Kardashian I suppose:

My fascination is not far beyond most rappers infatuation with boobs’ southern cousin.  Countless songs have been written by bejeweled and/or grilled rappers regarding the ba-donk-a-donk to a point where I’m sure it could warrant its own XM radio station.  In fact, more songs have been written about the tail-feather than have been written about its more flaunted cousins from the north. 

Sir Mix-A-Lot was really ahead of his time.

Now, this is real deep stuff… but quite frankly, the booty and the breast would be helpless without one another.

Disney’s Booty and the Breast… what a great flick

You may claim to be a breast man or a booty man but if you have one without the other it’s like eating a sandwich without bread or kicking ass without taking names or watching The Wonder Pets without Ming-Ming. 

So, am I a boob man?  No.  I’m a boob AND arse man.

It’s time for me to give these lovely lady lumps their dues.


(PS – Do you know how hard it is to come up with so many different names for Gluteus Maximus?)

(PSS – I’m thinking about submitting this post to Rearders Digest)

(PSSS – I seriously can’t believe I came up with that joke.  I’m laughing at myself.)

(PSSSS – It was really late when I wrote this)