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So the jackpot on Mega Millions is up to an estimated $640 million!  My question is do you REALLY wanna win this?  Chances are that if you are reading this you probably have a full set of teeth, can do simple math, and realize that Pearl Harbor is NOT located in Boston.  There is also a pretty good chance that if you played Mega Millions this weekend then you are after the jackpot and NOT a regular lottery player.

Let’s discuss this regular lottery player.  He/She likes to parade around in sandals with socks.  Wherever they DO work they can’t be offering a dental plan because their teeth resemble a worn out rake.  I’m pretty much positive that they floss with rope.  They stand in line on a mission.  Nothing is gonna get through them, their coffee stained sweatpants, and their already filled out Mega Millions card.  The cliff note version of the game is ya gotta pick six numbers.  Basically one number for every illegitimate child a seasoned lottery player has.  One of the numbers has to be the “Mega Ball.”  Again it’s called a  “Mega Ball” not to be confused with a “smegma ball” which I assume every regular male lottery player is in possession of.

Now that we all can agree on the stereotypical lottery player how can we NOT pray that he or she isn’t the winner.  We’re not talking about anyone that is gonna give Warren Buffet a run for his money. Once they take the lump sum (and why wouldn’t ya), get ready for the biggest Wal-Mart shopping spree in history!  Everyone in the family gets a new CB radio.  Watch the profits of John Deere soar.  I can’t wait for the magical moment when Mom breaks the news to her nine kids:  “Put on your best wife-beater…the one without the spaghetti sauce stain, we finally going to SUPER Target!!!”  How about that great moment when she calls her sister in Kentucky to break the news?  “Mary Lou?  We be millionaires!!  Tell that husband of yours and cousin of mine that we are gonna get him a fake leg made out of cherry wood.  That way his knee won’t get warm standing round the bonfire in the fall.”

I’d say more but the drawing is almost here.  I need to get my tickets, a 12-pack of Natural Light and some Redman!

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When I was in second grade my father surprised me by bringing home a puppy.  It was my first dog.  I named her “Lady” (give me a break on originality…I was eight years old).  Let’s fast forward to my first Xmas Eve away from home.  I was in Grand Rapids, Michigan working at WKLQ radio.  I wasn’t able to make it back to my family in Cleveland because there was a HUGE snowstorm and I had the flu and a temperature of 103 degrees.

I was literally sick AND very homesick.  I knew my mother was having the family at her house for Xmas Eve so I wanted to call  before people would arrive.  I was very sad but I knew a call to my mother would make my mood a bit better.  We were on the phone for about ten minutes when the I heard the doorbell ring at my childhood home.  Mom said, “Okay, I love you.  Gotta get the door.”  It immediately dawned on me.  Where was Lady’s bark?  That dog ALWAYS barked when the doorbell rang.  It truly was Pavlov’s dog.  I said to my mother, “Wait a minute.  How come Lady isn’t barking?”  The silence on the other end of the phone was almost infinitesimal.  Finally my mother said, “Ya know when ya said we would know when it’s time?”  I was stunned.  All I could muster out of my mouth was, “When did this happen?”  Mom didn’t even hesitate, “About three weeks ago.”

THREE WEEKS AGO?????  You decide to kill my dog three weeks ago and then break the news to me on Xmas Eve when I am 285 miles away from home and almost have a fever that is causing me to hallucinate?  Is it too late to ask Santa to bring me the ashes of my beloved pet on his way to my house?  Ho Ho Ho!

When I tell this story today, which I do often, my mother (who has an AMAZING memory) develops a severe case of amnesia.  She will always say, “That’s not the way it happened.”  I suppose O.J. said the same thing to Robert Shapiro.  Mom lives about ten miles from me here in West Palm Beach and the other day I told her I was planning on riding the Harley down to Key West.  She said, “Let me know.  I’ll watch your dog.”  I cancelled my trip.

 

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So my mother has been spending a lot of time at my house as I figure out what to do with the next stage of my life and I find our conversations quite amusing as we really don’t communicate at all.  We were in the grocery store the other day and she asked me “Do you like apples?”  I said “Mom, ya know me.  The only fruit I really like is watermelon.”  I think my mother has tried to get me to eat apples at least a hundred times in my lifetime so I just laughed it off.

The very next day she is in the kitchen cutting up a salad for me while I am in the office next to the kitchen on the computer.  Our conversation went like this:  MOM:  “Ya know what’s really good in salad?  Apples.”  ME: “Mom….I don’t like apples.”  MOM:  “Ya know I could get some and cut them up in your salad.”  ME:  “I don’t like apples.”  MOM:  “I saw some at a really good price the other day.  Next time I’m at the store I’ll get some.”  ME:  Mom…I like watermelon.  I don’t like apples.”  MOM:  Well watermelon is not in season right now so I’ll get some apples.”  ME:  They’ll go to waste.  Again….I don’t like apples.”  MOM:  “Really?  I thought you just didn’t like biting into them (not kidding).”  ME:  I HATE APPLES!  FOR THE LAST TIME, APPLES SUCK, I GAG, I PUKE, I ABSOLUTELY HATE APPLES!!!  MOM: “Geez…..I’m just trying to feed you.”

I’m actually convinced that there is a school that mothers go to AFTER their kids leave the house so they have the ability to drive us nuts.  Hang on a sec…..Mom asking me a question.  “Do you like pears?”  ARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

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I have dated a lot of women and I always make the wrong decision.  I stay with the ones I shouldn’t and I screw up the ones I should have stayed with.  I’m the first one to admit that I have my issues and I’ll never get that second call back to be on the cover of Men’s Fitness but if there were a prize for dating Looney-Tunes I would be on the top podium, receiving a gold medal, while they played the Star-Spangled Banner.

Think this is just in my head?  Here are some of the highlights of the people I have spent time with in the past ten years:  One was afraid to leave the house, one threw a soup can at me, one had to sleep with ALL the lights on and hold her baby blanket, one slept with one of my friends, one drank a bottle of wine every night, one had fourteen felony convictions for prescription fraud and tried to frame me with the police, one asked me to stick a beach towel in a co-workers gas tank and set it on fire and one actually thought PEARL HARBOR was in BOSTON!

I am considering an advisory council like they had in Flashdance.  Three people sitting at a table and observing what the potential date has to offer.  I feel between those three they would be able to find any existing red flags that I am obviously immune to.  That’s a great idea if ya look like Brad Pitt but at this point in my life I’m a cross between Michael Chicklas and an ass with eyes.  If a female packs my groceries at the supermarket I feel like I have game.

So the logical conclusion for me in 2012 is NO DATING AT ALL.  I doubt this becomes a trending topic on Twitter but its something I need to do.  On the upside….my right arm should become much bigger.


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A news anchor in Chicago told the “truth” about Santa earlier this week and you can imagine the backlash.  Story HERE:  I think you lose that innocent perspective of life the moment you hear the “Santa story.”  I’ll never forget “Santa-Day.”  It was a Tuesday morning in December at about 7:30AM.  The bus would stop in front of my house in ten minutes and I was just about to walk out the front door.  I was seven years old.  Mom asked me to come into my bedroom for a moment and sit down.  My mother got right to the point and said:  “I don’t want you to hear this on the bus but Santa is not real.  Your father and I buy the gifts and he eats the cookies.  I’ll explain the entire thing after school.”  I’m not kidding you.  I got the “Santa Story” like a news anchor was doing a tease for the six o’clock headlines.

I got on the bus stunned.  I looked around at the other snot-nosed kids and wondered how many of them knew.  Could they tell that I had just been told?  Is there a secret sign I need to share with them to illustrate I knew the big lie was over?  Look.  I was seven years old, my mother gives me a cliff-note version of the “Santa story” and throws me on a bus.  My world was a bit shaken and now I questioned EVERYTHING.  In fifteen seconds I had gone from existing in a constant state of Utopia to a psychologists dream.

When I got home from school that day I sat down with Mom and Dad and they explained everything in great detail.  Santa may not wear a red suit and climb down the chimney but he does exist.  There’s a little bit of Santa Claus in all of us and THAT’S what makes him real and makes him exist.  I felt much better.  I trusted the world and my parents once again.  All I could do is hug my mother and say “Well at least we have the Easter Bunny.”  There was a long pause……I think you know the rest of this story.  🙂

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A lot of people follow Pat Robertson.  That concerns me because Pat Robertson is an idiot.  Pat Robertson just said the recent earthquakes in Oklahoma are a sign that we are near the end of time.  I’m not kidding.  Click HERE.  I say we call this guy’s bluff.  If we are near the end of time then I say I shut off his goof ball TV show and stop following his ministry.  Take that $500 a month that you “donate” to buy tweed sport coats and bracelets that correct Pat’s magnetic field and  spend it on your FAMILY.

Look, I believe in a Supreme Being.  I don’t know what He or She stands for  and what they have planned for our future but I can be assured of one thing:  Whoever it is…is not talking to Pat Robertson.  Did we forget that back in the 70’s this guy was saying the world was going to end in November of 1982?  We all know now that the good Lord wanted us to enjoy Poison and other hair bands thus we dodged that potentially fatal moment in time.  Pat Robertson is a used car salesman selling the bible.  God LOVES you but ya gotta FEAR God.  I don’t know about you but I don’t FEAR anyone I LOVE.

I’m always leery of the person in the room that makes the most noise.  I believe that person is trying to draw attention away from the fact that they are the least comfortable.  Pat Robertson is so quick to supply all the answers and that makes me think he should be questioned more than anyone.

 

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I like sports bars.  The conversations I find myself involved in seldom resolve around sports.  This past weekend we decided to tackle the perplexing question of “Who is the biggest douche-bag in the world?”  Sadly, many qualified nominees come to mind.  Mel Gibson; I say that was a meltdown we’ll never see again so in my book one incident doesn’t make a douche-bag.  Disappear for awhile and people will forget everything.  Just ask Michael Richards….whenever he decides to reappear.

Kim Kardashian?  Annoying but not a douche-bag.  She over-stayed her welcome and married a cave-man.  At least Reggie Bush has played better since she became single.  Andy Dick?  Ohhh.  Much better choice.  Andy constantly reinvents ways to get arrested and into the news for the wrong reason.  This is a guy that got thrown out of a PORN AWARDS SHOW!  I can’t argue a vote for Andy Dick just like I can’t argue a vote for Guns and Roses front-man Axl Rose.  How can a man with a page called “Axl Rose is an Asshole” on Facebook NOT be considered for biggest douche ever?

As you can see I have given this some thought!!  There is only one person that I feel good about as a douche.  I gotta vote for Michael Lohan.  Its bad enough he IS a douche but he REALIZES he’s a douche and he continues to do “douchey” things.  If you want to fix things with your daughter don’t try and do it in the press by pointing a finger at her.  Stop dating twenty year olds.  YOU are a mess so any woman who wants anything to do with you is a mess as well.  Don’t be surprised when SHE acts like looney-tune because that is what you attract.  Get out of that wheel chair, stop screaming “victim”, and make something out of your life!  Ahhhhhh….the life-coach of Michael Lohan.  THAT would be a task…….

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If you’re gonna play in the adult world then ya better get ready for adult problems.  Justin Bieber is just seventeen years old.  He sells out twenty thousand seat venues across the world, is recognized everywhere he goes and has enough money to never have to work another day in his life.  Allegedly he shared some of his “teen-seed” with a groupie backstage in San Diego, has a three-month old baby by this princess, and she’s suing for paternity.  WOW!

When I was seventeen there wasn’t a posse’ of estrogen circling the wagons at my house.  I was making beer bongs in my basement.  I didn’t have screaming girls throwing themselves at me, rather, it was the polar opposite:  I approach girls and they leave screaming.  I really didn’t need supervision or advice about sex because there were no willing participants of the required gender to create such a compromising situation.  I do remember my father giving me some rather prehistoric advice:  “Don’t soak it too long.”  I’m not kidding.  Suddenly my mission statement down the road to the discovery of my own sexuality paralleled a Palmolive Dish Soap commercial campaign.

Justin Bieber makes a lot of money for a lot of people.  He knocks up some groupie and that cash cow is gonna dry up FAST.  The brand is tarnished.  The image is ruined.  He has no choice but to go Country!  With SO much money on the line there is NO WAY this kid was left to put himself in such a situation.  But did BIEBER tell his “people” to back off? Did he say he wanted his 30 seconds of private romance in a backstage bathroom?  He has to know he is the reason, he is the vortex and he is the brand.  You could see where the “adults” would bow to the child.

Bottom line:  money doesn’t buy knowledge and at seventeen you need supervision.  Side-bar to Bieber:  Be proud of those thirty seconds.  At seventeen…..that makes you the mayor!