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Hello…oh, it’s you again. I didn’t expect you see you back so soon, considering after how you left the condition of the podcast last time. Oh, You don’t remember what happened? That’s convenient. Though it’s also expected, I suppose, considering the mess you made involved enormous amounts of spilled chloroform.

I see that you brought a friend. That’s good. Does your friend know about your chloroform clumbsiness? Yes?! Wow. Then he’s a keeper, I suppose. You can be as generous with the knockout gas as you want with this guy, huh.

So, we’re already at episode 2. I can’t believe it myself. It seems like it was only one episode ago that we were talking about neckties. Oh, to be young again.

This episode steals from my Funny Learning Series of essays, this specific one I posted to my website,, in October of 2014, so as you listen you may get a sense that you’ve read this before.Read the rest

I never had a father growing up, and therefore never had the father figure that TV told me was so important lest I not learn those things which make a man a man. You know, hunting, cooking wild animal meat over an open fire, t-ball. So I turned to an electric man (not so fast vibrator lobby, this isn’t about you this time. Your time will come…and so will your constituents). I turned to the internet. The world wide web became my source for fatherly wisdom, and it is the search for such wisdom that I shall document here on Meet My Father, The Internet.

I hope you enjoy this first episode of Meet My Father, The internet. Here’s what you can expect: Laughs. A few emotions, perhaps. Hunger, if this thing goes on too long, and judging by this intro it just might. So, without any further adieu, because I think we call all agree we’re about topped out on adieu, let’s get on with this dog and pony show.… Read the rest

My anti-confrontational nature began at birth. Most kids cry when ripped from the womb. I shrugged. So when, during my first post-college agency job, I was prepping for a face-to-face meeting with a client that, for lack of a more tactful way of stating this, hated my company’s fucking face, I was nervous. My palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding, and I remember feeling as though the entire universe had suddenly snapped back like it had exceeded the limit of its cosmic elasticity and it was now pulling back in on itself with me at the very center, suffering the pressure of billions of years of macrocosmic expansion…you know, normal nerves stuff. But the impending client firing squad paled in comparison to the sudden realization, just before stepping out of my office door, that I had no idea how to tie a tie. And worse, I was in no position to ask for instructions.… Read the rest

I imagine that I came into existence like a video game, specifically the way Samus Aran, heroine of the Metroid series, came into existence. Video game creator Yoshio Sakamoto started developing 1986’s Nintendo classic Metroid with simplistic movements for the game’s protagonist already in place: “jump, run, and shoot.”[1] I imagine my father–never one to care about the gratification of others nor one to welcome responsibility–handled the experience of creating me with similar movements, though surely in a different order: shoot (cum), jump (get dressed), run (leave).

My father had a problem with cocaine. This I concluded based on my own vague memories mashed against slipped nuggets from my mother. I shouldn’t blame him; he was born with the infamous “Ross nose,” which is identified by enormous nostrils, holes big enough to store an 8-ball inside (the pool kind and the drug kind, probably simultaneously). The way I see it,  considering the awe-inspiring size of this genetic abnormality he was obligated to stick something in there, and if not hotdogs for the sake of winning a contest (that should exist, if it doesn’t) why not cocaine?… Read the rest