Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Five Dating Rules for My Daughters





















I have two daughters who are currently 2 and 4. Right now they are perfect little angels, but at some point in the hopefully-distant future they're going to want to start dating. When that dark day comes, I have just a handful of core rules that I'm going to ask that they adhere to:

1) You know what impresses me most? A job.
I don't care if he's waxing asses in an Asian massage parlor, or working as a fart statistician or chicken sexer (all real jobs) as long as he's doing something. Not having a job implies a few different things: 1) He's not old enough to get a job, 2) he's so stupid no one wants to hire him, 3) he doesn't want to work or 4) he's too busy with other things for a relationship; three out of the four don't reflect terribly well on him. And don't even tell me that he doesn't need to make any money for you guys to just hang out together and have fun, because that's horseshit. I know what bored, horny teenage couples do: they have sex. Which brings us to my next point.

2) You are not allowed to have sex. I realize that this is more a hope than anything I can actually enforce, and that I won't be able to follow you two everywhere. What I can enforce is that when you're in my house your door is always open to any room you walk into with him, you don't leave my site when he's around, and that John Boy's sword stays sheathed at all times. Because if I suspect that he's whipped his teenie weemis out to do anything other than piss in one of my many precious porcelain bowls, I will tie him down, and slowly, painfully and nothing remotely close to surgically grind his dick off with a block of 12-grit sandpaper. He'll be praying for death by the time I get done with him. I do this not because I'm an overbearing asshole father, but because I want you to realize that if you get pregnant, you will spend the next18 years of your life wiping shit up, explaining shit, picking up shit, discussing unnecessarily dramatic shit and finally boxing up and moving shit before you get your life back. Also, by the time you two are in high school there's the very real chance that your mother won't even be offering me pity sex, which means that if I'm not getting any in my own house, no one else is either.



















3) Any guy you bring home needs to respect that this is my house and he has to follow your mother's stupid rules like the rest of us. I'm not dealing with some swoll, cock-diesel, machismoed-up motherfucker who thinks he's gonna come rolling through my house like he owns it, offending the rest of us. He may be able to bench press a Cadillac and run circles around me, but I guarantee you he's not bringing anything a shot of laxative slipped into his drink and a 19 million-volt taser can't handle. We'll see who's tough when he's blacked out, shitting himself and having a seizure at the end of my driveway while I stand over him taking a selfie that I'll caption with "U mad, bro?" that gets posted to Facebook. When I say, "Don't lean back in the chair" in a friendly, fatherly tone, he needs to hear, "Don't lean back in my motherfuckin' chair" as though it's being told to him by Samuel L. Jackson.

4) No drugs and no booze. I know -- I'm no fun. After you get to college, you'll have the freedom to make all the ill-advised life choices you want as long as you can pass your classes and afford to do it. But until then, your ass is mine, and if some needle-dicked, dimwitted dickhead brings you back drunk or high on anything other than life, you'll be grounded for at least a month, and the only entertainment options available to you will be a DVD library of old after-school specials and a Bible. As for John Boy, he'll get either the sandpaper or taser trick again; maybe both if the situation warrants it.

5) I'm watching you. I'm able to see everything you do on our home network. That means I'll be able to see your personal Facebook account even though you thought you locked me out, I'll be able to see your secret Facebook account that you think I don't know about, and virtually anything else you do on a screen. You will have no clue any of this is happening until you and your little man friend (who's Indian name would be Thinks With His Dick) start wandering from casual conversation into sexting territory, or worse, doing weird shit over a video chat, and I have to pull the plug on the network and kick the door in like a one-man SWAT team and save you from yourself. The first time something like this happens, you'll get a talk and a warning -- and obviously a new door. The second time this happens, I'll sneak over to Thinks With His Dick's house and staple his balls to his iPad and beat him unconscious with his laptop. Hopefully he figures it out before I need to escalating things to the sandpaper and taser level.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

What's Your Wife's Current Mood? (Quiz)


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***You can take the electronic version of the quiz above, or you can take the manual version of the quiz below. Enjoy :-)

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The ABC's of Marriage with Small Children



















"A" is for Art: I love my children, but they're young enough that the buildings they draw look like they have balls, the people all look like they have Leprosy, and the pictures generally look like what you'd imagine if a crayon could develop Tourette Syndrome. And no, I don't say these things to my children. I tell them that the pictures look beautiful and amazing, because they really do illustrate an incredible command of fine motor skills for their age. But in a dark place in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "That picture looks like you drew what a love child between Pinhead from Hellraiser and a box of Fruit Loops would look like."



















"B" is for Baby Wipes: Not all baby wipes are created equal. Some baby wipes are thick and a bit rugged, and can actually be used to scrape shit off a child's butt with minimal collateral damage. Other baby wipes are paper thin and basically disintegrate when they come in contact with feces. With those, you always end up going through an entire pack of wipes, and you basically end up cupping your hand and using it as a trowel to get the job done. Baby wipes are one of those things where spending the extra dollar may be in your best interest.



















"C" is for Circle Time: Circle time is where a person who doesn't have children asks a group of children under the age of 3 to sit down and hold still in a room full of toys or other temptations where all they want to do is run and play. My experience with this was in gymnastics, where the minute that class started, my child morphed into a honey badger that you can only hope to contain. The lady running the class expected everyone to hold still and stretch for 15 minutes, and gave you the shifty eyes if you couldn't reign your kid in. Half the parents in the class looked like they were fighting the urge to throat punch her. And the hell with Cross Fit. If you want a real workout, try holding down a toddler for an hour in that environment.



















"D" is for Divorce: You used to look at divorced people and wonder what was wrong with them. Now, after a rough day of fighting with your wife, you occasionally look at divorced people and wonder how much they paid and what kind of deal they got. My wife also likes to occasionally poke at me and say things like, "My next husband will be better at (insert whatever I failed at)." After years of hearing these things, I've concluded that any guy who is a Grade A house cleaner, world-class chef and amazing listener with farts that smell like a bonfire, the ability to read minds and the body of Hugh Jackman who makes about a million dollars a year and is hung like a racehorse, if he exists, is the result of genetic engineering. Hell, if she found him and told me she wanted me to leave me for him, I'd completely understand.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

A Constipation Conversation

This is an impromptu text message conversation between four friends about constipation. You could say this conversation was a tough one to have and that it left us in stitches.

Copyright 2014, Travis Ross (Simple Man's Survival Guide)

Friend 1: Have you heard of the movie Constipation?

Friend 2: No.

Friend 1: It hasn't come out yet.

Friend 3: Is it gonna come out soon?

Friend 1: Maybe. Not sure if it's going to be PG or R due to all the blood.

Friend 3: I hope the sequel doesn't immediately follow.

Friend 1: I don't know. It may come quicker than expected.

Friend 3: I think we lost Friend 2.

Friend 1: Maybe he's in line to see the movie.

Friend 4: I heard the reviews were explosive.

Friend 3: The audience thought it stunk.

Friend 4: I heard it was splash with some, though.

Friend 3: I heard the star was a real ass.

(Newly married and younger Friend 4 tries explaining to his wife why this conversation is funny. She isn't amused and wonders whether her next husband will participate in stupid text message conversations like this one. The texting conversation resumes.)

Friend 1: Wives have all seen it, but will deny going to the movies. They go alone and don't tell anyone.

Friend 3: They may not like it, but they push their way through.

Friend 1: I also prefer to watch it in private. I can be a little noisy at public viewings and people can get scared. If I get angry at the film it can sound like I'm wrestling a honey badger.