A Glimpse Into The "Man Bible"

Many of you wives out there may not know this but there is an actual “A Man’s Guide On How To Act Around Your Wife Behind Closed Doors.”

It’s a ratty, beaten-up old book that’s holding on by a thread. The pages have been taped into place and over 184 varieties of beer can be found stained throughout.

It is THE Bible we all live by and must obey or our balls will drop off for good.

I mean literally fall off.

The reason I’m talking about this is because the ladies need to know. They need to know we have no choice in this matter.

The way we interact with you behind closed doors is not a decision left to on to us.

Let me just toss out there a few examples from the Man Bible.

Page 28, Part C – When walking by your wife stare at only her breasts while saying “Damn…just…just damn those are fine.” If no one is near, feel free to lift your hand cautiously but with urgency to make sure they feel the exact same as they did the last time you walked by her.

Page 36, Part A, Section 2 – Entering the bedroom after a shower whilst only wearing a towel only to find your wife reading a book is one of the most coveted times of a man’s life. One must quickly thank the gods with a double bump to the chest and then spring into action with one of the following moves:

• The Helicopter – grab the base of your manly bit and begin swinging it around like a helicopter propeller while looking excitedly pleased at the wife.

• The Pose – shanty on over as close as you can to the wife, lift a leg up on whatever is near, lean down on your knee with your elbow while dropping your towel in one smooth motion. Follow this up with a sly “hey, I uh…gotta a little something for ya there sugar plum.”

• The Urgent Parent – immediately act as though you both had previously agreed upon a “quicky” and urgently shut the door, drop the towel, grab the lube and head straight for the bed while saying “OK hun, the kids are watching TV so we’ve got about 7.5 minutes to knock this out. Let’s do this!!”

• The Pool Boy – walk over to the closet, throw on some boots, drop your towel, grab hold of your dangly bit and walk towards the wife whilst uttering, “I uh…found a sturdy hose. You ready for me to give your pool a good scrub-down?”

• The Ride Em Cowboy – this is purely an old school technique used to visually attract the wife to you. Simply drop the towel, put a huge smile on your face, act like you’re mounting a horse, then with one hand slapping the fictitious horse’s ass and the other holding the fictitious horse’s reigns flail around viciously so that all your sexy attributes are bouncing and slapping to and fro as you scream “yee haw mother fuckers!!” as though you were leading a pack of bad-ass horse-ridin’ cowboys.

Each one of these moves is guaranteed to win her physical affection.

Page 1, Section 1 – Always rip the shower curtain back when the wife is bathing and repeat “You want me to get your backside?”

Page 49, Section 4,528 – Late at night while the wife is watching Hoarders, slip into a pair of her underwear whether you fit in them or not. Then, after sliding on a pair of your fanciest black socks, slowly tip-toe down the stairs. Get a running start and then slide across the floor into your wife’s view and just wait for her amazed and aroused response.

So, that’s all I’ve been sanctioned to share with you ladies. But I hope it’s enough for you to understand that we, by law, MUST do these things or pay the devil his due.

So bear with us. Continue to love us.

And know that we have nothing but your best interest in mind!

The Wife & I Discuss Testicles

This past Saturday we took our puppy Marty to have his manhood removed. Despite the wife trying everything in her power to have the doctors neuter me as well, I managed to escape with my bits and pieces.

But, the whole situation did instigate a conversation between the wife and I about testicles.

Me: “That poor little bastard is gonna have a twig with no berries. You think he’ll need doggie therapy to deal with it?”

Wife: “You’re not taking this too well are you?”

Me: “It’s a guy thing. When another member of the male gender loses his man-bits we’re required to take a collective sigh and moment of silence.”

Wife: “You have serious issues.”

Me: “Those things are important. They’re magical and scientifically speaking, I wouldn’t be shocked if they have some sort of roll in the Earth’s orbit around the moon.”

Wife: “They have a scientific affect all right. They cloud your thinking with images of boobies and panties so you say really stupid things. Case-in-point…the Earth revolves around the sun sweetie.”

Me: “If you ever say ‘case-in-point’ to me again you’ll be orbiting the sun.”

Wife: “I don’t know, I just think those things possibly do more harm than good. I mean, look at child molesters and rapists.”

Me: “Yeah, they should definitely have their balls removed immediately after being found guilty. But come on, they do a lot of good. They produced your children!”

Wife: “They did help with that process. Although, now that that’s done with maybe we should consider removing them?”

Me: “Why, so that I turn into a Snuggie-wearing, Oxygen-watching, girlfriend of yours who doesn’t hump your leg, do naked dances for you after my showers, or complain about going shopping?”

Wife: “Oh my God that sounds blissful. I think I had a small orgasm at the thought of that.”

Me: “That hurts….that hurts deep. My balls are staying with me till the bitter end my dear!”

Wife: “Speaking of that, there’s another testicular fact. Old-man-balls are an absolute horror show. Your balls are never gonna hit your knees are they?”

Me: “When the hell have you seen old-man-balls? Do you have some sort of old person fetish? Is this why you watch Golden Girls all the time?”

Wife: “I just think you should consider wearing like a man testicle bra so when you’re 80 your nuts aren’t dragging the ground.”

Me: “So can I take a second to recap what you seem to believe about my balls? They make me think of nothing but boobies and panties, clouding my thoughts to the point that I even dismiss Galileo’s hard work. You would like to have them removed so I turn into your dream-girl BFF. But, if they do remain part of me it scares you to the point that you spend sleepless nights inventing man-testicle bras?”

Wife: “Honey. You know you were staring at my breasts the whole time you were ranting just then?”

Me: “What color panties are you wearing right now?”

I Refudiate You!!

A few days ago the one and only Sarah Palin decided to patriotically step outside the English language and start creating her own words. She flat out “refudiated” the hell out of a proposed Ground Zero 13-story, $100 million Mosque to be constructed.

Ok…so Ground Zero sentiments can definitely knock us off our game enough to allow us to make up stupid words. So let’s all apologize, laugh about it and move on.

No…Not Ms. Palin. No…she adjusts her balls and goes another step further and covers-up her made-up word by comparing herself to…..Shakespeare!!

The master of the English language and storytelling. Yes…the man himself. Mr. Shakespeare is who Palin compares herself to.

But it’s OK. Fortunately I have an open mind and decided you know what? If “refudiated” is possibly Shakespearian, then damn it…I’m going to start using it.

So….here’s what’s going to happen. I’ve poured a nice full stout and will now use “refudiated” in a number of sentences, and then I will ask you Dear Reader, to please use “refudiated” in your own sentence in the comments of this blog post.

Refudiated:

Me: “Hey uh…I’m gonna go put the kids to bed, why don’t you ‘refudiate’ yourself in the basement and I’ll be there shortly?”

Grayson: “But dad, I just ‘refudiated’ Macy, I had no clue it would do that to her!!!!”

Macy: “Aaaawwww…I don’t wanna ‘refudiate’ my room dad!!! Geeze!!!”

Wifey: “Did you forget to ‘refudiate’ the toilet again Grayson?”

Me at Work: “Hey, I’m going to need you to take this and ‘refudiate’ it immediately!”

Me Driving: “Nice!!! Real freakin’ nice!!! Go ‘refudiate’ yourself why don’t ya!”

The Wife & I Having Relations: “Please tell me you did NOT just ‘refudiate’ that quickly!!”

It is pretty damn universal! So hey, why don’t you try now! Leave a comment using the word “refudiate” and lets see what you’ve got!



A Discussion About Shirtless Dudes & Chicks on Bikes

Yesterday marked a sad sad day for this brother. It was the last game of the World Cup. I’m a long-time soccer geek and live for the World Cup.

This past weekend the wife and I watched the Germany third-place game. I thought I’d be all manly and watch the game with her and impress the hell out of her with my soccer knowledge. By the end of the game I thought for sure she’d be ripping my clothes off and confessing that I’m quite possibly the sexiest gap-toothed bastard on the planet.

Instead…..

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Seriously, that’s all you care about? That really hurts…that hurts down deep.”

Wifey: “So when do they take their shirts off again?”

Me: “Not all the players do that…some of them kiss their country’s emblem that’s on their shirt, some just run around like they’re trying to get away from the rest of their team that wants to tackle the hell out of them.”

Wifey: “So we have to wait for them to score before they do it? Well this sucks.”

Me: “Would it make you feel better if I took my shirt off.”

Wifey: “Oh God no…. I mean, if you’re warm yes, but don’t do it on account of me. Love you honey.”

Me: “Why is it that I want you to take your shirt off worse than Gary Busey wants a gum-reduction, but you say, ‘oh God no!?’”

Wifey: “Hey, what’s that? Why are they touching it with their hands?”

Me: “Because their wives won’t touch it anymore for them. So now they have to do it all on their own!”

Wifey: “Ooooh…OK…we’re even now jackass. At least I told you I loved you after I made you my bitch.”

Me: “They’re throwing the ball in, it went out of bounds.”

Wifey: “So why aren’t there any women in the Tour de France? It’s 2010. That’s pretty messed-up they won’t let any women in.”

Me: “You honestly think a whole bunch of guys got together and made the unanimous group decision to not allow a super fit women wearing extremely tight clothes with her ass perched high in the air for all to see while riding a bike for a solid month throughout all of France? I don’t think so.”

Wifey: “That’s true. She’d probably become the Yoko of the Tour de France anyway.”

Me: “And when she won a stage she could get off her bike, run towards the crowd and rip her shirt off like soccer players. That would be hot.”

Wifey: “You’re a pig.”

Me: “But…you…just a minute ago you were…oh forget it. I’m going upstairs to watch the game.”

Wifey: “Can you pour me some more wine before you go? Love you honey!!”



My Son's Balls Are Making Him Competitive

Everything is a freakin’ competition with the boy these days. EVERYTHING!!

Going to the car. Daughter gets elbowed from behind and face-plants as the boy flies by to be the first to a door that is still locked and holds not a single trophy for him on the other side.

Walking down stairs….it’s like watching a murder scene in slow motion as he plows by me, throws his sister against the banister and jumps the last five steps so he can crash himself to the floor and claim victory as carnage and blood drip down the stairs in his wake.

Taking a shower. Within two minutes of walking out of the bathroom, I’ll hear the water cut-off and “daddy I’m finished!!!” echoes through the house till it finds my vulnerable eardrums a mere three seconds before ultimate relaxation comes over me. I vow to tape record this so when he’s a teenager and spends a half hour masturbating washing in the shower, I can prove that he has the ability to take one quickly.

Drinking his milk. The daughter doesn’t even like milk…so who the fuck is he racing? He’ll choke it down…white shit spewing from his nose, eyes watering like hell, slam the cup on the table and announce, “finished!!” while still breathing hard and sporting one kick-ass milk mustache. And for what?!

Playing Wii. I’m gonna just throw the damn thing away. I’m determined not to let him win all the time so that he learns to be a respectful loser, but damn….it’s like getting kicked in the nuts every two minutes. It’s painful and makes me cry, fall to my knees and want my mommy to hold me.

I’m competitive, but nothing like this. Is it the red hair? Is it his balls? That’s what it’s gotta be…those tiny little marbles of his are probably working overtime growing, expanding…. It’s like Donald Trump moved into my kids sac, started building skyscrapers everywhere, and decided to run for mayor, start his own TV show, take over the circulatory system, and overthrow his brain chemistry all in one foul swoop.

And the daughter totally provokes it. We’ll be on our way out the door to go somewhere and the boy will be off chasing something shiny in a corner. Then the daughter gets that evil grin and says, “Grrraaaayyyssooonnn….. I’m gonna be first to the caaaaarrrrr.”

And his head will poke up from behind the couch, and immediately he springs to his feet, vaults the ottoman, ducks and slides under my waiting arm to stop him, slams his sister against the front step railing, falls on concrete but turns it into a tumble, and slams into the car door, flipping around claiming victory! And behind him is a pissed dad, a mother picking up a bleeding, crying daughter, and a cat slowly slipping out of the house through the wide-open door while everyone’s distracted.

I just hope someday his competitiveness can be brought under control, harnessed, and used to make mommy and daddy rich beyond their wildest dreams. Until then…..I’ll I guess I’ll just write about it.