Why I Voted, Or "Say Yes to America"

The most American thing someone can do is vote. The second-most American thing someone can do is not vote, because they're lazy.

I'm not going to go on about who I'll vote for or why, so don't worry. I just want to explain how I feel about the whole process.

Luckily, I have never felt so moved to seriously support anything. Yeah, that sucks, but I'm not going to sit on the curb and complain about it all day. For that reason, I feel pretty darn lucky. My life has been so minimally affected by political elections, that it formed in me a sense of apathy. Iusually want to win whichever guy would make a funnier character on four years of SNL.

 I also used to feel that my "lack of a vote is a vote itself" because of how I felt about the, muckracking, money-driven two-party system. I now feel differently on the matter. Sure, I still hate the system, and I vote to change THAT more than anything. The most-recent person I would have voted for wasn't a Republican OR Democrat (T. Roose) so why would I vote for the lesser of two evils? All these guys suck, so why not cast a ballot to help get more guys a chance? There might not be a good candidate for a long time, but when there is, I want to make sure he can make it without selling his/her soul to too powerful of a party, governing in fear of losing their place on the team. A vote for a third party is throwing a vote away today, but it will continue to help alter the way we look at the whole system. If a party gets a certain percentage of the popular vote, they receive federal $ to run their campaign the next time (or, something like that) It will take a while to get there, but that is what I stand for now.

I was recently at the funeral of a Polish holocaust survivor, who cherished her right to vote. She had earned it and respected it. I reflected on my short life of being apathetic to voting. I really only did it if it was convenient, and even then, just to write in my friends to be elected village dog-catcher. Her story made me realize how much I should be grateful for the vote. The greatest nation on this earth (bitches, still!) asked me my opinion. For that reason, I should at least mail in a simple response.

Finally, on a lighter note, if you're one of those people that says something like, "If Romney/Obama wins, I'm moving to_______:" First, you're an idiot. Second, good riddance, you probably didn't even put a sign in your yard.

 The 3rd most American thing someone can do is vote for the loser and bitch about it for four years. To the bartender: "I voted for the other guy."

The Exceptional Stag Party

It is the infamous right-of-passage for a man on his way to monogamous husbandry; the "bachelor" or "stag" party. I prefer the latter. For one thing, it has less letters and for another, it is a wild animal, with horns....in addition, Hugh Hefner wanted to name his men's magazine Stag Party, but someone threatened to sue and the world is better for it.  

This is easily the most important dude-only party of a man's life, and the money, planning and sin that goes into it should reflect that. A man gets three good parties in his life (not counting the wedding itself): 21st Birthday, Stag party and, assuming the first two didn't kill you, your 50th Birthday. Yes, there are plenty of great mitzvahs and French Christmases along the way, but these are the big three every man deserves. 

A bachelor party, boiled down to it's base essence is this- Imagine an atom. Good, now imagine an atom with a groom for a nucleus, but instead of protons and electrons, orbiting it, you have instead strange vagina and familiar penis. This is the raw blueprint. There are many different kinds of bachelor parties, just as there are many different atoms. Some have many moving parts, others few. (If you're a science geek, you're probably already imaging Hydrogen's bachelor party) Whatever you decide, be sure it suits your character. If you're not into booze and strippers, but better like a good bird-watching, then don't let yourself be talked into anything else. After-all, it's your day, Helium. 

Now, that being said, also at it's root, a stag party is really for the pleasure of the stag's best-beloved men.  Speaking for myself, I can say that there are few greater delights than attending someone ELSE'S stag party. Yes, there are plenty of awkward and sometimes painful experiences for the groom. The more heinous they are, the more the crowd screams for more, and the more paper money floats through the air. It is a gift from the tribe's men to one of their own, who is on his way to leaving the pack of woman-thirsty hounds in favor of a more pastoral lifestyle with just the one woman. It is also a punishment for being so stupid as to do that same thing. The night's activities and attitudes reflects that duality.

You are now ready to Stag. But first, things you may need:

Duct tape- So useful, not only for restraining people but also to wax your labia.

Hush Money- Small bills are best. It is awkward to ask a prostitute for change, especially after what the best man did to earn her hush money.

Umbrella- To be used as a weapon, or if it gets dicey, a helicopter.

Condoms- The only things condoms work 100% of the time for- smuggling drugs in your rectum.

That thing you shake in the air that sounds like a turkey- Do I have to explain how great it would be to see 20+ well-dressed men walking into a bar to that sound?

Rattle snack Snake Anti-Venom- This just makes too much sense.

3 quarts of O negative blood- Keep it cool next to those brewskis on ice. 

Slippers- They are both practical and comfortable.

70% Isopropyl Alcohol- to sanitize wounds, or to be used as hair of the dog.

Garbage Bags- Poncho, flotation device, discard evidence, prophylactic etc.

Phone card- You're cellphone will die, sometimes for good. Cops take them away when you get locked up anyway.

Vitamin A&D Ointment- You'll want to apply this to your fresh, poorly-thought-out tattoo.

Something to start a fire.

Something to put out a fire.

And in our case, handcuff keys.

Things to expect...

"See, you can drink in the lobby..."

"GIN & Tonic. You fucked it up."

I had been saving my quarters for weeks, as I'm told exotic dancers fancy a tip. However, I also had a lot of laundry to do, so I got to feel the metallic sting of a handful of dimes thrown in my face instead.*

"They're strippers and I'm going to treat them like strippers."

Being booted from a gentleman's club within two hours of arriving, including having dinner.

Having one of our party wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed.

Having one of your party bleed from the ear. 

Eating three dinners.

Tremendous gas. 

Screaming, "Richard Dreyfuss" down Michigan Ave. At 2AM.

Hotel security final warning during, "Colors of The Wind" 

Losing your dignity, along with your hat. 

Paying for more than just a night's stay at the hotel.

As a general rule, the stag party isn't over until someone dies, with midgets and prostitutes naturally counting as a half. In case you were wondering, she was still breathing when we dumped her in front of the E.R. but those present and conscious all agreed it counted.*

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

* = Bullshit

Monogamy Fever AKA Pizza For Life? Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Plunge

As less people get married, and more of them get divorced (especially for infidelity) I feel it increasingly necessary to voice my opinion on monogamy, only 100 days before I plunge into matrimony for the next 100 years. [Robotics. And yes, that was once sentence]

Asking someone to be monogamous is like asking someone to eat only pizza everyday for the rest of their life. When you're 7, it seems like the best deal ever, but when you've been eating pizza for years and years, even mixing up the toppings can become boring, because after all, it's still pizza. Many people would take this opportunity to skip out for some Chinese or Mexican to get the spice they desire, dishonoring their lifelong commitment to pizza. Pizza would be pissed, if I were talking about a person named pizza, and they should be- you made a commitment. 


That's the whole thing, man- it's a commitment. Even tattoos and pregnancies aren't always permanent anymore, but marriage should be. I think marriage should be for everyone, as long as you're committed. If a guy wants to marry a guy, a woman a woman, or a dog a toaster, as long as it is of legal age (and made by union workers making fair wages) I have no problem with it. There are homosexual relationships that last longer than "Man and Wife" and "Man and Second Wife" combined, that don't have the privilege of being legally married. 


BUT if you asked me for a divorce (if this is my universe, I'd be the one with this power)- I'd tell you to take a long walk of a short pier, OR grant you a divorce, but have a big "D" branded into you arm like something out of the Dark Ages.  Make it damn near impossible to be divorced and the sanctity of marriage will return to our culture. Let heteros that are "serious" about being in love, and their commitment to one another, enter into a "Civil Union" while anyone REALLY serious, like branded on the arm serious, get a giant party thrown for them, and full marital benefits. 


All that said, I'm of course not opposed to dissolving marriages that are toxic, full of abuse, and the likes. However, "Irreconcilable differences" would not include drinking from the milk carton (otherwise, I'd be living at a La Quinta Inn right now). If you want a divorce without the brand of shame, an agent of mine comes to your house, sets up surveillance cameras, watches your every move for months, and then presents the collected data for me to rule on. If your man doesn't want footage of him pissing in the sink drunk (Again, La Quinta) all over the Internet, then he'll knock it the fuck off. If he has been sneaking out to bang you kid's Math tutor, then he'll be branded an adulterer, or knock it the fuck off. I mean, I know people change, but c'mon a little less hair and a lot more flatulence is what makes it a marriage. 


Back to pizza: I love pizza, and pizza loves me. Anyone that thinks married people (especially those with an ocean of testosterone coursing through their veins) don't have carnal desire for other cuisine sometimes, is demented, a penguin, or both.  It is harmless as long as it isn't acted upon, which makes the commitment more sacred. If it were easy to turn off that switch, then being faithful for 60 years of marriage wouldn't be a big deal. As it happens, its a big fucking deal. That's why we eat cake and go to a buffet with the entire family when it happens. Delicious cake. Family.

I know good, good people that are single and shouldn't be. So, when I hear of people cheating and not being the least bit remorseful, it really burns my ass. My buddy on the other end of the bar would kill just to have a girls hand to hold on the reg. and this jagbag is off ruining it for everyone. Sure people slip up sometimes, and if they're forgiven, then they should count themselves among the lucky- like 2011 St. Louis Cardinals lucky. Don't be some weak-ass cheater that ruins his marriage and contributes to ruining the very idea of marriage itself. Whatever made you decide to be monogamous and in a marriage with that special person should give you strength enough to forgo temptation of any kind. I don't know about you, but I'll eat pizza for the rest of my life, as long as it's with her. See what I did there? Now you have no idea what I was talking about. I had a whole bunch of other pizza metaphor lines I didn't use. Like something about "grabbin' a quick slice" or having it "delivered hot and ready to your door" or  "how a ton of coupons promise you a discount, but when the time comes, you can't find 'em and end up paying full price". Try it, it's fun.  

ALSO, I'm fully aware that this blog will piss some people off. I'm kinda sorry, depending on who you are. 


FINALLY, I really like to make fun of everything, so if you hear me making jokes about "pinning someone's wife's feet to her ears" or something to that effect, it is just that, a joke. I don't feel how I really feel should conflict with missing an opportunity for a good joke. That goes for everything. Have you met me?

Groomsmen BIOS

It seems that all my recent posts have been about my upcoming wedding, which makes sense because it has been on the forefront of my mind and all I've been doing for a year now. And cross-stitch. Of course. The following are vetoed excerpts from my Groomsmen's bios that didn't make the cut for the website. The names have been changed to protect their identities.

Mike  Todd was once engaged to a gypsy horse thief, until she was wedded off by her father for a Vespa. Bridesmaids be warned, he is back on the prowl and looking for love.

Sebastian was born with 11 toes, which he had until a foot-fetish prostitute bit off three for non-payment, leaving him with the 8 that he might still have. Watch out for him on the dance floor.

Dylan suffered from temporary blindness after drinking from a Serbian drifter's wine skin. Also an avid traveler and womanizer, he has bastard children on three of the six inhabited continents.

Rocky contracted HPV from, "Probably that hot tub". When he isn't spelunking, he's trafficking endangered species for private dealers, most successfully, the majestic White Rhino.

Archibald once swallowed a goldfish to impress a girl. Much to the goldfish, but not our surprise, the fish spent its last living moments swimming through a stomach filled with almost pure Ethanol.

Zachariah worked as a grave-robber and once shared a Chic-Fil-A dumpster with a family of rare Marmot. He is also known among woman for successfully inducing labor, so woman with child in their first or second trimester- AVOID.

While touring with Creed, Muhammad once survived an hour and forty minutes on nothing but cigarettes, Fig Newtons and grain alcohol. (It sounds a lot more impressive when he tells it).

Petunia lost a fortune investing in the clear cola fad and now defunct Ja'Alai leagues. He claims to be able to divide by zero and now works in a salt mine.


Look forward to meeting these impressive Gents on October 6th in Wisconsin Dells, or earlier than that in your local drunk tank.

The Only Things My Father May Speak of In Front of the my In-Laws

Marriages. The union of two families. Many times it can be a beautiful thing, resulting in decades of back-slapping, cigar smoking and worn-out inside jokes over many a Thanksgiving dinner, baptism, and graduation.

Though Jessica and I have been together, and enjoying one anothers families for these three years, our parents have met only twice. Both times were brief, and involved no (okay, little) alcohol.

As we come ever closer to the day of our nuptials, I can put off their meeting at great length for no longer. Four weeks from now, the three couples will be wedding planning over a weekend in the Dells. My father has gone well out of his way to make it clear that nothing should be expected of him throughout this process, but he will be there.

Though my father and I have the same sense of humor, I am at a point in my life where showing restraint and discretion is still of value. He, on the other hand, lives in bleach-stained sweatpants covered in dog hair and doesn't see much merit in leaving the house. As a result, my mother and I have deemed him a threat. At some point during our weekend with the Bersanis, there is the very serious chance that my father will say something less than agreeable to, or in front of, Jessica's parents. For that very reason, I have produced a list of the ONLY approved topics of conversation. These are to be studied and memorized, as any mention of canine excrement, feline vomit, unnecessary open flames or God forbid- my past, may jeopardize whatever impression the Bersanis have of me to allow me their eldest daughter's hand. And let's face it- over dinner the Bersanis may get drunk, but they won't get Wrobel drunk, which is a separate class in and of itself.

And here they are...

The Weather (Pretty safe, unless it is raining abortions and death penalties. A chilling thought...)

Ghosts and the Paranormal (Probably my father's biggest interest after the size, shape and consistency of dog shits, and it happens that Jessica's mother is also a fan [of the paranormal...not the shits...probably]

Jessica (The mutual adoration thereof)

Sam (Ages 0-2 and 24-26) [I cannot stress this enough. The Bersanis are good, Bartlett people and I am literally from the other side of the tracks. I've done some things man...]

John Wesley's Methodist Church and The Roman Catholic Church (Good, honest values. Under no circumstance will there be discussion of any specific people from any church. In fact, I'm reconsidering this topic, even as I type...)

The Cubs (How cheap tickets used to be)

The Bears (How cheap tickets used to be)

Chicago (Shared childhoods growing up there, drinking egg-cream sodas on stoops and playing stick ball I imagine)

The GOP (Nothing crazy now. Let them take the lead.)

Dogs (Minus any and all bodily fluids)

Gardening (Another shared passion of my father and Mrs. Bersani. Although, again, this could come dangerously close to a dog-shit conversation [not a euphemism]).

Should any other topic come up, my father is to act interested, but offer no contribution to the conversation, other than to train it towards one of the approved topics. Then order me another drink. All he need do is sit back, sip his martini, let me dominate the dinner conversation like I do best, and I may get to marry this broad yet.

Revelations with Security Guard Hill vol. 2

As I expected, Hill the security guard doesn't cease to amaze. Some of his most recent revelations...

HILL

You know I got something to tell you.

ME
What's up Hill?

HILL
 Sandra Sanchez: Half black, half Puerto Rican. Pow! Peanut butter skin and Egyptian eyes. You can read the hieroglyphics on the wall Sam; I brought some of that Moscato. I don't know what it is man. No more strike outs when I got that Moscato. Patricia?Who she? She get possessive man. I can't go down to the corner for a beer because she thinks I'm meeting a woman. Sandra Sanchez- soft as Walgreens cotton!

(Exit Hill)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HILL

This liquor man, you gotta know yer limits, man. 

ME

Well, yeah.

HILL

I remember my first time losing control, man. I was 17, and my buddy Hussie's mom was a barmaid, so he come in with a fif a gin and a fif a some brown liquor, under his coat. We were at another buddy's basement. 

ME

So, what happened? 

HILL

I blacked out. When I came to, I was fighting this one guy, Tream, from around the corner. 

ME

Why were you fighting?

HILL

I don't know, but he musta crossed me, or somethin'.

ME

I see.

HILL

We just kept swingin' at each other and missin', cuz we were so messed up off that gin. I lost control. 

ME

So how did it end?

HILL

Our friends broke it up, and I left. I don't remember going home.

ME

Yeah, that happens a lot. I got real drunk off gin when I was...

HILL

I don't remember do'!

ME

Yeah.

HILL

I saw him again do', Tream. When I was sober.

ME

Yeah? What happened?

HILL 

I beat his ass. I told him I was sober now, and wanted to finish, but he didn't want to. I still beat on him do'.

ME

What for? You don't even remember what happened.

HILL

He musta crossed me do'...for me to get that mad. I was real mad.

(I take it this was the last time Hill let himself get drunk, because he later told me this...)

HILL

You gotta know your limits, if you a man, you gotta know.

ME

It is part of being an adult.

HILL

When I go out with a lady friend, and they ask why I'm only having a drink, I tell them, "How am I supposed to protect you if I'm drunk?"

ME

That makes sense, I guess. 

HILL

You gotta know your limits, man.

(Considering our previous conversations, it doesn't surprise me that Hill seems to have this sense of protecting his resource of women with Hippo-like ferocity.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HILL
What advice would you give a 14 year-old boy?

ME
Ummmm...like in general?

HILL
Yeah.

ME
Wear condoms, I guess?

(Hill walks away)

ME
???
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HILL
I got this cousin, man.

ME
What's up Hill?

HILL
He's seeing this dancer, a stripper.

ME
Oh?

HILL
Every time I see this guy he's got a handful a ass.

(Exit Hill)
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Now, I'm not the only person that Hill talks to this way. In fact, he uses the same routine on anyone who is within earshot of him. Throughout his shift, he will actually perfect the speech. I managed to overhear a preview of one of the above conversations and snapped a photo.