The “Bully” Breed

At 5AM on Saturday morning, there was a scratching at the sliding glass door in my bedroom.

Outside, looking huge and muscular and scared and pitiful was a full grown white and black male pitbull. At first I was unsure as to whether or not to let a strange dog in to my house – I have two kids. a pregnant belly, and a 6-month old pitbull named Leo, so letting in any strange dog, regardless of breed, is risky. But he looked so pathetic that I opened the door and held out my hand, which he sniffed gingerly before strolling in.

Leo was immediately excited to have a new friend, because Leo is a doofus and thinks everyone is his friend. In this case, he was right. Despite being twice his bulk and age, the new guy rolled around playfully with my little pup, nibbling gently and emitting a contented noise that can best be described as an oink.

When they calmed down I inspected this gentle giant who had likely become scared at the sound of fireworks and somehow escaped his home. Because he definitely belonged to someone – his nails were clipped and he was obviously well fed.

He also had, around his neck, a length of heavy five pound chain to serve as his “collar”. There were no tags attached. He was not neutered. He was far filthier than he should have been for a dog that had only been out a day or two. He had small wounds on his legs in various stages of healing. I concluded that he was probably kept outside most of the day. The weather here has been in the 90s and 100s for weeks. Given that he had no tags and his testicles were still in tact, I doubted if he had been adopted from a shelter, which meant he most likely didn’t have his shots either.

I removed the “collar” immediately.

I kept them both in the bedroom and set an alarm for myself to go off before my girls typically wake up – I still didn’t know how he’d be around children.

He met Evie first, and remained perfectly still as she stroked his massive head and cooed at him. He didn’t wiggle around or get excited, although he did try to put his paws on her shoulders but I intervened. He did just as well with Guin.

He didn’t bark. He didn’t bite. He didn’t scratch. He didn’t growl. By the middle of the day Saturday I was convinced that he was nothing more than a gargantuan baby who snored while he napped and made an oinking noise when he was happy. We wanted to keep him – an older dog, especially a pitbull, stands little chance of being adopted from a shelter. If his owners put up posters or came looking for him, they could have him back – but I made up my mind that they would not leave my home with that fucking chain that was around his neck and that I would thoroughly berate them for not neutering him, bathing him, or treating the numerous cuts and gashes on his legs.

That night, he fell asleep on Guin’s bed with her. She covered him up and gave him her stuffed pig. She fell asleep holding his paw.

Sunday, my landlord came over to fix the air conditioner. She took one look at our new addition and demanded we get rid of him – pitbulls are an “aggressive breed” and aren’t allowed by her insurance. Apparently there’s a clause buried somewhere in the lease that prohibits them as well. Leo, evidently, doesn’t look enough like a pitbull for her to notice because she said nothing about him.

So, these people at an insurance company who have never met this dog, or touched this dog, or played with him or snuggled him, have deemed him vicious, violent, dangerous, aggressive because of shitty fucking dog-owners who train them to be that way. The same can be said of Rottweilers, Dobermans, and Chows, and a laundry list of other breeds that are misunderstood.

Funny. Dalmatians are notorious for hating children. Every chihuahua I’ve met has bitten at least one person during their lifespan. I’ve known goldens who have attacked other dogs and Jack Russells who have turned on their owners. I’ve known labs that have killed cats.

But I could own any one of those breeds, and that would be acceptable. Because it’s not a pitbull.

Yes, I could register him as a therapy dog or I could have a vet sign off on papers that list him as a different breed (some vets are sympathetic to the plight of pitbulls and their owners and will do so discreetly). But I was honest with my landlord about how we found him, so any attempts I made to keep him would look sneaky and underhanded, and I am not sneaky and underhanded. Our lease is month to month, and I absolutely can’t risk getting tossed out.

But there shouldn’t be a risk at all. I shouldn’t have to defend a dog who has done nothing wrong.

I stayed in bed and cried for most of the afternoon over the sheer unfairness of it all.

Last night, he got out. I saw him in the field across the street from our house, just as he disappeared through an opening in the fence. That had happened twice before – the girls sometimes forget to close the door, and our front yard isn’t in fenced in. Both times he came back.

This time, he didn’t.

He was with us for two days, which isn’t a lot, but in that two days this big, beastly snugglemonster stole my heart. He was not dangerous or aggressive or vicious. All you had to do was look in to his big brown eyes and you could tell.

And that’s all that should matter. The name of the breed shouldn’t make a difference. The reason they were originally bred shouldn’t make a difference. A handful of shitty breeders, owners, or dog fighters shouldn’t make a difference. A dog can be unloved, but still sweet. They can be abused, and then become the best friend you’ve ever had. Just like people.

If you’re the type of person who shies away from certain dogs because of your preconceived notions that they will attack you or hurt you, then stop it. You’re part of the fucking problem. You’re part of the reason that shelters are filled to capacity with these misunderstood creatures who want what EVERY OTHER DOG WANTS – a home filled with love. And maybe a chew toy.

This. This is what people call vicious. Dangerous. Aggressive.

It has to stop. It HAS to stop.


What Babies Are Not

I know a few people that are always going on about wanting children, how they’re going to have a baby in a year when things “settle down”, how they think they’d make great parents, how they’re going to do everything right when they have a little one of their own. And in nearly every single fucking instance, I think to myself, “You are the exact type of person who should not have a baby right now.”

And it’s because they really have no concept of what a baby is. What it means to have a child. They do not comprehend that once you decide to have a kid, the life you have led for however many years is gone. You have a new life now. In many ways, it will be better, and in more ways it will be harder, and that is due in no small part to the fact that parenting is one of the few things in life that you pretty much have to completely fucking improvise. There is no manual, no two week training period, no documentary. You just kinda have to, you know, do it, and hope like hell no one dies.

So. For those of you who think you can like, omigosh, so totally handle having a kid cuz maybe you’ve babysat a few times and your nieces and nephews seem to like you – read on. This is for you.

1. A baby is not a doll. You’re having a human, not a Barbie. And if you knew shit about kids, you’d know that the last thing you need is a plethora of cutesy little goddamn outfits, since a baby will just shit and puke all over them, then promptly get too big to wear any of it.

2. A baby is not a relationship Band-aid. Your marriage/partnership will not improve by bringing a human life in to the mix. My guess is it’s probably going to get worse because babies are stressful and exhausting. If your relationship is on the rocks, work that shit out before you drag an innocent child in to it.

3. A baby is not proof of your maturity. If you think it is, you’re not mature enough to have a baby.

4. A baby is not fun. Yeah, there are parts of parenthood that are fun. But in those early, formative months, it’s a lot of craziness, trial and error, questions, stress, confusion, worry, and sleepless nights. You aren’t going to have fun for a while, champ.

5. A baby is not temporary. Your life is changed now. You can’t just dump the kid off with someone and go about your pre-kid existence. You can’t party every weekend. You can’t party in the middle of the week. You don’t get to sleep 12 hours a day anymore. Your shitty minimum wage job will no longer cut it. Your child deserves all of you, they require the absolute best that you have to give.

6. A baby is not a dog. I shouldn’t even have to fucking say this. I don’t care how much you love your dog. I don’t care that your dog has pet insurance and is doted on and worshipped. I don’t care that you think dog owners have it harder because they don’t qualify for government assistance (yeah, I’ve actually heard these words come out of someone’s mouth). YOUR DOG IS NOT A FUCKING HUMAN BEING. PERIOD. IT IS NOT THE SAME. 

To help put this in perspective: Let’s say your apartment building is on fire. A baby is trapped inside. So is your dog. Now let’s say your best friend comes along. When given the choice between rescuing YOUR DOG and a STRANGER’S BABY most people are going to pick the baby. Yes, the fact that you take such good care of your pet is a good indicator that you’ll be good with a child. But if you think caring for a dog and caring for a baby are basically the same thing, you’re a fucking idiot.

7. A baby is not leverage. Pregnancy is not how you keep a man in a relationship. A child is not a pawn for use in your divorce/break up. If you think a child is a good way to manipulate people, you are a shitty person.

8. A baby will not grow up to be your best friend. It’s your child, not your buddy. You did not give birth to a minime. You gave birth to a goddamn individual. If you are still operating under the assumption that you won’t be like your parents, that you’ll let them wear what they want and talk how they want and do what they want, you are delusional. My kids’ grandmother put it best: “if your teenager doesn’t hate you at some point, you’re not doing your job as a parent.”

9. A baby is not a trophy. You are going to fuck up this kid. No matter what you do, you will do something wrong. And chances are, your kid is still going to be okay. If you have this grand idea in your head that feeding a kid only organic food and never letting them watch TV and making sure every hard surface in their life is covered in foam, you are totally missing the point of being a parent. A baby is not something you parade around and show off so everyone knows what a stellar person you are. You aren’t perfect. Your kid won’t be either. And that’s okay.


Please breed responsibly.

How We’ll Spend Our Summer Vacation

It’s that time again! The kids are out of school! Time to entertain them every second of the next 90 goddamn days.

Here’s a list of fun summer activities you can engage in. No. Really. They’re fun. I swear.

Bring liquor.


Water Parks

Because I know nothing gets me out of bed quicker than the knowledge that I will spend the next eight hours in wet clothes traipsing around a concrete jungle of slides in the blistering heat making sure my kids don’t drown in the pee-tainted waters. Oh you’re hungry? Why yes, I’d love to buy you a $14 grilled cheese sandwich. Thirsty? Let me just take out a second mortgage on the house so I can buy you bottled water. A souvenir? Yes, because nothing says “I had a great time!” like a $50 stuffed dolphin the size of my fist.


barbecue“Talking to you makes me want to kill myself!”


You mean you want me to invite over a shit ton of people so they can eat my food, play in my yard, shit in my toilet, drink all my beer, awkwardly mingle with me, instruct me on the proper way to cook a burger, and in return I shall receive boatloads of store bought potato salad and extremely unappetizing dips? And I get to clean up by myself? Where the fuck do I sign up?


Nothing says summertime like sitting in itchy grass surrounded by bugs and drunks, waiting an hour and a half for 15 minutes of colorful explosions which my children will lose interest in after about ten minutes and then ask if they can play Fruit Ninja on my phone.

bro“Bro, do you even bro, bro?”

The Beach

Sometimes you wake up on a Saturday and think to yourself, “I really feel like it’s a good day to pack up half the linen closet and 2/3 of the refrigerator, load that shit in the trunk, get the kids in swimsuits, drive to a public swimming locale, pay $10 for parking, haul all that down to the shore, slather the kids in lotion, and send them on their way so you can witness the parade of thong sporting club girls navigating the sand in strappy gold heels and frat boys in plaid shorts and flip flops chugging beer and tossing their cans on the ground like assholes.

Amusement Parks

For those times that going to a water park, where you can at least cool off in a mixture of urine and chlorine, just doesn’t adequately fulfill our desire to be fucking miserable. For those times, locate your nearest overpriced, overrated, overcrowded land-o-fun, fork over half your salary for the month, and let the misery begin.

roadtrip“I’m going to smother each and every one of you.”

Road Trips

Is there some place you’ve always wanted to visit but you feel that getting there quickly and comfortably is for sissy bitches? Why not cram the fam in to the car, fill every available space with luggage and snacks, and spend the next week slowly learning to hate all of the people you live with?


Slogans for the American Public School System

So after reading this:



   I decided to make these:













The Illustrated Driver’s Handbook for Fucking Idiots


This is a car. It is what you will be driving.


This is a steering wheel. It is in your best interest, and everyone else’s, to keep at least one hand on the fucking thing at all times.


Car blinker and lights switchcar-blinker-o




These pictures all represent your blinker. You also have a blinker on the back of your car. You can tell your blinker is on if there’s a little arrow flashing on your dashboard. Please use your blinker, asshole.

brake_pedalThese are the pedals you use to make your car go and stop. Your foot should not be on the brake pedal all the time. You use that one to stop. I’m talking to you, Prius drivers.


This is your visor. Although sometimes it has a mirror, the visor is there to keep the sun out of your eyes, not so you can put on mascara going 90MPH on the freeway.


These are your mirrors. They keep you from attempting to occupy space that another body of mass is already occupying. Physics, bitch.



This is food. Do not shove it in to your facehole while trying to maneuver between semis, SUVs, stoplights, stop signs, passing trains, etc.


This is your radio. If it is so loud that I can hear every lyric while my windows are up and you are making my car vibrate and I can hear your car vibrating, you are officially a dumb shit. Please exit the vehicle and give your keys to someone who is not.


Books and language have always been a huge part of my life and development. My mother read me bedtime stories, and on her days off we’d pass the afternoon with our noses in a book, sprawled out on her embroidered white comforter. When I got older, I grew increasingly more interested in etymology, and interest that flourished alongside my vocabulary.

And naturally, as any bookworm can tell you, I caught a lot of shit growing up for actually liking literature and for using “big” words.

The hope was that once I reached adulthood, everyone else would too, and the criticism and judgment would stop. Except it doesn’t.

A friend of mine used some word or another in front of her husband’s friend and was immediately met with disdain – “ooo, I guess someone went to college.” Really? My friend did, in fact, go to college, but I don’t see how that’s a requirement for not sounding like a complete fucking imbecile. I know plenty of educated, articulate individuals who have never stepped foot on a university campus – and I know even more who have, but still couldn’t diagram a goddamn sentence even with an instruction manual.

But I don’t feel that it’s remotely justified to call someone with an extensive vocabulary pretentious, or a show-off, or a snob. Why wouldn’t you want to know a million different ways to say beautiful, or funny, or kind? Or to say sad, happy, excited? There are so many things in the world, things to see and to experience – why wouldn’t you want to give yourself every opportunity to describe these things with as much detail as possible? Every time you speak to someone, you’re telling them a small piece of the story of your life. Every word you say is being converted in to an image – give that image some depth, for Chrissake.

If you do love the wonderful world of words, then you probably feel equal annoyance at people who take them too seriously, who take their passion language and expression and cross that line that separates the well-spoken from the dick-headed.

People like this.


The Corrector


Are you this guy? Well guess what – no one fucking likes you.

While that is my profile, I would never post something so gloriously misspelled – but I also don’t troll around my news feed, looking for grammar and spelling mistakes so I can attempt to humiliate someone. Besides, if you EVER make a mistake, even if it’s just a typo, you’ve pretty much just douched yourself in to a corner.

The Overdoer


Stop using words the way desperate bitches use makeup – which is to say, excessively. We get it. You have a stellar command of the English language. You probably also have stellar command of your own genitals, since you’re the only person who’s touched them since you took Advanced English Lit in college five years ago.

The Maker-Upper


Don’t assume that you’re always the smartest person in the room, and definitely don’t go making up words like you’re the fucking Mad Hatter of linguistics. Eventually you’ll get called out. And everyone will laugh.

On behalf of all of us who are tired of being called snobby, stuck up, pretentious, or haughty just because we don’t walk around grunting and pointing like cavemen – please stop acting like a shit. You’re making it worse.

Stop Posting This On Facebook

Exploiting the Children of Strangers
You understand that if you post stuff like this, you’re an asshole, right? That someone basically took a stock photo of a REAL deformed/injured baby and added a bunch of lies to the bottom (like I just did with the above image in MS Paint)? You know that Facebook isn’t giving anyone a fucking dime, don’t you? And did you know if you took, like, five seconds to use Google you could have found this out for yourself?

Promoting Fear Campaigns

Again, do your goddamn research. If you want to hate Pop Tarts for valid reasons like the fact that they’re disgusting and over-processed and don’t even remotely resemble a traditional tart, more power to you. But don’t go spreading nonsensical bullshit that has absolutely no basis in reality.

Misquoting Dead Hollywood Starlets
As much as you would like to believe that Marilyn Monroe was constantly spouting nuggets of truth to justify the actions of crazy bitches, you are mistaken. Marilyn Monroe may have embraced her nuttiness, but she was also fucking a president and knew how to keep her goddamn trap shut. You should try it sometime, after you stop posting these nonsense memes.

Memes that Inspire Me…to Kill MyselfImage
Your Facebook wall should never look like the drab, beige walls of a call center manager’s office. I’m all for inspiration and uplifting crap but I’d also like to make it through the day without throwing up in my mouth if you don’t mind.

Asinine Shit Masquerading As Real News

For every idiot article like this that you share, I demand you share at lease three articles of relevance. Politics. Economics. Human rights. Science. Technology. Something that actually makes a difference in the world. This kind of shit is not what journalism was supposed to be about. Then again, neither was making up arbitrary lists about shit that pisses you off on Facebook.

This Stupid Fucking Candle
Much like the deformed baby, you are doing nothing for any cause whatsoever by sharing a stock picture of a cylindrical bit of wax that someone has lit on fire. There are millions of ways you can help the causes you hold dear, and if you’re not doing any of those things, then stop sharing this kind of shit to make everyone think you are. It takes effort to give back to the world, and that effort goes beyond the scope of clicking a link.