One time, I hit a kid.


OK, well I didn’t actually hit him, but I thought about it, believe you me!

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was waiting in line for the haunted house ride at the South County Fair in Rhode Island.

He wouldn’t stop crying. He was ruining the experience for everyone, so I took the law into my own hands.

I was waiting patiently and there he was, right in front of me. “Wah wah wah!” He was about 4 years old and if I thought he was in pain or whatever, I would have cut him a break but it was a hot, summer day and he was clearly just being a brat.

So this little bastard is sucking on a chocolate ice cream cone and waving it around, inches from my face. If I hadn’t ducked several times, I would have been covered in ice cream and little kid drool.

Before you got on the ride, they’d shut out the lights for about 3 seconds to scare everyone. Well, the lights went out and I grabbed his cone out of his slimy hands and plopped it right on his head.

Or so I thought. It was big and round but it wasn’t his head. It was his mom’s ample boob.

You see, this time, the lights only went out for a second. It may have even been less. So there was his ice cream cone, my hand and her juggs, just sitting there.

Well, to my surprise, instead of being mad, she smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Lindsay.”

And that’s how I met my girlfriend.

Oh, the kid later died. His name was Jamie or Pete or something.

You are stupid and I hate you


In the words of my friend’s niece, “I hate this. I want to kill it.”

OK, sometimes when you’re born, your parents stick you with a shitty name. It sucks, right? I understand that. It’s not your fault. But guess what, stupid? You change it. You don’t go and start a business that puts your awful name out in the public arena.

There is a store back east that has really annoying radio ads. I first heard them when I was a kid, driving with my parents to Cape Cod. My dad is a big fan of AM radio and its staticky, low-fidelity sound, so in between losing the signal at every overpass we traveled under, we would hear these awful announcements for a store with a name that used to make my brother and I giggle.

The store is actually called “Frugal Fannie’s!”

Yes, you read that correctly. There is a store that’s name is a euphemism for the term “Cheap Asses.”

This is one of my pet peeves; people who take something as loathsome and base as being cheap and turn it into a virtue, but that’s not even scratching the surface here.

This name is offensive to me. I am no longer giggling about this. It’s gross and perverted and should be stopped. Aren’t there laws against this? You can say this is a matter of free speech, but the Supreme Court has repeatedly knocked down those kinds of claims when it’s a matter of commercial interest.

Why don’t you just name your store, “Asshole’s?” Or “Shithead’s?” Or “Fuddrucker’s?”

[Yes, if you’ve managed to read between the lines, you are correct. This is nothing less than a call for an invocation of martial law to hunt these people down, bring them to justice and purge our society of the potty talk that is plaguing our children today.]