What the Canuck

I was packing my stuff together to get away for the upcoming long weekend. I know that the U.S. doesn’t have its long weekend for another week but I can take an extra day whenever the hell I feel like it. Actually, I paid $7,000 for a wax dummy that looks just like me and placed it in the door of the business looking out onto the street. Then I recorded a set of phrases that would ensure people would stay away. These included “It’s that time of the month brah, stay away or Beth will rip ya a new one”, “I know the sign says we’re open 24/7 but 24’s on and we need some privacy” and finally “ants! Flesh eating ants everywhere! Oh God they are eating the inside of my ear canal like some sort of insect that eats skin!” I figured that would be good enough.

I want this weekend trip to go well because we’re headed up north to Canada to see my cousin Darren. Darren lives in Toronto which is the capital of Canada for all of you ignorants out there. I’m testing the waters with the Canucks because in August I’m headed to Halifax to give a lecture on the dangers of meth and also to try and sell those gullible dolts a book I threw together about space aliens and mole creatures. They’re so behind in the times they’ll think Jules Verne has come back to life. I never understood why, after Jules Verne wrote all those wicked sci-fi books he decided to end his career playing second fiddle to Ernest in all of those movies. Don’t get me wrong, “Ernest Goes to Camp” is a classic, as is “Ernest Commits a Hate Crime” but for a master of fiction to go downhill like that is just criminal. Anyway, you can read about my trip to Halifax here.








Hey Verne, when does the plausibility of these stories become ridiculously old?






So yeah, I was trying to pack things up in preparation of our big trip but I got distracted by that new reality show Pirate Master. I was bummed to see John go in the first episode, I thought he was the most interesting one. He had listed his profession as “Scientist/Exotic Dancer”. How versatile is that? I can imagine some of the conversations he must have at bars with women: “Yeah I’ve been really busy at the lab lately. I’ve been testing the effect that baby oil has on rock hard abs”.

Pirate Master is destined to be a classic, just like Flavor of Love. I can’t wait to see what happens when they’re only two or three contestants left because how they’ll sail that giant ship will be a mystery. Sign those folks up for the U.S. Navy if you ask me, they won’t wuss out like those Brits did with Iran. I’d change the laws to allow chicks into the navy just for that crew too. Jupiter, I’d check out your moons any day baby.












Wanna check out my thesis? It’s called “Rashes in the Genital Region: The One Dollar Bill Paradox”

Before we left for Canada, I decided to read up on some history of the strange, cold land to the north. I couldn’t believe how lame it is. I should give the country some credit, I was half awake when I read from the history book and by history book I mean a copy of Ranger Rick from 1984 I found at a yard sale one our hippy neighbors has to raise extra cash every time they get busted bootlegging. I’d like to take a minute to compare some of Canada’s icons to our icons and prove once again why the U.S.A. is so superior.

For starters, Canada’s nation symbol is the beaver. Personally, I don’t trust anything that could chew its way into my home. And making a rodent a national symbol is just wrong, they might as well have gone with a muskrat. The beaver simply cannot stand up to our national symbol, which, I’m guessing is the M-16 Assault Rifle. If it isn’t our symbol, it sure as hell should be. If I ever have any more kids and God willing I’ve run that bucket dry, but if I ever do, I’m gonna name each new one after a character from Platoon. Starting with Jr., not Dog Jr. just Jr.













I pledge allegiance, to the safety switch

Next up, Captain Canuck. Really creative guys, lets take Captain America, paint him commie red and have him try to save kids from falling trees and poutine addiction or whatever kids in Canada are afflicted with. Too bad Captain Canuck couldn’t save the Maple Leafs from humiliating themselves for the past 35 years.



















I Want YOU…to draw me waaaay better then this. I mean c’mon.

Now on to their police force. I know Canadians think they don’t have crime up there but any country that pushes that onto people is hiding a deep secret. That’s why they can’t be trusted. Anyway, their Mounties look like Smokey the Bear if he only exercised with a thigh master for three years straight. Give me the boys in blue any day. Sure they shoot first and ask questions later and are inherently racist but at least they won’t make you rupture a spleen laughing as they chase you down.















“I’d like to thank P.T. Barnum for supplying the clowns today. Where are ya P.T.? Give a bow, I know you’re out there”

And lastly, leadership. Now, I don’t want to hear a thing about what you fools think of G.W.’s handling of the war on terror. This is wartime folks, no questions need to be asked. I already volunteered the rest of the family at a munitions factory down the road but apparently it hasn’t been in operation since Pearl Harbor. I didn’t tell my kids that though, they still go down there to “work” for eight hours a day. Anyway, Canada’s leader, I’m not sure of his name or appearance, is clearly deluded. Sure, he got a gold star for going into Afghanistan but the rest of the country is just a mess. Hey, Chairman Mao, give us a call when you’re ready to put the t-ball stand down and play hardball.








"As Prime Minister, I declare a national holiday in remembrance for the tree I just chopped"





And there ya have it, a concise run down of why we as Americans kick Canada's ass in every aspect of daily life. Canada's like our little brother who's a little slow and a weakling. You kind of feel sorry for him but after a while you just gotta cut him loose.

Go Go Kart Racer

I was feelin’ mighty peckish the other night so I turned off the tv and announced that we were all going out to eat. Beth was kind of upset that I had switched off her DVD of “Models Inc” but she’ll get over it. Just like the time I replaced the Brita filter with a balled up coat hanger. I didn’t actually tell her about that so let’s keep it quiet. I wasn’t quite sure where to go for grub, I had many fine establishments on the brain, KFC, Jack in the Box, White Castle etc. I decided to go with the one that had the coolest looking design, Pizza Hut. I mean, it has a pizza right on the sign. Now that’s truth in advertising. I tell ya, I wish I would have been more vigilant before I bought all of that stock at Winners. I just assumed that it was a sure thing, turns out I don’t get insider information. I don’t even know what they do down there all day, play We Are the Champions by Queen I imagine.

Once I got into Pizza Hut I knew exactly what I wanted. I didn’t even need a menu and I couldn’t give two shits what the rest of the herd was ordering. I wanted a P’Zone. One pound of meat and cheese covered in a inch and half of crust. They told me that I could have either pepperoni or the “meaty” one. After yelling out God Bless America, I asked for the one that had pepperoni and meat, I figured I’d go at my stomach from all angles. This is why I love our country. I don’t want to go to a restaurant and just have a plate of rice like some communist farmer. I want a meal, and when I say I want a meal, even a full side of ribs doesn’t cut it anymore. I want a meal that, when I hold it up to eat it, it eclipses my entire torso.





For dessert I think I'll have a P'Zenema





After dinner the kids wanted to go do something fun. I suggested lying down on the sidewalk because after eating my P'Zone it felt like I had Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump going at it in my stomach. I can't complain though, it tasted so good I ate it in less time then it takes Madonna to "reinvent" herself. Pizza Hut can now claim to be the first restaurant to make their customers gain a full pound in less than four minutes. Give that place the Congressional Medal of Honor or whatever it is food joints get for breaking records. I'm so in love with the P'Zone that I went out back to the freezer part of Pizza Hut and bought an entire crate of it.

While I was there I asked the guy to pretend to lock me in the freezer and turn the lights out just for old times sake. Good thing it's cold in there because I wet myself almost every time they do that. I figure I can use the P'Zone for the kids' lunches, and their suppers. We usually don't feed them breakfast because their teachers said their flatulence was interfering with the other kids' ability to learn. If you ask me a little cheek music never hurt a soul but you know how touchy teachers are these days with their "you can't say that here" and their "stop shooting me".







I present Pizza Hut with the Gut-Binder of the Year Award




We checked out a few arcades but we scrapped that idea because they didn't have Golden Axe. Then we found a pretty cool place, Rusty's Go Kart Track & Tattoo Parlor. If you ride for more then seven hours straight you get a free tattoo. But only of the ones Rusty knows of, so three basically. A dragon, a dragon with a naked woman on it and a dragon with a giant snake wrapped around it, pretty sweet. I wasn't going to go on the track myself because I wasn't sure if I was allowed to on a suspended license. Beth convinced me though so I decided to saddle up and give 'er a try.

I had trouble deciding on which go kart to choose as Rusty had a wide assortment of vehicles that had been either modified or stolen.






I could've used this one after the P'Zone







In the end I wanted something that was going to wipe the floor with my kids on the track because winning is everything and anyone who tells you any different is only jealous because they wouldn't be able to win an STD at a hooker party. Trust me.






Oh Snap







Once I had chosen this beast as my ride and filled out my last will and testament, I was ready to roll. I had some trouble right at the start with my helmet. Rusty only had sizes big enough to fit Warwick Davis. Don't be fooled by Willow, that was mostly hair space. I tried about four different ones but every time I put them on I felt like my brains were coming out of my eye sockets so I just wrapped a bath towel around my head and took it from there.

Well the first lap went pretty decent, I only had the pedal down about 1/5 of the way and I had passed everyone in about 2 seconds. Then I hit the nitrous switch and I was like Sylvester Stallone in Cobra when he flew down the street in that old suped up car after the gang of axe weilding lawyers. The only difference was Sly made it to his destination and I drive into a pile of rubber tires and flipped over. Luckily for me, the years of spraying my hair with WD-40 for a more pronounced body paid off and I only suffered minor cuts and burns.






Rusty'll want his deposit back I bet

Summertime Booze

Now that summer has reared it’s ugly, swollen head, it’s time for me to start finding things for my kids to do while they’re home. Luckily for me, many of my kids are stupid so about 1/3 of them are attending summer school which is great news for me. And if the movies have taught us anything about summer school, I’m sure they’ll be having a great time with their laid back teacher learning to drive, watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, killing fish and trying to bang Kirsty Alley. That is, if the crusty old Vice Principal doesn’t get in their way. I hate that Vice Principal so much you have no idea. Luckily for him he dropped off the face of the planet in 1988, otherwise I’d use some company time to track him down and teach him a few things, get it?

Getting teens to go outside and do fun activities is near impossible these days. What, with their Intendo’s and Atari’s and easy access computer porn, it’s a wonder they don’t become allergic to the sun. Hell, with the easy access porn thing it’s a wonder I don’t go blind. I still remember when that Pamela Anderson video made it to the web and I gave myself Carpool Tunnel Syndrome.

Venturing into the great outdoors has become something that people just don’t want to do, like filing taxes or watching Canadian Idol. Watching Canadian Idol after the American Idol season ends is like going to see the Yankees play the Red Sox at Fenway Park and when the game is over your friend turns to you and says, “Hey, I know what we can do next, lets go watch a pitching machine shoot baseballs at a backstop for three hours”.

Therefore, I’ve decided to beat the heat this summer. And by that I mean find things for my kids to do so I don’t purchase a grenade launcher and put myself and my entire neighborhood out of its misery by July 4th. Here they are, I was going to list them in order of least to most dangerous but that takes time and it’s not like I’m a fucking librarian or something so they’re just in random order.

1. Paint Daddy’s Truck

I’ve been thinking of getting a new paint job for the ole Ford Ranger. Instead of paying some doofus who argues with his retarded father all day to do it like they show on tv, I’ll just get my kids to do it. I’m thinking something sleek, sexy and military. I’ve given the kids a rough outline of what I want. Well, I just showed them a picture of that truck that Tango and Cash drive at the end of the movie to break into the evil compound. I figured that would be close enough.










Now I’ll be able to drive to the X-Rated theatre without anyone knowing

2. Re-design our kitchen

I was going to try and have that human migraine Ty Pennington come over and redo our entire kitchen but I don’t want him coming here all rum dum and covering our walls in pink elephants and purple daisies, no thank you. I know with the right tools the kids can do a stand up job. The tools I gave them by the way were a crowbar, a bag of Spicy Nacho Ranch Doritos and a box of crayons.






You can eat off the floor





3. Dig a pool

This one is simple. I want a pool by August 1st and it better be dug before then. I don’t think it will be too hard to dig out a 35’ x 40’ pool that’s 12’ deep all the way through. I don’t have time for the shallow end. Shallow ends are for wussies and momma’s boys. I guess wussies are momma’s boys but you get my drift. Once when I was younger and a bit more buff, I tried to show this chick my signature dive at the public pool. It’s the one where I jump into the air and moon everyone around me in mid air, get my shorts back up and do a perfect dive that would get at least a 9.5 from the Korean judges. I call it the Moonman. Anyway, it was so sunny and hot I forgot which end of the pool I was on and I dove face first into a foot and half of tepid water. I fully recovered but my nose was permanently damaged from it, that and the 4 pounds of coke I snorted in 1978.




That rebar might pose a challenge to the Moonman




4. Shingle my roof

Standing on a roof in 145 degree heat teaches kids important life lessons about hard work and dehydration. Also, because my roof is currently shingled with aluminum tiles, it poses an extra challenge. I’m on top of it though, I’ve bought nine pairs of Blue Blocker sunglasses so the glare doesn’t make any of the little shits fall off. Kids know their rights nowadays and the last thing I need is for one of my own kids to sue me. I already owe little Ralphie $300 from that online Texas Hold ‘Em tournament.




How those kids got a hold of a bulldozer is a mystery




5. Build me a deck

Every home needs a deck. I’ve asked the kids to make a multi-tiered one. The top layer is for eating and possibly a few games of Pictionary and the lower level will contain a hot tub. One of those ones with a built in stereo and a slot for heated towels. Because nothing says relaxation like a hot bubbling bath with KMFDM cranking out of the speakers at 6:00am on a Sunday.











Ok, this time try attaching it to the house

Hopefully, I can get them to start on these projects before September. If they don’t, I’ll just drink myself blind and try to forget my kids are about as worthless as the brakes on Lindsay Lohan’s many jewel encrusted cars.

The WEAZ Incident

Tommy: “Gooooooooooood Morning Honolulu! If this is your wakeup call then WAKEUP!!! That’s right, you’ve got it locked on the channel that rocks, WEAZ 89.7 FM, The Wheez. I’m your host, Tommy “Knockers” Maldano and sitting beside me here, probably drunk-

Phil: Yep

Tommy: Probably wishing he was home-

Phil: Oh yeah

Tommy: And definitely not awake, Phil “Collins” Briggs. Say hello Phil

Phil: Hello Phil

*wonka wonka*

Tommy: heh, heh. Ok, let’s see what the weather’s going to be like today. Hot and sunny for this morning, hot and sunny for this afternoon, and this evening, hot but without the sun of course!

Phil: I wish they could fix that, Tommy

Tommy: Me too, Phil. But for now we’ve gotta just deal with the fact that the sun will go down in the evening, sad but true folks.

*ARRUUUUUUUGA*

Tommy: Whoa! You know what that sound means folks, time for the Wheez’s traffic report. Ok, what do we got here, heavy traffic coming into the city on the 347. Geez here’s something, on the 350 inbound, a man is standing on the hood of a car challenging another man to fight after an accident. We’ve got Rick in the Heli-Wheezer checking things out, Rick, what do ya got for us buddy?

Rick: Well Tommy there was a collision here about 15 minutes ago on the 350 inbound and this moron gets out and tries to haul the other guy out of the car to fight. The other guy refused, then the first guy jumps on the hood of his car and is screaming at him. Oh wait, now he’s jumping off, ok he’s kicked in his grill…now he’s gnawing on his side mirror like some sort of bear in a nature park. Ok, now he’s left the guy alone and is getting back into his car. In other news, I see a major collision has just occurred on the –

Tommy: That’s great Rick thanks for that. Ok now it’s time for the Sports Wheez-el to come out of his hole and tell us what happened last night.

Phil: Alrighty, well, in baseball, the Royals beat the Yankees 11-0. Roger Clemens’ arm finally separated from his body completely, now, they hope to reattach it with some sort of cyborg arm not unlike Luke Skywalker’s hand in The Empire Strike’s Back.

Tommy: Seriously?

Phil: Yep

Tommy: Okie dokie, must be true then. Moving on, thanks for that update by the way Phil. We’ve got a special treat for you all right now. We’ve got the man spreadin’ Jesus’ plan, the Hunter who brings the Thunder, the Angel in leather himself, Duane Chapman, aka Dog The Bounty Hunter, right here in the studio, talkin’ to Phil and me, mano-e-mano, right after we play you a little Roxette to get you into the workday, wake up Honolulu, and join the joyride baby whoooo!

“I hit the road out of nowhere, I had to jump in my car…”

Tommy: Aaaaand we’re back, in case you’re just joining us that was Roxette with Join the Joyride. Hey Phil, you gonna join the joyride or what?

Phil: Oh yeah

Tommy: That’s why we keep him around folks, pearls of wisdom every morning. Ok lets get back to the grind here, the Wheez is proud to announce that we have a very special guest, he’s sitting right here, Dog The Bounty Hunter. Dog, thanks for joining us today.

Dog: Boy that secretary you’ve got down there has a set on her doesn’t she? She makes Beth look like Kate Moss…oh, am I on? Hello?

Tommy: Hello Dog, yes you’re live on the air speaking to Honolulu.

Dog: Oh ok, *cough* ok lets edit that out later or something. Ok from the top, No problem Tommy. Sorry I’m late, had a little fender bender on the way over.

Tommy: That’s ok, that’s ok my man, glad to have you here in one piece. You feeling ok?

Dog: I’m fine, just a little shook up s’all

Tommy: Ha, like Elvis eh?

Dog: Elvis died on the toilet with a gut full of barbituates, so no, nothing at all like Elvis really.

Tommy: Gotcha. Ok. Now, Dog, the whole city is wondering, what makes a guy like you tick?

Dog: Uh, well, chasin’ people, tacklin’ people, converting people to Jesus and Budweiser, but not necessarily in that order.

Phil: Technically, Jesus is not a religion, he was a man.

Dog: Technically, that comb-over of yours shouldn't be classified as hair, either, Phil.

Tommy: Ok Phil how about I ask the questions and you go back to sniffing those markers huh? Sorry, Dog. Thanks for letting us in on the things you enjoy. How about music? What’s on your Ipod right now?

Dog: Eyepod? No, I wear Ray-Bans most of the time Tommy.

Tommy: Ok no problem we’ll just skip these ones for now…ok, tell me about Da Kine Bail Bonds. How does that place operate exactly?

Dog: Well, when some meth fueled punk gets out on bail and doesn’t uphold the court date, it’s up to me and my crew to find them so they can find peace within themselves and do the right thing.

Tommy: Are you pro bono?

Dog: No I’ve always hated Sonny and Cher

Tommy: Uh…okie doke. Say, you ok Dog? Looks like your nose is bleeding, get him a Kleenex Phil. Maybe we should cancel this Dog? Since you were just in an accident and all?

Dog: No, I'm K-O-A, I mean A-Ok

Tommy: Alrighty, now, I'd like to ask you about your volunteer work. You go out of your way to make sure that kids in this area know the dangers of meth...

Dog: Nope, gum drop candles fill my soul with tar, frogs ate the minister, whose gonna notice?

Tommy: Ok lets call a doctor, he’s having some trouble here

*THUD*

Tommy: Ok he’s collapsed, call 911 Phil

Phil: Done, what should we do now?

Tommy: Give the guy some air I guess

Phil: Naw, lets draw dicks on his face with permanent markers

Tommy: I don’t think so..

Phil: C’mon, the guy looks like he killed Cousin Itt and super glued him to his scalp.

Tommy: Ok, give me the purple one...

The Paris Hilton Transitional Home

Some of you may remember that a few weeks ago I offered to do Paris Hilton’s jail time for her. You can read about it here if you understand that the word “here” is actually a link to another interweb document. Last time I saw one of those I kept pressing it with my finger and when that didn’t work I stared at it hoping something would happen and now the eye doctor says I may need corrective laser surgery. That’s what I get for taking my sunglasses off for 5 minutes in the house. I like to wear them while sitting and talking to Beth on the couch. That way I can have my head tilted towards her while I nod and say “I’m sorry” or “You’re right” or “I’m really sorry” or “You’ve never been righter” and at the same time have my eyes glued to the idiot box looking for the next piece of skin to appear on Desperate Housewives. Boy, give me two days in that neighborhood and the only thing those broads would be desperate for is a divorce lawyer because I’d have ‘em all in my back pocket in 4 hours, 6 if I’m not on my A-Game, which means I’d have to stop and buy more Brut, then I’d be back on my A-Game but you see it takes time to find that stuff and you know how confusing drug store are nowadays. I’m a machine folks, ask Beth, ask…well just asking Beth is probably safer.

Back to the Paris thing, all I can say is, Rocky Armadillo, if that is your real name, you’re about as worthless as a Gary Busey’s drug counselor. I can’t believe you’d send Paris to jail for a traffic violation. If I went to prison for every time I double parked or ran a red light or drove into a store at 3:00am drunk on Listerine I’d be in Gitmo right now. So, watch your back punk. It won’t be hard for you to do, weasels have really long necks. I think they do anyway, I was gonna look it up on Wikipedia but I don’t have time and calling you a giraffe is just weird. You’re a piece of shit! How’s that? Get the picture now buddy? Good.




"What? I'm not allowed to spit in court?"




I’d hate to see anything as fine as Paris be ravaged by the clink. In case you were born under a rock and didn’t realize this, I’ve done time before so I’m pretty familiar with prison. I’ve got the Colorado Shambhala County Prison platinum membership card. Only seven more convictions and I get a free shiv signed by Christian Slater. And I tell ya, that thing’s gotta be worth more than my signed DVD copy of “Alone in the Dark”. That movie’s more effective if you watch it either alone in the dark or without eyeballs.

Anyway, I’m glad that Paris has taken that long, sweet drag off of Our Lord and Savior and decided to set things right. She recently told E! News that she plans to “build a transitional home to help recently released inmates readjust to freedom”. When I heard this I got more excited than the Olsen twins at a barfing party. I decided to whip up some plans for Paris’ house, first of all you need a name. I suggest “Tha Hawt House”. It’s fresh and hip and will show everyone that Paris isn’t just some ditsy blonde. I’ve also submitted my ideas for a few different rooms in Tha Hawt House:

1. The Delousing Room

Everyone knows that people just released from prison are icky, so I suggest that a delousing room be the first thing the ex-cons see when they open the door. Hell, I remember the first time I got out of the joint, my hairdo looked like someone had used it clean toilets, which they had on the rare occasion I was feeling submissive. So, the ex-cons walk in and get sprayed from head to toe in Nix for body lice, Mr. Clean for caked on feces and urine and Liquid Plumber for good measure and also because I like the color of that stuff. This way, they’ll be nice and fresh for when they meet Paris and they won’t have to worry about embarrassing things happening to them when they go for their first job interview, like shaking a potential employer’s hand and accidentally covering it in leeches.







I made this delouser myself out of a Craftsman Spray & Wash and Beth's slow cooker






2. The Dressing Room

When you’re fresh out of the clank, fashion is even more important than if you’re whoring it up and down Sunset Blvd. I think Paris and I have pretty much the same kind of tastes, they both are awesome. I’m more into leather than her but that’s cool. Paris can pick out the wardrobes for the chicks and I can tell the dudes what to wear. I’m sure all recently released women looking for social stability and respect won’t mind never using a bra and wearing a -8 size dress. Top that off with a diamond tiara, a dog the size of an M&M, matching belt, shoes and a winning smile and you’ll be the life of the party. And if you don’t want to party then you should go straight back to jail because that’s just criminal. As for the guys, to hell with them, I just want to watch Paris dress hot chicks all day. The guys can wear some barbeque covers or something that’s in the basement of Tha Hawt House




You can burn that wart right off with those matches






3. The Champagne Room

This is the room where the magic happens. Once they’re clean and dressed they’re ready to be taught how to act once they’re back in the shit, or the real world. The ex-cons are given speech lessons for starters. These important grammar lessons include giggling, giggling, laughing, giggling and laughing, laughing while holding different colored bags and giving sexually suggestive smiles after each sentence, and then giggling. Then there’s the walk, everyone needs a distinctive walk. I think my walk combines John Wayne with Clint Eastwood even though I’ve been told it combines bowl-leggedness with a pole up my ass but what do people know. The cons will be taught how to catch the eye of that special guy or gal while strutting down the street shopping for diamonds, sunglasses, or diamond encrusted sunglasses.








A little concealer and you're ready for Tiffany's!







I'm gonna pack these up and send 'em off to Paris to see what she thinks. Maybe I'll ship them to Larry King so he can show them to her while he interviews her live on CNN. That way the world can see that not only are Paris and I as tight as TomKat, we're both reformed criminals who are determined to make a difference, one crystal nose stud at a time.

Showcase Meltdown

Now that the original mitt face, Bob Barker, has hung up his spurs, it looks like yours truly is the official new Senor Melanoma around town. I gotta admit that watching Barker’s last Price is Right episode made me misty eyed a couple of times, but by the end of the show I started asking myself, “What does ol’ Barker have that this Dog doesn’t?” I’ve got a little over two months before Price is Right starts taping its fall season, and so it’s time to kick things into high gear. Barker, I wish you a happy retirement sunbathing like a salamander on a giant boulder in your backyard wearing nothing but bright red Speedos and a half gallon of motor oil-quality body grease. Bon voyage, good buddy. Meanwhile, I’m going to be competing for your old job against Tony Danza, Rosie O’Donnell, and the moustachioed Simon from tv’s Simon and Simon. I’m pretty sure he was also Major Dad, and if that’s true then he’s easily my stiffest competition. That show is a classic. Danza doesn’t have me worried because that guy couldn’t host his way out of a pizza box, and if O’Donnell gives me any trouble, I’ll just kick her in her nuts. But Major Dad, he’ll be trouble.
















If I was Major Dad, all those brats would be attending Gitmo University

First things first, putting together my portfolio of game show suggestions. Out of respect for Barker’s legacy, I figure leaving well enough alone might be best at first, but in the long run I’ve got some big changes planned. My first idea for a game is to change “Plinko” to “Pinko.” In the original version, you dropped a flattened cow patty-shaped object down a bunch of nails to win money. Big whoop. In my version, we pick contestants out of the studio audience and identify whether they’re a commie or not. How do I know? I can smell it on ya. What, you think gherkins and cabbage borscht gives off a subtle bouquet? Peasant, come on down! You’re the next contestant on The Price is Right. I suppose since we ain’t playing for toilet paper or flour you ain’t interested. Well, guess what? You can recreate the Cold War in this new fridge!








Beth cleans the toilet bowl at home with this stuff, and it really keeps our shit throne pearly white





My next idea for a game is called "Tazer Pants." It’s simple. I tazer you and if you don’t piss or shit your pants, you get a chance at a luxurious prize. If you only piss your pants, you get a second chance, but if I smell dump, you’re finished. Next.













No problem, sweetheart, you ready to give “Tazer Pants” another try? You could win a new riding lawnmower if you do...

My third idea is a game in which you look at pictures of the world famous Barker’s Beauties from all through the years, and you have to guess the correct year in which each one went from being one of “Barker’s Beauties” to one of “Bob’s Barkers.” In other words, when did Bob kick a particular beauty out of his rotating stable of involuntary personal escorts for being too old?





The meat in this “Bob Barker Sandwich” expired about twenty years ago




The next game I can’t take credit for. I saw it years ago on Cambodia Price is Right, and it’s called “If You Can’t Take The Heat.” Now I don’t know how comfortable American daytime audiences are with full on torture on their televisions, but let me just say this game involves an ant hill, rope, red ants, and a spot in the CBS parking lot that must be hit direct sunlight every midday. Cambodia Price is Right ain’t on the air anymore, but in its heyday that show used more snakes and insects than I could count, and was pretty much a cross between Fear Factor and a snuff film. Weird thing is, the contestants played for the same General Electric appliances in Cambodia as they did on the American version. I guess GE worked out some bulk deal or something.

The other game we could have lifted from Cambodia Price is Right is called “Anything to End the Pain,” but I figure the suits in the game show department at CBS will want to do some market testing on “If You Can’t Take The Heat” before rolling out too many new ideas. A game that everyone is sure to love, though, is called “Do Duane’s Dirties.” This one’s simple: the first contestant at the start of each show is given a bag of my laundry, and if they can have it washed, dried, and in my dressing room by the end of the show, they get a chance at the Showcase showdown. If not, they still get to finish my laundry, they just don’t get anything for it. And a warning ahead of time, don’t you dare put my Spongebob Squarepants underwears in the drier. They’re 100% cotton and will be rendered unwearable after even the lightest of spin cycles. I learned my lesson after drying my Man-At-Arms He-Man undies on high heat years ago.



Exactly what kind of a nightclub are we going to?





I gotta wrap this brainstorming sesh up, but my last two ideas are, “Play More Notes on the Guitar than Dog.” I can play one note, a G chord, and even that makes my ring finger hurt if I hold it too long, so if you can play two notes, you win. This will be my “Hole in One,” and we can pull it out for times when we are desperate to give out prizes.
















Me and George W. playing Dueling Banjos would be deadly on the ears

My last idea is called “If You Can Use It, You Can Have It.” This one’s real simple: we call up anyone from the studio audience over the age of sixty-five – that should be real hard - and have them hook up and use an electronic device on stage. It don’t matter what kind it is, a DVD player, a CD player, a microwave. I don’t care. But no instructions are allowed, and they get two minutes.






Gramps, you have two minutes…go!









And the audience don’t have to worry about me helping the contestants out, because I’m dumber than shit when it comes to anything that goes blip, blap, blop. The last time I used a VHS was when I tried to heat up a pizza pocket in the slot where the tapes go, and ended up wrecking my daughter’s out of print copy of The Little Mermaid as she was watching it. I hope Walt Disney is smiling down on us from his cryogenic chamber in the sky knowing that his legacy is a country full of pissed off parents who have to spend hundreds of dollars on ebay should a particular “classic” be locked up in the Disney vaults until who knows when, so that the whole family can share Walt’s precious fucking legacy in the here and now. Thanks “pal.”

Shop Till You Drop

For a weekend treat I decided we would all go to the local shopping mall for a little summer time fun. I figured it’d be a good way to unwind a little bit after a hard week of bitch slappin’ some reason into all of those idiots I try to reform every week. Don’t tell anyone at A&E I said that though. It’s in my contract that I have to show compassion for those guys. It’s also in my contract that I give Criss Angel power of attorney. Hopefully, if I ever find myself up shit creek without a paddle Criss will be able to make the jury’s common sense vanish because the longest a jury has ever deliberated during one of my cases is 15 minutes. And that was only because one of the jurors got his fly stuck while in the men’s room and was too embarrassed to come out for a while. And lets be honest here, I’m already up shit creek without a paddle as it is with this whole extradition thing so a more appropriate phrase would be floating in shit ocean without arms or legs.

Before we left for the mall I had to check my email. I’ve become addicted to that thing, I check it every few minutes and often I fond myself just clicking the “check for new mail” button over and over. Every time that tiny “0” appears I die a little inside. It was my lucky day though, I had a couple of emails. One was from “dixiecups69xoxxosmoochiepie@sympatico.com” and it was titled “Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Plzzzz read very important it was on oprah about bill gates shocking!!!” Apparently, for every person I forward this email to, Microsoft will pay me $300! I couldn’t believe it, my ship had finally come in, suck on it Bill Gates! Time for the little man to get his hand in that gigantic, futuristic and probably alarmed cookie jar! I don’t have a clue how to forward emails so I just yelled all the names of people I know into the screen hoping the computer would take it from there. The other email was some piece of crap from someone called “James Kramer, Your Lawyer” with an email titled “Duane, important info Re: Your Court Case”. Yeah sure buddy, I can smell a scam a mile away. They don’t call me The Dog because I lick my own balls. I can, though, seriously, my neck is double jointed.





The arresting officer was never seen again



So in order to relax, I tossed the kids and Beth into the SUV and we mosied on over to the Twin Coconuts Shopping Plaza in southeast Honolulu. I didn’t have enough car seats for all twelve kids but they enjoy riding in the back where the groceries go and also in the wheel wells. It teaches them character, how to survive and the fact that their daddy didn’t believe in condoms from 1981-2000. Once we pulled into the Twin Coconuts parking lot I had a hard time finding a place to park, I’m pretty picky. I don’t park my vehicles next to just anyone. I take pride in my car and I’m also not supposed to be driving this thing “off-air”. If A&E ever found out I’d be going around chasing criminals in a Big Wheel, which would be a trippy flashback to when I was six years old but probably not very feasible at my age. I hadn’t been to this mall in a while so I was pretty pumped up to spend my hard earned cash on all of the local merchants’ wares.






Ok everyone, remember where we parked




The first place we had to go was Toys R Us which, for a kid, can be a wondrous, magical experience. For a parent, it can be very touching to see your child’s wide-eyed excitement at all of the shiny new toys. For a parent of twelve kids, it’s the equivalent of trimming your nose hairs with a paper shredder. It’s painful is what I’m trying to get across here. If my kids were well behaved it wouldn’t be a problem but my kids are all borderline sociopaths, if they ever became organized they’d make Al Qaeda look like The Get Along Gang.

I couldn’t believe the toys that they had in that shop. Action figures, board games, dinky cars and Lego projects that you needed an engineering degree in order to understand. In my day, a kid would never be allowed into a shop like this. Kids back then were happy with the toys they given by their parents, which in my case were half of a hula hoop and a pillow case full of empty Lick-A-Maid pouches, so garbage, basically. Ahh I spent many a summer’s eve swinging that pillow case around at my friends though.






Show the recluse in your family you still care





Next up I had to go with Beth to a clothing place called Smart Set. I got so sick of the kids I just threw $200 into the air and told them to have fun. I think some other kids got some money as well but I’m all about spreading joy. Smart Set is filled with nothing but women’s clothing, what will they think of next? I tell ya, if America gets any more liberal we’ll be seeing little Chez Guevara’s running around in fatigues in these malls. I hated Smart Set from the start, if they were actually smart they’d put leather recliners in there for the males who have to wait seven hours for their women to get out of the changing rooms. After twenty minutes in that place I would have settled for a pile of dirty laundry to sit down on.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if there was any eye candy working there to stare at while I waited but most of the girls working there looked like they just escaped from a concentration camp, and not the fancy ones they had in Poland either, I’m talkin’ the hardcore Germany ones. I like a lady with some meat on her bones, and in Beth’s case, a full pig roast on her chest. The music they played was equally pleasant, it ranged from “Barbie Girl” by Aqua to “She’s So High” by Tal Bachman and was played so loud you had to use a megaphone to ask where the fucking change rooms were. Tal Bachman, there’s a winner, Randy Bachman must be spinning in his grave.






Excuse me miss, where can I find the automatic weapons?









After escaping that hornet’s mess I was feeling mighty hungry so I ran around, gathered the herd together and we headed up the escalators to the food court. I was cravin’ something sweet so I decided to head on over to Cinnabon. I wanted a pack of Cinnabon Stix, a Caramel Pecanbon and a CarmeLatta Chill to wash it down with. I don’t think I’m eating enough caramel so I figured this would be a good way to reach my quota. I tried to ask for extra pecans but the kid working the counter obviously wasn’t able to grasp my need because he looked about as stunned as Keanu Reeves in, well every single movie he’s ever been in. I carefully explained that I wanted extra pecans on my bun and no ice in my Latta. I might as well have asked that guy Fig Newton why the coconut fell on his head because this kid wasn’t going to get it. I got so irate I jumped over the counter and filled a bag full of pecans, took all the ice out of the icemaker and walked off with my original order, not before I stuffed the correct change into the little punk’s mouth.










Yes, you too can have a degree in Communications

Then I rounded up the clan, threatened to leave them all out of my will if they disobeyed me, got them all in the car and we drove home. Don’t let my experience get you down America, please keep on shopping, because the more we buy from places like “Bizou Accessories” the less chance the terrorists have of winning

Killing Mr. Chavez

Not many people realize this, but for a short time I was part of the most prestigious worldwide law enforcement agency in the world. No, I’m not talking about that time I tried to sign Leland up for tai kwon do and accidentally enrolled us both into the Cub Scouts, I’m talkin’ about the CIA. That’s right, yours truly was once a double agent, working in the most turbulent times of our era, May – September 1998. It was a summer gig, but it wasn’t the summer of love brah, it was the summer of…non loving. I got the job through Young America Works. It says you have to be 30 or under to join so that wasn’t a problem but what was a problem was the fact that I had to prove my American citizenship. I had lost my passport 5 years previous when I took Beth on a trip to Amsterdam. I was ordering a plate of space brownies from the local weed merchant when this gypsy kid came over and started to dance. Well, I was so stoned on the atmosphere and also the two pounds of hash coursing through my system that I gave him some money and started to dance along with him. Next thing I know I’m surrounded by a whole posse of them and I can’t find Beth. I got all disoriented and sick and then I passed out. I woke up in the Anne Frank house, which wasn’t really a house it was an attic so it’s kind of false advertising if you ask me.

Anyway, I woke up in there and thought I was in some torture room like in that movie Hostel and kind of freaked out. The people there were really understanding though, even after I destroyed most of their displays. When I checked that I still had all of my important body parts (teste 1 & 2) I headed back out with a spring in my step. It wasn’t until I got back to Beth that she told me my wallet was gone. The little bastard took everything, my money, my passport and my Best Buy value card. I just needed one more stamp for a free camera case, they didn’t have digital back then it was the old fashion kind. Then I was going to steal a camera to make it a win-win. I knew I couldn’t get back on the plane without ID so I stuffed myself in Beth’s special bra bag and rode home in the storage compartment. It wasn’t too bad, it was cold as fuck but I ripped open some Canadian couple’s bags and found what I needed to survive, a blanket, some granola bars, a t-shirt from the Van Gogh museum and a Coleco. Apparently it's just caught on in Canada. I found some Monopoly money in the bag as well but no board, which was a bummer.




My favorite game was E.T.





Once I hit America I thought I’d never need a passport again but when the CIA calls, you gotta accept the charges. Little do people know that the CIA is surprisingly slack when it comes to that sort of thing. They let me prove I was born in the best country in the world by reciting the first 20 minutes of Rambo: First Blood. I did such a good job I should’ve won an Oscar, or at least a Golden Globe:

“Back there I could fly a gunship. I could drive a tank. I was in charge of million dollar equipment, back here I can’t even hold a job PARKING CARS!”

That’s right Sheriff Teasle, he can’t even get a job parking cars so give him some food for Christ’s sake. All he wanted was a bite to eat and maybe a hand job from one of the local skanks, he’s a drifter, what did you expect, a new mayor? Grrrr that Teasle boils my blood every time I watch that movie, which is three times a day if you’re keeping score.

Ok, I’ve calmed down now. Once I was admitted into the CIA I was put into their intense training program. This included being tortured in numerous ways to ensure I wouldn’t crack under pressure. The tortures were varied and extreme, they included having my fingernails pulled out, being electrocuted and made to watch every Sandra Bullock movie ever made on a continuous loop for a week. The next stage of training was the agility tests which I passed with ease. I only messed up once when my hair got caught on the monkey bars and I nearly scalped myself. I shouldn’t complain though, it’s the reason why my hair has so much body today. It was stretched for about a foot and a half longer then humanly possible and is still in the shrinking stage, so the President of the Hair Club for Men tells me. And when the President tells you something, you know it’s true.


















And remember, I'm not only the president of Hair Club For Men, I'm also a sexual predator

Once I passed the training I decided to take the time to ask what the sweet hell the CIA wanted with me, a known felon at the time and with a fairly heavy coke addiction. They told me they had recruited me from surveillance operations done on unknown biker gangs. They needed someone to go deep undercover into a Colombian drug cartel to take down one of the most ruthless people in the world. No, not Pablo Escobar, but his accountant, who in many respects was smarter and more evil than Pablo because he did the guy’s books. People in the 'know' will realize that Escobar had been gunned down 5 years earlier. But his cartel was still running, just trust me, it was still going. Once the accountant was taken down it would be like dominoes falling on this bad boy. I felt like Kevin Costner in The Untouchables except I didn’t have Sean Connery backing me up or a failed career on the horizon.

Once I landed in Colombia I was to meet my contact, Chez Chez. I didn’t have a fucking clue what kind of a name that was I was on dangerous soil so I played along. Chez Chez turned out to be pretty cool, he told me where I could find Farino, the Escobar cartel’s accountant in between smoking a joint the size of an English cucumber. Once I stumbled out of Chez Chez’s office I rigged my recording device up, which was in my hair, and headed over to meet Farino. I was posing as Mr. Chavez, a car salesman. Pablo was preparing to buy a Bentley and Farino took care of that sort of thing. My goal was to get some incriminating evidence from him while I was there. Here’s an excerpt of our encounter:

Farino: Ahh yes, the Bentley salesman, thank you for coming on such short notice

Dog: No worries mate, I feel like a dingo on the beach down here, really really hot.

Farino: Are you from Australia? I was told you were Mexican.

Dog: I am Mexican. I mean, my father was Mexican, my mother was Australian, I was born in Mexico.

Farino: Then why do you have an Australian accent?

Dog: Because….well, my mother was a slut and she’d bang anything that crawled so my real father was probably Australian but I was definitely born in Mexico.

Farino: Never mind, lets get down to the business at hand, cigar?

Dog: Sure, a Mexican never turns down a stogie. Uhh…could you do me a favor and for the rest of our conversation could you speak into my hair?

Farino: What?

Dog: Uhh…I was born with a rare defect, I hear from a hole in the top of my head, it’s called Craniear.

Farino: Lets just sign these documents ok? I have a very busy schedule.

Dog: Okie dokie, I’ll just sign these and we both can go to jail…I mean, our respective homes or businesses, hehehe.

Farino: What the fuck? You signed this thing “Duane Chapman, CIA Agent”, is this some sort of sick joke?

Dog: No no, it’s my company name, CIA stands for “Cars Instantly, Assholes!” It’s kind of an aggressive slogan I agree, but they’ve got this guy in marketing, he doesn’t listen to anybo-

Farino: Enough! I’m calling Mr. Escobar Jr. and he can deal with you properly.

Dog: No! I don’t deal well with torture! I watched Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood 37 times…37 times man, haven’t I suffered enough?

Farino: No! Tonight, even Sandra Bullock cannot save you. You will die!

End tape





I'm gonna miss you Chez Chez










The details of my escape are long and interesting. Maybe I’ll share them with you someday, but most likely I won’t. I’d like to put the whole ordeal behind me. It involved hiding in sewers and playing in a burlesque show disguised as Mimi, the traveling singer who was half man, half woman.

Take My Wife, Please

I decided to sign Beth up for that show on ABC, Wife Swap. I thought it was time to mix it up a little in our lives. It’s a win-win situation. She gets to experience how other people live in a fresh, new environment and I get to live for a week without having her screeching, excessively loud voice burrowing its way into my brain. The fun part was, she didn’t realize she was going on her little trip to Hickory Ridge, Arkansas. Actually, I had forgotten I’d signed her up at all, it was almost a week ago so can you blame me? So I’m just sitting there watching Maude like I always do at 3:00pm on a Sunday and the phone rings. The guy says he’s from ABC and that my audition tape I sent in of Beth was a success. I almost told this goof I’d be AB-Seein’ him later because I was drawing a total blank. Then, like so many of acid flashbacks, it all came roaring home.

The audition tape I’d sent in of Beth was the one where we were playing badminton in the backyard and I was as drunk as Dean Martin so I’d wrapped myself all up in the net trying to do one of my signature spikes where I spin in the air, spike the shuttlecock at my opponent and then scream “Want some mayo? ‘Cause you just ATE it sista! WHOOOOO!” Anyway, I never got the opportunity to show that off in the first place because I was so hammered I got tangled in the net like Toby McGuire must do when he gets all drunk on power and slaps Kirsten Dunce around. Beth got so pissed when I ruined the net she rolled me up in it, poured my bottle of Jim Beam all over me and tried to light me on fire.







Don't hate the playa, hate the net




Luckily I was already on the ground and in a rolling position so I had the ‘ole Stop Drop & Roll thing three quarters complete. Unfortunately I forgot the sequence they went so I was trying to stand up so I could stop and then drop but then I couldn’t figure out where the Roll came in and the tag on the net was written in Spanish so that was no help at all. After a few swift kicks to the groin Beth put me out with water from the kiddy pool which was 90% urine. Then the fire department had to come and cut me out of the net because it had gotten all tangled up in my hair and I gotta tell ya, this ‘do is like the Bermuda Triangle after I’m finished maximizing it’s potential every morning.

So yeah, the camera was recording all of this and the guy from ABC said that Beth was the kind of person they wanted. She was funny, outrageous and could possibly kill with her mind, or her boobs. Or her mind and her boobs, if those two forces ever teamed up it’d be like her mind is Tango and her boobs is Cash. They’d be totally unstoppable is what I’m trying to say. That tape isn’t a good indicator of how Beth is today, back then she was down right mean and often disturbed by messages she claimed to be getting through the waffle iron. Then we figured out the waffle iron was made of led and we trashed it. Now she doesn’t get appliance related messages and I can speak for our entire block when I say that’s a good thing.





"I've come from the Underworld to say...use more Pam"










So, as I was sayin, Beth had no clue she was going to live with this other family for a week. She had to catch an early flight so I woke her up at 4:00 am with the bed surrounded by her suitcases and yelled “Happy Anniversary Baby!”. It could’ve been our real anniversary, the hell if I know. As it is, I’ve got to remember so many birthdays with these kids and ex wives that I think Hallmark should start paying a finder’s fee. Beth didn’t really know what was going on but I dressed her and made her breakfast, which consisted of a Red Bull and pack of gum. I gave her the ticket to Arkansas, shoved her in the cab and she was off. My next job was to get all of the kids out of the house, if I’m gettin’ a new woman for a week I want her to do my chores, not feed my stupid kids. To get them out of the house I told them that Disneyland had moved to the old warehouse district on the south end of town. Three more cabs later and the house was mine. Genius, thy name is Dog.

Before my new maid or whatever she was arrived, I decided to make a list of things that I like to do and have done for me. Now, these aren’t necessarily the things Beth would do for me but the new broad won’t know that so I’m in the clear. Here’s the list I made up, starting with the morning routine.

6:00am

• Wake Dog up with foot, back or crotch massage, your choice

• Make Dog breakfast in bed, A 4-egg omelet, 10 pieces of bacon, 4 sausages, hash browns a carafe of orange juice and a toy like you get at McDonald’s. (Lumber is in shed to make toy)

7:00 am

• Dress Dog, you must wear the cowboy boots a minimum of 4 hours before you put them on him so his feet don’t get sore.

• Dog likes to have the important parts of the newspaper read to him while he watches the sports scores on television, start with reading the sports scores, then the comics, followed by any cars for sale under $1,500 and then explain to him the cartoon on the editorial page.

















HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

You get the idea, the list goes on into the early morning of the next day and involves buffing the corns on my feet and waxing my nipples so they don’t chafe on the bed sheets.

When Mrs. Haverlock showed up though I knew I was going to have trouble. She was a crazy environmentalist who ran one of those organic food shops where you pay $30 for a box of gravel and they call it cereal. I showed her my list and she showed me her Henna tattoo of the rainforest that covered her entire back. I asked her if she thought the list looked fair and she put me in some sort of Vulcan death grip and I woke up four hours later on a yoga mat in the lotus position.

Within the first few days I stood my ground with her but I gotta be honest, by Wednesday I was doing the laundry and cooking her meals. She almost got me to say I hated George W. but it’d take a lot more than a hippie fruitcake to commit treason. In the end I decided I’d had enough granola for an eternity and decided to go find my kids in the warehouse district. I haven’t heard from Beth so I’ll assume she’s either getting on fine or is currently being banned from Arkansas for life.

You've Got Dogmail

I’ve taken some time out of my really busy schedule to upload some more of your internet postcards or e-mailings or whatever the hell they’re called. I have to tell you, I liked it a whole lot better when these things just came in paper form through the little slot in your door. That was back in the day when a dollar could buy you a pack of gum and a smile and computers were only used by NASA eggheads playing with their little race cars on the surface of Uranus. Heheheh that was a little double-ensemble there. I guess receiving mail through the computer has some advantages though. You can’t get bombed through the computer, for one. I haven’t gotten a letter bomb in a while but I always issue this warning, don’t ever piss off L.L. Bean, they are a ruthless bunch of Nazis. I don’t even feel safe typing about them right now. They have eyes everywhere. One minute you’re jazzed about buying new snorkeling gear, the next you’re suckin’ in defective plastic particles because you put down a fake zip code on their customer survey card.

Anyway, another upside to receiving internet mail is that your wife can’t have sex with everyone who sends them in like she did with the regular mail guy and then the kids walked in on them and she told them they actually had two daddies and I come home all beat to shit one morning to find Carl the mail guy making breakfast in my leather vest and I swear to Christ if my brain doesn’t shoot from my nose like Old Faithful from a massive aneurysm call Billy Graham because it will be a fucking miracle.




L.L. Bean's WMD's




Phew, feels good to get that off of the ole chest cavity, feels right, ya know? Now lets sweep it under the mohair rug for a little while. The reason why I decided to answer more emails is because there’s been kind of a lull on television lately. I’ve been watching The History Channel like crazy though. I love that channel, not as much as TLC but it’s a close second. I like how The History Channel doesn’t ask tough questions. It just does what it’s supposed to do, pat us on the back for a job well done since we ran those Australian jackboots out of town in the 5th century. I guess I should say 5th century A.D., but I never understood why we put “After Dinosaurs” on those dates anyway, I thought they all died off during that Spanish flu that happened way back before people started writing things down.

Now one of my kids is telling me you’re supposed to put “C.E.” after those dates so you don’t offend anyone. What? Are people still upset about the dinosaurs croaking? So, you mean to tell me if I do my “Lickalotofpuss” lesbian dinosaur joke during my standup routine I have to add a “Sorry, too soon?” when I’m finished? Jesus people, get over it. I guess C.E. must stand for “Computer’s Everywhere” but I’m going to stick with A.D. because this world is just moving way too fast for me.














C.E. should be changed to P.E. for 'Porn Everywhere'

Back to The History Channel, the programming on that thing is just awesome, plain and simple. They have a really wide range of topics with shows like “The Secret Life of Hitler”, “Hitler’s Secret’s Revealed” and “Hitler and Victoria’s Secret: The Secret Comes Out”. Without The History Channel I don’t think people would fully understand how evil Hitler was. Plus nobody would know how cooler The Second World War was than all other wars combined.

Getting back to answering your emails, here are some of the most common questions I’ve been getting:

Freddy McGoover from Santa Barbara, California writes:

Dear Dog,

I think my 15 year old son might be smoking marijuana, he stays in his room all day and won’t come out, listens to rock and roll music and is constantly hungry. Any advice on how to stop him from destroying his life like this would be appreciated, thanks.

Freddy

Freddy,

I’m glad you wrote to me at this critical stage in your son’s life. Now, although rock music and hunger are really good indicators of pot use you need to get more specific. For instance, if your son is listening to classic rock bands like Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, The Doors etc, he’s most definitely smoking pot. But if he’s listening to newer rock bands like Hinder, Nickleback, Linkin Park or Good Charlotte, then he’s a fag, Freddy, there’s just no two ways about it. If that’s the case then you need to speak to a priest or a drill sergeant, which I am neither. Either way, you need to start cracking down man-wise on this kid, he needs a positive role model in his life. Plus, if he stays in his room all day he might just be in there whacking off, so stop bothering me with these bullshit questions, honestly.





If only Hinder sounded a little more earnest





Karen Bowser from Houston, Texas writes:

Dog,

I’m a bored housewife, I have seen every episode of your show and all I can say is, if you’re ever in Houston look me up. You know how they say everything’s bigger in Texas? Well sugar, they ain’t a lyin’.

Kisses,

Karen.

Wow Karen, that wasn’t really a question but I’m going to answer it anyway. I actually have a few questions of my own. Can you send me a photo of yourself? I’m not saying I’m picky but I’m not gonna spend $500 on a flight to Houston and you end up looking like Charleton Heston. Also, when you say everything is bigger in Texas, are you alluding to your boobs? I’m kind of a literal person and I gotta be honest, when you said that I immediately thought you were talking about your ass. I hope it’s your boobs though, I really do. But listen Karen, if you’re loaded then all that stuff doesn’t matter. Seriously, remember Anna Nicole Smith and that corpse she slobbered all over on television? That couple would look like Johnny Cash and June Carter when I got through with you. So, I guess what I’m sayin’ is, send me a copy of your most recent bank statement and a few pictures from various angles and a ticket to Houston and I’ll think about coming to visit, sound good?

Samuel Trollbean from Atlanta, Georgia writes:

Dear Dog Chapman,

On episode 43AR of your show, the one where you get worried that one of the people you’re about to catch might be “packin’ heat”, there is a scene where you are running through a bunch of backyards in a low-income housing area. In one scene there is a can of bear mace on your belt, the brand name of that mace is “Bear-Scare”. However, in the next scene where you are jumping over the kiddy pool the can of mace on your belt is clearly the brand “Grizzly-Fizzly”. How did you switch brands so quickly? Are we to expect you went out and bought a new can of mace in the 0.3 seconds it took to change scenes, or is your show staged? I have this information all typed up and ready to be posted on my blog which I can assure you, A LOT of people read. So, unless you want to be humiliated in front of millions of fans, I suggest you explain this anomaly.

Sincerely,

Samuel

Dear She-Male,

First of all, I’ve never had the opportunity to correspond with the human equivalent of a wet fart before, so I have to thank you for that right off the bat. All I have to say is, I’d never touch either of those brands of mace with a ten foot pole. I use “Bear-Blinder” and only “Bear Blinder” so stop jerking your pole for a second to Leland and try actually paying attention to what's going on in the show. As for your blog, I don’t think your parents and the queers you play “Luke & Han” with on Saturday night at the Games Workshop actually count as people so how about you do the world a favor and stick your face into a moving train, shit weasel.


So there you have it, I love getting your mail so keep ‘em coming and maybe you will get a real life email from The Dog!

A Book Is Worth A Lot of Words

I love to read, it has to be one of my top 20 things to do. Its right up there with cutting my toenails and popping that bubble wrap packaging stuff. Sometimes, when I’m in the middle of a stakeout I’ll take a break from praying for the guy I’m about to beat the shit out of and just get lost in literature. One time I got so engrossed in an Archie comic, the one where Jughead finally expresses his love for Moose, and I accidentally let this perp get away. He had been wanted for multiple rapes and cocaine possession. I guess it was meant to be though because that man went on to a lucrative career in the NFL, true story.

I’d like to venture beyond comics because I want to come across as a knowledged individual. So in the last few weeks I’ve been searching the interweb for more sophisticated novels. That way, when I’m reforming a captured meth addict in the back of the SUV, we can shoot the shit in more depth that just Jesus. I’m not holding out much hope though, all of the meth addicts I know don’t read anything more than the codes and stamps on all the rubber hoses they use. Its lonely bein’ me, sometimes a bounty hunter’s life can be as empty as the plot to that new Wicker Man movie. I personally would’ve liked to have seen Nicholas Caged burned to death within the first 5 minutes of that mess.







"I can't act my way out WICKER for God's sake!"








I have to order all of my new books through the computer machine because I’ve been banned from our local Barnes and Noble for ruining a book and refusing to pay for it. I was checking out the latest Anne Rice novel, the one where gay vampires cope with the social stigmas of being both gay and undead. They are prosecuted by a beautiful right wing vampire hunter who tries to shut down their nightclub “Flesh”. I didn’t get to read the end but I’m pretty sure the vampires had lots of sex. I was reading it in one of those leather chairs they offer and I spilled my $15 vanilla mocha spiced pumpkin latte that came in a cup the size of a bus’ hubcap all over it. Anyway, some punk kid who talked like he had Truman Capote stuck in his throat tried to tell me I owed them $30 for the book. I told him he owed me money for making me withstand looking at his acne splattered face for more than 5 seconds. Long story short, it didn’t end well and now I can’t go back in there.

While I wait for my books to arrive through the computer, I’d like to share with you my five favorite books of all time. They’re in no particular order, expect for a few. I’ll let you decide which ones are in order of preference, it’ll make it more fun that way.

1.













The Secret Power Within by Chuck Norris

This is an amazing book. Chuck Norris explains how Zen philosophy taught him to respect himself, kick really fast and hate minorities. It made me want to get to know Zen a little more but I could never sit still long enough to get into it. I was kind of disappointed that this book didn’t explain some of the scenes from Delta Force 2, like how Chuck can ride a motorcycle through the jungle at top speed while shooting a machine gun that weighs more than he does. That and how come after 15 minutes of using his exercise machine my ass looks like a pre-assembled IKEA bookcase. But the book still taught me some important life lessons about sweating and intolerance so I have to give it mad props.

2.










The Emotional Tone Scale by L. Ron Hubbard

This book trains you to rank your emotions so you can use them to your advantage in almost any social situation. And if you understand what the hell that means you should get back onto your spaceship. It also exposes the lies behind things like psychology, prescription drugs and gravity. Once you read this book you’ll be well on your way up the social ladder towards the rainbow robot heavens where John Travolta and Jenna Elfman have babies together and then eat them.

3.














Magnify: Old Testament Stories For Kids

Now, I know what you’re thinking, what are the “ancient secrets revealed” as advertised on the cover? Well, you’ll just have to read it yourself to find out. The real Bible is full of a lot of words and I find that distracting. This one gets right to the point, most of it is in picture form. Plus it has cool mazes and games that teach kids how to identify and effectively ostracize non-Christians. And I don’t even have to tell ya how bitchin’ the 3D glasses are. Sometimes I just wear the glasses around the house and tell Beth that I can see her sins. She tells me it freaks her out but I know she thinks I look sexy in them. I can honestly say this is the first book I finished in just over a month. Buy it, unless you want your family to rot in hell forever.

4.


















The Dictionary of Biblical Imagery

Do you find yourself trying to express your love for Our Lord and Savoir but just can’t find the right words? Do you occasionally suffer from a lack of imagination? Are you a fucking idiot? Well brother, this book is for you. It describes thousands of events, places and items from the Bible in a way that the editors feel is suitable for a mass audience. Now you don’t have to worry about not being able to effectively scare the shit out of the people you scream at outside of the Home Depot.

5.


















Kill It & Grill It: A Guide to Preparing and Cooking Wild Game and Fish by Ted & Sheman Nugent

The Motor City Madman has taken some time out of sticking his tongue into light sockets and generally scaring the shit out people to write a book about shooting coyotes with his wife/sex slave. I consider this book to be my own personal Bible. It has everything you need in order to learn how to kill things with a crossbow while swinging from a vine and playing “Cat Scratch Fever” with your teeth. As a bonus, it’s filled with Ted’s insights into current events. These include “Let’s kill all minorities” to “Don’t you hate minorities?” So forget about those shitty barbecue books this summer, buy an elephant rifle, snort a line of coke the length of a coffee table and earn your food like a fucking man, the Ted Nugent way.