So, A Little Has Changed….

…like, I live in Romania now. Romania, for those of you without a map handy, is pretty far from Texas.

I have a little extra time to write now, so I’m hoping to update more often. Yes, more often than once a year. Or two. I think I can pull that off.

For now, let me just say that Romania, while generally nice and friendly and beautiful and full of good food and old women in babushkas, also has a dark side: no one here is in a hurry.

To do anything.


(Except when they’re driving, at which point they all act like they have a laboring woman in the back seat and less than five minutes to get to the hospital before the head starts cresting. But more on that later.)

For example, we arrived in Bucharest in mid-July and it wasn’t until a few days ago that we got an internet provider over to our house to hook us up. It took a good six weeks of calling them daily and basically begging them to take our money before they would deign to provide us with internet service. Which, as an internet service provider, is like, their thing.

Here’s an example of what it’s like dealing with customer service – and I use that second noun in the loosest of all possible senses – in Romania. Keep in mind that this isn’t a fly-by-night place. This is the second-largest internet provider in the entire country:


Me: <Dials incredibly long telephone number for Romanian internet provider. They have long numbers here. The Romanians. And their internet providers. >

Internet Boy: Buna ziua.

Me, in passable but far from perfect Romanian: Hello. I need to speak to someone who speaks English. I don’t speak Romanian well.

Internet Boy: <Long stream of lightening-fast Romanian, of which I only understand the word “suna,” which means “to call.”>

Me, in English: You want my phone number?

Internet Boy, in English: Yes. Give me your telephone number.

Me: <Gives incredibly long personal telephone number. Because I’m in Romania. And they have long numbers.>

Internet Boy: <Long stream of lightening-fast Romanian, of which I only understand “cinci minute,” which means “five minutes.”>

Me, English: Someone will call me in five minutes?

Internet Boy, in English again: Yes, someone will call you in five minutes.

Me: Arg. Thanks.

Internet Boy: La revedere!


The Romanians are masters of “Someone will call you back shortly.” Every communication with the company followed a closely-prescribed, ten-step order:

1. I call and tell them, “I need help, but I don’t speak Romanian very well.”

2. They tell me, in English, “I don’t speak English, but someone who does will call you back shortly.”

3. Two days pass.

4. Someone who speaks English returns my call.

5. I tell him, “I need someone to come to my house to connect the internet.”

6. They tell me, “Someone who can schedule that will call you back shortly.”

7. Two more days pass.

8. Someone who, according to rumor, can schedule the installation, calls back, gives me a ticket number, and tells me, “Someone will call you back very shortly to set up a time to install the internet.”

9. Two days pass.

10. Start back at Step No. 1.


Anyway, I’m tired and about to head to bed. It’s after 11 pm here, not the middle of the afternoon like there.

Because I’m in Romania.

Noapte buna!


[Also,you can still by my book I, Superhero!! on Amazon and Barnes & Noble dot com, but only in e-editions. if you’re the 1,000th person to buy the book, I will come to your house personally and sign…well, not the book, because it will probably be on your phone, and you don’t want me signing your phone. I’ll sign something. An arm. I’ll sign your arm. Or another book you don’t like that much and which you think my autograph will class up a bit.]


[PS: I won’t really do that.]


New Feature: The Whitebread Letterhead!

So, I’m back!  More or less.  Just don’t expect sparkling wit and perceptive social commentary every day.  I’m still working full time, helping the loverly and talented Mrs. Whitebread raise our three chillins, and trying to write stuff that pays (as opposed to blog entries).  Basically, you’re my bottom priority.  There.  I said it, and I stand by it.  Sorry for any hurt feelings.  I’ll just tell you what dear old dad used to tell me when I whined: “Suck it up, Pedro!  Life’s tough!”  No idea why he called me “Pedro.”

Today’s entry is a copy of The Whitebread Letterhead, the official newsletter of my alter ego, The Amazing Whitebread.  I hope you like it, because they’re much easier to write than a “real” entry and I plan on posting them fairly frequently.

Best wishes and love to my #4 priority: you.  xoxoxo

Stephen King: Murderer. Oh, and the Years 600-900 Never Happened.

So, here’s the continuation of my 9 favorite-est conspiracy theories:

7. Stephen King shot John Lennon

As everyone knows, a lone drifter named Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon on December 8, 1980.  Right? 



"You are so stoo-ped."

According to Steve Lightfoot, whose rambling, borderline incoherent website doesn’t make him sound the least bit insane, Lennon was “politically assassinated” by “Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan and, you’d better sit down, horror novelist Stephen King.” 

 Lightfoot’s proof?  Well, first there are the “bold print headline government codes” appearing in Time, Newsweek, and U.S. News and World Report magazines around the time of the murder.  Lightfoot points out “coded headlines” like, “Thinking About John Lennon…Johnny Comes Marching Home…Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang, Ouch, Ouch…The Job Richard Nixon Really Wanted…Blasting the Opposition…America Needs A Poet Laureate…Maybe…Heeding Those Subtle Signs…Magazine Maze…All the Presidents Magazines…” and says they “plug into John Lennon’s assassination with up to 70% accuracy at times.”


Where's Robert Langdon when you need him?


I know, I know, that should be enough proof for any logical human being.  But wait, there’s more!  How about the fact that Stephen King looks kinda sort almost like Chapman if you squint and the light’s low and you’re comparing grainy, 30 year old pictures?


On the right...Lennon and Chapman, hours before the shooting. On the left...Stephen King. Conclusion: Incontrovertable proof...that cameras in the 70's sucked.

 According to Lightfoot, the caption “One Great Big Zippo Lighter,” which was a reference to Firestarter, the book King was publicizing at the time, “means fire and movement, and a man at night with a gun ablaze, crouched in a raincoat looks like a great big cigarette lighter. Subtle but dramatic codes.”



"I sense you're trying to tell me something....but what? Too subtle, my friend. Too subtle."

While dating a crazy chick just drives most men to drink and, in their darkest hours, contemplate monasticism, it led little Stevie Lightfoot straight into the arms of a dark government conspiracy: “[When] John Lennon was assassinated and I knew, instinctively, that the story about a lone drifter was government, media hogwash, that huge players were behind his murder and that America and all the people of the world had just been victimized by evil bastards.  Like most of you I assumed they would not leave evidence, the government rarely does, but when there was no trial for the alleged gunman, Mark Chapman, I knew, almost for certain, that, indeed, the government killed John Lennon.  He was the hottest political firebrand to threaten the establishment since Ghandi and possibly Jesus Christ, himself.”  (Or, according to Lennon, bigger than Jesus Christ himself.)

"He said what? Oh, no. No he dih-ent."


So what could make an otherwise normal (up until the death of Lennon) young man go so completely ass-burgers?  I think we all know, at least the guys do, but I’ll let him tell you in his own words anyway: “I met a young woman at the time who proved to be quite the traumatized liar. When we met she gave me a phony name and past and lived with me for a short time. Many melodramatic events, a breakup and over a year later I would find out her real name, past etc.  This experience made me different from most of you because I was no longer naive about liars or lies. I knew, intimately, how convincing they could be.

I get the feeling that when you say "woman," this is what pops into Lightfoot's head.

Lightfoot took his findings to a priest (He probably left out the whole “Lennon is as important as Jesus Christ” part.), who “…advised me to use an alias and rubber gloves for a while.”  Good lord…was he a crackpot or a cat burglar?  Maybe the priest told him to find a rubber room and Lightfoot just misunderstood.

Finally, let me leave you with the one piece of genuine wisdom and insight I gleaned from Lightfoot’s website: “No wonder America is in such shambles. New York City is out of control and disconnected, living under…Yoko Ono’s evil spell.” 

I can never tell if she's sining, or there's just a cat eating a baby somewhere nearby.

Amen, brother.  A-freakin’-men. 

6. The Phantom Time Hypothesis

The Phantom time hypothesis is the theory that there has been an intentional effort to make it appear that the period of the Early Middle Ages (614 – 911) existed when, in fact, they did not.  This hypothesis was originally proposed by Heribert Illig in 1991.  Illig theorized that the Early Middle Ages were “faked” using alteration, misrepresentation, and forgery of documentary and physical evidence.


So what would make an otherwise intelligent person believe that, instead of 2011, we’re now living in the year 1714?  OK, try to follow me here:

The calendar we currently used is known as the Gregorian Calendar, and was introduced by Pope Gregory in 1582.  The previous calendar, the Julian Calendar, was introduced by Julius Caesar, and contained a miscalculation that made the year 10.8 minutes too long (when compared to actual, or astronomical solar time).  This means that, in the time between the introduction of the Julian Calendar and its replacement by the Gregorian Calendar, we should have gained 13 days that weren’t really there.  Therefore, when the Gregorian Calendar was introduced, historians should have “set the clock back” by 13 days.  For example, if the Gregorian Calendar was introduced on July 14, 1582 (Julian Calendar time), the first day of Gregorian time should have been set back to July 1, 1582.   

Got that? explain it to me.

 The snag came in when the Pope Gregory’s astronomers and mathematicians took all their astronomical readings and observations and calculations and discovered the calendar really only needed to be adjusted by 10 days.  From this, Illig reasoned thusly:

A.      There’s a three-day difference between the calendar time and astronomical time. 

B.      Gaining 10.8 minutes per year, those missing 3 days should have taken approximately 300 years to accumulate.

C.      Since the three days aren’t there, that means 300 fewer years passed between Pope Gregory and Julius Caesar that previously thought.

Therefore, the entire Carolingian period, including the person of Charles the Great/Charlemagne himself, one of the most famous figures in history, is a forgery of medieval chroniclers.

Which brings us to the important question of “Why?”  According to Illig, emperor Otto III decided he wanted to be “Jesus Christ’s representative on earth at the dawn of the 7th millennium (6,000 years after creation, according to estimates of the creation year, the subject of which could take up an entire post of its own.  To do so, he had to be emperor in the year 1,000.  Setting the year back by three centuries would have screwed the pooch on his millennial plans real good, so instead of redating the world, he just fudged a little bit.  

"Hey! Everybody come look! I'm Christ's representative on Earth at the dawn of the 7th millenium! Ted, Bob, come look!"

Sounds logical, right?  (The 3 day/300 year thing, not faking three centuries to line up with your own personal religious beliefs.)  If only every scrap of scientific dating evidence, from radio carbon to forensic to astronomical, didn’t say Illig is full of crap, and we’re not really living in the 1700s. 

Which is sad, because I’ve always wanted to be a knight.


"NOW who's takin' Brenda to prom, Doug?"

Tomorrow:  White folks were created in a lab.  Plus, what, other than the entire middle ages, never happened?  That’s right: World War II.

REMINDER: Get the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! FREE just by writing me at and asking for it!

Reptiles and Nazis and UFO’s, oh my!

So, a lot of people think the world’s going to end next year.  Among those people, apparently, is George Lucas.

According to actor Seth Rogen, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg recently met with him regarding a movie, and Rogen reported that Lucas “sits down and seriously proceeds to talk for around 25 minutes about how he thinks the world is gonna end in the year 2012, like, for real.  He thinks it.  He’s going on about the tectonic plates and all the time Spielberg is, like, rolling his eyes, like, ’My nerdy friend won’t shut up, I’m sorry…”

Rogen then asked Lucas if he was building a spaceship to escape Earth’s destruction.  “He claimed he didn’t have a spaceship,” said Rogen, “but there’s no doubt there’s a Millennium Falcon in a garage somewhere with a pilot just waiting to go.  It’s gonna be him and Steven Spielberg and I’ll be blown up like the rest of us.”

Lucas: "We out, bitches!" Spielberg: "George, you so crazy."

I have a love/hate relationship with apocalypse and conspiracy theories.  On one hand, I usually can’t stand conspiracy theorists, especially ones that harp on important historical events that have been proven and reproven over and over again, like 9/11 “Truthers,” people who don’t think we really landed on the moon, etc.  However, I can’t get enough of the bizarre world of the truly insane conspiracists (Is that a word?  Well, it is now.)  Below are nine of my favorite theories and the people associated with them (in no particular order):

9. David Icke/The Reptoids

Some people believe the world is run by a secret cabal of powerful families known as “The Illuminati.”  Some believe shadowy religious sects are behind all the major events in world history.  Ex-BBC personality David Icke, however, really has it figured out.  It’s not the Rockefellers, it’s not Zemu and his wacky band of thetans: it’s the underground lizard people known as Reptoids (also: reptiloids or draconians).

Ickes contends that 5-12 foot tall, blood-drinking, shape-shifting reptilian humanoids from the Alpha Draconis star system are currently living in the Hollow Earth (See theory #8) and control most of the world.

So, the world is controlled by the Sleestaks from "Land of the Lost."

Among those who Ickes and his followers claim are Reptoids are the British Royal family, the Bush family, and pretty much every other important political and religious figure of the last 2,000 years or so.

Huh. Maybe he's onto something after all....

According to Icke, in an interview with The Spectrum in 1999, the Sleestaks intervened in the “Royal lines” of the Near and Middle East 5,000 years ago, creating alien/human hybrids. Per Ickes’ impeccable (I’m sure) research, William of Orange, “to whom every surviving Royal Family in Europe is related,” was one of these hybrids, and “[a]ccording to  Burke’s Peerage, the bible of Aristocratic and  Royal  genealogy  based in  London,  every  American election since and including  George Washington, in 1789, has been won  by the  candidate with the  most European Royal  genes. 33 of  the 42  are  genetically related  to two  people: Charlemagne  (King), the most  famous monarch of what  we call France, and Alfred  the  Great, the  King  of  England.”

So, what’s the proof that all the world’s major politicians and royals are really giant lizards in disguise?

Well for one thing, that's what happened in "V." That was a documentary, right?

No, his arguments were based on much more powerful evidence than an awesome 80’s miniseries: he knows there are lizard-people here because, you know, people have told him so.

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 1: Icke claims that he met a personal friend of Princess Diana named Christine Fitzgerald, who told him that Diana had told her that the Windsor family were “reptiles.”  “‘She used to say, in all seriousness, “They are NOT human!”‘”  Icke went on to say that “Christine Fitzgerald went on to tell me: ‘You know, the Windsors are a reptilian line, they’re not human.'”

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 2: Per Ickes, “I was in Vancouver, speaking, and I met about 4 or 5 people who told me the same story, including a business woman, who is a real feet-on-the-ground, you know, power-dressing kind of 5,000 clients business woman. And she said she had this  relationship with a guy who was Portuguese, and he just turned into a reptile in front of her.”

OK, really, who hasn’t had that happen?  I dated at least three girls who turned into reptiles in front of me before I met Wifebread.

This was actually my business card for a short period of time.

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 3:  Ickes claims that a woman named Cathy O’Brien, co-author of the book Trance-formation Of America…

Looks totally legit to me, and not at all like the kind of thing you'd sell out of the trunk of your car at a flea market. Nope. Not at all.

…told him that George Bush himself personally informed her “that they were an extraterrestrial race that came from a ‘far off space place’who’d taken over the world, and no one realized it because they look human. But, she said, he changed in  front of her into a reptile.”

Because that sounds EXACTLY like that kind of thing an ancient lizard-alien posing as a human and subsequently elected president of the United States would do: expose his race’s 5,000 year old secret to…this chick.

"I'm not crazy. I'M NOT CRAZY!!!!"

Finally, Ickes reassured his interviewer that, “…when I talk about reptilians, I am not talking about all reptilians.  I’m talking about a particular group. I’m sure the reptilian form is a massive constant across great chunks of this galaxy and beyond, and I’m certainly not saying that anyone in reptilian form-any time anyone sees anyone in reptilian form, and there are a lot of people who do-and say, ‘I didn’t get bad vibes from them.’  [B]ecause we’re not talking about ALL reptilians, we’re talking a group that appears to take a reptilian form because that’s how people keep seeing these people in power.”

That’s right, kids: not all reptillian aliens masquerading as humans are evil.  Just the ones named Bush….

The “fact” that these reptilliodians supposedly live within the Earth bumps against one of my other favorite theories:

8. Hollow Earth Theory

The Hollow Earth hypothesis proposes that the planet Earth is…well, hollow.  One of the first proponents of Hollow Earth was Edmond Halley.

Yeah, the comet guy.

In 1692, he proposed that the Earth consisted of a shell about 500 miles thick, two inner concentric shells, and an innermost core.   According to Halley, atmospheres separate these shells, each shell has its own magnetic poles, and the spheres rotate at different speeds. Halley proposed this scheme in order to explain anomalous compass readings.

"Something's screwing this thing up. It's either the magnetic bracelet I wear for my tennis elbow, or the Earth consists of a shell about 500 miles thick, two inner concentric shells, and an innermost core, with atmospheres separating the shells, each shell having its own magnetic poles. Probably that second thing."

In 1818, John Cleves Symmes, Jr. suggested that the Earth consisted of a hollow shell 800 miles thick (those insecure Hollow Earth theorists, always having to have a thicker shell than the other guy). Symmes became the most famous of the early Hollow Earth proponents after proposing and expedition to find a hole into the Earth he theorized would be at the North Pole.  None other than President John Quincy Adams indicated he would approve of this, but Andrew Jackson replaced him as President before the expedition could be mounted.

Andrew Jackson is not putting up with your bullsh*t.

The Nazi era Thule Society reported much about Tibetan myths of openings into the Earth. There is even a theory that Hitler ordered a research journey for such an opening in Antarctica, but hey, Hitler believed a lot of freaky crap.

Everything I know about the Thule Society, I learned from watching "Hellboy" umpteen billion times. Great flick.

There are even claims that he bought into “concave hollow earth theory” (the idea that, not only is the Earth hollow, but we actually live inside it, with the sun at the center of the cavity) to the point that, at one point, he sent an expedition to spy on the British fleet by pointing infrared cameras up at the sky, in an apparent attempt to see through Earth’s hollow core to the British ships located above him.  Did I mention he was a little crazy?

Not "fun crazy," either. Just crazy.

In my mind, however, the King of the Hollow Earthers was “Dr. Raymond Bernard,” the pseudonym of Dr.Walter Siegmeister (Why would you go with a pseudonym when you already have such an awesome name?).  His 1964 book, The Hollow Earth,claimed that “the inhabitants of Atlantis took refuge in the Earth’s interior before the city was destroyed in great calamity.  It was Atlanteans who piloted the flying machines known in ancient India as vimanas and in the modern world as flying saucers. After the US bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Bernard claimed, the Atlanteans became concerned that radioactive air might flow into the world’s interior, and so some emerged in their flying saucers in an act of self-defense.”

There you have it: hollow Earth, Atlantis, UFOs, and World War II, all in one story.

Kinda like this, which is actually pretty awesome.

If we could only get George Lucas and Steven Spielberg to turn that into a movie instead of worrying about 2012….

Tomorrow: More crazy crap, including…Which horror writer really killed John Lennon?  And the Middle Ages never happened!

REMINDER: For a FREE PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!!, just write me at and ask for it!  You don’t even have to say “please!”  (Although that would be nice.)

I’ve missed you, neighbor.

So, my holiday from blogging ended up going from a few days to…what, about three weeks now?  Yikes!  I better get back to it.  Fresh, hilarious, and potentially life-changing new content coming soon, I promise!  Like, today or tomorrow soon.  In the meantime, enjoy this loverly review of I, Superhero!! posted today on

Oh, and if the review gets you interested, don’t forget you can get a free PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters by writing me at and asking!

My First Hate Mail! I Feel So Official….

Note: The following entry contains some pretty foul language.  Or at least, almost contains some pretty foul language.  In repeating the choicest parts of an email I recieved last night, I had to redact some of the letters, but you can still tell what was being said.  So, if you’re offended by reading almost-complete profanity, or if you’re one of my nieces, nephews, cousins, etc., who are too young to read such things, skedattle.  Go on now.  Git.

So, due to the lovely economy, my publisher doesn’t have much in the way of advertising funds, which means I’m doing the majority of the legwork on spreading the word about the book.  As part of that, I’ve been commenting on any blogs or websites I come across that mention “real-life superheroes” (The subject of my book.  But you already knew that, because you’ve purchased 12 copies each, right?).  I usually try to ease into my spiel, or ask the owner’s permission before I post a comment because, let’s face it, it’s technically spam, and no one likes a spammer.  However, last night I was tired from helping rearrange the bedroom all evening, so I just put up a generic message on the sites I hit, saying “Hey, I’ve got a book about this…blah blah blah…free PDF of first 1 1/2 chapters…blah blah blah…thanks.”

Within minutes of posting on one woman’s blog, I got a response that started with “Dear C**tbag,” and ended with “…and I hope you go die in a fire.”  The middle was three paragraphs of similar, focusing mainly on the fact that “it’s because of c*mstains like you that I have to moderate this sh*t.”

Yikes stripes.  I thought that was a wee bit of an overreaction, but that’s just me.  In Internetville, wishing a painful death upon a father of three may be a perfectly proportional response to the mild inconvenience of having to click  the “delete” or “do not approve” buttons on your blog dashboard (or just not approve it by doing absolutely nothing at all).  In real-people land, however, I think it shows a remarkable lack of perspective.  But again, that’s just me.

I’m not one to get into fights with strangers via email, so I just replied with a chipper, “You’re funny.  I like you.”  Needless to say, I haven’t heard from the young lady since.  Good lord, I hope she’s a young lady.  Like 13, 14?  It would be doubly disturbing to think of an adult choosing to respond that way.

Anyway, as I said, I don’t want to fight with the shrill harpy who sent this, and I don’t want anyone else to, either, which is why I’m not mentioning her name or email address or website. 


I’m assuming she’s either a.) mentally unbalanced, b.) 13, and just coming into that first rush of hormones that makes idiots of everyone between 12 and 20 (for men, 12 and 30), or c.) a really sad, angry, lonely person.  No matter which, arguing with her would be like boxing a terminally ill TB patient: if I get the best of her, I’m a colossal jerk, and if I don’t, then I got beat up beat up by a termally ill TB patient. 

"I'm gonna kick the ever-lovin' crap outta that kitten. Then I'll be a real man."

There’s really nothing in that for Mikey.

I will make one comment on the language used by the repugnant virago, though. 

Pictured: "repugnant virago."

I’m no prude, and I’ve been known to let a few choice words drop at what I deemed to be the appropriate time, but damn.  (See?)  That was pretty much all there was in her email – one foul, unrepeatable word after another.  I read once that “profanity is the attempt of a lazy and feeble mind to express itself forcefully.”  I like that.  It cuts right to the source of the issue: if you’re too lazy or ignorant to express your point in a strong and intelligent way, just toss some f**ks and c**ts and c*mstains in there and it’ll make you sound, to you at least, like a force be reckoned with instead of a puerile fishwife.

So instead of arguing with or insulting the vicious termagant, let me just say to everyone out there: if someone pisses you off, especially if it’s unintentional, or if it’s something that you can just ignore and not have it affect your life in the least, then let it go. 

Unless you just enjoy being a shrew. In which case, play on, playah.

Take a deep, cleansing breath, let it out, and move on.  If you feel you must, go ahead and write the person, but it would be a good idea to at least start off being civil, see if there’s a reasonable explanation for what they’ve done.  Say, that they’ve spent three years of their life writing a book, travelling around the country, missing time with family and friends, and spending all your advance money on hotels and rental cars.  You never know.

Or, failing all that, you can just blog about it.  Personally, I hold no ill will against the woman who wrote me and wish the vituperative harridan all the best.

Would eat your baby if given the chance.


PS: At the risk of receiving a hateful diatribe from myself for spamming my own blog, let me remind you you can still get the first 1 1/2 chapters of I, Supehero!! free just by writing to and asking for it!

I’m Going to Be SO Much Better Next Year…

     So, it’s almost the first of the year, and I’m still too busy playing with my new Nook to write any in-depth blog entries.  Instead, here’s a list of my 50, count ’em 50 New Year’s resolutions.  Enjoy, and I’ll see everyone next year!

1. Lose weight.

2. Exercise.

3. Stop cutting off Asian women in traffic “as revenge for Pearl Harbor.”

4. Convert to Islam, steal all their recipes, convert back.

Totally worth having a jihad put on me.

5. Tell family the bank has foreclosed on our house.  Pack everything, put furniture in storage, and move out.  After three days in hotel, announce “Just kidding!” and move back home.

"Dad was just joshin', Cupcake! But the "no Santa" thing? Still true."

6. Swear more.  A lot more.

7. Help reduce/care for the homeless pet population by feeding stray cats to stray dogs.  Win/win.

8. Stop pooping on neighbor’s lawn every time she lets her yippy little dog poop on mine. 

9. Be more narcissistic.

Man. Even dressed like a reject from Troy, I'm hot.

10. Subject Wifebread to fewer “Dutch ovens.”

Guess again.

11. Teach Biscuit to stand on street corner wearing an eye patch an a wooden leg, saying “Aaargh, can ye spare some doubloons for an old sea dog?”

12. Stop stalking Fred Willard.  Start stalking Kelesy Grammar.

13. Stop impregnating Wifebread every 10 months.

14. Read more tawdry crime novels.

True dat.

15. Refer to all women as “it/its” instead of “she/her.”

16. Refer to all men as “Broseph.”

17. Try to get my name and picture on the grocery store cash register as one of the “Do not take checks from…” guys.

18. Use the word “honkey” more often in reference to myself.

19. Wrestle two midgets at once.

Preferably ones without porno mustaches.

20. Eat an entire jar of Marshmallow Fluff just to see what my poo looks like the next day.

The "after" will probably look suspiciously like the "before."

21. Spend less time worrying about Africanized bees.

22. Create a safe room stocked with shotguns and canned goods.  When people ask what it’s for, just say “zombies,” then spit and walk away.

23. Write another book that no one wants to buy.


24. Ask everyone at work if I can borrow a “unimalichidor.”  Be insulting and dismissive when they say they don’t know what that is.

"Next you'll be telling me you've never heard of a maxilinastrobulator. Idiot."

25. Randomly spank my kids and tell them “That’s for nothin’.  Don’t do somethin.'”

26. Approach a minority, start telling an offensive joke about their race.  Halfway through, stop, squint eyes, and lean in until my face is inches from theirs, then turn and silently walk away.

27. Give out free gynecological exams in a rented storage unit.  I mean, hey, it worked for this guy.

28. Be more of a pompous, pseudointellectual ass: carry an unlit pipe everywhere, wear corduroy jackets with leather elbow patches, and liberally quote Kierkegaard and Nietzsche.

"'It belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite.' Also, I'm a massive tool. Simply massive."

 29. Take Biscuit and Cupcake to PetSmart, try to enroll them in obedience classes.

30. Walk into local PETA branch with pizza box and loudly ask, “Who ordered the ‘Meat Lover’s’?”

31. Constantly talk about “all the good things Hitler did.”

32. Wear roller skates everywhere, tell people I’m “in training.”  When they ask for what, just roll my eyes and skate away.

33. Learn as much about an obscure sport as possible, keep trying to engage people in conversation about it:

            Me: Did you see the polo match on ESPN 12 last night?  US versus Argentina?

            Coworker: Nope.

            Me: Man, it pissed me off.  The pivot fouled in the third chukker and the ref totally blew the call.  I was livid.

            Coworker: I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I don’t know how many times I have to tell y….”

            Me: USPA!  USPA!

34. Remind random strangers the world’s going to end on 12/21/2012, then flash my handgun and ask if they “want to go out in style.”

35. Start going to work with an Italian sausage shoved down the front of my pants, act like I have no idea what people are staring at.

36. Start going to work with an Italian sausage shoved down the back of my pants, act like I have no idea what people are staring at.

37. Use confusing, made-up acronyms, refuse to explain them.  “I can’t believe he did that!  I was totally M5CLQ.  I mean, really.”

38. Legally change my name to Grizzle McFizzle, ask Wifebread if she’d make me the happiest man alive an become Mrs. McFizzle.

39. Go on long, violent, curse-filled diatribes about the metric system.

"Hectometers? Kilopascals? I'm going to *$&#ing kill someone."

40. At work, start yelling out the time once an hour, but not on the hour.  “IT’S TWO SEVENTEEN, EVERYONE!  TWO SEVENTEEN!”

41. Try to convince people I invented canned tuna.  Rail against “dolphin-safe” tuna, saying it “goes against the spirit of putting tuna in a can in the first place, damn it all.”

42. Eat more Spam.  It’s spiced ham, people.  How could that possibly taste bad?

This is how.

43. Go into Dollar General, have them ring up $2,000 worth of crap, then say all I have to pay with are temporary third-party out of state postdated bad checks. 

44. Drink more, yell a lot, then tell my daughter it’s because she cries.

45. Start a rumor involving LeBron James, Miley Cyrus, and the gear shift form a 1985 Ford Escort.  See how long it takes TMZ or Perez Hilton to report it as fact.

46. Photoshop a guy’s face into my wife’s place in the pictures on my desk.  When coworkers ask about it, say I’ve always been married to Ricardo and if they don’t stop commenting on it, I’m going to sue them all for harassment.

47. Dress up like Gandalf, go to airport, and stand at the end of the moving walkway, yelling, “You cannot pass!  I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!  The dark fire will not avail  you, Flam of Udun!  go back to the shadow!  You shall not pass!”  Slam staff down dramatically, see how long it takes TSA to respond.

Just imagine the Balrog pulling a carry-on, and this is pretty much spot on.

48. Take skydiving lessons.  Just as we’re jumping out of the plane on my first tandem jump, tell instructor onto whose back I’m strapped, “I gotta go number one.  Real bad.”

49. Buy a sailor hat, make people refer to me as “Commodore.”

"No, no no! That's totally the wrong kind of Comm.... Oh, never mind."

50.  Stop making lists of things to do and not do. 

REMINDER: You can get a PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! just by writing me at and asking for it!  Your address will not be shared, sold, added to a mailing list, or otherwise used for anything other than sending you this FREE sample of my book.