...so this happened.

...yep, this happened.  Have fun turning your computer and tablets around all over the place to read it too. It'll be just like old times.

- ryan

Review - Son Of Batman

DC Comics has been putting together these direct-to-video releases for a few years now, and for the most part they've been pretty enjoyable.  This newest one, "Son Of Batman" is based on the character of Damian - Batman's love-child with Talia Al Ghul - from the New52 Batman series.

Damian's grandfather, Ra's Al Ghul, is murdered by Deathstroke in the opening minutes, leaving Damian to seek vengeance.  Talia takes Damian to live with Bat-"eat-your-veggies-and-you'll-grow-up-strong-like-me"-man, and... well, it almost seems like a great premise for an ABC TGIF sitcom series.  Batman lets Damian become a new Robin and they have to go save Talia from Deathstroke.  There's lots of fighting, and in the end Damian is left with Batman for good.  Because, really, the Batcave is the perfect place to raise a child. 

The son becomes the father and the father the son?

The Good:  This is actually a pretty fun movie, once you stop joking around about how funny it could actually be to see Batman as a daddy.  I'm really happy they pronounced Ra's Al Ghul correctly too (take some notes Christopher Nolan).  The interplay between Damian and Nightwing is actually well written and voiced.  You can feel the jealously from Nightwing, and I'd liked to have seen more of that.  Alfred's small role steals the show.  He's dry.  He's funny.  He's everything you want from that limey ol' Pennyworth.  As for the villains, it's friggin' nice to finally see Deathstroke in something.  Those of us who grew up in the late 80s and early 90s of comics thought Deathstroke was the coolest baddie around.

Oh, and there's a lot of cleavage shots of Talia's boobies.  That was worth the $19.99 on it's own.

I was talking with someone the other day about how Batman was "taken advantage of" to spawn this love child (her words were "raped") and it got me thinking - this might be the most human we've ever seen Bruce Wayne.  I mean, he's Batman, and Batman does whatever Batman wants. The old joke has always been that Batman can beat anybody and sometimes that means letting the other guy think he's won while Batman sits in the Batcave and giggles while drinking scotch.  Could Batman have intended for himself to be taken advantage of to produce an offspring?  On one hand, you have Batman - The Dark Knight who genuinely likes being alone, seeking to avenge those who can't do it for themselves.  But on the other hand, you have Bruce Wayne, who longs for the family life he lost at such an innocent age.  It's possible then to assume that Bruce Wayne subconsciously encouraged himself to be drugged and taken advantage of because Batman would never have allowed it to happen.  Think on that for a while.

The Blu-Ray also comes with four bonus Batman cartoons, ranging from the Animated Series to Batman Beyond to Brave & The Bold.  They're a nice companion to the story and I'm glad the Blu-Rays of these DC movies include them.

"Right up your bum, bad guys!"

The Bad: The blood.  Wait wait wait.  Before you call me crazy, I'm all for seeing some blood in these things.  It's a Batman cartoon.  There's gonna be violence and blood.  But watch that opening attack sequence on Ra's Al Ghul's castle.  One slice from a sword and the henchmen seem to lose every drop of blood in their body.  There was enough blood transfused in the opening ten minutes to continue keeping Keith Richards alive for another decade.  One small gunshot resulted in about three pints of blood being splattered every which way.  I was actually laughing at how bad it was.

I also missed having Kevin Conroy doing Batman's voice.  I know that's picky, but when Deathstroke first arrives and you hear his voice, he actually sounds like Kevin Conroy's Batman.  It was exciting, confusing, and disappointing all at the same time.

The Verdict:  This is a pretty solid little flick.  It's just long enough, and has some decent action sequences too.  If WB is going to continue making only New52 movies, then I hope they do Batman's "Death Of The Family" soon.  That was the best Batman story of the last ten years.  "Son Of Batman" holds up well with the others in the collection in terms of quality.  I still think the best DC Animated DVD was "Wonder Woman", but the quality and detail of "Son Of Batman" is better than some of the last couple outings. 

And yet, we never got this scene in the movie...

- Ryan Fan Club

Top 11 Rejected Baby Names

...so the cat's outta the bag, and yes, I am going to be a father again.

Much like the last time around, though, I'm having a hard time getting my lovely wifey to agree on baby names.  The name you give a child is important.  It absolutely can't rhyme with anything to allow them to be made fun of at school.  You don't want your kid being called "Fat Matt", "Whorey Corey", or "Punjabi Abbie".  You need a good strong name that declares independence and courage. 

So here are two Top 11 lists.  One is Rejected Boy Names and the other is Rejected Girl Names.

Under each name  you'll see my wife's reasoning for rejecting that name.

Top 11 Rejected Boy Names

Bret The Hitman

11. Bret "The Hitman" Ewing
"I'm not naming my child Bret The Hitman..."
10. Axl Ryan Ewing
"I don't want our kid getting beat up.  I'm not naming him Axl..."
9. Lando Ryan Ewing
"I'm not naming our child Lando..."
8. Joe Fucking Perry Ewing
"No."
7. Skeletor Ewing
"I'm not naming my child Skeletor."
6. Prince Shezahd Ewing
"..... do I even need to give you an answer?"
5. Bret "The Hitman" Ewing
"Just.  Stop.  Trying.  We are NOT naming this child Bret 'The Hitman', even if he'll be best there ever will be."
4. Stallone Rocky Rambo Over-the-top Sly Ewing 
"I think I want a divorce.  I'll raise this child on my own."
3. Kalvin Elliot Ewing
"...hey... I kinda like Calvin... but wait... are you trying to secretly name this kid Kal-El...?" 
2. Tuukka Ryan Ewing
"We are absolutely not naming our child Tuukka.  It's too hard to spell..." 
1. Optimus Prime Ewing
"I'm not naming my child Optimus Prime.  No, Ryan, it's NOT a strong name for a boy."

Top 11 Rejected Girl Names

Amanda Ultimate Warrior

11. Amanda Ultimate Warrior Ewing
"Why am I having your child again?"
10. Zdana Chara Ewing
"...only if she comes out at almost seven feet tall."
9. Lillian Murphy Ewing
"Lillian is nice... but why Murphy?"
8. Skeletina Ewing
"No. No.  And more no."
7. Bambi Ewing
"That sounds like a stripper name."
6. Scarlett Ewing
"That sounds like a stripper name too."
5. Anastasia Ewing
"Stripper name!"
4. Destiny Ewing
"That sounds like a stripper name!!!"
3. Lexi Ewing
"Do you want to be the one who explains that we named our child after your favorite porn star?"
2. Angel Ewing
"That sounds like a stripper name!!!!!!"
1. Chastity Ewing
"That sounds like a stripper name!!!!!!!"

So as you can see, I have some great baby names already suggested.  Who knows what else we might come up with during this pregnancy. 

- Ryan

Sorry I'm Not Sorry

me, in 2014 - this year!

Sorry I'm Not Sorry
(...a new poem for the ages... by me, Ryan Matthew Ewing!)

I can tell by the grey in my beard
That I'm gonna have a lot of explaining to do
There's no point in apologizing for the past
And honestly, I don't really want to
That's not who I was, or what I tried to be
But still who I am too
And if I could do it all again I would
Oh yes, I would... wouldn't you?

I had songs about junk and lonely monkeys
And the taste of the butterflies in my stomach
I felt heat from the ones with the filthy rhymes
But mostly that ditty, "do a fat chick"

And all the while I listened to words with meaning
Saying,"Why don't you write a nice tune?"
But when I did, and often, they didn't listen
Believe me, it sometimes still rains in June

me, in 1999 - not this year!

And there's not much left funny about a joke
Where you can't seem to find the punchline
You might read one in a backwards newsletter
I'm not so sure;  That print is quite fine

Being famous for nothing is great (trust me)
Until you start coming up with some "proof"
All of a sudden you're an artist or musician or
Being chased by flesh-eating midgets in a cartoon spoof
(...and don't get me started on the hermaphrodites)

It's fulfilling to belong to a special club all my own
And even better to recognize everyone in town
An ID card is cool, and so is having your name changed
To Jesus Lord Ryan Jon Browne

Yes, I'll ambush a communistic chocolate bar
And from time to time still wear red jeans
But the hair's not coming back
(I'd like to think it's cuddling with Toxika)
And sadly, neither are the 'zines

So I'm so sorry that I'm not that sorry
If I've made you laugh or smile or confused

frig diggity doo.

If you were ever upset, you just didn't get the joke
And hey, at least I was always amused
And I really don't know how I'll explain it all
To my children some day when they inquire
It might start, "Once upon a friggidy ding-dong..."
Then I'll put those kids to work in the choir

I was "fired", then retired, and then un-retired too
And was un-attired nude in newsletter number two
(Actually it was #3, but that doesn't rhyme [look it up!])
And I don't believe in happy endings because
Everything ends badly - if not, it wouldn't end
So I'm so sorry that I'm not that sorry, you see
I have many more brainstorms to attend
So join and be my #1 fan
And those who left for a while can also come back
and blah blah blah, something something or other
Le Canard hasn't had the last quack

Peckerhead

You know what word I haven't heard in a long time?  Peckerhead.

this pic has nothing to do with the narrative, or does it?

I actually don't remember the last time somebody called me a peckerhead.  Sure, I've been called an asshole, a dickhead, dickless, arse-face, and even faggot in the last couple of years, but I really think the last time anybody called me a peckerhead was in a heated game of Mortal Kombat II on the Super Nintendo.

Peckerhead.

Urban Dictionary has a few definitions for Peckerhead, and most of them are pretty similar.  There is one, though, that refers to it as an inanimate object.  How interesting. It's listed as, "a wire box for an electric motor".  The example is, "open up the peckerhead and rewire the motor."

For some strange reason, I immediately believe this is some kind of redneck talk.  Kind of like referring to the television as a "fucker" ("Don't you dare change that fucker, the game is on!").

Or even more so, like referring to something as a "Son'bitch".  You know what I mean - "Hey Rudy, bring that son'bitch o'er here so's-in I can wrap it with the duct tape!"

I get it.  I don't like it, but I get it.  It's all just fun swearing.  I guess I just couldn't imagine myself calling an object a Peckerhead.  I mean, "Honey, the dinner's missing something tonight... can you shake a little of that peckerhead on mine?"

Or who would find themselves saying, "I appreciate your seeing me today.  I'm very interested in this job, and I'm sure you'll find my peckerhead here to be more than adequate."

The initial response is sexual, of course.  We all know what a pecker is, and naturally a pecker has a head on it.  But never have I thought of the word Peckerhead as being a sexual term.  If you went home with a girl and she said, "oh yeah, baby, do me with your big, hard, peckerhead," you'd be laughing yourself out of the room.

Peckerhead.  It is fun to say though, isn't it?  Go on, say it aloud a few times in a row.  You'll find yourself smiling.

Still, to me anyway, a peckerhead will always be a term used toward another person.  Someone who slips and falls, perhaps.  "Way to go, peckerhead!"

Peckerhead.  Let's all do our part in bringing back that word.

- ryan

Cartoon Chicks You Shouldn't Want To Have Sex With

Quite some time ago I did a list called, Top 11 Cartoon Babes I'd Sleep With.  You can check it out here: http://www.ryanfanclub.com/archive/top11cartoonbabes.html
It raised a few eyebrows.  I mean, the idea of wanting to sleep with a fictional character seemed preposterous.  But we've all considered it.  Every single male who ever watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit had a fantasy about Jessica Rabbit... it's just that some people are okay with admitting to it.

But there is a darker side to all of this.  While, sure, it's one thing to say that Jessica Rabbit is sexy, or you'd absolutely sleep with Daphne from Scooby-Doo if she were real, or the Catwoman costume really turns your crank - these are all realistic cartoon characters.  You might know someone who looks like Daphne.  After all, she looks like a real person.  But what about some of those other cartoon characters?  The ones you've caught yourself saying, "hey, if she were real and NOT a mouse, I'd totally buy her a drink" to.

Yep, I'm talking about Minnie Mouse.

Admit it.  You'd have sex with Minnie Mouse.  Sure, you might not tell anyone about it, but you'd do it.  Look, the sooner you accept this and admit it to yourself, we can move on with the rest of the article.

There's something pretty cool about Minnie Mouse.  After all, she's been dating the same egotist for the last sixty-some years.  Minnie Mouse actually represents the type of girlfriend so many guys really do go after.  She's cute, she's spunky, and she knows that her boyfriend Mickey is the boss of the house.  Sure, she's had her own attempts at careers over the years, but she's always been the minority income earner in the house of mouse.

So what if Minnie Mouse were real?  And not a mouse?  I kinda think she'd look a bit like Reese Witherspoon.  Now, I hate that Sweet Home Alabama movie more than anyone, but that wouldn't stop me from jumping into bed with Miss Witherspoon.

Arcee, that robot in disguise from the 1980s Transformers movie, is another good example.  She's a robot.  And sometimes she's a car.  And yet, nerds from all over the world have thought about what it would be like to transform in her and roll out at the last possible minute.  Yeah, I just made that joke.

Jessie (from the Toy Story series) is a toy.  A friggin' toy!  But all men like cowgirls.  Need proof?  Just look at the longevity of country music.  Dudes like a girl in plaid and stupid hats.  It's true.  It's stupid, but it's true.  Jessie's a great example of the fun-loving cowgirl spirit; a girl with a heart full of adventure, willing to try new things and experiment with attitude.

The Little Mermaid is a tricky one.  You see, Ariel is almost human - but she's got no legs and can breathe under water.  With that said, at the end of the movie she has legs and is a full fledged human.  So I'll let you use your best judgement on this one.  But really, I'm not sure I'd want to go holding hands with someone who has spent their entire life under the sea.  Think of how wrinkly her hands would be.

I was asked to include Miss Piggy in here somewhere.  She represents class, sophistication, and true beauty.  And if pushed over the edge, she'll get violent too.  But she isn't a cartoon.  As far as I'm concerned, the Muppets are real.  Sure, they're obviously puppets with some actors' hands up their butts, but the Muppets cast their own shadow.  And in my mind, that constitutes for being real.  You could break into the Muppet studio and really have sex with Miss Piggy.  It would be gross, wrong, and going too far to prove a point about fictional characters being hot though.  And you'd most likely get arrested for it.  But you could do it.  Realistically though, it probably wouldn't be very good.  She'd just lay there. Unless the puppeteer still had their arm up there, then I dunno.

Am I missing anyone?  Are their any cartoon characters that should be added in?

- ryan

That Time I Went To A Museum

statue of Abraham Lincoln

The year was 2009.  It was a cold January morning.  You can tell it was cold because in the pictures I'm wearing my winter jacket.  And I was there.  I remember it being cold enough to wear a winter jacket.  Or even a light jacket with a really heavy sweater, but that might not have been all that comfortable.  Winter jacket it was!

I had a hankering to go to a museum.  But before I went to that museum to see all the fine historical pieces of art and bones, I knew it was important for me to have a good, solid breakfast.  You see, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  At least that's what we're told.  It's probably a scam from the media or the government, but how am I supposed to know that?  And if breakfast truly is the most important meal of the day, then why is it always the least expensive on the menu at any restaurant?  You would assume that the boneless rib steak with garlic shrimp and twice-baked potato with a side of grilled mushrooms and a lovely glass of red wine would be the most important meal of the day.  That little feast can easily set you back a good fifty dollar bill or more.

There I go getting off topic again.  I'm pretty bad for that sometimes.  I have an important story to tell about my trip to the museum.  This is no time or place for grilled mushrooms.

So I woke up, remembered it was cold enough to need a winter jacket, and decided to have a healthy breakfast.   Pancakes are my favorite food, so naturally I gravitated to something that would involve putting them in my belly.  And what goes perfect with pancakes?  Why, bacon of course!  And pancake syrup.  The good stuff.  It's gotta be made by that lovely lady Aunt Jemima or else it's just not good enough to touch my lips and tongue.  Sorry to burst your bubble readers, but when it comes to pancake syrup, I'm kind of a snob.

While we're on the subject of syrup - do you say "sir-up" or "seer-up"?  It's this strange debate I've been having with people for years!  You might try and pull the whole "tomato/tomahto" case of 1972 as your backup, but really, a good bottle of Aunt Jemima's finest deserves to have a unified, decisive and agreed upon title given to it.  So sir-up it is.  Spread the word.  Anyone who says seer-up is a communist.

And not the good kind of communist either.

I'm studying the remnants of a tiny people village.  I'm looking through the entrance to the town and the welcome sign.

When I make pancakes, which is about once a week or so because like I already mentioned above, I'm a bit of an enthusiast - I like them to be thin.  Not so thin that they're crepes mind you, after all I'm an Irish lad not a French garcon, but I don't like them to be super thick and fluffy.  If they get to be too thick, then you can really only have one or two pancakes for breakfast and that's just not enough to fulfill my pancake appetite.  I like to be able to knock off five, six, sometimes seven pancakes in one morning.  Seven is a good round number.  I'd go so far as eight, but I'd hate to look like a pancake glutton.  What would our darling Aunt Jemima think of me?

It's also important to use a non-stick frying pan when making pancakes.  You don't want those bad boys sticking to the pan and falling apart on you.  No, a perfect pancake needs to keep it's perfect figure, much like a sexy lingerie model, looking you directly in the eyes as if to say, "Hi.  I saw you standing there.  I want you to ravage me."

I get shudders just thinking about those perfect pancakes.

Where was I?  Right.  Going to the museum.

So once my pancakes were finished and on the table, I sat down and gazed at them.  Marveled at them really.  They were a thing of inexplicable beauty.  I light dusted them with some margarine - I'm too cheap to buy real butter - and then slowly glazed them with the Aunt Jemima syrup.  (sir-up!)

They looked so pure and innocent that I almost couldn't bring myself to cut off that first bite.  Did my pancakes have feelings?  I made a little half frowny face at my plate, all the while trying to decide if I really should be eating this wonderful creation.  What would you do?  Imagine yourself face-to-face with the Mona Lisa herself.  Would you kiss her?  I'm talking about the real Mona Lisa here, not that silly painting.  Who wants to kiss a bunch of paint?  Weirdos, that's who.

I finally decided to just eat the pancakes.  If I didn't someone else would probably come along and break into my house while I was at the museum and then eat them from right out under me.  That would be a bastard thing to do, to steal someone else's lovely breakfast like that, so I shoveled the pancakes into my mouth, one at a time until they were all devoured and in my stomach.  The initial work was done.  My part was over.  The rest was up to my stomach acids to take care of.  They rarely disappoint me.  We have a good working relationship, and I love them so.

I wore a winter jacket, because it was cold outside.

I rinsed off my plate because if I didn't then I'd have a hard time doing the dishes later.  Dried-on syrup is tough to get off, especially when it's of such high quality as Aunt Jemima.  I contemplated just doing the dishes right there and then because all I had was my plate, the frying pan, and my coffee cup and - - oh no!  I had forgot to make some bacon to go along with my pancakes.

Boy was I stuck in a pickle.  Do I make a small side of bacon to eat after I'd already had my pancakes?  Should I keep the museum waiting any longer?  I do like bacon.  It's like opening up a birthday card from a cheap relative that you don't expect to have any money in it and then - BAM!  Five dollar bill!  That's how good bacon is.

I contemplated.  Thought about it.  Mused the idea.  Let the notion roll around in my mind a bit.  I was starting to get a bit too warm at this point.  After all, I had been wearing my winter jacket since this whole breakfast thing started.  I decided to save the bacon for another day.  A special day.  Maybe Veteran's Day.

Now was the time to go to the museum!

Then I went to the museum, and a few hours later came home and went to bed.

The end.

- ryan

Sex Is Like Pizza

...someone once said, "Sex is like pizza - even when it's bad, it's still pretty good."

Then someone else put that on a bumper sticker, and people have been saying it for years.  But I think today we need to take a closer look at that analogy, shall we?

If sex is like pizza, then what else?
Given the root of the saying, "sex is like pizza", then you could also suggest the following:

• Sex is like pizza - it's not quite as good when you have to make it yourself
• Sex is like pizza - if you're not greedy with it, you can have some more in the morning
• Sex is like pizza - you shouldn't take it from someone without asking 
• Sex is like pizza - the longer you wait for it, the faster you finish it
• Sex is like pizza - sure, 2 for the price of 1 sounds great, but it never really lives up to your expectations.

What if you don't like pizza?

...and having it with your mom is gross.

Does this mean you do you not like sex?  I've often found myself saying things like, "how can you not like pizza?"  But I've never taken it to this next level.  When defending pizza, we tell people that it's got all four of the major food groups, it's quick and easy, it comes in a box, and it's great when you're drunk.  Don't all of these statements apply to sex too?
You know who doesn't like pizza?  My dad.  At least he says he doesn't.  When he was a younger man, he ate some pizza after too many drinks and puked up a storm.  Hasn't eaten pizza since.  But this was before I was born, so unless my real father is the milkman, then I'm pretty sure my dad likes pizza after all.
Then there's my wife, who also claims she doesn't like pizza.  I'm not even going to figure out what that suggests.  Well, she doesn't like pizza that I order out for.  She likes the pizza that's covered with things like zucchini and goat's cheese.  And really, that's hardly pizza.  And also, she likes making it herself.
(which brings us to...)

Delivery or Delissio?
Those of you who have seen my pizza rules know I'm very strict about the pizza I eat.  (Read the rules here: http://www.ryanfanclub.com/archive/guide/goodpizza.html )
Does that make me strict about sex?  Is ordering out for pizza kinda like ordering in a hooker?  If she takes longer than thirty minutes to orgasm does that mean it should be free?  Hmmm...
Some producers of frozen pizza claim their product is just as good as delivery.  Nope.  However, having sex after being out in the cold is a great way to warm up.

So, they say sex is like pizza.  And I guess for the most part it really is.  It can be gooey, hot n' spicy, or if you're a little more daring, you can stuff the crust with hot dogs.
It comes in different sizes, with different variations from all around the world, and just because you're a meat lover doesn't necessarily mean you're gay.
It can be enjoyed while watching TV, or at a party, and sometimes you sneak it in but don't want to tell anyone after.

So there.  Sex really is like pizza.

The bottom line though - neither should ever include pineapple.

There Isn't Enough Time In A Day

ooooh, it's artsy.

...there isn't enough time in a day.

Fuck that.  And fuck the people who insist on saying it.

There just isn't enough time in the day!

To do what?  What could you possibly need more than twenty-four hours to do each day?  Is your day really so packed full of going to work, raising your kids, cooking a meal, and taking a shower?  Heaven forbid you miss that newest episode of Glee!

We, as human beings, have our priorities so incredibly messed up and have put ourselves on such a high pedestal that we are actually blaming our problems now on the perceived lack of minutes and seconds magically floating around on a calendar day.

What the flippity fuck?

As far back as I can remember, an entire day has been twenty-four hours.  I'm about 99% sure that it's been that way for a few centuries now.  Something about how the sun rises and sets.  I'm not a scientist, just an observer.

Society and doctors within our society tell us that we need a good, full, eight hours of sleep each day to live a healthy, productive, and happy lifestyle.  That's great if you buy into that theory, but I personally don't know anyone who actually sleeps for eight hours on a regular basis.  Sure, you can buy a fancy new bed with all kinds of memory foam that molds to your well-fed buttocks, and will continue to mold as your fat ass keeps ingesting all those Big Macs and frozen TV dinners.  If that fancy bed doesn't work then you could always take your doctor up on that prescription to help you sleep better at night.  That's all the doctors really want from you anyway.

So if we all had a good eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, that would leave us with sixteen hours of time each day to get shit done.  Let's also knock another eight hours off of that for work.  If you only work part-time and are constantly bitching about how poor you are, then still knock off eight hours and assume five of that is for working and then actually use that extra three hours to find a job you'll be more happy with.  But you probably don't use that three hours wisely, because let's face it - you're still on the third mission of the new Call Of Duty game.  Here's a thought: join the army and GET PAID to play soldier.  Or become a professional pimp/car thief and put the GTA disc back in it's case.  It might be a great way to meet women too.

So there we have it - we have eight hours in a day to get shit done and enjoy our lives as human beings.

No, wait, we didn't take in account your commute to and from work.  And the time you eat dinner with your family.  And going to the bank.  And making love to your significant other.  And buying groceries.  And taking a big shit each day.  And actually cleaning your house. Filling up the gas tank in your car.  Reading a story to your child before bed.  Shoveling the driveway.  Mowing the lawn.  Shoveling AND mowing at the same time.  Brushing your teeth. Walking your dog.  Calling your mother.  Filing your taxes.  Taking another big shit because you eat too much fast food.

You get the point.

I know, I know... but all I wanna do when I get home is sit around and play my guitar.  I CAN'T miss the new episode of (*insert shitty reality show here*)!  I have to get my hair done.  I need to spend 90 minutes in the kitchen each day producing a well-crafted imitation of some gourmet recipe I saw on some cooking show on some stupid cooking channel because IT'S MY PASSION.  If I don't text this person right now and that person next and then text him and her and post this and tweet that and like this and favorite that I just won't be able to function!

It's called priorities, people.

Pri-fucking-orities.

I think it comes from the latin, which means "to get shit done."

And that's just it - we have lost all concept of what we need and somehow mixed in what we want and actually believe it's important to us and anyone else.

any lane.  any time.  do you have enough time for that?

And really, that's what the fast food companies want - they want us to feel like we don't have enough time in a day so we have to stop by their little "restaurants" to get a few extra value meals to fill our ever-expanding bellies.  And if you don't have enough time in your day for that, well there's also a goddam drive-thru.  Hell, you don't even need to leave your car.  Just eat it in there and toss your trash into one of the garbage cans on your route back home.  After all, you don't have enough time in the day to take out the trash.  Survivor's on tonight and you shan't miss it!

I don't even fucking drive a car and you don't hear me complaining about how much time I don't have.  This blog?  It's taken me about three days to write, off and on, because I'd rather sit on the floor with my two-year old daughter and spend thirty minutes doing some ridiculous Donald Duck jigsaw puzzle with her while the pork chops cook on the stove and I have a load of laundry in the dryer.

Priorities.

You know who really doesn't have enough time in a day?  That single mother who probably lives in your neighborhood.

I'm not talking about the stupid girl who got knocked up by her loser boyfriend that checked out before the kid's first birthday, but she keeps going back to him because she *loves* him so much even though he drinks and snorts coke and gives other girls other babies to take care of too.

No, no, I'm talking about the single mother who lost her husband tragically and now she's stuck working full-time with a part-time job on the side just to make ends meet and she barely gets to see her own kid throughout the day.  That woman would probably kill for an extra thirty minutes in a day.  She'd sell her goddam soul for one more hour added to her clock.  She's only getting five hours of sleep as it is, and she's functioning just fine.  Do you think she'd use that extra hour to watch the season finale of Dancing With The Stars?  No fucking way.  Bring out the Donald Duck puzzle for her.

There's not enough time in the day.  Jesus Christ.  You know how to fix it?  You can't just fly backwards around the world like at the end of the first Superman movie.  You don't have a DeLorean either.  Nope.  There's no easy way out, folks.  You want more time in a day?  You need to MAKE more time in a day.  And I'm not talking about creating a twenty-five o'clock here.

So go do it now, unless you think there's plenty of time for that later.

- ryan

Potty Training

playing chess is like using the potty.  or is it?

...no, no, this isn't about me teaching myself new swear words.

One of the most rewarding aspects of being a parent of a beautiful two-year old is when they start potty training.  You pretty much look at them and give them a thumbs up, as if to say, "Hey my sweet little angel, thanks for not pissing in your pants anymore."

It really dawned on me the other day when I was getting all the garbage ready to go out.  I opened up the Diaper Genie to empty the bag out.  If you aren't a parent, you may not know what a Diaper Genie is.  It's an over-price garbage can designed specifically to put dirty diapers in.  And heaven forbid if you buy the wrong bags for it.  There are Diaper Genie and Diaper Genie II bags.  Mixing it up is like trying to jam a Sonic The Hedgehog cartridge into a Super Nintendo.

If I need to explain that analogy to you, then you're reading the wrong blog.

So there I was, emptying the Diaper Genie II (yeah, that's right, I've got the modern model with built-in iPod docking station) and I noticed that there were barely any dirty diapers in it.  Maybe three or four.  "Jesus Christ!" I shouted to nobody as I realized just how much money I'd be saving in diapers this month.  Imagine dropping $58 for a box of 142 things that you were just going to pee and poo in.  Now, stop with the over-active imagination and quit imagining that Tijuana hooker that came to mind.

We're really fortunate that the wonderful people at my daughter's daycare help out with the potty training.  It's really helped in progressing it along.  Sure, the trade-off is they teach her songs about Jesus, but I can forgive that. She listens to enough Prince around the house anyway to know what good music is.  But anyway, if it weren't for the ladies at daycare, my daughter wouldn't be nearly as far along with this whole potty training thing.

So then I started reminiscing about my own potty training experiences.  My memory only goes back so far, but I do know this - I was taught how to use the potty in the living room while watching shows like Today's Special and Bowling For Dollars.  My parents got this nifty little wooden chair with a big ol' hole in the seat and they'd just sit me on it with no pants on.  I wasn't allowed to get up from that spot until I dropped a big ol' deuce into the bowl-thing that was underneath.

That might explain why whenever I go number two today I think about mannequins and mice.

If I succeeded in doing my potty business, I'd be allowed to go play with toys or continue to live.  Like I said, my memory is pretty foggy.  I actually still have that little chair.  It's about fifteen feet away from where I'm writing this in the Fan-Cave.  I guess it's just a piece of my childhood I haven't been able to part with.  I took some good shits on that chair.  Oh, the memories.

my old shittin' hole

When my daughter uses the potty she is rewarded with a Scooby-Doo sticker.  Talk about motivation!  I wish I could get a prize every time I took a good healthy crap.  Imagine if every time you went to the bathroom you got a stamp on some kind of toilet card.  Every ten stamps and you're allowed to shit in your pants and run around the neighborhood like a crazy person.

Or even better, if you were given better rewards based on your quality of excrement.

Let's supposed you had a little poo.  Bam! Sticker.  Just one measly little Scooby-Doo sticker.  Seems fair and appropriate.

But what if you had one of those really awesome bowel movements that only comes along once every couple of months?  You know the kind - it's the length of your forearm, all one piece, and contains little corn remnants in it.  That should definitely be rewarded with a strawberry milkshake or dinner for two at Beefsteak Charlies.

Messy, wet, stinky diarrhea?  You get someone's shitty leftover Hallowe'en candy.  That's right.  Your prize is one of those little toffee-like candies that all the old ladies refer to as "kisses".  Those things alone will make you eat a bit healthier so you don't squeeze out a fountain again.

The Potty Master and Myself

Wow, I kinda rambled there.

So when I went to daycare to pick up my awesome daughter - The Potty Master as she shall henceforth be known - I gave her a great big hug.  For a few reasons:
1. She's getting good at using the potty
2. Doing so is saving me money on diapers
3. I can buy more beer with the money I'm saving on diapers
4. The empties from the beer I bought with the money I'm saving on diapers is like a third income to my household

I mean, let's not kid ourselves. There's going to be some bumps along the way.  She's going to pee the bed.  It's going to happen.  Even as an adult.  Fuck, we've all done it.  We've all had that moment where we woke up all warm and wet and made a mad dash to the bathroom while holding our junk in hopes that not too much would get on the walls.

We all have, right?

...right?

And on that note, I'm outta here!  Flush me away!