Here’s the deal. Long term reader (I wish I could make that plural) of this blog are probably wondering – is the guy who typically writes about sporks, unicorns, states with boring shapes, pomegranates and yodeling about to write a humorous take on miscarriages? Yes. Yes he is.

Let me just say this – I firmly believe that there is no subject that cannot be joked about. That being said, the more serious the topic, the more careful one ought to be. It also lends more credibility if you have some experience with the subject matter. But finding a way to laugh through pain is an essential part of the human experience. That and root beer floats. At some point, everyone should have a really good root beer float.

Note: Even though I am constantly writing about my opinion on very silly things, I rarely have discussed any of my actual life in this blog. Everything that follows is real.

About two months ago, my fiancée peed on a stick. To be perfectly honest, she does this much more often than either one of us would admit to in polite company, but this time it was a special stick. A voodoo stick that can amazingly tell if the urine it’s absorbing is that of a pregnant woman or that of a non pregnant woman and/or confused man. When this magic stick said, “Pregnant urine!” I was immediately cautiously optimistic.

You see, the first time a stick delivered us such news (about 18 months ago), I was a little quick on the celebration. I believe I contacted my best friend and family members within three minutes of the pee stick’s verdict. Somehow, I had purchased a stroller within seven minutes. And was checking out colleges by the end of the hour. Unfortunately, the pee stick doesn’t know the future, and we experienced a miscarriage a couple of weeks later.

Until this happened to us, I had no idea how common they are. Correct or not, I took some solace in this fact. “Look,” I reasoned, “We weren’t singled out. Many, many people have experienced this.” Perhaps this is not logical, but if something bad happens to me that also happens to a lot of other people, I find it more reasonable – it had to happen to 20% of the people, I can’t expect to dodge all of life’s most common tragedies. But if, say, I were attacked by a Bengal tiger that had escaped from a travelling circus, I’d be quite miffed. “What are the odds?!?”  I would cry out in the ER room as they bandaged up the gash in my left thigh and tested me for various rare Bengal tiger type diseases. “No one gets attacked by an escaped Bengal tiger,” I would bemoan my fate, “I’m so freakin’ unlucky!”

Nonetheless, a miscarriage is not fun. It is sad. It’s as if, as potential parents, you begin to slowly inflate this balloon with all your hopes of an imagined future with this child, and then someone just walks up out of nowhere and pops your balloon. And there’s nothing you can do but slowly watch it deflate. What could have soared is gone in a moment. And, frankly, I was afraid it would happen again. Thus, I was cautiously optimistic.

Throughout all of October I found myself afraid of another miscarriage. I would cringe anytime she displayed any slight looks of discomfort. Yes, it was usually just gas (not her gas, mind you, it was her distress at having to suffer through mine), but I felt like any twinge of pain from her could be the bad news we both had ever present in the back of our minds. Plus I heard that a travelling circus had lost a Bengal tiger…

Look, I believe that a positive outlook can manifest itself physically, so we certainly didn’t dwell on the negative. Quite the opposite. We began to talk about names. She had a dream she was playing with our daughter. I put up a top-notch tiger fence.

And then it happened.

Bleeding. Pain. Emergency room.

Here’s the strange thing I’ve noticed about pain of all types – most everyone thinks that theirs is the worst. Most people wear their pain like badges, they like to say things like, “You can’t imagine what I’ve been through,” they like to secretly feel that their pain is extra special. I sometimes wonder if this isn’t part of the problems of our world. How often are we just using other’s suffering in order to compare it to our own?

You see, sitting in an emergency room with someone you love and watching them suffer is not an easy thing. For anyone. And we weren’t seen immediately. We had to wait for other people. Other people who had other pains. Of course there was part of me that just wanted to clear the room, I just wanted to make an announcement for everyone with their scrapes, and bruises, and aches to just get out of the way so that our pain could be attended to. Because pain makes you hopeless. It reminds us of how little control we have.

But she did get to see a doctor. And the pain (as it almost always does) dissipated. The physical pain goes first. The emotional pain lingers longer. But it all escapes eventually with the air from the popped balloon.

We were over two months pregnant this time, which made it more difficult. It felt more real before it was taken away.

But she’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay. And I don’t feel like wearing my pain like a badge. Yes, I’m writing this and putting it out into the world. Perhaps it’s therapeutic. Part of me hopes it could possibly help someone else who’s experiencing something similar. And part of me just really liked the joke about me farting. But I’m not here to say, “Woe is me.” (I’m also not trying, by the way, to judge anyone who does have that response. It feels like a perfectly natural response to have.) I didn’t even realize when I started writing this…but what I want to say (speaking only for myself) is that my pain is not special.

My pain is not special.

And by saying that, I’m not trying to diminish or fail to recognize the loss. I cried. I had heart ache. That was real. But it’s not unique to me. I don’t get to own that pain alone.

I just think that maybe there’s an outside chance that this is a good way to view the world. That this might help us relate to each other a little better. My mom has a unique way of virtually always finding the positive in a situation. I’m not as accomplished in this arena, but I try and do it when I can.

So I try to see the positive.

And I’ll try to share that feeling.

And, honey, I’ll try and fart a little less.

Here’s the deal. Candy is a hot button topic this time of year. All the celebrity parents are dishing: What treat are you handing out this year? Full size or fun size? Healthy or decadent? Are Kit Kats in or out? But whatever your opinion on candy dispersal, we can all agree on one thing. White chocolate is ridiculous.

Let’s clear up one point first – everyone likes chocolate. To not like chocolate is not a valid opinion. It doesn’t have to be your favorite food, you can enjoy it in moderation, but you have to enjoy the taste of chocolate. It’s what separates us from the lawless apes. And that brings up a number of questions. Why would anyone go and invent white chocolate? Why are we still producing white chocolate? And, what the hell is white chocolate?


I don’t know about you, but I go to the Huffington Post for all of my chocolate news, and they report that, “White chocolate doesn’t qualify as genuine chocolate because it doesn’t contain chocolate solids. White chocolate is typically made from a blend of cocoa butter, milk solids, sugar, milk fat, and lecithin – a fatty emulsifier that holds it all together.” Sounds like Frankenstein’s monster confection to me. Cooked up in some lab by a mad scientist with a half eaten Snickers on a slab connected to electrodes that run first to a corpse brain and then to a lightening rod on the roof. No thank you.

And, frankly, it sounds racist. Of course, you run the risk of anything sounding racist when you pop the word white in front of it. White supremacy. White power. White Christmas. (“Why can’t I invite my friend, Jose, to the Christmas party, Dad, it’s just not fair!”) I imagine a bunch of honkey lawyers and doctors sitting around their country club saying, “Yes, this Hershey’s bar is tasty, but it’s just so darn dark. Isn’t there any way to make it both delicious and whiter?” The answer is no. There isn’t a way to do that. When you make it whiter it tastes like crap.

Chocolate is so damn good. Why are we messing with it? No one’s trying to market a purple banana or a silver watermelon. Let’s just leave it alone alright?

It’s just wrong to serve people this impostor food. Telling someone you’ve got chocolate for dessert and then offering them white chocolate is like telling people you’re going to take them out to see a comedian and then taking them to see Tom Green. A cruel, cruel joke.

And let’s not forget that it’s not even chocolate. Why not call kale green chocolate? Why not call aluminum foil metal chocolate? Why not call Bernie Sanders socialist chocolate? You can’t just run around adding chocolate to your name to make you look better. Chocolate has a long, important history of tasting delicious and it shall not be sullied by these misnomers. So join me, friends, let us toast with a Twix and never give into this little white lie.

Here’s the deal. Unless you’ve been living under Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, for the past ten years, you’ve probably heard the kids saying some crazy things. I suppose the younger generation have always had their hip, new catchphrases, but what with the internet and such, it seems harder than ever to keep up. What the heck is YOLO? (It’s shorthand for pizza restaurant orders and stands for, You only like olives – now you know). What are the teens trying to say when they mutter, “My bae got turnt up.” (No idea. No freaking idea.) Well, your days of staring in dumbfound confusion are at an end, I’m here to help. Take a gander at some of the most current slang with detailed explanations behind their meaning –

11. Hot Mess. Most messes are cold – like dirty laundry or a bunch of leaves that need to be raked. But if you make yourself a bowl of oatmeal and then drop it on the floor, you’ve got yourself a hot mess. And the main difference between a hot mess and a cold mess is that a hot mess needs to be cleaned up immediately (you don’t want anyone to burn themselves). Therefore, if someone is a “hot mess” it means they’re working really quickly. They’re industrious. Feel free to use it as the compliment it is, “I’m really impressed by the new intern, she’s a hot mess.”

10. Whale Tail. This one is pretty self explanatory. A whale tail is just a clever way of referencing any story (tale) about whales. The most famous whale tail, of course, is Moby Dick. But, sadly, most of the kids don’t even know about this literary masterpiece. The kids are probably watching Free Willy instead. I, for one, think we need to refocus out attention on education – specifically, the classics. So, if you’re like me, you’ll proudly declare at your next PTA meeting, “For the sake of the children, we need more whale tails in this school.”

9. Selfie Stick.  This is a stick that you use to hit people who are taking too many selfies.

8. Fleek. You certainly can’t be the cat’s pajamas without being able to toss this one around. A fleek is a nerdy homosexual. It comes from combining the words flamboyant and geek.  As in, “Look at that fleek, he’s rockin’ that pocket protector!” And I’m all for it. I say embrace your true self – if you’re a guy that likes guys, a guy that likes knowledge, or both.

7. Cray Cray. This one has an interesting history. It’s actually surprisingly specific and means, “Hey, look at all the fish.” The “cray” in question is, of course, crayfish, also known as crawfish, crawdads, or mudbugs, and are freshwater crustaceans resembling small lobsters, but are actually taxonomic members of the families Astacoidea and Parastacoidea. People used to shout, “Crawdaddy! Crawdaddy!” when they were excited about seeing a bunch of fish. This was eventually shortened to, “Cray Cray.” Although I’m not entirely sure why everyone is so worked up over a few fish.

6. MILF. MILF is actually an acronym used to describe attractive mothers. It stands for – Mom is looking fabulous. Now that you know, feel free to use it to compliment the neighborhood kids, “Hey, Timmy, your mom is working hard but she’s still having a MILF kind of day if you ask me.”

5. Twerk. This is simply a combining of the words twice and work. If someone is twerking, they’re working twice as hard. Good to know. Now, if your teenage daughter tells you she’s off to do some twerking, you should definitely congratulate and encourage her, sounds like she’s working overtime, and earning the respect of her colleagues.

4. Off the Hook. If someone is off the hook, it means that they’re reading less. Plenty of kids got addicted to Harry Potter, but it’s not the only popular book with the young ones. For awhile, reading Peter Pan was all the rage, and when kids moved on to something else, they would say, “I’m finally off the Hook.”

3. Queef. This is simply a shortened version of the word bequeath. As I often say to my children, “Some day I will queef all of this to you.”

2. #. If you’re like me, you see this darned thing all over the internet and can’t figure out what the heck is going on. As is often the case, it’s not that complicated when you do a little research. This is, of course, the pound sign, and it seems that those crazy kids have started using to replace the word pound. For example, “Mrs. Frink, that was a delicious casserole. I can’t wait to try that scrumptious looking #cake.”

1. Friends with Benefits. If any of the slang on this list were a reason to celebrate, this is the one. There’s really nothing better than having a friend with benefits. One of my good friends recently entered this category with me. After a long search for work, he finally landed his dream job complete with health insurance, vacation time, and a retirement plan. I was proud to declare to all my friends and family, “Frank and I are now friends with benefits!”

Here’s the deal. People have called my last post: “A series of words”, “Somewhat coherent”, and “Available on the Internet.” That’s right, it’s one of my most popular ever. It even garnered over zero comments! So I’d be crazy not to produce a sequel. And now, your wait is over…

Top Ten Musical Questions – Asked and Answered, Part II

11. “How many roads must a man walk down?” Fourteen.

10. “Have you ever seen the rain?” Of course. Haven’t you?

9. “Is it me you’re looking for?” Actually…no. I was looking for Susan. Is she home?

8. “You down with OPP?” More or less.

7. “What would you think if I sang out of tune?” Don’t worry, I wouldn’t think poorly of you. I’m well aware of the fact that singing in tune is no easy task. Don’t beat yourself up, buddy.

6. “Do you know the way to San Jose?”

san jose

5. “Why are there so many songs about rainbows?” There aren’t. This is the only one I can think of. Oh, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Fine. There are two songs about rainbows. That’s not very many.

4. “Isn’t it ironic?” No. Not a single one of your examples is ironic.

3. “What’s new pussycat?” This fabulous flea collar for one. Thanks for noticing.

2. “How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?” Easy. You just eat the pudding. It’s okay. You’re with friends. No one’s going to judge you. We don’t care how much meat you ate, if any. Enjoy your pudding.

1. “Where have all the flowers gone?” They’re probably with the cowboys.


Here’s the deal. My top ten lists are probably the best on the internet. (At minimum, they’re top ten). Don’t believe it? Just ask me. Yeah, that’s right – they’re the best. Not only is the content awesome, but each top ten list goes to eleven. Why? For one, I’m not a big fan of the number ten, for two – you deserve it, for three through eleven…that’s another list.

But today I bring you the…

Top Ten Musical Questions – Asked and Answered

11. “Is she really going out with him?” Yes.

10. “Y’all ready for this?” No.

9. “Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?” They don’t. It’s a false correlation. What’s happening here is that you’re perceiving a relationship between the presence of birds and my proximity to you that simply doesn’t exist. There are, in fact, always birds around. Go ahead, take a look. They’re there. When you see me, you notice the birds because of this association you’ve formed in your mind. But I don’t make the birds appear.

8. “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?” Real life.

7. “Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?” Everybody.

6. “Does anybody really know what time it is?” Most  people. Most people know.

“Does anybody really care?” Sure. People with appointments, for example.

5. “Who let the dogs out?” I’m pretty sure it was Larry. And I specifically told him not to.


4. “Why don’t we do it in the road?” Seriously? That’s literally one of the worst places we could do it. Very, very dangerous.

3. “Can’t you smell that smell?” Dude. Not cool.

2. “If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?” I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.

1. “How long must we sing this song?” I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. You’re free to wrap it up anytime you like.

Here’s the deal. I took on Patton Oswalt in my very first blog post back in 2011. I challenged Mr. Oswalt to a Google-off, a gentleman’s duel to see whose name would get more Google search results. In what some called a cowardly move (others referred to it as, “He doesn’t know who you are or what you’re doing”), he did not reply to my challenge. Undeterred, I began my quest to dethrone him. And a refocusing of my efforts is definitely past due.

A quick refresher. Simply put, Patton Oswalt is me with a five year head start. He was born in 1969, five years before me. He graduated from the College of William and Mary with an English degree in 1991 – I did the same exactly five years later. He moved to Los Angeles to pursue a comedy career in 1995. Guess what I did in 2000? In 2005, Oswalt married Michelle Eileen McNamara, I married her in 2010.

Okay, that last one isn’t true. But the rest is 100% accurate. A little crazy. No, I wasn’t following him around (not back then, anyway). I discovered all of this only when I started this blog. And it’s very difficult to achieve success as a humor writer when someone else is living your life five years before you can. (I’m tempted to do more research on what Oswalt is doing this very moment, so I can see what I’ll be doing five years from now, but I don’t want to screw with the space-time continuum).

When I started this blog, Patton had just published his first book. A few months ago, his second book – Silver Screen Fiend – came out. I know what you’re thinking, and I can’t believe it either. I’m losing a Google-off to a guy who can’t even spell friend.


Look – the Google logo is in the background. They’re in this together!

And I’m here to tell you, this new book of his is no prize pig. Here is an actual excerpt from the first page – “Copyright 2015 by Dagonet Inc. All rights reserved, including the rights to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever…” And so on. Snooze fest. Sorry to say so, Mr. Oswalt, but no one cares about your precious copyright laws, how about writing a book where something actually happens? (Side note: by quoting the part of the book that says I can’t quote part of the book, did I again just screw with the space-time continuum?)

So, let’s all double our efforts to make me at least as famous as Patton Oswalt. (If you don’t happen to know who Patton Oswalt is, please do not Google him to find out…that would only help his cause. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned his name forty two times in this post). I can only defeat him with your help. This blog needs to be tweeted about, facebooked to death, and myspaced until that site is no longer relevant. Those of you reading this right now – you are my allies. And I need you now more than ever. Remember, a fiend in need is a fiend indeed.

Here’s the deal. It just occurred to me that I haven’t posted anything on here in 2015. To be fair, there are a lot of other things I haven’t done in 2015. I haven’t jet skied or written any political speeches or had a really good fajita. So, I suppose it’s not entirely surprising. There are a lot of things one can do in 2015 and most of them aren’t going to get done. It’s just a numbers game.

Flickr elisart 324248450--Beef and chicken fajitas.jpg

But even though this blog may be on life support, I can’t give up on the little guy just yet. I just don’t want my blog to become one of the countless online carcasses littering the information superhighway. Honestly, there should be some type of government service to scoop up this internet road kill. Once you haven’t posted in over a year, that’s it – that’s a dead blog.

Take, for example, Stuff White People Like. Perhaps one of the most successful blogs of all time. It even got Whitey Whiterson (or whoever wrote that blog) a book deal. But I just checked and the last post was November 11, 2010. That’s a very dead blog. Sure, the last comment on that same post was only three days ago, but someone just has to help those mourners move on. I’m sure there are other blogs about white people if you look really hard. I’m white. I like stuff.

I don’t know, maybe it’s true that you can’t teach an old blog new tricks. Perhaps my little buddy is on his last legs. Maybe I do need to open an Instagram account and start instagramming every day. I think I may have waited just long enough that by the time I get it figured out everyone else will have moved on to the next thing. I mean, it was just last weekend that I finally perfected my Friendster page. But I wildly digress. (Another symptom of a sick blog)

Here’s the good news. When I started this blog I had two goals: defeat Patton Oswalt in a google-off, and create a blog that would get 69, 575 hits. I recognize now that Oswalt simply has me out-classed. On my very first blog post four years ago, Oswalt had over 800,000 Google results and I had 560. I Googled myself today (as I do each and every day – if there was someway to attach dental floss to Google, dentists wouldn’t have to keep begging us to take care of our teeth…hmmm, I’m going to have to Instagram that) and I have 1,510 hits. Yes, I’ve nearly tripled my online exposure, but Patton is now closer to a million. What was I saying? Oh, yes, here’s the good news. My unspoken second goal was to create a blog that would garner 69,575 hits. As of today, I have 69,572. We can do it, people. If we all work together, I can achieve my lofty goal. It actually won’t even take all of us working together. If three of us can work together that’ll pretty much do it.

Check your rear view mirror, Oswalt…I’m still coming for you. This blog’s not dead yet.