It was the morning of September 30th, 2000. My wedding day. My best man and I had just gotten through playing a few games of basketball, talking shit about how we wear the damn pants in our relationship. We check the time and realize we have to hurry and get ready or our wives will kill us. 

I get home and I take a shower. As I am drying off, I notice I have a slight pimple on my inner thigh. I don’t really give it much thought. I throw on my cheap, rented tux, and head on over to the church to get hitched. 

To cut to the chase, the ceremony is great and the reception is even better. We had about 250 guests and the place was packed. After about 4 hours of me doing my best Deney Terrio impression on the dance floor, my wool tuxedo had “the boys” more than a little sweaty. The night flew by and before you know it, my wife and I found ourselves up in our hotel room.

Now, you probably think you know where this is going, but let me assure you….you don’t. 

Our hotel room was filled with gifts from our guests. Our friends were so generous, they sent us all sorts of candies, cookies, champagne and gift baskets. One gift in particular, caught my wifes attention. 

It was a little set of tuxedo underwear and lace panties. The underwear were black and white, and had a little bow tie with three little buttons underneath it. It looked about two sizes too small for me, and was the most elegant looking banana hammock I had ever seen. “Oh put it on!”, my wife exclaimed. “It’ll be fun!”, she said. I was sure it wold be a lot of things….humiliating, Yes. Embarrassing, Yes. Gay? most definitely Yes. Fun? No. But hell, it was my honeymoon and this is my new bride. I was game for anything as long as it didn’t include a paper towel roll and a hamster.

I popped into the bathroom and started to take off my sweat soaked tuxedo pants. As I slide my pants off, I noticed something very disturbing. What was a slight pimple on my thigh earlier in the day, now looked like Mt. St. Helens. The pimple was huge! It was then I realized, if you take a pimple, add a cheap wool tux rubbing up against it all night, add a generous amount of sweat, what you end up with is a massive, red boil. As gross as you imagine it is, it was actually worse. It had a large, red circle, and then a smaller raised pimple in the middle. The thing looked like a nipple on my inner thigh.

“What’s taking so long?” my wife shouted from the bed. I reluctantly slide on the tuxedo underwear and took a look in the mirror. Spiffy! My penis looks like Jeeves the butler.  Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe she won’t notice. Maybe all of the other guys she dated had nipples on their thighs, and she will think it’s normal. 

To make matters worse, I was not in the greatest shape when I got married. I wasn’t the house that I am now, but I was well on my way. I couldn’t imagine what would happen when I came out of that bathroom, belly, love handles, tuxedo grape smuggler, and now…thigh nipple. Damn, and all that money I spent on the ring and the wedding. “Oh well”, I thought, and I emerged in my full regalia.

To better encapsulate the moment, I thought I would upload a visual representation as to what my wife saw that night. Scroll down to see my drawing.

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Sorry, I'm taken ladies.

Turns out, the nipple was a good thing. We still had our honeymoon sex and my wife didn’t vomit once. (We did keep a garbage pail by the bed, just in case) In reflection, my thinking is that if she could love me through that, she would love me through anything. What happened to the nipple you asked? After a good month, it was completely gone, areola and all. My wife and I are still happily married 8 years later, although for some strange reason, she still keeps a garbage pail by the bed……What’s that all about?

Your a doctor in Germany, and hear that there is a shortage of doctors in a certain part of Australia. You apply for a work visa, pick up your family and head on over to the land down under. After a few years of doctoring and healing Australians, your visa is going to expire and you decide you just cant get enough of the land where women glow and men plunder. You apply for permanent residency, only to get shot down because your 13 year old kid Lukas, has Down syndrome. Sucks eh? Well thats exactly what happened to Bernhard Moeller and his family.

Apparently, the immigration department said Moeller’s 13-year-old son, Lukas, “did not meet the health requirement.” A medical officer of the Commonweath pretty much said, because the kids retarted, it will tax our Heathcare system even further, so fuck off mate. 

Well kick me in my dingo if that doesn’t suck some serious ass. The father is filling a vital need of the community, which is desperate for doctors, (I’m guessing they don’t let people in from India either, because my H.M.O is just brimming with Patel’s), yet the Australian Government would be willing to lose that medical care for their people,  because Moeller’s kid might cost them a few extra bucks. 

For those of you who don’t know, Australia uses a Universal Health Care system. Sounds like a great concept, but as you can see from the Moeller’s problems, it’s far from perfect. As a matter of fact, the emigration issue is probably the least of their troubles. In addition to the lack of doctors, the Aussies suffer from hospital bed and staff shortages, lack of Government funding, ridiculously long waits for surgeries, and stupid accents. Need your appendix out? Take a number. We will get back with you sometime in March. The Department of Health did say that all patients needing resuscitation are treated immediately. Well isn’t that comforting….and they dont want an extra doctor.

Now don’t you agree that they are a bunch of dickheads? Thought you would see it my way.

 Sure, Elvis isn’t exactly the most original Halloween costume, but this is Camel Toe Elvis! Show them you have the balls to wear a costume like this, literally! Nothing gets a party going better than a “Hunka, Hunka, burning love” especially when it’s hanging between your legs.  

Declare Jihad on your fellow party goers with this original number. Drive the girls wild with your very own version of a “strap on”. This costume is so cool, you might not even need to blow yourself up to nail a virgin or two. 

Spiderman! Spiderman! Does whatever a……hey….wait a minute….. IS THAT HIS UNIT HANGING OUT?!?! That’s right, your “Spider Sense” won’t be the only thing tingling when you put on this bad boy! No, you wont be able to spin a web, but it wont matter. Put this costume on and your “Peter Parker” will be swinging all night long.

This little number is from our “Vatican Collection”. Pull yourself out of the rectory and join the party in this conversation piece. Act now, and you’ll also get a one way ticket to Hell, at no additional cost. If this costume catches on, even the San Diego Padres will want to change their name.

                                                      I think this costume speaks for itself. 

The only thing cuter than a widdle baby, is a widdle baby with an Alien ripping out of its chest. I just knew something tasted funny about those Vienna Sausages. Remember, “In your crib, no one will hear you scream”. 

It’s that time of the month again, and that time is October 31st! Nothing makes an entrance at a Halloween party like a bloody tampon wielding, Ninja Maxipad. Not only does he fight crime, he can also help fight a heavy flow. This is also a perfect costume for some of you ladies who have more periods than a Harry Potter Novel. 

That’s right, Little Timmy is here to make sure your papers are in order. Don’t dare try to slip some JewJew Beans in his Trick Or Treat bag. Don’t you see that oven behind him, that toddlers not playing! This costume is perfect, especially when the Baby Stalin costumes are sold out.

IT’S A BOY!! Any young lady with an affinity for children is sure to fall in love with this costume. All the people dressed in the C-Section costumes are going to be soooo jealous that you went natural. The afterbirth hat is an optional, but recommended accessory.

It wasn’t that long ago, when the Minnesota Vikings picked up a horde of prostitutes and had an orgy on a cruise ship, in front of the crew. Now you too can relive those great memories with this great costume. Go “long and deep to the wide receivers”  just like your favorite football team! This party boat costume is both funny, and disturbing. Gives new meaning to the term “playing ball with the pros”.

Palin just hangin

Chad Michael Morrisette and his pretty boy partner, thought they were cute when they hung an effigy of Sarah Palin from their roof. That’s right, these colin cowboys dressed up one of their mannequins in a red dress, glasses, and a beehive wig, hung a noose around it’s neck and hung it from their roof. Now boys, it’s obvious from your lisp and your penis breath that you hate women, but this is a little extreme, don’t you think?

Neighbors, offended by the display, called the sheriffs office. The Los Angeles County Sheriffs Office said that this display doesn’t constitute a hate crime because its a  Halloween display. They also added that if it was a black mannequin and eluding them in a high speed chase, they could have several officers beat the living shit out of it until it bled from its eyes. 

Now I ask you, if a Mccain supporter did the exact same thing with an Obama mannequin, what would the consequences be? Would it be a hate crime? Would the cops intervene? Would someone pull that homeowner out of his house and give him a beat down the likes William Wallace received at the end of Braveheart?

I think this goes beyond politics, and really crosses the line. What ever happened to a yard sign or a friggin bumper sticker. This is about as funny as you boys running out of K.Y. Gel. I don’t want to come off as angry or homophobic but I would think a couple of guys with some sugar in the tank would be a little more sensitive than this, and act a little more tastefully. Feel free to use me as an example.

**** UPDATE **** 10/30/08

After a visit from the Secret Service, West Hollywood Mayor Jeffrey Prang, and an SUV full of protestors displaying an effigy of Chad himself, the Sarah Palin effigy was removed. No one is sure if it was because Chad had a change of heart, or because he needed his fiery, red jacket back. You go girl!

In case you unaware, Mexican Manuel Uribe, the worlds fattest human being was married today. Manuel, not too long ago, crushed the scales at a massive 1230lbs. (but has since dropped a hefty 570lbs)  Jabba The Hut was Jack Lalanne compared to this guy, yet somehow this fat sonofabitch found someone to marry him, and she’s not bad looking, either.  

To get him to the wedding, they literally had to load his bed up on a special flatbed truck and tow his Taco Supreme eating ass to the reception hall. Instead of a traditional tuxedo, Manuel wore a silky white shirt, and wrapped a bedsheet around his “Cheech & Chong”, because until elephants start wearing pants, this behemoth of a man is free-balling it. For his “first dance”, he held his wife’s hand while she stood next to his bed and swayed back and forth to the music. How romantic.

So now lets put things in perspective. I am not trying to be insensitive. I am dishing out a life lesson here, so bear with me before you start mentioning me and Marilyn Manson in the same sentence. This super-sized Mexican guy, who can’t even wipe his own ass, found a cute girl to marry him and he hasn’t even been out of bed for the last 6 years. Now I know how I get after a Meximelt or two, so I can imagine what happens when Count Snackula over here makes his “Push My Bed To The Border” to consume multiples of anything on Taco Bells menu that ends in “ito”. I also have to think the proud Mrs. Uribe has to deal with a pretty serious case of “Dutch Oven” on more than a few occasions. But think about it, factoring all the odds against him, along with the fact that there was no Myspace, Match.com, or eHarmony involved, refried butterbean still got someone to marry him.  So quit your whining about not being able to find someone….your probably not nearly the loser you think you are.

I’m sure your asking yourself, Harlan, how do I make sure the candies that I give out don’t suck ass? Well here’s a little guideline of what not to give out:

1 – Pennies or anything that’s not actually edible. The last thing you need is for Timmy (you know, he’s the one with the big forehead and funny haircut), to have his mom have her lawyer call you up, because he ate about 17 cents before he realized they weren’t candy. Get your ass to the store and buy some candy you cheap bastard you. 

2 – Apples, Raisins, or any other fruit. Sure, make a kid go on a pilgrimage to your doorstep in a “made in China”,  scratchy, plastic, Optimus Prime costume cutting into his young flesh, only to find you gave him a crappy box of raisins. I can just imagine the joy in that child’s face as he lifts the box flap only to see the squished up cluster of rabbit poop looking fruit, wedged at the bottom of the box. Sure they didn’t get chocolate, but what they did get is to experience what real hatred is for the first time in their young lives. 

3 – Candy Corn. Nothing says, “I’m a cheap ass” more than those small, clear packages of Candy Corn. This is literally the Ramen Noodles of the candy world. Any “Candy” named after a vegetable is sure to suck ass with the kiddies, so pony up a few more bones and get something with some chocolate.

4 – ANY Hard Candies. If you can find it in your Grandmothers candy dish, you can bet its going to suck. Butterscotch might be a hit at the local nursing home, but not so much with the kiddies. Hand these out to little Harry Potter on the 31st, and don’t be surprised when he breaks off his Wand of Destiny in your ass for giving him a handful of Werthers Originals.

5 – Necco Wafers. If your unfamiliar with these so called candies, let me enlighten you. They look like colorful rolls of quarters and taste like chalk mixed with feet. They are still made in the original eight flavors created in 1847: orange, lemon, lime, clove, chocolate, cinnamon, licorice, and wintergreen. Oh how the kiddies love the flavor of cloves & licorice! Why not slip them a pack of Marlboros while your at it, loser.

6 – Good & Plenty. They look like white and pink Tylenol and taste like rat poison. Even the turd that is the Black Jelly Bean laughs at how bad this candy is. These licorice flavored capsules are far from good, but I think we can all figure out why there is plenty.

7 – Circus Peanuts. I would rather eat packing peanuts than these monstrosities. No self respecting elephant would eat this crap, not to mention your neighborhood rug rats. I am thoroughly convinced that if you can figure out a way to melt down these orange, foamy, peanut shaped oddities, you can make a homemade set of Crocs.

8 – Pecan Log Roll. How thoughtful of you to stop off at the Stucky’s Gift Shop to pick up some treats for the neighborhood children. Nothing says, “My mom likes to blow truckers until the wee hours of the morning”, better than a nut log. No wonder your kids hate you.

9 – Tootsie Rolls. My rule of thumb is, “If it looks like a cat turd, don’t eat it.” I’m pretty quick, so it only took me two or three times rummaging through the litter box to learn this lesson. I believe these pseudo chocolate tasting candies were invented by dentists because they are almost guaranteed to pull out your fillings like you were in Auchowitz. 

10 – Anything shaped like an Easter Egg. Don’t pawn off your old Easter Candy on unsuspecting Trick or Treaters. Don’t get me wrong, the Cadbury Creme Egg is a wonderful thing in April, but the thing starts to either fossilize or hatch into a new life form come October. It belongs in Jurassic Park, not in a loot bag, you dolt!

Well there you have it. Listen to me and you’ll never find a fiery bag of steaming dog shit on your doorstep. Don’t listen, and your kid comes home with gum and boogers in their hair for the first two weeks of November. The choice is yours. Happy Halloween!

I am a man of simple pleasures. My family, my job, the more than occasional pint of Haagen Dazs, (4 servings per pint my ass),  and of course, television. That’s what does it for me. I used to love this trio of shows, like many of you still do, but I gotta draw the line somewhere. These shows are about as believable as the last David Blaine special.

Lets start with Prison Break. I fell in love with this show in Season One. I mean any show that can get you to fall in love with a gay, murdering, child molester named T-bag, has got to be doing something right. As a parent of a 4 year old, I can’t believe I found myself looking at Theodore Bagwell and saying, “Sure he molested a few kids and killed several innocent people, the guy had a rough childhood so I’m going to let it slide.”  

I gave the writers the “Biggest Balls’ award when they killed off Sara Tancredi, one of the main characters in Season 3. Actually, killing her is an understatement. For those of you who don’t watch the show, they chopped her head clean off. I’m talking O.J. style, and sent it in a box to her boyfriends brother. Although if it was me, I would have sent it straight to Michael Scofield himself, hoping for some re-enactment of the Brad Pitt crying like a bitch, “Whats in the booooox?” scene from Seven. I still felt very satisfied. Until Season 4 came.

Low and behold, first episode of Season 4, Sara is back! That’s right, and I’m not talking about some headless, Ichabod Crane kinda back. Not Re-Animator, injected by the re-agent kinda back! Im talking back and fully intact!  It turns out that it wasn’t really Sara’s head in the box, just a look alike head…ooooh, and monkeys fly out of my ass. That was the final clue I needed to help me escape this series.

Next up, Heroes. The inner nerd in me really liked this show. Whats not to like?  A bunch of regular people with super powers! I mean, even the shows creator seemed to have super abilities. I like to call him, “Hiatus Man”, because the show would be on for a month and then off for a month, then on for a month, and off for a month. Friggin show was worse than my first relationship. 

Again, the show was so good I could deal with all that. That is, until this Season, when Sylar crept in, popped Claire’s head open like a can of Pringles, and squishes around in her brain a bit, Ala Hannibal Lechter. “Aren’t you going to eat it?” she asks him. (Are they serious with this crap) Rather than noshing on her hypothalamus, Sylar steals her ability and quite politely puts her skullcap back on, because apparently Claires brain exposed head, looks even worse than Ne-yo’s without something covering it. He also goes on to explain to her that he couldn’t kill her if he wanted to, because she was “special”. Then what the hell was all that “Save the cheerleader, save the world crap back in Season one all about?!?! Combine that with them bringing back Niki, er, Jessica, er, Tracy Strauss back from the dead. Whats next? Evil twins with moustaches? For me, this chapter is closed.

Last but not least is the most convoluted of them all, and I know I’m touching a nerve here. But what the hell is up with Lost? I think the name refers to the fans who watch the show, not the characters on the show. I was with you the first few seasons but c’mon. Move the freakin island?!?!? C’mon!  This show has more flashbacks than General Hospital. I am waiting for Luke and Laura to wash up on shore any episode now and save the whole group. The Rubik’s Cube is easier to figure out than this mess. I’m not saying I’m a genius but when I need Cliff Notes to figure out a television show, it’s time for this ship to sail.

So going forward, my Nielsen Ratings will be turned towards more believable fare. Like the latest episode of,” It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia”. You know, the episode where they try to figure out who took a dump in the bed by getting the suspects to “reproduce” the poop so they can match it up. Now that’s entertainment everyone can understand. Its much better than those other shitty shows.

I think its because of the people that I enjoy my job so much. People who are so much more than bosses and coworkers. People who care about you as a human being, as a person, not just as a number. Yesterday was a great example of that. 

My boss, remembering my birthday as he does so thoughtfully every year, sent an email out to the company wishing me a Happy Birthday! The barrage of responses I received from the rest of the employees was just overwhelming. I wanted to share them with you, so you can appreciate the love I receive at my fantastic job.

This first one is from Walter, one of our buyers:

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From: Walter Gorri
Sent: Friday, October 17, 2008 10:54 AM
To: Harlan Russo
Subject: RE: Thanks

Happy …. Birrrthhh…..dayyy Mr…… Vice….. President. Happy…..Birth….day to yyyouuu…

Get it “Marline Monroe….

Not that I am looking at this email it looks kinda gay..

So disregard the previous lines and have a wonderful Birthday.

Walter

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How special. Walter brings diversity to our company and his command of the English language is astounding, as evident by his email. Check out this one from one of my GM’s, Phil.

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From: Phil Lieberman
Sent: Friday, October 17, 2008 10:52 AM
To: Harlan Russo
Subject: RE: Thanks

 Hey you fat fuck. Don’t eat so much cake.

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Phil is always looking out for me. He cares so much. How about this one from Spencer, our Appliance Buyer.

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From: Spencer Kelley
Sent: Friday, October 17, 2008 10:33 AM
To: Harlan Russo
Subject: RE: Thanks

 Hey fagot, please stop filling my inbox with your gay ass birthday…

——

That Spencer! Now only does he care about me, he’s also looking out for our email servers. That type of employee is very rare! Take a look at this last one, from the President of my company. Yes, even he took time out of his busy schedule to acknowledge my special day.

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From: Michael Perlman
Sent: Friday, October 17, 2008 9:24 AM
To: Harlan Russo; Bobby Johnson; Lara Aronoff
Subject: Happy Birthday

Dear Harlan,

Happy Birthday to the Big Kahuna.

Don’t eat the cake, you should just eat tuna.

We all know that you’re a happy bloke.

Just lose some weight before you have a stroke.

This might seem a little harsh,

But, we all know how you like the starch.

——

Ahhh, Michael. So thoughtful. I always told him he should work for Hallmark Cards. He just has a way with words, as well as with his employees. 

Well there you have it! A brief glimpse into my wonderful workplace. A small glance at the people I work with. A tiny look at some special employees who really take the time to show how much they care about each other.

Son of a bitches….every last one of em! Do you know anyone that’s hiring?

I remember when I was growing up, there were always milestones to look forward to:

13 – I was finally an angst ridden teenager…Avril Lavigne knows exactly how I feel!

16 – I can drive! That’s right, now I can put my pimply faced, testosterone filled body behind 2 tons of speeding steel, vroom vroom! (Allstate hates me) I can also get a job. “Would you like paper or plastic maam?”  I can also start having sex…. just not with anyone 18 years or older.

17 – I can now see “R” rated films on my own! Mrs. Ballbricker, please move out of the way so I can see bush.

18 – NO MORE SCHOOL! College? That’s for morons, I wanna work retail until I’m 70! I can have sex…just not with anyone 17 years and younger. I can also get drafted and go to war! Sargent Hulka here I come. 

21 – I can drink! That’s right, I can get shit faced and urinate in the sink and its perfectly legal. 

(Heres where it starts going down hill)

25 – My car insurance goes down. (Allstate is starting to warm up to me)

35 – Old enough to be The President Of The United States, my friends. 

40 – Recommended annual prostate exam. (Hey Doc, are you using the whole fist?) I am also now getting up to urinate at least 2 times a night.

45 – Grey hairs start to appear in your nether regions. 

50 – I can now join AARP for discounts galore. I also start developing a keen appreciation for Wilfred Brimley, oatmeal, and the movie Cocoon. I am now getting up to urinate at least 3 times a night.

59.5 – I can now take my retirement money out of my 401K, which probably by then won’t even consist of 5K, without the annoying penalty. This is the age you realize your too old to work and have no money. Isabella says, “Have another Alpo sandwich Daddy”

62 – First opportunity to get a percentage of my Social Security benefits. Get me the calculator and figure out whats 80% of nothing. Now hand me another Alpo Sandwich. I am also still urinating 3 times a night only now I’m not getting up to do it.

65 – Old enough now to get all of those wonderful Social Security benefits. Nursing Home here I come! Wheelchairs, nurses who neglect me, and the ability to sit in my own feces for days at a time. Life is good.

80 – If my pruny ass is still alive please go to the nearest Walmart and pick me up a Remington, Double Barrel and stick that bad-boy in my mouth and pull the trigger. (On my deathbed, I will have eternal consciousness. So I got that going for me….which is nice)

Depressing, isn’t it. But somehow, cake and ice cream make it all better….. IM FAT FOR GODS SAKE!

How come everyone today is too much of a pussy to smack their kids around? That’s what I want to know: why are parents afraid to beat their kids? When I was a kid and I screwed up, my parents beat my ass. We didn’t have a conversation about it. I didn’t have a “time out.” In fact, I’ve never even once been grounded in my life. What’s the point? Send your kid to his room and make him play video games and read comic books all day? Great idea, why don’t you take him to a psychiatrist while you’re at it so she can pull some disorder out of her ass to hide the fact that you’re a bad parent?

Kids today need a good beating every now and then. If you don’t beat your kids when they fall out of line, the next thing you know your son will go off and bang some dude in the ass just out of spite. You tell them to clean their room, they say “no,” you smack them. It’s simple; it works. Don’t listen to these assholes on TV with their bullshit hippy psycho babble; if they had it their way, every child would be raised in a pastel colored room with Philip Glass pumped through the speakers 24 hours a day. Then again, it might not be all that bad because it will make your kids complacent, so it won’t be as hard for them to swallow when they realize that they’ll be spending the rest of their lives chained to a desk in a cubicle writing reports to make someone else rich.

The problem is that kids today think their opinions matter. By not beating your kids, they get a skewed perspective of reality where they start thinking that they have it rough and that they can get away with dying their hair and listening to Insane Clown Posse. That’s where you need to come in and put the law down. To help you, the negligent parent, I’ve put together a guide to smacking your kids for your convenience (hint: you may want to even print this guide up and hang it on your fridge as a reminder to both you and your kids). Here are some useful techniques:

·  Five across the eyes. This is a very basic maneuver and usually enough to cover most situations when your child is out of line. Simply put four fingers tightly together and either leave the thumb off to the side or fold it behind the other four fingers. Then smack your kid across the face with the back of your hand. Now this is the tricky part: make sure to snap your wrist just before contact otherwise you won’t get a stinging effect. Very important because you don’t want to risk letting your kid think you’re a pussy.

·  The sucker punch. Just ask the question “hey, what’s that on your shirt?” and when they look down, bust their lip. You need to do this every now and then to keep them guessing. Don’t ever let them off the hook. Just because they’re not doing anything wrong doesn’t mean that they didn’t do something wrong earlier that you weren’t aware of.

·  The yard stick. Or for those of you who don’t use the arbitrary American system, this is also known as “the meter stick.” This is a good general purpose beating because the stick usually doesn’t last beyond three or four good whacks–usually enough to send the message.

·  The one-two shut-the-hell-up. This is priceless when you’re shopping and your kid won’t shut the hell up: “I’m hungry, I want toys, I need my Insulin…” etc. First smack your kid (the 5 across the eyes technique works). Wait a few seconds for your kid to start crying, then smack your kid again to let him know that you mean business. This usually shuts them up because they see that the amount of crying is proportional to the amount of beatings.

·  The 2 x 4 / PVC pipe. If you do your job as a parent, this should never have to be administered. This is for heavy duty jobs only (ie. any time your kid comes home and begins a sentence with “she might be pregnant…” or “I can _____ if I want to…” where the blank can be any of the following: smoke, have sex, experiment with drugs, watch Oprah, etc). Usually the threat of this beating is enough to keep your kid from screwing up.

·  The Dragon Kick. If you’re interested in a permanent solution to your child giving you lip about washing the dishes, cleaning his or her room or filing your tax return, then the Dragon kick might be the technique for you. I guarantee that you will only have to ask once after the Dragon kick has been administered.

·  The skull thump. A quick blow usually dealt to the side or back of the head. Simply flick them in the head with your finger. An alternative is to smack your child up side the head with your palm. Very useful for teaching your child to read when he or she makes a mistake. Hitting your child when he or she is learning builds confidence, or undermines confidence–I can’t remember which.

·  The one-handed chauffeur reach around. A quick reach around while you’re driving to smack your kid and his friends too if they disrespect. Swerve the car back and forth for the full effect.

·  The cane intercept. If you’re too old to chase your kid around the house, use the handle of your cane to trip him if he tries to get away. When he gets up, poke him in the head a few times to let him know who’s boss.

There you have it. Use these basic techniques to discipline your child if you want him or her to turn out to be a success story like me. Here’s how to tell if you’ve fulfilled your obligations as a parent:

Remember: never take shit from your kids. You make payments on the house, utilities, their clothes, school, and their food. You own them. If they don’t like it, they can move out. If you love your kids, love them enough to beat them so that they don’t grow up to be idiots.