My 7 Opinions

The saying goes like this: Opinions are like Assholes, everybody has one. I find this statement to be true. Now, I take this to another level. If opinions and assholes are one in the same, then I have seven opinions for brothers. Here’s the deal. My brothers are all assholes. I don’t mean this in a derogatory way. It is almost said as a term of endearment. I can’t tell you the amount of times that the last words out of my mouth before I hang up the phone with any of them is, “you’re an asshole, later.”

Now if you were to interview any one of those 7 guys, they would all tell you the same thing. “Yeah, my brothers are assholes.” If you were to interview my dad, he would say the same thing. My mother’s response would be a little bit different. She would more than likely add my father to the list. So she would say something to the affect, “ I raised eight assholes, and married one.” Now, if you interviewed my sister, the one and only female in the litter, you would have to cover the young peoples ears. She thinks we’re more than assholes. I can’t print the things she would say. So, I have no problem saying that we are a family of assholes, or opinions if you like.

It’s fun. Whenever all of the Opinions get together, we laugh. We have a great time with our assholeness. Do you think Disney would pick us up and do a show? The Lawnwhisperer and the 7 Opinions. It’s got a nice ring to it. We could have names just like Sleepy and Doc, but ours would be Big, and Stupid.

Big Asshole said to Stupid Asshole, “hey lets go make fun of F-ing Asshole and see if he gets pissed.” Sounds like quality TV to me, but then again, that's just my opinion.

Addiction

Some years ago, my brother Kevin said something that stuck with me. The conversation was about kids, and video games. The talk was about whether or not his kids were going to get the latest and greatest game console. Some in my family think that video games should not be allowed, and others are more lenient. Kevin’s theory was pretty simple. He said, “ I don’t want my kids to be video junkies, but I also don’t want them to be the only kids in their class that don’t know how to play.” He was thinking deeper than just the video games themselves, and was thinking of the social implications that it could have on his kids. I thought that made all the sense in the world. Let’s face it, video games are a part of kid’s lives, and they are not going away. So my wife and I subscribe to the Kevin theory, let them play, but monitor the games and length of time they play.

So this year at Christmas the awesome people that I work with all chipped in and got me X BOX. So my wife and I got the kids some games, and they love it. We have the occasional tears when we make them turn it off, but the Kevin theory is working well. There is only one problem: I am freaking addicted. That’s right, the kids are ok, but me, I can’t put it down. As soon as the kids are in bed, I am playing Tiger Woods 2006.

I have some questions. Is George Bush still the president? Did we catch Bin Laden yet? Who won the Super Bowl? When do the Olympics start? I am so far out of the loop. I haven’t watched the news in 2 months. I am too tired in the morning to read the paper. I may be missing out on some things, but I can’t put the controller down. Is there a support group for me? “Hi, I’m John, and I’m a video gameaholic.” There, I said it. I’m trying to fight it. I want badly to sit and have a conversation with my wife, but I can’t. Unless she can tell me the break of the green on the 7th hole at Pebble Beach, I’m not listening. So the Kevin Theory works for the kids, but what about 36 year olds?

Still the Boss

I met my wife at work. We both worked at UPS. She was one of the important people, and I wasn’t. She was a full time supervisor, and I was a part time supervisor. For most of the time that we worked together she was not really my boss, but she was higher up than me. She was also smoking hot. Finally one day, the change was made. My wife became my direct supervisor. Let me tell you, I was set. She had no choice but to see me everyday. I no longer had to go out of my way to see her. I didn’t have to make excuses as to why I was at the other side of the building. I was going to be able to work my magic, without having to work very hard. It was like I had died and gone to heaven. That lasted 5 minutes.

The thing about my wife is that she was good at her job. She was focused, and she didn’t take any shit. She was firm. She had her rules, and they were to be followed. I on the other hand was getting by with my good looks and charm. She had this thing about paper work. The thing was, she wanted it done. They used to make us fill out these forms. They had a form for everything. They had forms to fill out that were about the forms. It was silly really. Anyway, I did not do my paperwork, cause I found it to be time consuming. I was all about running an effective operation. I ran the tightest ship within the tightest ship. I had gotten nothing but accolades from my previous supervisors. I was winning awards and stuff. Then she comes in and actually wanted this paperwork.

We got quarterly reviews from our supervisors, and it directly reflected the raise we got at the end of the year. My wife killed me. She ripped me up on that review. It was the worst review that I had ever gotten in my UPS career. Paperwork? We’re talking about paperwork? That’s all I could say. So at my year-end review I am sitting with an even higher up guy and he can’t understand why I had three great quarterly reviews, and one bad one. The answer is simple I told him. “Vicki likes me, and she overcompensated the negative as to not show her affection for me.” The guy laughed and said, “Dude, you don’t stand a chance with Vicki.”

This all happened before we ever started dating. Now we are married for almost 9 years. She is still my boss. She is still smoking hot. I would still go out of my way to get a glimpse of her. I can still get by with my good looks and charm. She still has this thing with paper work. She likes receipts when I purchase stuff or go places. It has something to do with balancing the checkbook or something. I am afraid to ask for a review. I am afraid to know where I stand.

UnReality TV

We’re all in the same boat; we are flooded with reality TV shows. I personally am tired of it, but really what else is on television these days. The problem I have with Reality TV is that I find it very unrealistic. The names of the shows are all catchy, but seriously, they are not anything like happens in my everyday life. That being said, how real are they? Following is a list of how I would like to see the shows go.

SURVIVOR: Skip the people on a remote island somewhere. I am a survivor. It is rare that this happens, but it has happened, my wife going away for a weekend. She goes away, and leaves me at home with the kids. Shit, from Friday night until Sunday afternoon, I have the kids. If I make it through that weekend without a mental breakdown, I am a winner. I get bonus points if the kids are not bleeding and nothing is broken.

The Amazing Race: There is nothing amazing about two people bungee jumping to beat a roadblock. Here is the real amazing race. Driving on the turnpike, with 15 miles until the next exit, and your 4 year old says he has to go to the bathroom. If he’s got to go number 1, then you simply pull over on the side of the road. But if he has to go number 2, the race is on. If you make it to the rest stop in time, it is amazing.

Wife Swap: I am married to the single hottest chick on the planet, why would I swap her?

The Bachelor: This is how the bachelor goes in my house. I have a 22- year old daughter. She has had boyfriends. My wife and I put the guys through our tests. I grill the hell out of them. I try some scare tactics. We choose which guy we like. It is pretty simple, we choose the bachelor, Kristin has little say. Seems fair, doesn’t it?

American Idol: I sing in the shower. If my wife or kids tell me I sound like a howling dog, I lose. If they don’t say anything, I get a record deal.

Nanny 911: That lady doesn’t stand a chance with my kids. I have seen the show, and I know damn well that she would be calling 911 before she left my house.

Anyway, they are just some of my thoughts today.

I Don't Know

Can you imagine what it would be like to be ‘I don’t Know’? If ‘I don’t know’ was a real person, how much trouble would he or she be in? ‘I don’t know’ has been responsible for almost everything that has happened in my house. There has not been one broken glass, or one stained rug, that has not been blamed on ‘I don’t know’. Can we give the guy a break? Think about it, ‘I don’t know’ would be grounded for like 30 years.

“Who put the remote in the trash can?” ‘I don’t know’ is the response.
“Why are there gummi bears stuck to the ceiling fan?” I don’t know.
“Who put the cheerios in my sneakers?” I don’t know.
“Who wrote with marker all over the table?” I don’t know.

See how that goes? The guy is blamed for everything. Could it be that there is that one bad guy living in my house, and I have just not met him yet? Could my boys really be telling the truth? Does ‘I don’t know’ have an older brother named ‘When I get around to it’?

“Hun, I’m out of underwear, can you do a load of whites?” When I get around to it.
“Hey we’re running low on food, how about some shopping?” When I get around to it.
I have never met these two individuals, but they are sure talked about a lot. I am however, very familiar with their cousin ‘Not Now’. Yeah, ‘Not Now’ and my wife are best friends.

Frasier

‘Cheers’ was one of the greatest sitcoms ever. ‘Cheers’ was the place where everybody knows your name. ‘Cheers’ will always be considered one of the best. From ‘Cheers’ came Frasier. Frasier was one of the supporting characters in the show. These supporting characters were part of the reason the show was so loved. Frasier went on to be a long-standing, funny sitcom in its own right. The Lawnwhisperer is Frasier.

Poop and Boogies is the equivalent to Cheers, and the Lawnwhisperer is Frasier. I am a spin-off of the greatness that is Poop and Boogies. I am not riding Bill’s coat tails; I just got my own show. See, out of the four people that actually read Dad vs. Dad, three of them are family, and they think I am just using Bill’s audience. It is true, but how many people got hooked on Frasier because they knew him from Cheers? Many is the answer. I was just a supporting character to P&B, and the producer of P&B wanted a spin-off. The King of Queens is a spin-off from Everybody Loves Raymond. That show does pretty well. Who knows, maybe my blog spin-off is a hit with the viewers. I like to think that I could be Frasier.

The flip side to the spin-offs is Joanie Loves Chache. If I take the same path as this Happy Days offshoot, I will be off the air by next week. We’ll see. Check your guide for local listings.

Reputation at Stake

I love a nice lawn. I love a good lawn mower or tractor. There are only a couple of weeks of misery left, and then the Lawnwhisperering season is in full bloom. I love Mid-March in Southeastern Pa. That is when everything starts. One thing I don’t love is when a family member puts my reputation in jeopardy. I am afraid that I have a loose cannon in the family, and frankly, he is embarrassing me.

To keep his identity from getting out, I will refer to this family member as Mole. See, Mole is a pretend whisperer. He likes to try to do all the proper steps of lawn maintenance, but he comes up just short each season. I will say that each season he has gotten better, but now he has taken two giant steps backward. Mole went out and got himself a lawn tractor. He got a Cub Cadet, 42 inch deck, Hydrostatic, 20 by 10 wheels in the back, and blah, blah, blah. The issue is not the tractor (cause I love a nice tractor when I see one) the issue is the attachments. Mole intends to get a cart for the back of his tractor. Now, I can’t have a family member go out and ruin my great image like this. Everyone in the Lawnwhispering Community knows the golden rule. FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS DRIVE A TRACTOR WITH A CART!!! Can you imagine the embarrassment? How can the Lawnwhisperer have a brother who pulls a cart in public? What would the people say about me? How could I explain myself? That is like Sylvester Stallone letting his brother pretend to be a rock star. You remember that, right? Sly is kicking ass in the box office with smash hit after hit, and then his brother goes and releases an album. Look what happened to Sly since. His works since then include, Over The Top, and Stop or My Mom Will Shoot. The poor guy is out there filming Rocky 12 right now just to try and get back into the game.

I can see him now. I can see the smile on Mole’s face as he rides around in circles pulling his little cart. The image is disturbing to me. I have to stop this. He cannot run amuck and ruin the reputation of the Lawnwhisperer. Does anyone have any suggestions?

Captain Morgan's and Mondays

Parenting is challenging. I am the first to admit that parenting is challenging…for my wife. I kind of have it made by being the guy that gets to leave the house everyday. I am the weekend guy. I am the fun guy, and my wife is the parent. It kind of sucks for her, but somebody has to do it. On Saturday and Sunday we do everything as a family, but I am the one that the boys want to hang with. This makes for very tiresome weekends.

Young Skywalker and Solo are very energetic, high speed, crazy, lunatic kids. They are fun, but brutal. Keeping them entertained is a must. How my wife does it during the week is beyond me. The thing is, she won’t tell me any of her secrets. Nope, they are for her, and her alone. The fact that she is still somewhat sane leads me to believe that she has some secrets on how to handle the boys. So I go through the weekends trying to keep my sanity, and she is smiling all along. So I resorted to drinking.

Friday and Saturday nights are Captain Morgan’s nights. Captain and Coke after the kids go to bed. It soothes me a little in preparation for the next morning. I do not get hammered or anything, I just take the edge off. Then Sunday night, I start smiling. Cause on Sunday night, I know that Monday is right around the corner. AHHH, Monday morning. I am up before the sun rises, whistling in the shower. I am whistling happy tunes, cause I know I am leaving for work. I love work. I can rest at work. I rest up for the next weekend. So, other than my family, my two favorite things are Captain Morgan’s and Mondays. Is this wrong?

Church

I recently started going back to church. I basically stopped going years ago, for reasons that still piss me off, but I figured my kids need some kind of religious guidance. They are not big fans of church, but until they are big enough to beat me up, they have to listen to my rules. This is the second attempt by my wife and I to get the kids into the church scene.

The first attempt was a little more than a year ago. We went to church, and were a little late. I find it best to be a little late, and leave a little early, for my own sanity that is. So we get there a little late, and are forced to sit in the balcony area. My kids find the balcony to be cool. The problem is that the choir is on the balcony. My guys love their music; so sitting with the band is the best. Midway through the mass, the choir has a little solo going. They sing what seems to be ten straight songs. When the last song finally ends, the entire congregation is silent. You could hear a church mouse. Then my boys start clapping. They not only clapped for the choir, but they started saying, “Do it again, do it again.” Everybody in the church turns and looks up. When I say everyone, I mean everyone. The choir people found it to be cute, cause they had some fans. My wife and I, we did not find it to be so cute. We kind of slid down to the floor until the priest started talking, then we grabbed the boys and jetted.

So we took a little while off, but are back into it again. We have a solid string of consecutive weeks going again. We're not threatening Cal Ripken's streak yet, but it is a streak. The boys have been ok, but antsy. Then came yesterday. They were a bit of a handful, and most of my time was spent begging them to behave. After many bribes and threats, I finally just put my head in my hands. I was kneeling there thinking, God are you watching this? The action in the church slowed down, there was that church mouse silence, and Kyle said loudly, “Dad, it sucks having kids, doesn’t it?” I started laughing, and couldn’t stop. The kids, they found my laughter to be hysterical, so they started laughing. Some of the people around us were giving us the look, but I couldn’t stop. My wife was giving me the look too, but I still couldn’t stop. Mass was almost over, so we jetted. I know that I am supposed to be the adult here, but it was funny. We are going to continue our streak, but I need some help. Can my kids sit in a different pew? That would help a lot.

Skittles and a Slurpee

I was in love with my wife long before she was in love with me. Yes, it was love at first sight for me. She was my boss, and pretty much blew me off every time I begged for a date. Believe me, I begged. The more I begged, the more she blew me off. Finally one day we had a company softball game. She brought her daughter to the game. Kristin was sitting on the sidelines while we played the game. Whenever I was over there, I would play with her. She took a liking to me. Kristin and I got along like champs. A couple days later there was another work function, and I knew Kristin was going to be there, so I stopped and got her some Skittles and a Slurpee. She loved me from that day forward. Kristin and I were buddies forever. My wife, on the other hand, was still blowing me off.

Finally one day she caved, and allowed me to go to dinner with her and Kristin. On the way over to get them, I got Kristin some Skittles and a Slurpee. I continued to do this until Kristin got braces. Anyway, I believe that the Skittles and the Slurpee is the reason that my wife ever started dating me. She started to like me because Kristin liked me. We went on to get married, and Kristin is my daughter. Kristin is off at school now, but every once in a while I stop at a 7-11 and get myself some skittles and a slurpee. It brings me back to those days, and makes me smile. The skittles and a slurpee has turned into the car keys and gas money, but it is still the same to me. She liked me first, so she can have whatever she wants.

The Call

Why does it come so late? Why is it always at the very last possible moment that I get The Call? In the days before cell phones, how was the call even made? The Call is one of the single most annoying things about being married. Why is it that I am usually on my block, or even in my driveway before I get The Call? I have to ask, at what time of the day did you realize that we ran out of milk? Wasn’t it after breakfast? You had some coffee today, right? Did you drink it black? After you made them Peanut butter and Jelly, was there any bread left? That was lunchtime, right? Why now? Why after I just got through town? Why must I go fight the traffic again? Most importantly, do you do this on purpose? Do wives intentionally torture the husbands?

Cat's in the Cradle

The following story is either a sign that my son is indeed a genius, or a sign that my wife is very mean. If it turns out that my wife is very mean, then that also means that my two sons are great cover-uppers. If they are indeed great cover-uppers, then I know that they like my wife more than me. Any way you look at it I lose. Then again, I always lose, so I should not be surprised by any of this. If I have confused anybody so far, then welcome to my life. It is very confusing. Here’s the story.

While driving in the car, the song Cats in The Cradle came on the radio. This song is about a Dad who does not have time for his kid, and doesn’t play ball with him and stuff. Then the kid gets older and does not have time for the dad. It’s a good song, but it is a bit of a bummer song. Anyway, my 5 year old apparently listens to this song, and starts crying. My wife notices tears in his eyes and asks him what is wrong. He says that he does not want this to happen between him and I. She calms him down, and then lets him call me from her cell phone. He gets me on the phone and says that I am like the Cats in The Cradle guy.

Here is my issue with all of this. If indeed my 5 year old got the song. I mean got the intent and meaning behind the song, he is a genius. If he got the song and equated that to his relationship with me, then I have work to do as a father. What are the odds that he indeed got the song? Is it more likely that my wife said, “Hey guys, this song is your dad.” Her saying this put the idea in his head, so he listened, got it, and cried. She swore to me that this did not happen. She claims that she did not say a word, but that Kyle just understood the song and got upset. Could it also be possible, that my boys are covering-up for my wife? She said those mean things about me, but made them swear that they would never tell. I am actually leaning away from this theory because neither of my boys can keep a secret, but maybe this time they did. These are the same two boys that tell on me for everything I do. If I sneak them a cookie or two, after mom said no, they eat the cookies, then squeal like pigs. So, I may have to believe that something different did actually happen. Maybe my son is a genius, and thinks I am an absent father. Maybe my wife is mean, and put those bad thoughts in my kid’s head. Maybe my sons can actually keep a secret, but just not one I tell. Maybe there is a conspiracy against me as a father. Maybe someone from the grassy knoll told Kyle the meaning of the song. There is more to this story, but no one is talking. So, I don’t believe any of them. What do you think?

I am your father, Luke.

Darth Vader was never able to bring Luke to the Dark Side. It took many movies to show that Luke was better than the bad people. Well, my Luke was born on the Dark Side. That’s right, he is only 4 years old, and is already bad. He’s bad in that sneaky kind of way. He’s bad with a smile on his face. He knows he is being bad, and still does it. His dark side has no boundaries. He is so sly in his badness that Darth Vader would want to leave the Dark Side. Don’t worry, he’s not burn the house down bad, but he is pull your hair out bad.

The biggest problem with his bad is that he is so damn cute while doing it. If he is in trouble, which is often, it never lasts long. He just makes you laugh through it. This is the part where a parent is supposed to be strong and hold their ground, but I can’t. I hope that this does not prevent me from getting father of the year, but I crack every time. If Luke gets in trouble and is sent to his room, he says this, “good, I like my room better than here anyway.” There have even been times that he has done something that we don’t even know he did, but he walks right to his room. When you ask him what he is doing up there he will say, “I just broke mommy’s lamp in the basement, so I put myself in timeout.” This kid is simply a smart-ass. Kyle and Luke could be playing nicely and for no reason, he will slap Kyle in the head as he walks by. I attribute this type of behavior to my wife, cause she was this way as a kid. My mother-in-law has told me so. I was the middle kid hanging in the corner by my self; I never did this type of stuff.

He recently was in trouble for something and I was explaining to him why he could not do that. I told him that if he continued to exhibit this type of behavior, I would take a toy away from him. He chuckled, then said, “oh yeah, if you do that, I will trade you in for another daddy.” How do you counter that? How do you parent this type of wisdom? I laugh, that’s what I do. He’s funny when he’s bad. Some of the funniest Luke moments have come when he is being bad. I guess it is more mischievous than bad, but it certainly isn’t good. Anyway, Luke is indeed on the Dark Side, and I kind of like him there. Well, I like him there for now, but when he grows up I won’t like him there. So my issue is going to be the opposite of Darth Vader. I will have to be saying, “ Leave the Dark Side Luke, leave the Dark Side.”

Smart Kid

He is my 6 year old. He is absolutely precious. He is smart beyond his years. He is a perfectionist, and a border- line neat freak. He was coloring between the lines at an early age, cause he knew it looked cleaner that way. He sleeps with 7 stuffed animals every night. These animals are known as his entourage. If they are not in his bed, he will not sleep. I have spent many bedtimes in search of one or two members of the entourage that had gone missing. He has names for these animals, but I do not know which animal is which, so when he says Puffers is missing, you had better bring him Puffers. If you try to pass a non-entourage member off as a member, he will kill you with his glare. It is a confusing ordeal, as there are about 30 different animals to choose from, but only a select few are in the entourage. Kyle has been wearing glasses since he was 4. He has Asthma, and allergies, and has to use an inhaler. This kid, as cute as he is, is just a pocket protector away from being a geek. I mean this in appearance only. To those pocket protector people out there, I apologize if I offended you. Pocket protector people are people too.

Mr. Solo is a bit wound up. I blame this on my wife, because the stories of her childhood are such that she was wound up. Me, I was the forgotten middle guy. I hung out in a corner by myself. There was no wound up in me. This did not happen until I was older. Anyway, Kyle is in Kindergarten, and he is the smartest in the class. Nobody told me this; I just know it to be true. I know it because this kid is smarter than me. He has been playing me since he was born. He knows every angle. He knows every button to push, and when to push them. He knows how to cheat at every board game, and he knows how to cheat in sports. Somehow, he is never out when we play baseball. He always hits a homerun. Even if I tag him, he claims I missed him. When we play hoops, he is constantly getting three pointers. He is no- where near the three point line, yet he counts them as three pointers. In football, I tackle him, but he gets up and keeps running.

How does he do all of that? It’s because he is smart. He knows that I will let him, because the alternative is not for me. The alternative is crying and whining, and that I can’t do. I know I am pushing for dad of the year, but my kids own me. I do anything to prevent tears. Kyle knows that, cause he’s smart.

Kristin, I Think

I think her name is Kristin. I have referred to her as this for the past 13 years, but lately I have become suspicious. My daughter is off at college now, due to graduate in May. I am a little concerned about her coming home, because I think she is a spy. I can’t quite put my fingers on it, but there must be something going on. She is constantly communicating with people that seem to be more important than me.

Kristin’s room at home is known as the communication center. Her entire days are spent with communication devices going. Our family computer is in her room, and it runs 24-7. She also has her own laptop computer, which she keeps beside her on her bed. When she is home, that laptop is running 24-7. Her Cell phone is now just an extension of her arm. It will have to be surgically removed some day, but for now, it is permanent. Kristin has the uncanny ability to be Text messaging one person, while emailing another from a totally different device. She has e-mail, instant messaging, text messaging, and phone usage all going at the same time. Nobody, and I mean nobody, needs to be this much in touch, unless they work for the CIA. She could be with the FBI, the Secret Service, or maybe the IRS. Thank god my wife does the taxes, or my daughter would probably report me for tax evasion.

She gets more calls in a day than I get in a month. Who could she possibly be talking to? We have the family share plan, but she ain’t sharing. There is something fishy going on here. I thought I heard her on the phone the other day, and she said “goodbye George.” I am assuming that she was talking to the president. The only time she does not answer her phone, is when I call her. I get her voicemail. I could be under investigation, and my daughter was placed here as a spy. I am telling you, I’m keeping my eye on her. Here’s another thing, she is obviously a top agent. Cause a regular agent does not need their laptop next to their pillow. See what I’m saying?

Parenting = Sex Drugs and RockNRoll.

So, I am told that as a father, you want what is best for your kids. I do want what is best for them, but also want what is best for me. I want my kids to be happy, and honest, and loving, and rich. That’s right, rich. I want them to be rich so that they can take care of my wife and I when we are older. I want them to buy me things. I’m talking about cars and stuff like that so I need them to be real rich.

My daughter is in her senior year of college. She will be graduating with a degree in Pharmaceutical Marketing. This is good, cause she intends to sell drugs for a living. She is going to be a drug dealer. There is money in drugs, tons of money. I watch the news, and read the papers, and there is all kind of action in the drug world. She may be able to buy me a car someday, if she becomes the best drug seller out there. So I encourage her to be good at selling drugs.

My two boys are going to be rock stars. When you ask them what they want to be when they grow up, they say Rock and Rollers. They are 6 and 4 years old, and are way past Old McDonald. They love Bon Jovi. They know the words to every song that Bon Jovi has. They play the air guitar, and the fake drums while we drive in the car. I am not sure when this all started, but I do know that it is my fault. I was getting a little tired of “with an oink, oink here, and an oink, oinks there”, so I changed it up. Now they are hooked. I have no problem with them wanting to be in a rock band. It will save me money on a college education, and they can make a lot of money. Shoot, even the bad rock bands make a ton of money. So my boys will be able to buy me a beach house. This is good. So my drug-dealing daughter will buy me the car that will get me to the house purchased by my Rock and Roller sons.

Now, like most men, I spend the majority of the day trying to figure out if I am going to get any action from my wife. I make decisions based solely on the chances of me getting lucky that evening. Yes, I am talking about sex, but I am trying to keep it clean here. So, here I am, the so-called head of the household. The household that my wife and I have created. The household that runs based on three questionable factors in today’s culture, Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll. Can I get Father of the year for this?