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So Christmas came and went…like 3 months ago. While doing my Christmas shopping this year, I noticed in the “Christmas cards” section that there seems to be a fad of “awkward family photos” that grace the covers of various cards, whether it be Christmas cards, wedding cards, birthday cards, whatever. Every time I noticed these cards, I stopped and looked at them for a while and kind of chuckled to myself, for some of them are pretty funny. However, I couldn’t help, but simultaneously think to myself, “yeah, these toolbots in these photos have nothing on my family when it comes to having a horrendously awkward family portrait taken of them.”


And I meant it. You wouldn’t believe how ridiculous my family’s 1986 family portrait turned out.  You ready for it??? WHOOMP, HERE IT IS:


awkward family portrait

The Swafford Family Portrait of 1986.


Well shit…


In the front and to the left is my brother, Justin. I believe he was 1 year old or so when this photo was taken. In the front and to the right is me. I believe I was in the 3-4 year old range at the time. In the back are my parents.


Now, this family portrait turned out weird to the point where it is pretty freaking hilarious.


To start, my mom. She looks pretty normal, for the most part. She does look like she was making a very strong effort to maintain that smile she has on her face. This is probably because she had been keeping that smile on her face for freaking ever because we, as a family (especially me), weren’t doing her any favors in terms of posing in acceptable fashion. Her mouth muscles were probably getting tired. Also, she does have a bit of a female mullet, also known as the “chicklet cut.” You gotta give her a pass on that though. This pic was taken in 1986. I think 1986 was around the time where mullets became cool. To my younger readers out there, think about that for a few seconds. Mullets, once upon a time, literally were cool…and I think my mom’s “chicklet” cut may have actually been a bit ahead of her time when that pic was taken.


Then there is my dad. Ol’ Marky Mark and his funky bunch. If you are a parent of a young child in this day and age and saw that mustached man walking down the street, you’d probably advise your child to not get within a mile of him. If you are a porn industry executive, you may feel inclined to approach this man and say, “hey man, how big is your penis?” However, it is 2014 now…this pic was taken in 1986. Times have changed. What is now considered a pedo-stache or a porn-stache, was considered pretty bad ass in 1986. For realzies. Hell, Tom Selleck who starred in the television show, Magnum P.I. was a freaking sex-symbol in that era. And one of his trademarks that defined him was that mustache of his that I think he still rocks out to this day. Hell, my grandma still insists that the ultra masculine Tom Selleck from “Magnum P.I.” is the sexiest man who she has ever seen grace this planet. My dad gets a pass in this one, for this was 1986…his mustache was acceptable back then.


Then there is my brother, Justin. He is the smiling, 1-2 year old baby. Hell, he gets a pass.  Until I was 11 years old or so, I was totally jealous of my younger bro and all the attention he received for being so perfect, cute and awesome at everything he ever attempted to do. Jealousy aside though, deep down, I knew he was one of the cutest babies ever. Not to mention, he was always a multi-talented kid and I was proud of that. I was proud that he was my little brother and still am. Don’t be mistaken though…at that age, I couldn’t stand him…he stole my little spotlight.


The only scenario I can imagine of an individual not approving of my brother in this pic, would be if the individual, for some odd reason, had some sort of vendetta against baby orangutans. Because that’s always what Justin reminded me of when he was a baby…a baby orangutan.


orangutan young smile


Now, if that little shit doesn’t resemble my brother in the family pic, I don’t know what does. Too cute.


Baby orangutans are fucking awesome and so was (is) Justin. If you hate baby orangutans, you are a douche-basket. Justin gets a pass.


Then there’s me. Good….God.  In this picture, I am the poster boy for “mouth-breather.” The absolute epitome of “mouth-breather.” And to boot, I had a haircut that resembled a helmet that Speed Racer would use (that’s my mom’s fault).  Ironically enough, the term, “mouth-breather,” has become one of my favorite terms to use and I usually use that term to describe people who I consider to be total dumbasses. Therefore, if I = mouth-breather and mouth-breather = total dumb ass then I = a 3-4 year old, total dumbass mouth-breather in that pic. I realize it is in bad taste to harshly criticize a 3-4 year old kid like that, but come on…this is my dumb, mouth-breathing ass we’re talking about. Plus, just look at the picture. There is no excuse for basically photo-bombing your own family’s family portrait in that manner via excess breathing from the mouth. And if there is an excuse, how do I explain myself.  Well… I don’t really know, but I’m going to try.


To start, from the fragments of memory I have of this family portrait being taken, I was scared shitless when this photo was shot. I remember being instantly frightened the moment I sat down and saw the camera. For those of you who don’t know, back in the 80′s, the cameras used to take studio pictures were freaking huge. Or at least, it seemed that way to me back then. Maybe it was the stand that was used to prop the camera combined with the camera itself. Who knows. All I know is that when I saw that camera, I was immediately thrown off because of how much it resembled that robot from the “Short Circuit” movie previews.

80s robot movie


The robot from the movie, “Short Circuit” scared the crap out of me when I was around that age and given the cunning resemblance it shared with this camera that I was ordered to smile at, it’s fair to say that the camera and I did not get off to a very good start. The sight of the camera itself initiated my facial expression to make the transition from casual, to serious and wide-eyed. I wasn’t quite breathin’ out the mouth yet though…


Moments later, the photographer arranged us in to our designated positions for the photo. As I sat there in front of my mom wondering to myself if this robot looking thing was going to extend it’s arms and attack me, the photographer encouraged us to smile and SNAP, the first shot was taken. The flash from that camera was downright painful. I mean, I felt like I couldn’t even see for at least 10-15 seconds after the photo was snapped. It hurt and made me even more scared than I already was.


The photographer said something along the lines of, “we need to take a couple more shots because I want you ALL to be smiling. The older boy needs to smile.” This was devastating, for at that moment I wanted to run away and when I began kind of making a pitiful effort to do so, my dad immediately yelped, “Joshua, stop being a pansy-assed dingle-berry and sit down and smile for the family!” As my dad yelped this at me, my vision was slowly beginning to come back, but only in the middle of my visual field. In other words, all I could see was a circle of whatever my eyes were focused on, and this circle was surrounded by a substantial amount of vision-blurring fuzz. With that said, the only thing I could actually see when my dad told me this, was his mouth region, which sucked because back then, my dad’s mustache used to remind me of  a couple of hairy caterpillars I’d find while playing in our back yard. So in a way, it kind of seemed like I was being told to “stop being a pansy-assed dingle-berry and smile” by a couple of hairy freakin’ caterpillars. At this point, my mouth officially opened… wasn’t quite breathing from it yet, though.


Suddenly, the photographer said, “smile!” and SNAP! The second shot was taken and the pain in my eyes from the flash had doubled. The photographer unenthusiastically said, “we didn’t get a smile out of the older boy.”


My dad, a man who has never been known for his patience began getting frustrated with me at this point and in annoyed tone said, “smile, dumbass!” I could only see his mouth and his mustache and in my imaginative 3-4 year old mind, I could have sworn those mustache caterpillars grew Roy Scheider/Chief Brody faces from the movie, “Jaws” and angrily yelled at me:


smile son of bitch


“Oh great, so not only am I getting barked at by my dad, but the freaking caterpillars are talking shit too,” I thought to myself.


I can’t accurately describe the state of mind I was in at that time. I was frightened….I was confused….I was in pain from the camera flashes…I was mortified…I was befuddled.  I KNOW!!! I WAS:


stupid kid


I was totally…befuddlefucked.  If that isn’t an actual word, then well, it should be…because that is the only way I can describe the state of mind my 3-4 year old self was in at that moment.


My mouth opened even wider and I was officially breathing from it. And all the while, my perfect baby brother was smiling, having the time of his life like a baby orangutan.


Seconds later, the photographer advised us to smile again and abruptly snapped the photo. Immediately afterwards, she said, “well, I think that is the best we are going to be able to do.” The end result = the infamous family portrait.


So that explains why I appeared so befuddlefucked in that family photo. It was a combination of; the camera resembling the “Short Circuit” robot, the flashes from the camera burning my eyes, my dad’s frustration, the caterpillars from my dad’s mustache chiming in and having to experience this 3 consecutive times.  It was horrifying…and painful.



mullet family portrait

At least I’m not alone. The mullet man’s family has taken some doozy family portraits as well. Not that I am in good company or anything, but still.


BTW: I am thinking about renaming the mullet man. I think I am going to rename him Rick Dickulous. I think that has a better ring to it.

Fat Swafftard

Propped on a ledge above the couch in my basement where I’ve been lounging lately, is this framed picture of my dad and I:




I like the picture. My dad are pretty happy in it. I like that. However, the other night I lounged out on that couch and watched a bunch of ESPN 30 for 30 documentaries on Netflix and eventually fell asleep and crashed there for the night. When I woke up and opened my eyes the following morning, my eyes just happened to be peering in the direction of that photo. My immediate thought, literally 5 seconds after waking up was, “holy shit, my face was so puffy in that picture, it resembles Fat Bastard’s face.” I’m assuming that 90% of my readers are aware that Fat Bastard is the grotesque, morbidly obese villain who appeared in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me as well as Austin Powers: Goldmember. Waking up to the epiphany that you share facial similarities with Fat Bastard isn’t the most flattering way to begin the day, but nevertheless, I still thought it was kind of funny and decided to GIMP my face from that photo into a photo of Fat Bastard. This is what I came up with:


fat tard


Unfortunately, the facial resemblances are undeniable…in fact, I bet the majority of you are probably unable to distinguish that it’s my face in that pic…you probably can’t tell that the original Fat Bastard pic had been modified. Ugh. I have lost some weight since then…I’m not Richard Simmons by any means, but I’m not AS puffy-faced as I was a year and a half ago when that picture was taken.


All this shit is unflattering, but at the same time… I’ve had it coming for a while. Over the years, I’ve clowned on a lot of people who are closest to me. I’ve repeatedly clowned on my dad. Just a couple entries ago, I clowned on my wife. A few months ago, I clowned on my wife, my brother and one of my groomsmen in a photo that was taken of us on the X-Scream ride located on the top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas…


So yeah, I’m due and deserving of some self-deprecating humor. And my dad thinks it is hilarious. When he saw the pic, he responded with an obnoxious, “in your face” evil laugh. Here is a pic of him laughing at me. This is what Dad looks like when he is carrying on with his notorious “evil” laugh:


randall patrick mcmurphy


When Dr. Evil saw that pic of my dad, he was all like, “that Randall Patrick McMurphy has a good evil laugh!”


Speaking of Austin Powers, I heard a couple days ago that a 4th Austin Powers movie was announced. I don’t know if there is any legitimacy to that rumor, but man I hope there is. I love those movies.


Some of you who have been reading my blog for a long time, may remember a few posts which pertained to my lack of trust, discomfort with and outright paranoia associated with male Gynecologists.  These posts were titled; “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward Part 1,” “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward Part 2,” and a spin-off/Rick story titled, “Null Sehx uff Eeenie-Kind.”  They were written when Krystal was pregnant with my daughter, Kaiya who is now 3 years old.

In a nutshell, the following paragraph from M.G.M.M.F.A. Part 1, generally sums up my negative feelings and apprehension I possess towards male gynecologists.

Is it weird to feel a tad bit jealous or uncomfortable knowing that a male Gynecologist is doing his Gynecology thing to your girlfriend/wife/fiancée? I know it probably sounds ridiculous to some of you and I realize that these men are licensed practitioners and probably see dozens of vaginas every day, but I have never heard of them being neutered prior to becoming licensed Gynecologists. So when a male Gynecologist becomes a licensed practitioner of vaginal health, does he all the sudden lose his attraction to women? I mean, I personally have never met an abundance of men who had a fascination with fallopian tubes, uteruses and cervixes, who weren’t total perverts. Are they all gay? I have always wondered at what point in a male Gynecologist’s life he came to the realization of, “ya know what? I want to work in a field where I literally get to scope out a ton of vaginas and get paid well for it!!!”  That doesn’t sound like too bad of a gig…for a presumably intelligent pervert.

With that said…

Through the entirety of Krystal’s pregnancy with Kaiya, I thankfully didn’t have to suffer through many appointments in which Krystal’s Gynecologist was a man.  I think it happened only once.  The Asian student from M.G.M.M.F.A. Part 2 (“College Student Dan”), didn’t catch a glimpse of Krystal’s vagina from what I could tell. I think the only doctor who did, was the one referenced in Part 1.

However, Krystal and I didn’t wait very long in terms of creating our second child. Approximately 9 months after Kaiya was born, my 2nd daughter, Phaedra, was conceived. So it wasn’t long before I had to accompany my wife to those dreadful appointments with male Gynecologists again.

Speaking of Phaedra, she is now one and a half years old. So obviously, it has taken me a long time to get around to writing this entry. The outline has been completed for almost 2 years now. Also, to avoid confusion, Krystal is my wife, but in this story, I refer to her as my fiancée because we weren’t married when this all took place.

baby phaedra


Phaedra and Kaiya, are so much different than each other in almost every possible way with an exception of them both being girls. One difference between the two of them was determined early.  Krystal’s primary gynecologist when she was pregnant with Kaiya was a female.  Krystal’s primary gynecologist with Phaedra, was a male. And to be quite honest with you, I hated this guy’s fucking guts.  My hatred for this dude was ignited during the first appointment we had with him, which was the only appointment I attended in which Krystal was scheduled to meet with him.

I arrived at the appointment, already on edge. I already knew what this appointment was supposed to consist of and it made me grouchy. At this appointment, Krystal’s vagina was going to be probed and inspected by a male gynecologist. Not fun for me. Well, how selfish of me. Not fun for her either, I’m sure.

We checked in with the receptionist and sat down in the waiting room.  We sat in the waiting room for roughly 10 minutes. While waiting, I noticed the general lack of hygiene sported by the majority of the other ladies who were waiting for their own appointments. It was bad to the extent to which I almost began feeling sorry for the Gynecologists who had to investigate their vaginas. There was a late-teens/early-twenties gal who came there with her mother. She spent the entire time speaking loudly to her mother about how she was CONVINCED that she wasn’t going to test positive for Chlamydia during this appointment as she apparently did in her previous appointment. Her mother didn’t seem to agree with her, which increased the octave of this gal’s voice in the argument. If there was a single person in that waiting room at that time that didn’t know that girl had issues with acquiring Chlamydia, then that person was either deaf, a young child, sleeping or stupid. I couldn’t believe how loud, obnoxious and OPEN this girl was while talking about her chlamydia infections while surrounded by a dozen strangers in a waiting room.

There was another gal who sat across from us. This was a heavier woman who appeared as if she hadn’t showered in days, sporting short grey soiled shorts that exposed her tapioca pudding-looking thunder-thighs. She was accompanied by her skinny, mustached significant other, who I caught attempting to obscurely move his hand up the tapioca bumps and in to her vaginal region. Without thinking, I sighed when I noticed him doing this. My sigh was noticeable enough for this dude to get the point that I was sighing about what he was doing, for he quickly moved his hands out of his lady’s vaginal region and into his pockets and proceeded to call his 3 children over to them. These children were behaving erratically in the waiting room the entire time we were there. They were running around, yelling, throwing shit, stepping on people’s shoes without apologizing, just being rude and disruptive and general. It wasn’t shocking that these kids all belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Public and Grotesque Display of Affection who were seemingly oblivious to the fact that their stupid kids were in the waiting room with them, stealing my Sports Illustrated magazine from me and pulling Krystal’s hair as well as other disrespectful behaviors.  “There are some unbelievably stupid people in here,” I thought to myself. “My God, this gyno is going to breathe a sigh of relief when he comes into the room and sees that he will be probing Krystal’s vagina, considering the appearance of his other clients in this waiting room as well as Krystal’s hotness. What a DOUCHE!!!” I thought to myself.

I’ve thought about this topic a lot and I’ve concluded that Gynecologists do have their preferences in terms of the vagina’s hygiene as well as the efficiency and convenience of working with them. For example, I guarantee a physician prefers it when the woman’s vagina does not smell like tuna helper, which was exactly what I thought I smelled in the waiting room. Not to mention, I assume they prefer to be efficient in their work, which means they won’t have to sift through rolls of flab, gunk and possibly the patient’s family’s long-lost television remote controller, while simply just trying to locate the damn vagina. “This guy is going to come into the office, glance at Krystal and be pumped up that he gets to scope out a hot chick’s vagina,” I thought.  Ugh, I hate gynos.


So the receptionist eventually called Krystal’s name and directed her to an office down the hall. This was the office that belonged to the male gynecologist who was about to probe my fiancee’s pussy.  As I sat in a chair in the office, I immediately tried to distract myself from the inevitable agitation I knew I’d be experiencing soon, by silently thinking of tongue twisters. For some reason, the first letter that came to my mind, was the letter “F.” I began thinking to myself, I’m freakin’ fixin’ to feel out this physician fart-knocker who’s about to feel my fiancee’s fresh, fantastic fallopian tube.” I kind of chuckled to myself and thought, “haha, that’s a good one.” Then it hit me that my tongue twister was actually a good idea. I thought to myself, “you know, I probably should do that. Maybe look around his office and get a feel for who this guy is. After all, he’s about to see more of my fiancee’s female anatomy than I ever will…might as well see how pissed off I’m going to become to potentially alleviate the negative anticipation.”

The first thing I noticed in his office was a large poster in which he photoshopped his body pumping his fist and put it in place of Tiger Woods sinking a shot in front of a cheering crowd. I knew this was what he did, because the name, “Woods” was visible on this scoreboard looking-thing in the poster…and this Dr.’s last name was not “Woods.”  “Yeah…this guy is a royal douche,” I thought to myself. I am not a golfer and am definitely not a fan of people who idolize golfers or themselves to the point where they photoshop a picture of themselves, paste it over Tiger Woods’s body and make a fucking poster out of it and post it in their office.

First impression: total douche-nugget. I knew he was a douche just by looking at that poster. However, one cool thing I did notice about his physical appearance was that his hairline was identical to mine. I’ve never seen anyone’s hair resemble my own hair so much. Cool hair, brah!

I decided to shift my eyes to other areas of the office. The next thing I noticed was his book shelf. The entire book shelf consisted of an array of various books pertaining to vaginal science.  “That’s pretty cool, I guess. By the looks of his collection of books, it appears as if this guy genuinely is interested in vaginas and is probably pretty knowledgeable when it comes to them. It’s good to know Krystal will at least be well taken care of. He must really know the “in’s and out’s” when it comes to vaginas. At that moment, my eyes inadvertently shifted to a portrait of his family. He had 7 freaking children. My next thought was, “well, apparently this guy is not only familiar with the ‘in’s and out’s’ of vaginas, but he definitely likes to go in and out of vaginas as well. Otherwise he wouldn’t have produced so many children.” It was abundantly clear that this man loved pussy. He liked to study them and he liked to fornicate with them.  He liked to make babies come out of them…lots of babies. This was not a gay Gynecologist as I would have preferred, but a very, very straight one despite the despicable golf poster.

Suddenly, we heard a knock on the door. It was Dr. Pussy-probin’ Parent of a Posse.  He entered the room looking all goofy and shit and in an equally goofy voice to match his goofy physical appearance, introduced himself and asked Krystal how she was feeling. He proceeded to ask her a few basic interview questions before explaining to us the procedure that he was about to perform. In great detail, he explained the ultrasound procedure, in which Krystal’s belly was going to be lubed up and a Doppler was going to be used to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. Fun times, really. I love that part.

He followed his elaborate explanation of the ultrasound procedure by stating something that pissed me off beyond comprehension. He said, “after we’re done with that, you will have to remove your undergarments and I am going to pick at you.”  PICK at her?!?!?!?!? “He seriously just told us that he was going to ‘PICK’ at Krystal, meaning he is going to examine and probe her vagina?!?! PICK…AT…HER…?  Are you fucking serious?” I thought to myself. “What the fuck does he think she has between her legs? A fucking banjo? Is he gonna pick at my fiancee’s vagina and try to play it like a fucking acoustic guitar? FUCKING DOUCHEBAG!!!”

This doctor continued to flap his lips about God knows what, while I sat there and stewed about how appalling I thought it was that this dude just told us that he was going to “pick” at my fiancee’s vagina. I began thinking of all the things that are generally “picked” at and became increasingly infuriated. I thought to myself, “You pick your nose. You pick at scabs. You pick your nails. You pick the lint out of your belly button. You pick your zits. You DON’T pick at another man’s fiancee’s freaking vagina and if you are picking at a vagina, what the hell are you picking at!?!? I suppose if a person had crabs, they’d pick their crabs off. In fact, after seeing some of the troglodyte women in the waiting room, I bet this guy picks crabs off of his patient’s vaginas on a daily basis. Wait a second, does this guy think Krystal has crabs? Oh hell no. I hate this guy.”

I forced myself to try to think about something else. The first thing that came to my mind was picking those disgusting fennel seeds out of rye bread prior to eating a reuben sandwich. I despise those freaking things. Almost immediately, I caught myself and knew exactly why I began thinking about picking fennel seeds out of rye bread in reuben sandwiches. It was because of that old joke about how vaginas resemble the inside of a reuben sandwich combined with my anger-fueled fixation with how this guy said he was going to “pick” at Krystal…as if she had something on her vagina to pick off. It’s funny how your mind independently makes associations.

I needed to think about something else, for this thought about reuben sandwiches was not alleviating my anger at all.

While Gyno-man continued to flap his lips about whatever, I resorted to thinking of tongue twisters again.  And guess what the letter was this time? You guessed it, the letter “P.”  Here are a couple of the tongue twisters that grazed through my mind at that time:

“This perverted pussy Practitioner thinks he’s gonna pick a piece of pizza from my precious pregnant partner’s punana.”  Ugh, gross.

“Practitioner Put-Put Poster picks at polyps on pussies all day.”

“Proctologist Practitioner Peter Piper picked and patted his poopy pickle. How many picks, pats and poopers made Proctologist Practitioner Peter Piper’s pecker poopy?”

“Pompous practitioner of pussies plays with his pickle while peering at his put-put poster.”

“Practitioner Perverted Pussy-pants probes and prods at pussies in hopes he’ll pick a pepperoni and throw a pizza pie and Pabst party.”

“The thought of Pussy practitioners not being perverted, pompous pigs puzzles me.”

 “This practitioner of poontangs wants to play put-put with his penis while he picks at my pregnant partner’s prized pink pussy.”

Ok, that was enough. Distracting myself with tongue twisters pertaining to practitioners performing procedures involving picking at my pregnant partner’s precious pussy while playing put-put with his pulsating penis, pushed and prompted me to become even more pouty, paranoid, protective and profusely pissed off to where I wanted to punch the practitioner in the pecker and pull down his prized poster that he presumably pats his plump pickle to.

At this point, I needed to just calm down, clear my mind and try to not think of anything. However, I was incapable. I began thinking about where Dr. Pussy took his wife for Gynecology appointments when she was pregnant with his own 7 children. I assume that he worked on her pussy himself. I doubt he’d want one of his co-workers to do it, considering he presumably knows what goes through a gynecologist’s mind when procedures are performed. I assume he specifically scheduled her appointments for days where he was working. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to work with someone who probed and prodded and “picked” at my wife’s pussy either. It would be awkward.

Then I began thinking about female gynecologists. Who performs their procedures when they are pregnant or have vaginal issues? Certainly not a male co-worker, right?

Various thoughts such as these sailed through my mind for a few minutes until it was finally time to get the show on the road. Krystal was advised by Dr. Pussy to remove her panties, sit on a table and position herself sitting spread eagle while this guy grabbed a flashlight out of his drawer. He proceeded to prod, poke, probe and “pick” away at my wife’s vagina with his flashlight beaming directly on it, while I sat there with my arms crossed and a pouty expression on my face. “I don’t know if I have ever hated my life more than I do now,” I thought.  That thought entered my mind too soon, for the doctor, while probing my wife’s vagina prompted me to hate my life even more when he looked at me and said in a monotone voice, “yeahhhh, things are looking great. Things are just looking so good. No problems. No polyps. Yeahhh…this is going well. This is so good.”  “I KNOW HER PUSSY IS GOOD, YOU IMBECILE!!!” I shouted silently to myself.  He continued saying these sorts of things for the remainder of the pussy-probe procedure, which thankfully, only lasted another minute or so. If this was his method of trying to comfort me, then well, he achieved the opposite of the desired outcome, for I was incredibly angry and uncomfortable.

I was in a moderately pissy-pouty mood for a couple hours following this dreadful appointment. I made it clear to Krystal that I was never going to attend one of those appointments with that doctor again, and while she thought I was behaving immaturely (and she was probably right), she acknowledged my concerns and reluctantly agreed to not make me attend appointments where she was to have her vagina probed by a male gynecologist ever again.

I realize this may come off as neurotic, immature, ridiculous and possibly just straight up stupid, but I’m just going to come out and say it. I….HATE….MALE….GYNOS.  I hate the fact that I feel this way about a group of people based on neurotic speculation and what they do for a living, but I just can’t help myself of being apprehensive of these people…especially considering the fact that the ones I have had experiences with have generally been eccentric individuals. I don’t want these people probing my wife’s vagina. I don’t want any other man, except me, having access to my wife’s vagina. Go ahead and think I’m an idiot for feeling this way, for you are probably right. This may just be one of those quirks of mine that are irreversible, no matter how ridiculous it is. Male Gynecologists make me feel awkward.


When I told the mullet man about how annoyed and confused I was by the male Gyno telling me he was going to "pick" at Krystal's vagina, Rick replied, "I don't see what's so difficult to understand about it...he's obviously going to help pick her butt.  Golly, I wish I had me a doctor to help me pick my butt!"

When I told the mullet man about how annoyed and confused I was by the male Gyno telling me he was going to “pick” at Krystal’s vagina, Rick replied, “I don’t see what’s so difficult to understand about it…he’s obviously going to help pick her butt. Golly, I wish I had me a doctor to help me pick my butt!”

Rick “The Mullet Man” and his family struggle financially during holidays. Thanksgiving is one of the most financially strenuous holidays for Rick’s family because when the local schools go on Thanksgiving break, there aren’t any kids walking past the abandoned shed he resides in. This is tragic for Rick because as mentioned many times before, beating up little kids on their way to school and stealing their lunch money is Rick’s primary source of income. For hours, Rick will stand outside the shed waiting for children to walk by in hopes of wrasslin’ them down for their lunch money…With that said, every year, Rick and his family are in a state of financial turmoil during Thanksgiving.

hungry white trash

Since Rick never has the financial means to purchase a turkey for his family on Thanksgiving, he has been forced to try alternative methods of attaining a Thanksgiving turkey over the years. His initial method was his expertise…dumpster-diving.


white trash turkey

Rick began dumpster-diving for Thanksgiving turkeys at the age of 10. When young Rick found this particular turkey he was like, “oh hot diggity damn! It’s a Thanksgiving Hy-Vee Butterball!!!”


Little Rick gobbled down the “Thanksgiving Hy-Vee Butterball” in one bite and afterwards, became gravely ill. He ventured off to a local farmer’s garage to sift through some of his trash, but stopped short and passed out in the leaves, feeling more sick than he had ever felt until that point in his life.

Little Rick gobbled down the “Thanksgiving Hy-Vee Butterball” in one bite and afterwards, became gravely ill. He ventured off to a local farmer’s garage to sift through some of his trash, but stopped short and passed out in the leaves, feeling more sick than he had ever felt until that point in his life.


farmer white trash boy

When the farmer discovered little Rick, passed out in a pile of leaves in his garage with cat piss all over his face, he was immediately disgruntled, for little Rick resembled the types of kids he commonly spotted trying to steal the anhydrous fluid from his tanks. He knew this kid was bad news and was up to no good stinkin’ around in his garage.


cross eyed white trash kid

Although the farmer was annoyed, he decided that he still better help the kid seek medical attention. He carried little Rick to the emergency room at the hospital.


caged white trash

To make things even worse for young Rick on Thanksgiving, after the farmer dropped him off on the sidewalk leading to the emergency room, the hospital staff mistakenly thought he was a sick dog and they shipped him off to the dog pound. When young Rick awoke from his rotten turkey-induced coma a few weeks later, he found himself penned up in a dog cage with another dog. He freaked out and understandably so….it took young Rick 6 months to convince the staff at the dog pound that he was human and not a junkyard dog.


cross-eyed mulletman

It is difficult to imagine the atrocities Rick experienced while caged up at the dog pound for 6 and a half months. Although Rick was born with a screw loose, I think it’s fair to assume that the already loose screw in Rick’s head was forcibly given another couple turns to the left as a result of being traumatized by being penned up in the same cage as other dogs at the dog pound. When you merely mention the topic to him today, his eyes become even more crossed than they usually are and his double chin becomes more prominent. These horrifying memories obviously still haunt Rick.


roadkill trashy kid

After experiencing the unfortunate consequences of dumpster-diving for Thanksgiving turkeys, Rick surprisingly learned his lesson and developed a new method for finding the perfect Thanksgiving turkey. He began scouring the area ditches for roadkill-turkeys that had been mauled over and killed by an automobile. He considered this to be a safer, healthier alternative to dumpster diving for turkeys.


roadkill white trash

This is the method that Rick uses in attempting to find a Thanksgiving turkey to this day.


jorts white trash

Unfortunately, in 20+ years, Rick has never found a dead turkey in the ditch. Turkeys sure are elusive bastards.


drunk white trash Hamm's

Due to the stress that Rick endures on Thanksgiving, he generally tends to chase this stress away by consuming more Hamm’s beer than his usual amount. How he is able to afford numerous 12 packs of Hamm’s beer, but consistently fails to provide his family with a proper meal on Thanksgiving is a mystery.


candy wrapper trash

Since Rick has never had any luck in terms of finding a road-killed Thanksgiving turkey, he and his family usually have to resort to eating a scrumptious Thanksgiving dinner which consists of candy bar wrappers that he finds while dumpster diving. His family sits down and takes turns licking the excess chocolate off of these wrappers. Rick and his wife, Roxy, constantly fight over who gets to be the lucky one to lick the Snickers wrappers.


white trash baby

Despite Rick and Roxy’s Thanksgiving bickering, at the end of the day, they are both grateful to have each other, for they don’t know what they’d do with themselves if they didn’t have each others’ buns to smack. They are also thankful for their baby and the fact that she was born with such nice teeth compared to them.












My Wife Has No Idea What’s Going On

My wife has no idea what’s going. Hey, SHE said it, not me. Check this out.

So a couple months ago, my wonderful wifey-mcwiferpants, Krystal, got her wisdom teeth pulled. Poor girl. She was in a lot of pain for at least a week. I felt bad for her. Anyways, here is a sexy picture of her taken a couple minutes after she arrived home from getting them pulled:

dental surgery


* On a serious note, I literally do think she is sex-ay, even with the post wisdom teeth surgery, chipmunk cheeks.  She’s the most gosh darn cutest chipmunk I’ve ever seen!!!!!

Krystal presumably isn’t going to be happy with me for posting that picture of her. Therefore, I figured it would be a good idea to make a collage of her HOTTEST pics. For every embarrassing pic, I should post a full collage of good pics to make up for it…that’s my logic. With that said, here is what I came up with. Here is a collage of Krystal’s BESTEST PICS EVARRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

krystal collage



She’ll be happy with me for making this collage of these sexy pics and posting it on my site.  I should have a “get out of the dog-house free” pass for at least 2-3 months….major brownie points!!!!


white trash with chick

Awww!!! That’s nice!!!!

Well, would ya look at that?!?!?!  Krystal was even willing to take a picture with Rick when she got home! That was nice of her. She genuinely looks THRILLED to see him!!! My wife is such a trooper!!!!! The first thing Rick said when he was spotted with her, was “I didn’t punch her in the face, I swear on my Hamm’s beer!!!”

I never realized how funny people were after getting their wisdom teeth taken out, until I saw Krystal when she came home that evening. I wasn’t able to be there with her. I had to watch our babies.  Krystal ensued hilarity the moment she decided to open a laptop and check her facebook. This was roughly 10 minutes after she came home.  Here is the story:

As referenced to in my past entry about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and Mike James, bitch, I mentioned a few times that I play fantasy football.  Yup. I do. I am in two leagues and am the “commissioner” of one of them. I love it.  I even persuaded Krystal to join my league. She is a football fan herself. She is a huge Steelers fan, while I am a die-hard Kansas City Chiefs fan.   Anyways, I wrote a mass message to all 12 of the members of my fantasy football league. I think the message was discussion about how they preferred a certain rule to be. I wanted all of their input. It was a bunch of “commissionery” type shit.  Guess who the first person was to respond to my message was?  You guessed it, my wife, Krystal “I JUST had my wisdom teeth taken out and am still extremely loopy from the procedure” Swafford. Her reply was golden. Her priceless input was:

“I have no idea what’s go uhh nn on. Just do it grom acciunt. I look ‘ll ike a free ken chipmunk.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I still laugh when I read that.

I responded with: Krystal, this is a message to the entire league, dear. :) For those who don’t know, Krystal JUST got home from getting her wisdom teeth out.

This was followed by replies from other members of the league:

Derek: Hahahahahahaha!!!!! That was the coolest shit I’ve seen in a while!!!! HILARIOUS!!!!


Seth: LOL.

Jake: omg that was funny.


It was difficult to get everyone on topic in that whole interaction.   Her reply was just awesome. Here it is again:

“I have no idea what’s go uhh nn on. Just do it grom acciunt. I look ‘ll ike a free ken chipmunk.”

Hahaha. My favorite part is where she stretched the words, “goin on” to “go uhh nn on.” Uhhhhhh!!! Sounds like the way Master freakin’ P would enunciate it. Have I ever mention that my wife is a HUGE Master P fan and that her favorite song ever is his song, “Make’m Say Uhhh!!!!” She is the most loyal No Limit Soulja I’ve ever met. Seriously, we probably have 20 Master P posters in my house, 17 of them in our bedroom.  My wife = No Limit Soulja 4 Life. In fact, in the early 2000′s, she made her own rap album and sent it to Master P at No Limit Records on a daily basis. Her goal was to be No Limit’s response/competition vs. Queen Latifah. Here is the album cover:

rapper wife

Unfortunately, Master P never got back to her.

Anyways, so if you translate Krystal’s reply, what do you think she was actually trying to say?  My guess is this:

“I have no idea what’s goin’ on. Just do it from my account. I look like a free Ken chipmunk.”

So, Krystal has no idea what’s goin’ on???? That explains A LOT!!!!!! I wish I would have known sooner, therefore I wouldn’t have thought I was crazy in any past arguments we’ve had.  ;)   I didn’t know that they made chipmunk Barby dolls. And Ken is free? That’s cool. I may have to get one of those for our daughters.

I realize I have been pretty hard on my wife, especially considering the substantial amount of  “hard-ons” she has given me over the years. However, if I tease someone as I’ve teased her in this post , it’s actually a good sign that I love the hell out of them.  Still though… I really do prefer to stay out of the doghouse. With that said, here is a normal picture of Krystal. Here is my attempt to “undoghouse” myself:

my wife is hot



Gorgeous. And to think she is 30 years old and has given birth to 4 children.  She is aging quite nicely.


You know who else doesn’t know what’s going on? Roxy aka the mullet man’s wife. While dumpster diving a week ago, Rick found an old laptop. Every night since then, Rick has had his eyes glued to the computer for a couple hours after Roxy has gone to bed. He has Roxy convinced that he spends that time on the computer browsing Trace Adkins forums…trying to find cheap tickets to one of his shows. However, Rick is lying. Here is what he is really up to:


white trash computer


That sneaky bastard. He isn’t really browsing Trace Adkins forums. That rat-dick is actually spending hours feeding his porn addiction. Too bad for Rick that he doesn’t actually know how to operate anything on a computer with an exception of a simple “word pad.”



As I mentioned in my recent post, “Meet the Kitten Who Pooped and Peed on My Crotch, Snarflebunz,” my next entry was going to consist of puns pertaining to the following picture from that story:

kid crying cat poop

For those of you who didn’t read that one, in a nutshell, we picked up a kitten to take home to be our new family pet and on the way home, the kitten shat and pissed all over the crotch region of my khaki cargo shorts, which pissed me off and made my daughters scream and cry hysterically.

This photo is perfect for puns… One of my favorite things to do is attempt to come up with puns for various stories, pictures, etc.  I don’t know why I don’t do it on this site more often…maybe I should…?  For those of you who don’t know what a pun is, a pun is a humorous way of using a word or phrase so that more than one meaning is suggested. Fun shit (whoa, shit! A pun already?!)

Let’s get this started. I will try to come up with a list of 50 of them. Feel free to add your own via comment on the site and/or facebook.

I will bold the intended puns in case you become confused or don’t get the joke.


1.) It appears as if this kitten got off to a shitty start with this family.

Number 2.) Due to not getting off on the right foot, I’m guessing that this kitten is in for a short stay with this family. (My shorts the cat pissed and pooped on).

3.) Evidently, this kitten’s philosophy when it comes to pissing and shitting is that when you have the urge to go potty in a car, go. (My cargo shorts).

4.) This cat puts the “pee” in poopy and all over the penis.

5.) It is debatable as to how feral this kitten is, but I think it is abundantly clear that this kitten is NOT feral, but MOST DEFINITELY fecal.

6.) I wonder what Snarflebunz snarfed down that made that shit come out of her buns??? My guess is franks and beans.

7.) And then Tweety Bird chimed in with:

tweety poopy cat

He did, he did taw a poopy cat.

8.) Yuck. Just looking at that photo makes me want to hurl. (Hurley shirt).

9.) Man, talk about some shitty luck. (The lucky clover on my hat).

10.) A lot of puns are being written about this orange, crotch-poopin’ punana.

11.) And then Ugly Kid Joe and Harry Chapin chimed in by saying,and the cat hit the cargo shorts with smelly poop. Little girl is blue cus the smell of the poo. When we getting home, Dad I don’t know when, but things should smell better then, yeah. We won’t be smothered with this poop smell, then!

12.) As mentioned in in earlier story, “Grandma and Grandpa Earthquake Buns and Their Grandson, Big Fat Rico,” my grandma used to refer to poopies as “dogs.”  Ironically enough, I remember watching the cartoon, “Cat-Dog” a lot when I’d hang out at her house.

cat dog cartoon network

13.) It appears as if Cat Stevens doesn’t have to worry about HIS pet cat shitting on HIS lap.

kittie cat stevens

Well, Mr. Stevens, maybe someday you’ll find out that the first fudge is the seepiest. Baby, I know.

14.) Bung-hole-e shit, the guy in that pic looks PISSED!!!

15.) When I told Ace Ventura: Pet Detective that I thought this kitten was more suited for living outdoors, his reaction was:

ace ventura nonsense poopypants


16.) Have you heard about Chris Hansen’s new show? It’s called “Dateline: To Catch a Poopy-pants.”

17.) Wow…what a crappy ride home that must have been for that family.

18.) I’d say that the kitten took a (insert name of person I don’t like) on my crotch, but I don’t want to be too “catty.”

19.) The man in that photo is absolutely appalled and disgusted. He looks like he’s going to vomit. What a pussy.

20.) I hope Snarflebunz doesn’t read this and get her felines hurt as a result.

21.) When the poor girl in the photo smelled the awful stench of the cat poop, she was hysterical for hours, but eventually became catatonic.

22.) Poor guy. With his backwards cap, Hurley shirt and stiff-upper lip, it is obvious that this guy is trying to look like a cool cat. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to be a cat daddy when you literally have shitty shorts.

23.) This kitten obviously has issues with being incontinent. Maybe she needs a catheter to more efficiently control her urine output.

24.) I bet these people can’t wait to get home so they can be in a more desirable atmosphere of “cat and house” opposed to “cat and car…go shorts.”

25.)Now my old johnson had troubles of his own, he had a yellow cat that wouldn’t leave him alone. He tried and he tried to keep that poopy away. The cat could always poop on him even from far away. And the cat came back, the very next day. The cat came back, they thought the johnson was a boner, but the cat came back, and pooped and pooped away.” (Johnson = wiener for those who didn’t catch it…plus, this is a spoof off the song, “the Cat Came Back”).

26.) Since the fecal matter of cats is known to be a frequent carrier of disease, I sure hope this family didn’t catch anything.

27.) Wow…this unfortunate event was a catastrophe.

28.) I am unsure how to categorize this post.

29.) I love that movie, “Catch Me if You Can” starring Leonardo Dicrapio.

30.) This cat’s intentions weren’t to make a mess on my shorts or to ensue foul smell-induced turmoil in my car. This cat was simply trying to cater for anchorman, Ron Bergundy.

anchorman kitty shit

“No! I will NOT eat this cat poop!!”

31.) And then Fergie, who ironically had just recently pissed in her own pants, chimed in and was like, “the smell of your cat’s shit lingers on me now” when I abruptly interrupted her by shouting, “shut up and get to the point!!!” And she responded with, “tell your daughter, it’s time to be a big girl now, and big girls don’t cry.”

fergie piss pants

32.) And then Frankie Valli rudely scrunched his way into our car and shouted at my daughter in his high-pitched voice:

big girls dont cry valli


This was bad timing for him to do this, for I was still pissed and I defended my daughter by explaining to him, “look dude…her daddy’s frank was just pissed and shit on! Get out of the car and leave us alone, poopy-pants!!!” I thought it was a pretty shitty thing for him to do. I was pissed at him.

33.) I bet my readers who hate me are staring at their laptops and thinking to themselves, “man, this Rico guy never fails to be poopid as shit.”

34.) Wow, this is crazy. The shape of the individual turds are eerily similar to the shape of caterpillars. Ironically enough, one could argue that the outline of the turds and piss together shows a vague resemblance to a butterfly.

35.) The little girl’s hysterical screams were so loud, it was deafecating to the ears.

36.) Compiling 50 of this has proven itself to be kind of a crappy doody. Seriously, I thought I’d think of all 50 of these in a much shorter amount of time than this.

37.) (Baseball Announcer’s Voice): And the feline hurler, Snarflebunz catches the ball from the catcher and steps back on the mound for pitch number 2 with a count of 1-0. She delivers and it’s in the dirt for ball 2 to Albert Poo-holes. The catcher gets a new ball, for the one he just threw is now soiled. 2 balls, no strikes. And the pitch…and Poo-holes hits a slow roller to the shortstop and the ball goes between his legs!!! Poo-holes was lucky to get a stick on that breaking ball, but as a result of the shortstop’s accident, he managed to hustle his way to base number 2.

38.) I wonder what kind of experiments could be conducted with that fecal matter and a Bunsen burner…?

39.) When Cathy, from the comic strip, “Cathy” heard about this happening, her reaction was:

kathy comic eek


40.) Cathy’s response to this shit-storm of a story ironically made me think of another cartoon:

Eek!, Cat

41.) I haven’t read, “The Catcher in the Rye,” but I’ve heard that the content tends to be too dependent on shock value by using too many cuss words, like shit, piss, ass, etc.

42.) When the character of “Buns” from the movie, Booty Call heard this story, his reaction to it was:

jamie foxx booty call

“OHHHHH SHIT!!!!!!!!”

43.) These puns are the epitome of poop humor.

44.) When Paul Bunyon heard about this, he tried to console Snarflebunz by saying, “don’t worry, Snarflebunz. In my days, I’ve had a lot of accidents myself with the logs I’ve cut.”

45.) The vehicle we were riding in was a 2002 Ford Tore-Ass. That car is my shit-mobile.

46.) (Baseball Announcer’s Voice): And the number two batter comes up and put his stick on the ball and bunts.

47.) My daughter who is shown crying in the photo, is named “Kaiya,” pronounced “Kye-uhh.” However, by the looks of the picture, it appears that we should have named her “Craiya,” pronounced “Cry-uhhh.”

48.) If I have offended any of you, I swear it was punintentional.

* NOTE: If I were to conclude this list with anything, but a reference to my dad and the mullet man, this article would instantly become more shitty.

49.) When Papa Swaff caught wind of this story, his reaction was:

papa suave

“You have got to be shitting me.”

Ironically, this was word for word, the same reaction he had when I tricked him into watching the 2 Girls 1 Cup video, which you can watch by clicking here.

50.) When I told that hideous and disgustingly perverted mullet-man, Rick about what happened, he misunderstood the story and his reaction was:

white trash man

“You cat-daddy! You mean to tell me that you got some pussy AND she shat on the crotch of your shorts?! That’s some ’2 Girls 1 Cup’ type of shit!!! What a catch!!! Where do you find these women?!?! I bet it was a wet-shorts dream come true! Rico, you are the coolest cat EVAR!!! Btw, can I have those shorts? You know how I love me some smelly, poop-soiled shorts!”

It’s quite obvious that Rick along with having comprehension issues also has some absurd fetishes.


If I were to say that Krystal and I have absolutely no luck when it comes to selecting the perfect, suitable pet for our family, it would be the epitome of understatements.  Our luck has been awful…

Our luck started out wonderfully.  Below is a picture of the first pet that Krystal and I ever took in and raised together. She was a female cat who liked to hang out in the garage. Her name was Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks.

lazy orange cat

Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks


Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks was perfect. She was lazy.  She liked to veg out as reflected in this photo.  Yeah, she was a perfect fit for us.

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks was run over by a truck when a dog pestered her and she scurried from the garage to the road.  Her spine was crushed and out of desperation, I took her to the vet with a wad of cash, hoping with all my might that they would be able to heal her somehow.  As it turned out, I needed that wad of cash I brought with me, but I wasn’t able to use it how I wanted. I had to use that money to “put her down.” The veterinarian informed us that there was nothing they could do to help her and that the most humane thing to do at that point would be to “put her down.”  With a stiff upper lip and rugged-tough demeanor, I paid the veterinarian and consoled my weeping wife as we both said our “good-byes” to Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks.  Well… shit, who the hell am I trying to fool? I was sobbing just as much or more than my wife was. I was really shook up. I loved that cat. That was a few years ago and to be honest, to this day, I don’t like thinking about it, let alone writing about it.

dawson creek crying

Following Lieutenant Butt-Cheeks, we ended up with the infamous Hamburglar. We found The Hamburglar from a facebook online auction and garage sale-type thing that many people are obsessed with called “Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade.” My wife is a Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade addict and I hate it because the majority of what people try to get rid of on that site is total shit.  You should see this basketball hoop I ended up with for $50 due to my wife finding an awesome “deal” via Burlington Buy, Sell Trade.  You can use it to play basketball with…but it requires an awful-lot of duct-tape applied to it in order for it to function as the basketball hoop that it’s supposed to be. Ghetto fabulosity at its finest.

evil cat

The evil Hamburglar.


I wrote a story about The Hamburglar that ended up being a reader-favorite. It was titled, “Meet The Hamburglar” and it chronicled a story about how the cat was so damn crazy that it was capable of chewing apart most of my infant daughter’s toys.  However, he met his match with one of those baby rings, when it got stuck in his mouth, as seen below:


crazy cat

The Hamburglar began playing with this ring and as a result, he accidentally got the thing lodged in his mouth and was unable to get his mouth free. He scratched the crap out of my hands as I spent 30 minutes of my life vigorously trying to free him.

Here is a closer look at what happened here.  It was one of the most absurd things I've ever witnessed.

Here is a closer look at what happened here. It was one of the most absurd things I’ve ever witnessed.


Unfortunately, we had to get rid of The Hamburglar. He kept biting my toes/feet when I’d walk around the house. He’d bite HARD. His teeth would sink deep and my toes would be swollen for days following. It was as if he were in a frenzy…like, it seemed like he mistook my big toes for a piece of hot dog and had full intentions of literally eating my toes. It really hurt. It pissed me off and made me nervous, since my oldest daughter, Kaiya, was learning how to walk herself.  I’d be one pissed off mother-scratcher if The Hamburglar gnawed into the flesh of my daughter’s toes/feet in the same manner as he repetitively and consistently gnawed into my toes/feet.

The final bite to my toes took place when I came home from somewhere, took my flip-flops off and the damn Hamburglar immediately ran towards me and bit deep into the big toe of my right foot. I fell to the floor, wincing and moaning in utter pain. As I laid down on the ground in the fetal position that I frequently seem to assume when induced with severe pain, The freaking Hamburglar ran a circle around our house and proceeded to approach me again and bit the big toe on my left foot. He bit this toe just as hard or maybe even harder than he bit the other one. Both of my toes immediately became drenched in blood and ended up ended up being swollen for a week following the bites. The pain was excruciating. Have you ever had a painful injury occur in both of your big toes simultaneously? It’s not only very painful, but it’s also bizarre, especially while attempting to walk in the days following. Shit, for a week, when I walked, it looked as if I were doing the “Crip-walk.” I’m lucky I didn’t get capped by a Blood on a day when I may have been wearing something with purple in it. Especially considering the rough neighborhood of Mediapolis, IA I reside in. Bloods and Crips occupyin’ my hood like whoa, yo.

Through a job I held for 5 years in Wapello, IA, I became familiar with a local trailer park and many of its inhabitants. Most of these inhabitants were pet-crazy…like, they’d allow 50 cats and 10 dogs to reside with them in their trailer…and they’d take better care of their pets than they took care of themselves.  The mere thought of a male cat being neutered and de-clawed (The Hamburglar was both) made most pet-loving inhabitants of this trailer park jizz in their pants because generally, they couldn’t afford for their pets to be declawed and/or splayed/neutered.  Therefore, when I showed up at the trailer park with The Hamburglar in my hands in an attempt to get rid of him, it didn’t take long for someone to claim him.  The man who claimed him was a person who I knew would take care of him, for he was efficient in caring for his other 8 cats, so I was confident that things were going to work out for The Hamburglar in this new situation.

About a year after providing this guy with the gift of The Hamburglar, I encountered him at Dollar General in Wapello. I asked him, “so how is The Hamburglar?”  He responded with smoking-induced raspy voice, “the Hamburglar? You talkin’ about that red-haired, jailed up, burger stealer from the McDonald’s cartoons?” I replied, “no man. I meant the cat I gave you.”  He immediately smiled and responded excitedly with, “oh you mean Dick-munch?!?!” I thought to myself, “apparently this guy not only gave The Hamburglar a new name, but also didn’t even remember what his name was when I gave him to him. Hmm… Dick-munch? That’s odd. I wonder if he named him that because he had his dick munched on by The Hamburglar??? It wouldn’t surprise me with his history of biting.  How on Earth would Hamburglar get to this guy’s dick to begin with. That is kind of weird.” As these thoughts were going through my mind, this guy began laughing hysterically in a form that resembled a bunch of uncontrollable, long gasps followed by dry heaves and coughing. When he composed himself to a state of being capable of speaking, he said with a smile that prompted me to ponder to myself about what kind of jackolantern I’d be carving for Halloween in a couple months, “Dick-munch is doin’ pretty good! He’s an ornery little shit, but we just love the hell outta that little hellian!” “That’s great, man! Glad he worked out for you,” I said.  I’m glad this guy is able to love and care for something presumably capable of munching his dick.

So a couple years passed by since we had parted ways with the Hamburglar, when my wife began browsing Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade and noticed a kitten that we HAD to have. I was immediately apprehensive about it. My reaction to her idea was:

rico terminator

Me: Krystal, seriously. We don’t need a cat right now. Plus, if we needed one, the last place we need to seek one out is on Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade!  If there is a pet listed for sale or free on that site, there is usually a REASON for it. This cat probably has rabies. In fact, The Hamburglar probably had rabies. Which means I probably have rabies because The Hamburglar bit my toes and feet so often!!


Annnnndddd my wife’s reaction to my reaction was:

silly wife pic

KRYSTAL: Ughhhhhh gawwwshhhh….. I am SURE The Hamburglar didn’t have rabies and you don’t have rabies either. Goodness sake!!! WHY do you have to make a big deal and argue about EVERYTHING!?!?! Especially when it’s my idea, you HAVE to argue!!! I’m sure there is nothing wrong with the cat, you are just argumentative and paranoid about everything!!! We are getting this kitten. Gawwww!!!!!

So we got the kitten. This was inevitable, for my wife generally calls the shots and I, whilst being argumentative, usually always end up taking the “yes dear” stance. It was an orange, female kitten. We traveled to a little town called New London to pick her up. New London is located roughly 20 minutes from Mediapolis. She was a barn cat and my initial thoughts upon first meeting her were that she was just cuter than hell. Krystal was in love. She was excited and had a big smile on her face the entire ride home.

Induced by her own excitement, Krystal inquired, “oh my gosh!!! What should we name her?!???”  I replied with, “up to you, dear.”  She said, “how about Snarflebunz?!?!”  Krystal and I both share an affinity for giving our pets weird names that we mutually consider to be funny. With that said, I thought this name was funny as hell and Krystal was brilliant for thinking of it.  Without thinking twice, I said, “that is perfect!!!”

So we started on our way home. I jumped in the back middle seat and sat between my 1 and 2 year old daughters. I did this because I wanted to hold Snarflebunz for them because they were so eager to play with her. The ride was a joyous one which consisted of a lot of excitement and laughter from everyone in the car excluding Snarflebunz, until the final 5 minutes of the ride when this occurred:

kid crying cat poop

As you can see, the ultra cute “Snarflebunz” decided to take a shit and piss on my crotch 5 minutes prior to arriving at our house. The smell was dreadful. Which obviously pissed me off and grossed my 2 year old daughter out so much that she began sobbing hysterically.And to think we were having the time of our lives in the seconds leading to this moment. My daughters and I were NOT HAPPY. Krystal, on the other hand thought this was absolutely hilarious, which prompted her to take this photo.

When this unfortunate event unfolded, my initial thought process was something along the lines of, “yup, with Burlington Buy, Sell Trade there is ALWAYS a catch when you are dealing with animals. Hmm…they say that when a cat selects a spot to piss and shit, it is impossible to break them from the habit and they will continue to piss and shit in that designated spot.  If this cat has decided that my crotch is THE place it wants to piss and shit in the future, it may ignite enough fury inside of me to the point where I physically mutate into a beast with large sharp claws similar to Wolverine, and in a state of simultaneous rage and impulsiveness, I may end up forcible clawing at and ripping my own crotch off. Man, that would suck…I don’t want to be forced by my own rage to rip my crotch off!!!”

Snarflebunz got off to a shitty start with us and her stay with us ended up being a short one that lasted approximately a week and a half (how about those puns…”shitty” and “short”). At home, we couldn’t get her to go potty in her litter box. She insisted on shitting and pissing on our dirty laundry. So a couple days after picking up Snarflebunz, Krystal found another cat on Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade that we HAD to have. I actually approved of this one, for it was a Siamese kitten and I love Siamese cats and their unbelievable wisdom.  We named the Siamese kitten, Penelope. Sounds like a pretty normal name for one of our pets, especially when compared to the likes of “Lieutenant Butt-cheeks, The Hamburglar and Snarflebunz.” We named her after Dan Aykroyd’s snooty, snobby girlfriend at the beginning of the movie “Trading Places.” The reason for naming her after this snobby brat was due to Penelope appearing to act “snobbish” towards Snarflebunz in the few days they lived together (combined with the fact that I am a huge “Trading Places” fan and was watching that movie every day on Netflix around that time).

Following a week and a half of having our laundry shit and pissed on, we ended up dropping Snarflebunz off at my parents’ farm, in which she established her new residency. This was more suitable for Snarflebunz, considering she was a farm cat to begin with. Not to mention, the feline society at my parents’ farm has gradually become more and more incest over the years. Therefore, my parents’ feline society at the farm was in need of a cat like Snarflebunz for purposes of making their cats less incest. Incest cats are obnoxious.

Penelope still lives with us. In my opinion, we actually managed to defy logic and find a keeper via Burlington Buy, Sell, Trade. Krystal freaking HATES Penelope though, but that’s a different story.

white trash kitten

In the story, I failed to mention that the person I gave The Hamburglar to, was indeed, Rick “The Mullet Man.” Rick is a HUGE lover of pussies. He just loves to tickle them.

* NOTE: My next post is going to be a collection of puns and/or captions of the photo of Snarflebunz pooping and pissing on my crotch. If you want to add your own puns/captions, feel free to do so by commenting on this post, posting your comment via facebook, emailing me, etc. and I will include your pun/caption in my post and credit you for it. Feel free to have fun with me with this!!!!



So far today, I’ve noticed 2 of these types of phrases after they spewed from my mouth.  One directed towards my 2 year old daughter, Kaiya and the other one directed towards my 1 year old daughter, Phaedra.

Let’s start with Kaiya.

indian for oceans




Pretty self-explanatory. I was folding some laundry and looked up to see Kaiya with her mommy’s thong wrapped around her neck like a scarf. It was kind of cute, for she was looking in the mirror, posing, scoping out how she looked with what she seemed to think was a scarf… Therefore, it was a bit disheartening putting a damper on things for her…but still, she needs to learn that her mommy’s thongs are NOT scarfs. To make things worse, I couldn’t seem to spit out the word, “laundry” until after I had already accidentally spewed the words, “scarfs” and “thongs.” Haha, it cracks me up, thinking about folding a big pile of scarfs and a big pile of thongs.

Now for Phaedra.

some velvet morning



“PHAEDRA!!! HOLY SHUCKY-DARNS!!! PUT DOWN DADDY’S MEDICINE BALL RIGHT NOW BEFORE YOU GET HURT!!! That is NOT a toy!!! That is a fitness ball for working out! You are only 1 so you are WAY too young to be working out!!! Plus, it’s dangerous, sweetie!!! PHAEDRA…SERIOUSLY!!! PUT….DOWN…DADDY’S….MEDICINE BALL!!!”

So I’m watching the Chiefs vs. Raiders game (GO CHIEFS!!! SET THE RECORD FOR LOUDEST STADIUM EVER TODAY!!!) and I glance to the left side of the couch to see 1 year old, Phaedra holding a 15 pound medicine ball (which I had hidden behind the couch, but she had gotten to it and drug it out somehow) as if it were nothing. My first reaction was panic, which was reflected in my initial word, which was, “PHAEDRA!!!” The following thought/feeling was utter shock and amazement.  My 1 year old daughter is a beast. Just unbelievably strong for a 1 year old girl.  She gets it from me…not to brag, but I am so naturally strong without having to give any effort that it’s just weird. As strong as I know Phaedra is though, I didn’t expect her to be merely capable of budging a 15 lb. medicine ball, let alone holding it as if it were light as a feather.  That is where the “HOLY SHUCKY-DARNS” came from… it was a combination of being shocked at her strength along with my attempt at trying to not say the word, “shit.” Then I followed by being too verbose in trying to explain things, which I’m guilty of often, by stating “PUT DOWN DADDY’S MEDICINE BALL RIGHT NOW BEFORE YOU GET HURT!!! That is NOT a toy!!! That is a fitness ball for working out! You are only 1 so you are WAY too young to be working out!!! Plus, it’s dangerous, sweetie!!!” I think a more appropriate response would have been to just run towards her and grab the medicine ball from her, but no, I had to over-explain things…as I am ironically doing right now, in this post.  When I noticed that she was still standing there holding the ball, motioning as if she were going to throw it, that is when I panicked again, as reflected by, “PHAEDRA…SERIOUSLY!!! PUT….DOWN….DADDY’S….MEDICINE BALL!!!”  Unbelievable…

And yes, I put the medicine ball in a more secure place (a storage room).  When I put that medicine ball behind the couch, the thought of my girls being capable of dragging it out, let alone picking it up and holding it, didn’t occur to me…I didn’t think it was physically possible.  Golly-golly-golly, I have some doozies for daughters on my hands.  I love them so much. :)


Some of you who have been reading my blog for a while, may recall a story I posted titled, “God Bless the Day After Devil’s Night 2008,” in which I chronicled my experiences from Halloween that year (click on title of the story if you want to read it).  If so, you may also recall a picture of me dressed as “Green Man” from “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” standing between two guys dressed as the Mcpoyle brothers from that show.  Here is the pic I am referring to:


snl cast brooks wheelan

In that entry, I wrote in the caption of that pic that the guy on the right is a friend of mine named Brooks Wheelan and that he had moved to L.A. to pursue a career in stand-up comedy…followed by encouraging you to check out his stuff for he is a funny dude.

Well, 5 years have passed and guess how Brooks is doing???  QUITE WELL!!! He is a new cast member of Saturday Night Live.

I’ve had many conversations with Brooks regarding his goals and aspirations in comedy as well as my own. This is a guy who is brilliant and could have easily pursued a career in something that requires an insane amount of intelligence…kid could have been a freaking nuclear physicist if he wanted to. But he chose comedy, which is widely considered a more far-fetched field to be successful in, even when compared to striving to become something as prestigious as a nuclear physicist.  This is a guy who knew what he wanted, made huge sacrifices to attain what he wanted despite being well-aware that he was capable of succeeding in countless other career choices, and appears to be on the road to achieving his hefty goals that he made for himself.  I know this for a fact. When he still lived in Iowa, we had many lengthy discussions regarding both of our goals in the field of comedy…this cat was bound and determined…and it paid off.

Anyways, hat’s off to Mr. Brooks Wheelan!  There literally isn’t anyone more deserving of the accolades he has achieved. And he acquired his gift honestly…every Wheelan I have met is naturally hilarious and flat-out nice and unassuming. I’ve never heard anyone say a negative thing about a Wheelan. Both parents are good-natured and funny. Brooks’s wrestling fanatic of an older brother, Brett, is one of the most naturally funny people I have ever met in my life…which says a lot, for I’ve met some funny people. I’ve heard both, Brooks and Brett make statements about their oldest brother, Brad being a unique personality…I don’t know Brad as well as I know Brooks or Brett, but I wouldn’t expect anything short of gut-busting hilarity from a Wheelan bro.  Wonderful family.

white trash restaurant

Props from Rick “The Mullet Man.” Rock on, dudely!

WTF Google Searches Part 2

I have done one of these before, but it’s been a while.  In fact, it’s been since May 3rd, 2011 in an article titled, “WTF Google Searches Part 1.” I think I may start doing these monthly or bi-monthly, but I probably said the same thing 2 years ago. We’ll see.

So, some of you who do not own, operate and/or maintain a blog may not know that there is this program that enables you to track which sources lead people to your site.  For example, if I posted an entry on facebook today, this program will allow me to view how many people visited my site via clicking on the link I posted on facebook.  This program is called, “Google Analytics.”

Google Analytics also allows me to view, not only how many people reached my site via google search, but WHAT they actually searched that resulted in them landing on my page.  This is good and bad.  It is good because it is interesting, gives me a better grasp on the basic concepts of SEO associated with my site and it always gives me a good laugh.  However, while browsing some of the google searches, I can’t help, but think to myself, “holy shit, almighty google. You literally provide me with the strangest audience imaginable.”  I’ll be the first to admit that my site can definitely be considered strange.  It is intentionally crude, warped, offbeat humor.  But holy shit, some of these google searches make me wonder about people.  I am not kidding when I state that 90% of the google searches that lead people to ricoswaff.com are fucking weird.  So weird, that I HAVE TO periodically fill you in on some of it. 

So in “10 list” fashion, here are some of the weirdest google searches that led people to my site in September of 2013.  Keep in mind, today is only the 21st of the month, so a large portion of the month and inevitably tons of strange google searches still remain for this month.


1.) “turtle biting my cock”

In the entry, “My Biggest Fear,” I disclosed that my biggest fear is going skinny-dipping and having my penis bit by a snapping turtle.  I hope, for this guy’s sake (and maybe for some innocent pet turtle out there’s sake) that this individual conducted this google search because they share the same fear as me. I hope I don’t have some Chronicles of Rico reader out there who sits around and lets his pet turtle bite his cock all day and felt compelled to google search it in an attempt to see if it is normal behavior or not. Well, in case this person doesn’t know yet, it ISN’T normal behavior to sit around all day with a turtle biting your cock. Maybe this person has a pet turtle that he can’t get to stop biting his cock and has become so frustrated that he turned to google for possible solutions to his problem.  If this is the case, my biggest fear of penis-biting turtles is officially multiplied by a thousand now that I know they are actually capable of behaving this way. 

2.) “this thing is going to impale me”

Ummm… if this truly is this particular individual’s situation, then it sounds like a serious one.  Should I report it?  If so, BOOM!  Reported.  If you are anything like me, you are wondering what “thing” is going to impale this poor feller and why this “thing” is going to do so.  It also makes me wonder if I have gained a reader who is experiencing delusions/hallucinations and is literally thinking that various harmless items around their house are going to impale them…and is frightened to the point where they decided to utilize google for help and presumably landed on an article, written by me, titled “These Justin Bieber ‘Beliebers’ Want to Impale Me.” I hope my article was helpful to this “about to be impaled” reader of mine, but I have my doubts.

3.) “hanging balls out of hole in underwear”

Ok, so you encountered a situation in which your balls escaped your undies through a hole.  That’s never a good situation. That same thing happened to me a few years ago and I wrote a story about it titled, “To This Day, I Wonder How Many People Saw My Balls that Night,” which I am 99% sure is the story this weird google searcher landed on.  What the hell prompted this person to google search it?  Insecurity?  Is this person embarrassed that this happened to them and needed assurance that he isn’t the only person this has happened to?  If so, glad I could assist.  I have my doubts though… It’s probably some strange mouth-breather with some strange fetish. 

4.) “would you die if you hit a cow with your car?”

Well shit, I don’t know…Why don’t you give it a try and find out for yourself and get back to me?  Hopefully my article, “In the Past 2 Weeks I Have Almost Hit 2 Cows With My Car” provided you with some clarity.

5.) “grandson rubbing grandma’s large ass cheeks”

My…goodness.  Ok, Chris Hansen, you’ve taken on and exposed the internet pedophiles…if you need any help tracking down, catching and exposing these sorts of internet goofballs, then I will gladly assist you. I have NO idea which story this person landed on after google searching this.  Probably “Grandma and Grandpa Earthquake Buns and Their Grandson, Big Fat Rico.”

6.) “can someone die from getting their dick bitten off?”

I’m assuming this person was just bored one day and thought about this, which prompted their google search.  I have no idea which story this google search would have led them to and I doubt they found the answer they were looking for on my site, for I have no idea what the mortality rate is of someone who has had their dick chomped off and don’t recall ever writing about it. Well, it was probably the “My Biggest Fear,” penis-biting turtle one that I mentioned earlier that this guy landed on.

7.) “reel pourn skrew my waff”

Who the hell is this?  Freaking Borat?  Some funny spelling. I always get a laugh when I view google searches from people who were obviously looking for some sort of porn site and ended up on my site.

8.) “did cavemen have bigger penises?”

This google search officially has me thinking. I have done my share of wondering about the potential behaviors, lifestyles, physiology, etc. of cavemen myself, which can be evidenced by the two stories, “How Did Cavemen Work Their Swerve?” and “Did Cavemen Beat Their Wives?  So… I wonder if cavemen did have bigger penises.  Interesting thought, bruh!!!

9.) “nick breuer mediapolis iowa (57 hits in 21 days from this google search)”

Nick Breuer is one of my best friends and I think it’s fair to say that he either has a stalker or someone who is extremely interested in what is going on with him right now.  57 freaking hits in the past 21 days.  Unbelievable. Maybe this person googled this and liked my page and can’t remember the URL to my site, so they continuously google “nick breuer mediapolis iowa” to reach my site.  I have no clue which entry this person may have landed on after conducting this google search…

10.) “is the hamburglar from mcdonalds white or black?”

mcdonalds hamburglar

NEITHER!!! THE HAMBURGLAR IS A GINGER-KID, YOU IMBECILE!!!!!  Well, and he is also a cat…as chronicled in one of my more popular stories, “Meet the Hamburglar” which is certainly the page this google searcher landed on.


A good 90% of you people who reached and read my site via google search are some weird mother-truckers.  Nevertheless though, thanks for reading!!! I hope my site could be of some sort of assistance to your warped inquiries!!!