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One day, I woke up, took a shower, got dressed, brushed my teeth and headed to work. On this particular day, I made the decision to “free-ball,” meaning I didn’t put any underwear on. I free-ball every once in a while…usually in instances where I haven’t done my laundry in a long time and am low on clean undies or I am just plain and simply having one of those days where I think it will feel nice to free-ball. The decision to free-ball that day ended up resulting in utter embarrassment.

So I left for work in Burlington, IA. When I arrived in Burlington, I remained loyal to what my usual daily routine which consisted of stopping at a gas station to pick up a mocha Frappuccino. I drink one of those almost daily. I waited in line for a few minutes, while eavesdropping on the gossip of local farmers who like to loiter at gas stations in their free time to talk about corn, beans, beef, hogs, tractors, trucks and Trace Adkins.

So after roughly 2 minutes of listening to the farmers gossip and waiting in line to purchase my Frappuccino, I noticed a middle-aged female clerk behind the counter who sort of resembled Roseanne’s sister, Jackie, from the show “Roseanne.” Out of nowhere, I noticed her taking a glance at my crotch region. I thought to myself, “hmm, I think that lady just looked at my penis. Well, I don’t blame her…I am, in fact, pretty freaking studly.”

My suspicions were confirmed when the clerk blatantly glanced at my crotch again for a longer duration of time. When she saw that I noticed her looking at my crotch, she quickly looked away. However, less than a minute later, she did it again. This prompted me to think to myself, “heh, this woman is really intrigued by ol’ Studly.” I was momentarily seething with bravado. Not that I was personally interested in or attracted to this woman. It’s just that when you feel as if you are slowly passing your physical prime and out of nowhere, catch the vibe that someone considers you to be nice to look at, it’s not necessarily an “unflattering” feeling.

While still standing in line, I caught her glancing at my crotch region for a 4th time. After the 4th time, I proceeded to put my hands on my hips and look at the ceiling, with a proud look on my face. “Man, I must be super studly,” I thought. My posture and way I was standing probably made me appear as if I were posing as some sort of Greek God. Imagine me posing like the Greek God Zeus with my hands on my hips looking at the sky. In the sky, I have my eyes fixated on a flying object. This flying object is an airplane and the overly proud expression on my face indicates that I am so important and so studly, that my face and name is painted on this airplane that I am staring at. And better yet, following my name on the plane, is an “=” sign and the word “studly.”

I remember cockily thinking to myself, “yup, you are in the presence of Mr. Studly,” when the woman finally broke the silence and said to me, “excuse me sir.” I abruptly popped out of my “studly trance” and was like, “yeah?” She pointed at my crotch region and said, “you might want to take care of that.” I looked down to see that my freaking fly was down. As mentioned earlier, I was free-balling that day. Therefore, the majority of my penis was in plain sight and exposed to anyone who walked by or faced me until that point of the day. I was embarrassed as hell.

My little “studly” trip was shattered. I thanked her for pointing out to me that my penis was hanging out of my pants, for I felt lucky that I didn’t go in to work and speak with any of my supervisor/co-workers in that condition. She laughed and said, “no problem.” Despite looking up towards the sky with a proud expression on my face, Mr. Studly exited the gas station with his head hanging low, and confined behind a zipped up zipper for that matter.

And to think that the entire time, I thought I was being gawked at because I was so freaking irresistibly studly. Oh well…I have other moments in my life to make up for that embarrassing situation. (Update 2013: I wouldn’t be married to the girl I am married to if I weren’t super studly).

studly mullet man

Rick has always had a difficult keeping his penis from being exposed. The difference with him though is that this is usually due to his jean shorts being too short. Not to mention, he isn't studly...like me.


Written in 2007

So I met and hung out with some new people over the weekend. These 6 or so people were friends with my cousin, who I was hanging with that night. Some of these people I had kind of known before, some of them I hadn’t ever even seen before. We were all hanging out at this bar in Burlington called The Buffalo.

One of the women in the group had a young son. In the limited interactions I had with this woman, she spent the majority of the time telling me various stories about her son. She was obviously very proud of him, which is great! All parents should be proud of their children.

Eventually, she dug into her purse, grabbed a picture of her son and proceeded to show me the picture. In this picture her son, who appeared to be 2 or 3 years old, had a toy of some sort and had a huge grin on his face. He was obviously bewildered by this toy and was having the time of his life. He looked like the type of kid who has a lot of personality and has a funny sense of humor. My first impression of her son by looking at the picture, was that he appeared to be the type of kid who may grow up to be the “funny kid” of the group or the “life of the party.”

I genuinely got a kick out of her son in this picture, so while I was looking at it, I say to her without thinking, “haha, that’s neat. Your son is a real funny lookin’ little kid.” And her son did look funny, but not in a bad way. He just looked like he was the type of kid who had the ability to make people laugh. Ya know, “funny,” as in “haha, that kid is a funny person.” A compliment.

(There was a noticeable awkward silence in the group following this statement, but I was too air-headed and drunk to connect the dots as to why there was one).

This woman’s expression changed from proud and happy to disgruntled, butt-hurt and agitated as hell. She replied with, “excuse me? Did you just my son is funny looking?” Still too naïve to catch on to what she meant, I responded enthusiastically with, “yeah!!! He looks funny!!!” And motioned to her with my face/eyes in a manner that implied, “funny!! Isn’t that awesome?!?!”

(The awkward silence among the group continued, but the majority of the group had, “WTF?” expressions on their faces. I still hadn’t caught on as to what was going on. What a dumbass).

Her expression painted the face of a woman who was blatantly pissed off and she responded angrily while pointing her finger and swaying her head back and forth with, “well, to ASSHOLES like you, he MAY look FUNNY! However, to me, his MOTHER, he happens to be a very, very beautiful kid and his personality makes him even more wonderful! You know what? You can fuck off, you asshole!! Fuck you!!!”

I was surprised by her outburst. However, it finally hit me as to why she was wigging out on me so badly and why the entire group were giving each other, “WTF is that guy doing?” expressions.

I thought to myself, “Oh shit, this woman thought I was insulting the appearance of her son when I referred to him as ‘funny looking’ when I really meant that he appears as if he has a funny sense of humor.” Panic-stricken, I said to her, “no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO!!! I didn’t mean it THAT way!! I didn’t mean that your son looks funny, as in has a funny or strange appearance!!! I meant that he looks as if he has a funny sense of humor!!! Look at the expression on his face when he’s playing with that toy! It looks to me as if he’s having the time of his life and is being silly. He looks like he has a funny personality!!!”

She didn’t buy it. I was being honest with her and she still wasn’t buying it. She replied, “yeah right, I’m sure that’s what you meant.” She walked away from me, and throughout the remainder of the night, although we were hanging out in the same group of 7-10 people, she made sure she stayed a comfortable 10 foot distance away from me at all times.

That one stupid statement which led to a tragic misunderstanding resulted in a pretty freaking awkward night.


* PROPS to my youngest brother Brennan for playing the role of young Rick below…funnier than probably anyone else in the world could make it.

Believe it or not, when Rick “The Mullet Man” Suave was known around the area he grew up in as “funny looking kid.” Due to his crazy exploits growing up, he actually got his picture taken and put in the newspaper on many occasions. In the newspaper, he was always referred to as “funny looking kid.” Whether he made the paper for something heart-warming like trying to provide food for his family or disobedience usually related to dumpster diving, he received his fair share of attention from the local newspaper and as a result, the community knew him as the “funny looking kid.”

Below are some old newspaper photos of Rick as a kid and their captions which referred to him as “funny looking kid.”

sick mullet kid

A local farmer saved the life of a funny looking kid who he found nearly dead in his garage. It is reported that the funny looking kid is currently in critical condition due to consuming large amounts of rotten food he gathered from local dumpsters.

white trash kid

Poverty in the region is believed to be at an all time high in current times. Due to the region becoming poverty-stricken, this funny looking kid has been forced to search for roadkill in ditches in a heart-warming attempt to provide food for his family.

white trash dumpster dive kid

A funny looking kid was caught and detained by authorities for climbing into a neighbor's dumpster and stealing a turkey.

wanted mullet kid

WANTED: A funny looking kid who was caught on camera stealing a plastic tennis racket from a local resident's dumpster. REWARD: $1000 CASH

white trash cat

A local funny looking kid has been working hard to accomplish his goal of becoming a teen heart-throb by singing to neighborhood cats, while using a hot dog as his microphone. When asked about his future aspirations, the funny looking kid stated, "I want to be the next Leif Garrett."

trashy dog kid

Controversy struck the community when this funny looking kid was mistaken for a stray dog and transported to the dog pound, where he was confined to a cage and forced to live on a diet of dog food and water for 3 months.

white trash tennis kid

A local funny looking kid reportedly aspires to be the next Andre Agassi. The funny looking kid polishes his tennis skills by playing tennis against his imaginary friend, using an imaginary tennis ball.

This was written on 9/2/2008


One day, when I was a sophomore in college, I spent a substantial amount of time pondering why my life seems to be infested with cringe-inducing awkward moments. I decided to go to my dad for advice. I asked my dad, “hey dad, why does weird, strange and awkward things always seem to happen to me? Why doesn’t weird shit happen to other people as much as it seems to happen to me?” His response was unforgettable. He responded with, “because son, you have a tendency to be kind of a dipshit all the time. You naturally create tornados concocted of shit. Shit-tornadoes are attracted to dipshits like you.”

I thought it was a logical explanation and still do to an extent. In life, the way you act and the decisions you make define who you are in a way, and definitely seem to play a role in the weird obstacles and knee high pile of shit you may always seem to unexpectedly find yourself stuck in.

So why do weird and awkward things happen to me? Because in my own subtle and subconscious way, I invite the awkwardness. I tell the weird and the awkward things in life to bring it the hell on.

So one of the most awkward things imaginable happened to me one day while I was in my car attempting to leave the parking lot during lunch break at work.

That day, I drove a red Buick that belongs to my parents. I was not used to driving this car. My own car was being worked on that week, so I was stuck with this Buick until my car was fixed.

When it became time for lunch break, I eagerly hopped into my car, excited to munch out on some “Happy Joes” pizza. I started the car, cranked up the radio and attempted to pull out of the work parking lot. This attempt was cut short when a hearse slowly drove by. This hearse was followed by string of other cars filled with people who were all sporting extremely sad expressions on their faces. The hearse, followed by the long string of cars driven by a bunch of sad looking people indicated to me that there was a funeral line driving by and I had to wait for it in the parking lot until they passed by. I thought to myself, “well this is shitty timing. I was all happy to go to Happy Joes, now I have to wait for these sad people to drive by. This is going to take forever.” Sympathy for sadness evidently isn’t my strong suit while hungry for Happy Joes. I decided to put the car in park and rest my arms on the steering wheel while I patiently waited for the funeral line to pass with the tunes blaring.

As the second car in line drove by, the passenger gave me a death stare (pun…intended). I thought to myself, “hmm that’s odd, wonder what that dude’s beef is. Surely he’s not taking his friend or family member’s death out on innocent bystanders like myself. I hope he doesn’t go home and kick his dog.”

The passenger in the third vehicle in line gave me the middle finger. After this I became a bit confused. I remember thinking, “wow, this group of people handles the losses of their loved ones in anger-induced, misdirected fashion.” I just kind of gave them a sympathetic look, nodded, and mouthed, “I know man, losing someone is hard.” The guy kept his middle finger up until he had passed me by at least 3 car lengths.

The next car drove by and both the driver and the passenger gave me a similar death stare (pun…intended). Both of them proceeded to shake their heads at me. This REALLY made me start wondering about these people. “I thought, what kind of people are these and who the fuck was it that died that is pissing these people off so much?!?!?! Was it the Macho Man Randy freaking Savage that died?!?! If so, are these people pissed because they’ll never be able to slap into a Slim Jim again?!?!?!” I felt like telling them to calm down, even though Randy Savage is gone, the Slim Jim company will likely continue to make Slim Jims. (Interestingly enough, I posted this in 2008, prior to the death of Randy Savage. I thought it was weird because as most of us know, he didn’t last much longer after that before he actually did die).

After heavy contemplation, I theorized that it probably wasn’t the Macho Man Randy Savage whose funeral they had attended, otherwise I would have seen something on TV. However, it was probably someone very similar to him due to the volatility and anger his loved ones were showing towards me.

The next car drove by and the driver gave me the finger, and the passenger mouthed the words, “shame on you, asshole.” By this time, I finally had it. I desperately needed to find out why these people were hating on me so much. It was just weird. I decided to calmly get exit my vehicle and somehow inquire as to what the deal was (other than the death of their loved one). I began to maneuver my way out of the vehicle. I began this process by taking my elbows off the center of the steering wheel, followed by turning down the radio with my right hand before readying myself to open the door and hoist myself out.

The moment I turned the radio down, I discovered why these people were so appalled by me. Turns out, as I was resting my arms on the steering wheel, I was accidentally honking the horn and had no idea that I was doing so. I did not notice this because I had the radio turned up loud enough to where I couldn’t hear the horn. I had my arms rested on the horn which is located on the steering wheel (which I had no idea was the case) for at least a minute, maybe two. Therefore, I was honking at this funeral line, continuously for a minute plus and had no clue. I was mortified.

I covered my face with my hands in embarrassment and waited for the next few cars to pass before I showed my face again. I covered my face until the cars who probably were too far away to hear me honking my horn began passing by.

I can’t imagine what these people were thinking. They are in the process of mourning a loved one and some impatient asshole who wants to leave the parking lot is honking his horn at them because he wants them to hurry their asses up. That’s literally what they were probably thinking…that I was such an asshole that I was actually pissed off at this funeral line because it was preventing me from leaving the parking lot. I was so embarrassed, I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide. Heck if I would have been on top of things, it would have occurred to me that if I wanted a hole to crawl into, all I had to do was follow the funeral line to the cemetery. So..freaking…awkward.


mullet funeral

Rick "The Mullet Man" Suave doesn't handle death of his loved ones very well. This is Rick when his 2nd cousin/great aunt/great grandma Candypants died in an unfortunate dumpster-diving accident. She accidentally got herself trapped in a Country Kitchen dumpster and died as a result of eating too much of the leftover buffet food that had been thrown in there. Well, at least Rick dressed sharper than usual for the funeral. Unfortunately, he had to resort to stealing the suit jacket from the funeral home at his 2nd cousin/great aunt/grandma Candypant's wake the evening before.


This was written in 2007.

A long time ago, I posted an entry titled, “The Phantom of the Awkward,” in which I chronicled a bunch of awkward personal experiences in a single entry. After reviewing that one, I decided that not only does that entry need to be revised in terms of typos and paragraphing, but I think it would work better if each story were segregated into their own entries. So that’s what I am going to do. I am going to segregate the stories into their own and repost them. I did a spin-off of the original “Phantom of the Awkward,” later on titled, “When the Phantom of the Awkward Struck Wal-Mart” (recently renamed: “The Phantom of the Awkward Part 1: When the Phantom Struck Wal-Mart.”) I am going to consider that story, “Part 1.” That is why I am starting out with this one being labeled “Part 2.”

Keep in mind, this one was written in 2007. I no longer habitually get drunk every Friday as I chronicled in this story.

Here it is:

My life would not be complete without some of the crazy, uncomfortable and straight up awkward situations I have consistently created for myself. No joke. If I were to duplicate my life, as it is and how it’s been until this point and if I were to take away every crazy, uncomfortable and awkward moment that I have encountered and seemingly subconsciously created for myself throughout the years, my life would resemble a block of Swiss cheese. In other words, my life would have a substantial amount of holes in it. My life would not be anywhere near complete without these moments.

As mentioned, I have encountered these moments consistently my whole life. However, I had never really thought about why I seem to experience these situations so frequently in depth, until recently. In my pondering of this, I came to the conclusion that I find myself in these situations frequently because deep down, subconsciously, I must like them. Somewhere inside my soul, I love getting myself into these situations because they entertain me and those who I tell about them for weeks afterward. Therefore, I believe I subconsciously prompt myself to say and do things that make me more vulnerable to the crazy, uncomfortable and awkward situations.

One by one, I’ll fill you in on some of the awkward moments in my life, beginning with this story:

This story took place about a week ago (remember, this was written in 2007). I was on my way to a gas station because it was a Friday and I was planning on throwing some beers down. I have habitually been drinking on Fridays for quite a few years now, and one habit within this habit that I have developed, is buying a 40 oz. of Bud Light to start off every Friday night. It just seems like the proper serving prior to hitting the bars. Sometimes I buy 2 of them before hitting the bars, and this usually ignites a fire of a night that results in waking up in strange places without having the slightest clue as to where I am.

So I pull my car into a gas station to buy my forty oz. There was a parking spot open in the front row, so I proceeded to take it. I pull about half-way into the spot when I realized that it was a handicapped parking spot. Now, for as long as I can remember, I have always had a bad habit of referring to these handicapped parking spots as “paralyzed parking spots.” I think the reason for this is because of the “handicapped parking spot” logo. As we all know, the “handicapped” basically consists of a stick-figure drawing of a dude in a wheelchair. I’ve always figured this dude was paralyzed, considering he is wheel-chair bound and all.

So I stepped on the brakes with my car about half way pulled into the spot and actually considered pulling out and finding another place to park. Ultimately, I ended up just thinking to myself, “screw it” and I proceeded to park there. Finding a new parking spot just seemed like way too much work for something that I didn’t anticipate being too much of a problem to begin with. I was only going to be in there for a minute and besides, I didn’t think a paralyzed person would be pulling in at that time of the evening. How’s that for considerate? The possibility of there being a potential fine for parking there didn’t bother me, but the thought of a handicapped person possibly coming to the gas station and needing that spot, did make me reconsider. I’m a real class act, yo.

When I walked in to the gas station, I noticed a tall, scrawny, dark-haired bastard with a snooty, negative demeanor and was wearing thick-rimmed glasses and skinny jeans.  He had probably spent the majority of his day to that point, hanging out at a coffee shop discussing how many ways he could inadvertently conform to non-conformity. He was probably one of the first “hipsters” I have ever seen in person. I don’t consider myself a prejudiced, hateful person, but I sure as shit have hated some fads in my day.  First there were the “emos” who ran rampant while I was in college.  I was bitter for years that the emo craze was so popular during the years I spent in college.  I hated that fad. Hated “emos.”  Now we have these “I feel the need to force irony on everything, even when it isn’t there” hipsters.  I hate that fad too. These ass-wipes need a hot iron forced upon their faces. How’s that for irony? It is literally a toss-up as to which fad I loathe more, which loathing a fad more than I loathed emo is something I thought would NEVER happen.

Anyways, fuck hipsters. This guy was one of them and as expected, he ended up being a self-righteous prick in my short, goofy, awkward exchange with him.

I stroll into the gas station and grabbed my beer. I walked to the desk to purchase the beer and said to the hipster gas station clerk, “yo dude, I’m sorry that I parked in that paralyzed parking spot. I hope it’s not a big deal.” The dude scowled at me, and shook his head while he was ringing up my beer.

“Apparently this IS a big deal,” I thought to myself. So me, being the impulsive and somewhat confrontational dude that I am asked this noticeably butt-hurt clerk, “Oh, I take it there is a problem?” He looked at me and said sternly, “it’s called HANDICAPPED parking. It’s not PARALYZED parking” “WELL EXCUUUUUUUSE ME,” I thought. I responded with, “oh sorry about that man, I always get that mixed up because those signs always have the little paralyzed dude in the wheelchair. Ya know what I mean?” (Crickets chirping). He gave me a blank stare. Evidently the situation wasn’t ironic enough for him.

Then thanks to my own social stupidity, things became even more awkward. As he stood there silently with this snooty “I have a pine cone wedged deeply in my anus” expression on his face, I inquired without thinking, “you appear upset. I am sorry, are you handicapped, sir?”

This popped out of my mouth before I even thought about how offensive it would actually be perceived. He scowled again and snickered and rolled his eyes is disgust and was like, “do I LOOK handicapped?” I replied innocently and impulsively, “well no…not really.” Although this was a freaking lie, if anything is a handicap, it’s being a hipster. He responded with, “Ha! Not really. Anyways, I just thought it was offensive that you referred to the parking space as paralyzed parking. Like it’s supposed to be some sort of joke.” I was just like, “Oh…ok dude.”

He put my 40 oz. of Bud Light in a paper bag and handed it to me. I thought this was a good opportunity to make some more small talk and attempt to redeem myself as being someone who isn’t just an inadvertently offensive slur-spoutin’ jackass. So I said the first thing that came to my mind again (which obviously isn’t a good idea, ever). I said to him, “haha dude, every time I buy a 40 oz. and they put it in one of these paper bags, I feel like a homeless person walkin’ around with it.” Sir High and Mighty McHipsterclerkpants scowled, snickered and rolled his eyes through his thick-rimmed glasses at me again.

“Oh great, I struck another nerve,” I thought to myself. You’ll never believe the social idiocy of my response to this. I responded with, “oh, you are obviously upset by that comment. I am sorry, are you by chance, homeless?” He was royally butt-hurt by this point and said, “You are ignorant and I don’t feel obliged to answer that. Goodbye sir.”

I stood there silently, staring at this butt-hurt clerk and began thinking about this abortion of a conversation that just took place between he and I. I thought about how I actually asked him if he were handicapped followed seconds later by asking him if were homeless. It suddenly hit me how stupid I can be, yet how hilarious my own stupidity make things. I proceeded to straight up laugh hysterically in this dude’s face. And by “laugh hysterically,” I mean high-pitched giggling. I couldn’t help it. Everything was just was so awkward and well, hilarious as a result. I continued giggling all the way to my car. Hell I bet if the little paralyzed dude in the handicapped parking sign had a face, he would be giggling also.

I caught a glimpse of the clerk as I was pulling out of the gas station. He still had that stupid scowl on his face and was shaking his head. Pretentious douchebag. What a dick, seriously. Some people take the little technicalities of life way too seriously. Hipster bastards are notorious for it. I remember drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon was something I did because I liked the taste for it being such a cheap and generally “scoffed” at beer for everyone used to think it was disgusting. They were missing out.  Then these hipsters began drinking it, not for the taste, but to be “ironic.” Considering this hipster fad is quite a big one right now, it goes without saying that the prices on Pabst Blue Ribbon went up.  Yeah, thanks for ruining Pabst Blue Ribbon for all of us who knew it wasn’t a bad tasting beer to begin with, you skinny jeans wearing, mouth-breathing hipster.  Ugh, I should have said that to him.

So as I pulled out of the parking spot, I noticed the little paralyzed dude in the handicapped parking sign and thought about how funny it would be if that little dude unexpectedly burst out of his chair and started hittin’ some M.C. Hammer dance moves. I have been watching the movie, “Don’t be a Menace While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood” quite a bit, which probably inspired that thought.

So a couple months ago, we held my daughter, Phaedra’s first birthday party at our house.

phaedra is my name

Phaedra and I.

I’ve mentioned and posted a lot about my 2 year old daughter, Kaiya. I wrote about her and posted pictures of her in recent entries and even wrote a lot about her while my wife was pregnant with her. However, I haven’t posted much about Phaedra so far. I was kind of taking a break from this site when my wife was pregnant with her.  I also wasn’t writing much the first few months following her birth.  It ended up being a pretty lengthy break. Heck, some of you may not even know that I have a second daughter. Anyways, in a nutshell, this little gal has brought a lot of happiness to my life.  She is beautiful, goofy, loving and is always smiling.  She smiles and laughs almost every time I look at her. She’s a doll.

Phaedra’s 1st birthday party was set to begin at noon on a Sunday around the end of May (her birthday is May 23rd). Krystal and I had a lot of preparing to do for the party. Some of these tasks included; picking up the cake, setting up tables, cooking food, buying a gift, cleaning the house, etc.  Unfortunately, this made for a hectic morning on the day of her birthday party due to the fact that Krystal and I are both notorious procrastinators. In fact, the night before the day of the party, we didn’t have ANYTHING done in terms of preparation. We had originally planned on having everything done and prepared a couple days in advance.  YEAH….RIGHT. I don’t know who we thought we were trying to fool. Well, ourselves, I guess, but that’s not difficult. It seemed like every time we had some spare time to prepare for the party in the days leading to it, something ultra important and therefore distracting would come up, like new Investigative Discovery shows/episodes being added to Netflix.

On the night prior to Phaedra’s party, our house was an utter disaster and we had done ZILCH in terms of preparation. We hadn’t picked up the cake. The tables were still in my kitchen. Hell, we hadn’t even purchased a gift yet.  Krystal and I discussed the possibility of getting some late night cleaning and preparation done before going to bed that night, but ultimately we decided that it would be best for us to wake up at 8:00 AM and attempt to cram everything in prior to when the party was scheduled to start, which was at noon.  We figured this would be enough time. However, this led to another problem that we failed to properly prepare for, which is the fact that Krystal and I are NOT morning people. We are unable to refuse to abuse the alarm clock snooze.  We didn’t drag our asses out of bed until 10:30 AM, a mere hour and a half before guests were scheduled and confirmed to arrive.

So we had an hour and a half to somehow find away to pick up the cake (which was located in a city that is a 30 minute drive from where we live), prepare the food, clear out the garage, move the tables to the garage, buy a gift, clean the house, etc. When Krystal and I finally dragged ourselves out of bed, she informed me that she was going to drive to pick up the food, cake and gift and that it was my responsibility to ensure that the tables were set up and the house was clean.  She followed this statement by designing a “honey-do” list.  This “honey-do” list was quite extensive.  In an hour and a half, I was expected to clear off the counters, do the dishes, vacuum the floors, pick up toys and put them away, sweep the kitchen floor, mop the kitchen floor, dust various surfaces in our living room, pick up clutter, fold the blankets on counters, clean and organize the bathroom and organize our DVDs. Along with this, I had to care for our 2 and 1 year old daughters, which meant changing diapers, feeding them, watching them, etc. In terms of my personal agenda, I also needed to take a shower and get ready for I didn’t want people arriving at my messy house, in which I, the host, looked and smelled as if I had bathed myself in chicken noodle soup.

This was a lot of shit to tackle in an hour and a half. To make things worse, Krystal gave me the vibe that if I didn’t get everything done, I would be in the doghouse for the day.

I started with clearing off the counter.  Finished in a jiffy, no problem.  I followed this by vacuuming, sweeping and mopping the floors in our house.  I had the girls help me out with picking up their toys and putting them in their toy box. I was rushing through these tasks so frantically and erratically, I probably resembled the Tasmanian Devil on Walter White’s blue (Breaking Bad if you don’t get the reference). Which is ironic, for our house was so cluttered and messy at the time, that it appeared as if it were the home to a bunch of ruthless Tasmanian Devils.

I began chipping away at the mound of dishes that needed to be done, when I felt the urge to take a piss. After this urge slowly crept up on me, it increased vigorously and at a rapid pace. At this point, I had only been doing the dishes for a couple minutes, and the gigantic stack of dishes that had piled up, appeared to be at least a 15-20 minute job.

My need to take a piss seemed to increase every minute, but I refused to stop working on my “honey-do” list to relieve myself. Ya see, I’m the type of person who is very goal-oriented and when I have a particular goal set (which in this case, it was finishing the honey-do list before Krystal came home), I become very tunnel-visioned in my approach to successfully accomplishing/completing my goal. In other words, I had to take a piss pretty badly, but wasn’t going to give in to the pressure of taking one until I had thoroughly accomplished my mission of cleaning my house to the point where Krystal would be satisfied with me or at least able to justify that my efforts were efficient enough that I did not deserve to be placed in her metaphorical “bad Joshua” doghouse.  I’ve been in that house a few times before…it’s not my preferred habitat to reside in, to say the least.

I had no idea at the time, but my stubborn attitude/tunnel vision in terms of completing tasks would ultimately lead to a sequence of 4 catastrophic events.

Now, before I go any further, I need to note one vital piece of information about me, which is HOW I piss.  I piss sitting down and I’m not ashamed of it.  I prefer to do it this way. My wife, mother, grandmother, mother in law, any female who spends extensive time with me LOVE this about me for they never have to worry about me pissing all over the toilet seat if it is left down nor do they ever have to worry about me leaving the toilet seat up because I never have a reason to prop it up to begin with. I’ve pissed sitting down for years and it has gotten to the point where I truly share the stereotypical female frustrations with men who piss standing up. I hate it when I accidentally sit on the cold, grimy, piss and pube-covered rim of a toilet because I sat down to take a piss without looking at the toilet first.  Not to mention, there’s nothing worse than noticing that some lazy-aimer, dude pissed all over the toilet seat and failed to wipe their urine off the seat after doing so. This is especially appalling if you don’t notice it until AFTER you have pissed.  No one that I know of LIKES to have some dude’s piss on their ass cheeks.  It’s gross. So I literally can relate to the stereotypical female complaints of men doing these sorts of things and I can’t really explain why I prefer to piss sitting down, other than the fact that it’s more comfortable and relaxing. Also, my pisses seem to carry on forever, so it provides me with a few minutes to sit down and reflect on whatever is going on in my life.  It’s just way better, but there are exceptions in which I do pee standing up, the main one being in public restrooms. I’m somewhat of a germaphobe. Enough said.

So back to doing the dishes. I had been doing the dishes at a rapid pace for roughly 10 minutes when the urge to piss became borderline intolerable. While doing the dishes, I was simultaneously dancing around, grunting, whining, etc. I had to piss so badly that I came to the realization that if I didn’t eventually give in and relieve myself, I was going to piss my pants.  I began bargaining with myself.  I thought to myself, “ok Swaff, you have GOT to get these tasks done, but it’s not worth pissing your pants over. Just finish these dishes and then you can take a piss, but IMMEDIATELY move on to the next task when you are done. YOU CAN DO THIS! Gotta make Krystal happy!!!!”

I danced around, while simultaneously doing the dishes for another 5-10 minutes when I finally finished them.  The urge to piss led to discomfort that was just absolutely excruciating. I was straight up suffering those final few minutes. A microsecond after drying and putting away the last dish, I dashed in a dead sprint towards the bathroom. Usain Bolt would have been blown away by my speed. When I burst into the bathroom, I didn’t proceed to calmly and gently sit down to piss. I basically jumped, Michael Jordan style in the direction of the toilet. In mid-air, I gracefully pulled my pants down to my knees and maneuvered my body and legs horizontally in an attempt to land on the toilet with finesse and efficiency. I did a good job at doing this. Shawn Johnson has nothing on me in terms of my mid-air finesse in that particular moment. However, this wasn’t a good thing. In fact, it was horrible. It was cata-freaking-strophic. It was catastrophe #1. Ya see, prior to jumping on the toilet, I failed to actually look at the thing. For God knows what reason, Krystal decided to put the toilet lid down after she had last used the toilet. Because of that, when all 215 pounds of me (plus gravity from the jump) landed on the toilet seat, the first anatomical structures of mine to make contact with the toilet seat were my testicles and penis, which had somehow become tucked directly beneath my ass. In other words, with assistance from the toilet seat being left down, I had literally stomped on my own twig and berries (branch and grapefruits, but whatever), due to them being sandwiched between the solid, immobile toilet seat and my plump ass which supported a 215 man landing from jumping into mid-air.  Catastrophic.

For the first couple seconds, I didn’t feel anything. I think I may have been in shock, for I knew what had just happened and I was scared shitless that my balls resembled a couple of smashed Cadbury eggs.  However, after about 5 seconds, the pain began to set in and it began in my stomach. I had stomped on my entire unit so hard, and the pain was so indescribably excruciating, that I literally thought for a split second that my unit had been jammed into my stomach.  The pain expanded from my stomach, to my balls, and to go along with it, the tip of my penis stung and was beginning to bruise.

From a distance, in pain-induced psychosis, I swear I heard Scorpion from the Mortal Kombat games yell in his notoriously gruff voice,

devil mortal kombat

And “assuming of the fetal position” is exactly what I did. Right then, right in the middle of my bathroom (which still needed to be cleaned before Krystal got home), I laid down on the ground in the fetal position and whimpered.  Oh fuck it, I admit, I CRIED. It HURT, dammit!

dude hurt bathroom

How is this for a pathetic? Well, this is an accurate depiction of what I looked like at that moment.


So things couldn’t possibly get any worse than THIS, right?  WRONG.  This was only #1 of 4 subsequent tragedies.

Remember my explanation of how badly I had to take a piss, to the point where I was fearful of pissing my pants?  Well that urge/feeling doesn’t go away when your balls and wiener are stomped on. In fact, your ability to control it becomes distracted, due to your attention being shifted towards the pain you are enduring. With that said, catastrophe #2 occurred. Shortly after assuming the fetal position on my bathroom floor, I uncontrollably began pissing. By the time I was physically able to recover and regain enough physical strength to put the toilet seat up, crawl, pull and hoist myself on to the toilet seat to finish my piss, I had drenched my entire mid region of my body along with a large section of the floor in my own piss. It was the first time I had ever pissed all over myself while in a sober state since I had been potty-trained. “Great, another mess to clean up before Krystal gets home,” I thought to myself while sitting on the toilet and finishing my piss, still in a physical state of excruciating pain.

This was a long piss. I sat on the toilet and pissed for what seemed like 4 minutes, which if you add that to the time I spent pissing all over myself on the bathroom floor, it would approximately be a 5 minute piss.

So I’m in a state of horrible pain, but with an exception of still having a lot of tasks on my “honey do” list with an addition of the task of cleaning an unplanned piss mess, things couldn’t possibly get any worse….right? WRONG!!!

Catastrophe #3 occurred after I had finished pissing and lifted my buns off the toilet seat. Immediately after my buns departed from the toilet seat, I heard a faint, “slapping” noise followed by more pain. This was burning pain located on my right ass cheek.  I thought to myself, what in the wide world of fuck was that?!?! Did something just freaking bite me?!?! Was there a freaking spider or bat underneath that toilet seat and if so, did it just bite my ass?!?!?!?” I momentarily thought I was losing my mind. My stomach ached, my frank and beans (brat and walnuts, but whatever) were throbbing and now my right ass cheek felt like it was on fire. I looked at my ass in the mirror and there was a very noticeable red line that extended roughly 2 inches throughout the middle of my right ass cheek.  In the middle of the line, blood was drawn.  “What in the hell just happened?” I thought.

I proceeded to examine the toilet to see what had caused this slapping noise and butt-burning and immediately discovered the cause.

toilet of death

Unbelievable. When I landed on the toilet lid, I had cracked the toilet seat beneath it. When I inadvertently sat on this crack in the toilet seat, some flesh and skin from my right ass cheek had become caught in this crack so tightly, that when I lifted myself up, it cut a nice, 2 inch, bloody, line-shaped welt on my right ass cheek.


I would display a picture of the physical damage this caused to my ass cheek, but I am afraid my female readers might become a wee-bit turned on by the sight of my plump, battle-scarred ass.

housework husband

I mean, seriously. My sexy ass has been on the cover of a romance novel…that my wife wrote…that she really didn’t write…in which the cover photo was fictional and created by me. No way in hell the ladies can handle seeing this sexy piece of ass’s injured ass.


After standing for a couple minutes to regain my composure from what I assumed would be an infinite physical state of intolerable pain, I proceeded to take my piss-drenched clothes off, scrub the floor and take a shower. Immediately after exiting the shower, catastrophe #4 occurred…my wife called.

I answered the phone, unsure how to explain to her the unfortunate, physically painful events that I had endured. It didn’t matter anyways that, for I didn’t get a chance to get a word in edge-wise. Immediately after answering the phone, she informed me of how stressed out and rushed she felt. She quickly followed this explanation, by asking me about each individual task from her “honey do” list that she had created for me and whether or not I had finished them. I replied honestly, which in turn meant, I broke the news to her that I hadn’t finished 3 or 4 tasks yet.

Catastrophe # 4: After informing Krystal of the tasks I hadn’t completed yet, I was officially in the doghouse, which was not where I wanted to be with a burning ass, sore stomach, throbbing, pulsating and bruised penis, crushed testicles and wounded pride due to pissing myself while in a sober state for the first time since being potty trained.

Our guests did end up arriving when I was in the middle of completing my last couple tasks. Therefore, I didn’t accomplish my goal. However, it still ended up being a wonderful day with wonderful people celebrating the first birthday of my wonderful daughter, Phaedra. So proud of my cute little pipsqueak.  Here is a recent picture of Phaedra and Kaiya:

baby phaedra

2-CUTE. 1 year old, Phaedra is in front, 2 year old, Kaiya is in back. Random facts: I came up with the name, “Phaedra.” I heard it in a relatively obscure and awesome song called “Some Velvet Morning” by Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra. Check the song out, there’s nothing else like it. Phaedra is a Greek name meaning “bright,” I think. Kaiya shares a name with Willow’s wife from the movie, “Willow,” but we didn’t notice that until after we named her. Krystal came up with “Kaiya” and I loved it. It’s Indian for “oceans.” I love Indian names. If I had another girl, I’d love to name her “Priya,” pronounced, “pree-uhh.”

dumb mullet guy

After telling Rick this story, he insisted, “I don’t ever wanna hear any more shit about why I CHOOSE to piss my pants instead of use a toilet. Those things are painful.” He probably feels this way because whenever he has used something toilet-ish, it has been in a bat-infested outhouse…and he wiped with poison ivy. SPEAKING OF RICK: I think I’m gonna give him a name change. Instead of Rick “The Mullet Man” Suave, he will be Rick “The Mullet Man” Swat-turd. More fitting. I should have done that from the start, but I always HATED it when people called me “Swat-turd” as a kid (jokingly) because it sounds similar to my last name (Swafford). I have thick skin, but that was the only name that got to me. I’m over it now though and might as well apply it to Rick. Man, it’s going to be a pain in the ass going back and changing/editing everything to suit his new name…not to mention, I have to create a new header image with that name.




stratosphere wedding photo

Atta boy, Donkey Kong!!

Donkey Kong is WAY cooler than King Kong. And it isn’t even close.

Ya know why? Because he was able to seal the deal with the girl without falling off of a huge building like some dumbass. Sadly, King Kong wasn’t able to accomplish this.

And the pic above proves Donkey Kong’s God-given ability to work his swerve and get the girl.  Just look at that girl in Donkey Kong’s arms…verrrryy nice.

Some of you may be thinking, “well, the reason Donkey Kong didn’t fall off of a building before sealing the deal with the chick, is because he wasn’t ever actually on a huge building trying to seal the deal with the chick to begin with!!!” Well, if you thought this, I would like to cordially inform you that you are WRONG. Way to be wrong, LOSERS!!! Ya see, Donkey Kong actually married his girl on TOP of the tallest building West of the Mississippi and the tallest free-standing building IN THE WORLD. (The Stratosphere in Las Vegas in case you are wondering. Yes, I know the two posts before this one mentioned that, but for those of you who didn’t read those….)

So eat it, King Kong! Donkey Kong runs the giant gorilla show around here, big boy!!!!!!

papa suave

When my dad read this entry, he was like, "Rico is publicly pointing out his physical resemblance to Donkey Kong?!? HA! HA! HAAAAA!!! It's about freaking time he uses himself as the butt of his joke(s) instead of me!!!. And to make it clear, he didn't get his Donkey Kong similarities from MY side of the family. He's still a handsome kid though. Not to brag or anything, but all my boys are handsome kids."

Gee Dad, why you always taking your shirt off?  You didn’t HAVE to take your shirt off to make that point. Why you always gotta be actin’ all tough, homie?!?! SHEESH!!!


And then there’s Rick:

white trash nintendo

And Rick was like, "Yayyyyyy!!!!! DONKEY KONG RULEZ!!!! Wait a second, why is he THROWING the bananas?!? I want him to EAT the bananas!!! WTF, there's something wrong with this game! I can't get Donkey Kong to quit wasting bananas!!! What I wouldn't give to be able to afford a bundle of bananas right now. This is making me so hungry, I may have to go out for a late night dumpster dive!!!" Rick must have an extremely wild imagination, for Mario Kart doesn't appear to be in the game console to begin with.



X-Scream Las Vegas


So… what’s going on in this photo?  Oh not much, just a fun-lovin’ group of porn stars hangin’ out in Las Vegas and thrilled as hell to be riding on a roller coaster called the X-Scream on top of the tallest building West of the Mississippi River and the tallest free-standing building IN THE WORLD called the Stratosphere! Fun times, brah!


Porn stars in photo include:


Front Row, Left to Right: Porn star, Donkey Dong Kong on the left and  porn star, Marvin the Mouth-breather Peter on the right.


Middle Row, Left to Right: A Las Vegas lady of the night and porn star named “Amante de Bigote” on the left, throwing herself on the shoulder of a porn star who is keeping the mustache alive and kicking named “Mustachio Grande.”


Back Row: An aging porn star named “Marky Markin’ Marks.” As you can see in the photo, when it comes to his porn star persona, he rarely breaks character. Amazingly, he somehow managed to not break character while riding this ride. Makes sense…”riding” is his expertise.



OK,OK, JUST KIDDING, JUST KIDDING! The people in this picture ARE excited to be ridin’ the X-Scream, a roller coaster located on top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas, which happens to be the tallest building West of the Mississippi River and the tallest free-standing building IN THE WORLD. However, I made the porn star names up and exaggerated a bit in terms of how many of us in the photo actually are porn stars in real life. Not ALL of us are porn stars.  Just one of us is for sure and there are a couple I have my suspicions of, but the majority of us in this photo are not porn stars.


In reality, the names of the individuals in the photo, are actually:

Front Row, Left to Right: Me and Pete (a groomsmen in my wedding).


Middle Row, Left to Right: Krystal Swafford (my wife who I married in Las Vegas 2 days after this photo was taken) and Justin Swafford (my brother who was best man in my wedding).


Back Row: Mark Swafford (my dad…most of you are probably familiar with him by now)


Since I stooped to the low level of falsifying everyone’s name combined with the fact that I falsely labeled a few of us as “porn stars,” I feel compelled to apologize to everyone of the individuals in the photo personally, beginning and ending in the order in which they were mentioned.




Me: I am sorry, Rico.  Although in terms of your physical appearance, you DO show a striking resemblance to Donkey Kong. Also, the first and middle names I gave you ARE fitting (not to toot my own horn or anything). But your name isn’t really “Donkey Dong Kong” and most importantly, you are not a porn star.  In fact, you hate porn. No joke….I really am not into porn. I am so sorry, Rico.  (Umm, did I just talk to myself?)


Pete: I am sorry.  You may be a porn star. To be honest, I guess I don’t know for 100% certainty that you aren’t one. I can imagine your ass being a porn star and not telling anyone about it. I am about 99.9% sure you aren’t one.  I kid. However, I have to apologize, for your name isn’t “Marvin” and I am fully aware of that.  And you aren’t a “mouth-breather,” even though the expression on your face in the photo may give someone the impression that you accidentally forgot your helmet before leaving your house. To be honest, you couldn’t be any more hilarious in this photo. It’s a toss-up between you and my dad as to who is the funniest in this photo. Hilarious.


Krystal Swafford: I am sorry. My sweet, beautiful, wonderful wife who I am madly in love with.  Haha, not that you read my blog anyways, but nevertheless, I am sorry.  You aren’t a porn star OR a lady of the night in Las Vegas. And thank God for that.  And if you love mustaches as the fake Spanish porn name I applied to you suggests, I am sorry that I haven’t grown a mustache of my own, yet. Please understand though baby, I grow a really thin, shitty, scroungy and disgusting mustache.  One of those mustaches in which the hair grows in extremely thin fashion. Not to mention, I am unable to grow ANY hair straight down the middle of my upper lip…which results in one of those weird mustaches that are split in the middle.  I am sorry I can’t be better for you in terms of my mustache and will try to make it up to you in other ways.


Justin Swafford:  I am sorry.  We’ve all heard the term, “porn-stache” and due to this, a legitimate argument can be made that you have the stereotypical “look” of a porn star because of your wickedly bodacious mustache (I could only wish to be able to grow one like that). However, the fact remains that you are not a porn star.  I am about 75% sure of this, which means I am pretty damn certain that you aren’t a porn star (I kid, I kid, we all know your not).  And I also apologize for falsifying your name in such lazy, sloppy fashion. It was disrespectful to mustaches. Since the Spanish porn name that I applied to you was intended to imply “big mustache,” then I did a cruddy job of naming you, for we both know that the word, “mustache,” in Spanish is actually “bigote,” not “mustachio.” In fact, I don’t think “mustachio” is even a word.  I shouldn’t disrespect mustaches like that and since I did so, I am truly sorry.  Love ya, bro.


Mark Swafford (Dad): I am sorry.  You aren’t an “aging” porn star.  In fact, you look pretty damn good for being 52 years old.  I am sorry if I made you feel self-conscious. Much love and I wish the best for you and your future continued work in the porn industry. I believe your career in the pornographic arts industry STILL has a lot of life left despite being 52 years old. You are just THAT gifted at your profession. You da man!


* Maybe I am biased, but I seriously can’t imagine a group of people having a better photo taken of them on this ride.  Funny, funny stuff.



I’ll tell you what prompted me to make the connection.  It was my dad’s expression/body position in the photo.  My first thoughts when we received the picture was, “omg, bahahahahaha, that is hilarious!!  Look at Pete!  Look at my dad!!!! Bahahahahaha!!!”  When I was able to compose myself from the multiple minutes of uncontrollable laughter and was actually able to look a little closer at the picture, I thought, “holy shit, my dad looks like a short-haired version of famous porn star, Ron Jeremy on the job in this pic.  BAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”  That led me to making the obvious connection between Justin’s mustache and “porn-staches.”  From that point on, as we made our way downstairs and walked around and fiddled with various penny slots at the casino, I was simultaneously trying to think of fitting and/or funny porn star names for all of us.


The way everyone behaved while on the ride was pretty funny as well.


Justin and I kept pretty cool and weren’t really that vocal.


Krystal screamed and yelled and carried on as if she thought the roller coaster was going to fly off of the tracks. She was trippin.’ It was funny.


Pete was pretty similar.  There were a lot of high-pitched, “oh my God’s!!!!” coming from him.  And when he wasn’t doing that, he was screaming in a manner which resembled Kevin (Macauley Culkin) in the movie, “Home Alone.” Ya know, the scene where he puts on the after-shave and starts screaming?  So mix Kevin screaming in “Home Alone” with a bunch of high pitched, “oh my God’s!!!!” and the result is the sound of Pete riding the X-Stream on top of the Stratosphere.


The way my dad reacted was probably the funniest (imagine that).  He wasn’t very gung-ho about getting on the ride to begin with…we had to work a little bit to get him on.  Heights aren’t  Dad’s thing. Every time the car took nose-dives, twists, turns, etc. my dad would respond with, “UGGGHHHH!!! AHHHHHH!!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!! FUCK THIS!!!!! HOW’D YOU FUCKERS GET ME TO DO THIS?!?!  AHHHHHH!!!!!!! OH NOOOOOO!!!! AHHHH, FUCK THIS SHIT!!!!” Just to make it clear, my dad doesn’t have the cleanest mouth ever, but it’s not always dirty and littered with “F-bombs” like that.  As chronicled a few posts ago in the story, “Blinded by the Light, Wake Up Like a Douche, I’m Rolling Over in the Night,” he usually has to be somewhat provoked to use that sort of language.  The fact that we were riding a roller coaster on top of the tallest building West of the Mississippi (tallest free-standing building in the world), at 11:00PM, at such great heights that we could literally view the entire city of Las Vegas from our seats, and were being jerked and flipped around at an extremely fast rate of speed… I think that was enough provocation for him and almost anyone to carry on like that.


FUN times.


What’s Rick up to? Meh, I didn’t feel like coming up with a “Rick pic” for this one.  Honestly, I couldn’t really think of anything.


QUESTION: What the hell does “free standing” mean?  The employees at the Stratosphere utilized every opportunity that they possibly could, to inform us that we were chillin’ in the tallest “free-standing” building in the world. Every time they said this, I thought to myself, “I don’t know what that means, but it’s freaking awesome.”  Anyone know?)

So, my wife, Krystal, wrote a romance novel. It was just published this week. I was on the cover. Check it out:

lawnmower romance novel

So touching. Just try getting through this book with dry eyes. I triple-dog dare ya.


Ok, so obviously the reason I am posting this entry is to promote my wife’s new book.


Just kidding. She took the pic, but I created the sloppy romance novel stuff on my own.


I actually posted this entry to give everyone a glimpse of my massive man-boobs pectoral muscles and triceps.


Just kidding. That’s not the reason either. And they are pecs, dammit!  Those bad boys are NOT man-boobs.


To be honest, I am posting this for 2 reasons:

1.) To acknowledge a funny joke that one of my funniest friends, Mary Thompson, posted as a comment pertaining to this picture when my wife posted and tagged me with it on facebook.

2.) Fill you all in on some news regarding Krystal and I.


OK, so:

1.) My wife, Krystal snapped this photo of me  through our window when I was mowing the yard.  This is not uncommon.  I don’t know if I’ve ever mowed the lawn in which the paparazzi and my fan club didn’t show up.  The paparazzi consists of Krystal and my fan club consists of Krystal, Kaiya and Phaedra (my two baby girls). Seriously, if they aren’t gaping out the window to the front yard, they are all gathered on the back yard deck. I must be a pretty important guy. 🙂  Feels good.  Makes me feel…loved.


So Krystal posted this picture on facebook and naturally, some funny comments were posted.  Some of my favorites include the following:


Swaff! You’re losing tone! Lmfao!” – Adam Johnson (10 years ago, I was chiseled as hell….no joke. Crazy ripped. That was 10 years ago though…I’ve been bulky since. Adam is behind the times).

Man he’s hot ! Lmao!” – Denzil Strickland (This dude is funny…have always liked this guy and his entire family for that matter).

Damn fitness!” – Chris Rohr (Another funny dude).

Our baby girls are looking out at you thinking about you being a super hero and I’m sitting there thinking about how I’m going to get in those pants later ;)” – Krystal Swafford (Ahhhh yeahhhhh).

Lmao, you know I’ve gotta mess with ya bro, I’ve been rocking the body style of the blob the last 30 years man…lmao.” – Adam Johnson (Haha, this Chippendales dancer didn’t need to explain himself).

HOWEVER.  My ABSOLUTE FAVORITESTESTEST comment on this picture and quite possibly one of the funniest comments I’ve ever had posted on my facebook page ever, was by Mary Thompson.  And I don’t know if anyone else thought it was as funny as I did, for Krystal and I were the only ones who clicked “like” on it. That’s CRIMINAL.  I dunno, maybe it’s just my silly sense of humor, that Mary has as well, but I thought it was funny as hell.  Her comment was:


Its like the cover to a romance novel. ‘Yardwork Husband, Yearning Wife‘.” – Mary Thompson


Imo, that is freaking hilarious and it inspired me to try to transform the pic into a romance novel cover with Krystal as the author. The pic is very amateur-ish, but there’s only so much you can do with Irfanview.  Anyways, funny, funny stuff. Kudos, Mary!


2.) You may have noticed in this entry that I referred to Krystal as my “wife,” and as “Krystal Swafford” opposed to Krystal McNeil.  Ya know why?  Derp, it’s because we got married last week!!!  In Las Vegas.  Some funny stuff went down in Vegas, one story in which I will write about in the future and hopefully post a video to it. Krystal was a contestant on comedy hypnotist, Marc Savard’s show and it was one of the funniest things any of us (the crew I rolled in with) had ever seen.  To make a long story short, I came to the show skeptical of hypnotism, but after witnessing Krystal and how she responded to the hypnotist, I am convinced….hypnotism is very, very real and a strange/hilarious phenomenon.

It’s been a long time coming for her and I.  She was a wrestling cheerleader at a rival school of my high school. I was captain of our wrestling team.  We always noticed each other at wrestling events and at social gatherings, but were both always too scared to talk to each other.  We finally “met” at Perkins when we were 19 years old. She had to introduce herself to me, for I was too shy to introduce myself…pretty much everyone I know introduced themselves to me when we met due to me being so painfully shy.  She knew all about my wrestling stuff. I was impressed as to how much she paid attention to it and of her overall knowledge of the sport.  We started dating that night and for the next month, but broke up for 6 and a half years.  We remained friends throughout that time and finally got back together 4 and a half years ago and have been together since. We also have 2 amazing children together.

Those of you who have followed my blog will surely remember Krystal from past entries. I’ve posted pictures of her and I, usually in relation to whatever topic I wrote about.  You may also recall her playing the role of “Roxy” aka Rick “The Mullet Man” Suave’s wife in past entries. She is hilarious in that role and I always thought it was hilarious that she would insert and wear “hillbilly” teeth and make a genuine attempt at making herself look trashy, yet she still looked cute.  She literally can’t make herself look ugly. But her expressions are funny as hell.  Here are some flashbacks with Krystal in past entries:


In the entry, Merry Christmas from Rick and Roxy Suave, I scanned and posted a Christmas card that we sent to hundreds of our friends and relatives for Christmas.  People generally really liked it.  To make things funnier, we had roughly 15 spare cards after we had sent them to all of our friends/family, so we ended up sending the remaining cards to random names we found in the phone book.  The return address read, “The Trailer Court.”  Haha, to this day I wonder what those random people thought when they received that card. Here it is:

white trash christmas


We did the SAME thing the following year.  This includes sending the spares to randomly selected names from the phone book. Only difference was, we had an addition to our family. The addition was our daughter, Kaiya, who sported a “buck tooth” binky in the card. I scanned and posted this card in the entry, “Rick, Roxy and Baby Ruby Sending You Hugs, Kisses and Charlie Horses” Check it:



Speaking of our first daughter, Kaiya, I wrote a lot about some of our experiences when she was pregnant with her.  Here is a pic that was taken on our way to an appointment that I wrote about in the story, “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward.”

hot pregnant wife

She was relatively far along in the pregnancy when this was taken. So cute. Further proof that it is impossible for her to not look stunningly beautiful.


Speaking of the entry, “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward,” her Roxy cameo was hilarious in that one:

dr mullet

Can't remember exactly what the caption was on this one, but I think it had something to do with Rick performing all gynecology procedures for Roxy and of course he has an idiotic grasp on it. You'll have to click on the link to read it.


Roxy even had the nerve to “get friendly” with Rick’s brother, Rootbeer in the entry, “Rick ‘The Mullet Man’ Suave’s Brother, Rootbeer.” Note: Rootbeer was played by my actual brother, Justin…who was a notoriously good area athlete. Multiple state qualifier in track/cross country. D1 wrestler who’s wrestling status is legendary in our geographical region in Iowa. Was a 3 time state finalist, state champ, is in the top 20 in THE ENTIRE STATE OF IOWA for career wins. No joke/exaggeration. Unbelievably talented guy. He is also a talented and dedicated musician. He is in two bands and can pretty much do it all in terms of instruments. That has been his primary emphasis these past few years. Not very many people know how freaking hilarious he can be. He donated some of his humor to this post and I was thrilled:

white trash rootbeer

Roxy, what a 2-timin' hoochie-mama. Rootbeer, what a dirtball...stealing his own brother, Rick's shirt AND trying to steal his woman. That is just "Rickdickulous."


Krystal even took her share of abuse, getting smacked in the buns in the entry, “Image is Everything to Rick The Mullet Man Suave.”

mullet wife beatin

Roxy I mean Krystal has been such a good sport. Poor girl.



But don’t feel TOO sorry for her.  She did her share of beatin’ on Rick as well as she did in the entry, “Null Sehks….uff eeenie Kind” She’d fly off the handle over stupid things, like giving a stuffed Gizmo toy too much love:

gizmo humping

Seriously, can't a mullet man hump Gizmo in peace without his wife going all "nutso-bonkers" on him? For realzies, yo!


Ahhhh….the memories. 🙂


And this beautiful, hilarious, genuinely kind-hearted woman married my silly ass last week:

stratosphere wedding

Who is the lucky boy? And how did he get so lucky? I can't answer that, but I'm definitely happy about it. Really, I couldn't be any happier right now. When we first got back together 4 and a half years ago, many people said we wouldn't last and/or we were incapable of maintaining a successful relationship. Many people scratched us off as being doomed from the start in terms of what our relationship would ultimately end up becoming. This was due to both of us re-entering each other's lives at a time where both of us were experiencing personal low points in our lives. We were both lost and people knew it and doubted us. How wrong they were. Not only have we lasted this long, had kids and married each other, but we have been co-productive and influential to each other through the thick and thin and we currently have some positive momentum going in terms of our personal lives and that positive momentum doesn't appear to show any signs of decreasing. Looking forward to spending the rest of my life with this woman. Couldn't be any happier and if you would have run this by me 5 years ago, I'd be skeptical, for I didn't think I was capable of being this happy. We are the "yings" to each other's "yangs." Rock on, baby.




I labeled this, “part 1,” because I expect these stories to be recurring, since I experience them so frequently. I’m pretty certain we’ve all had these moments. Even people who claim to have seen, done and heard everything experience this. The moments I am referring to are when you either say something yourself or hear someone else say something that momentarily makes you scratch your head and think to yourself, “holy cow, that phrase was so absurd that I can’t believe I just heard those combination of words in that order, come out of someone’s mouth.” Then you start wondering if in the history of mankind, if those exact words in the exact order they were presented, had ever left the lips of anyone else, ever.

I have always experienced this, but it seems to happen more frequently now that I am a father. Maybe it is because I am sober now and have the mental capacity to momentarily think about some of the absurd things I say or hear the moment after the phrase is uttered.

This happened to me just yesterday. Here is how it went down.


Kaiya (my 2 year old daughter): DADDY!!!!! DADDY!!!!!!! MY SLINKY!!!! I NEED MY SLINKY RIGHT NOW DADDY!!! MY SLINKY!!!! HURRY DADDY!!!! PLEASE, MY SLINKY!!!!

She yelled this at me while I was cuddling on the couch with Krystal. When Kaiya wants something NOW, I’m the “go to guy” that she barks orders at. She usually takes a different, less volatile approach with Krystal, but that’s an entirely different story.

And there’s nothing THAT abnormal about a toddler having that much passion about wanting her “slinky” IMMEDIATELY. Many kids like slinkies. Even adults do. I know I do. Ace Ventura loves slinkies as well as seen on “Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls.” However, the circumstances pertaining to what Kaiya was trying to do at the same time that she was demanding her slinky was what made things seem abnormal and my response reflects that. Without thinking, I replied back:

kaiya dad

Me: Hold on, Kaiya!!! SHEESH!! I will bring your slinky to you here in a couple seconds. And come to think of it, this is the 3rd time today that you have demanded a slinky while sitting on the potty. I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure most little girls don't REQUIRE a slinky to be in their hands when they are trying to go poopie in the pottie!"

Immediately after I blurted these words, I thought to myself, “man that’s weird…a toddler girl who is being potty trained who is going through a phase where she insists she has a slinky in her hands in order to successfully take a dump. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” And I wondered if anyone else has ever experienced the same thing with their children, and despite the fact that there have been a million-zillion people who have inhabited the Earth, past and present, I honestly have my doubts…

I wonder if Rick has ever been sitting on the toilet and uttered something that is so far “out there” that you wouldn’t ever expect it to be said by anyone, ever…?

mullet man pooping

Rick: "ROXY!!! ROXY!!! COME IN HERE NOW!!! I NEED THE BUTT-WIPES, NOW!!! There's none in here! I can't get it because I'm on the can, shittin' and tryin' to calculate how old I am by looking at this here birth certificate my mom gave me for Christmas!! If you don't hurry, I'm gonna use the birth certificate, so hurry your ass up, Roxy! And after ya give me the butt-wipes, do a lapdance for me...this poop is a rough one and a lapdance may get me through it!! HURRY UP, ROXY!!!!!"

Yup, he has. Not surprising.

If you read my previous entry, you probably noticed that I have been dinking around with Photoshop or a program similar to it.  This should have been obvious due to the the pictures of me as a lobster and Terminator and by the pictures of Rick being eaten by a shark.

Truth is, I haven’t been using Photoshop.  Photoshop is too expensive.  I have been using the “poor man’s” version of Photoshop.  It’s called “Gimp.”  I refer to it as the “poor man’s version of Photoshop,” because Gimp is free, while Photoshop, to my understanding is expensive, like hundreds of dollars.  I don’t think Gimp is quite as good as Photoshop in terms of the quality of the product, but it’s good enough for me considering I have no future intentions of becoming an artist or photographer, which are a couple titles in which I think Photoshop would be suitable for.  I’ve heard that you can do quite a few of the same things with Gimp as you can with Photoshop.

I am still, by all means, a total amateur when it comes to using Gimp.  Everything I have done so far has been in pretty simplistic, baby-step fashion.  I’ll get better though.  I installed and started messing around with Gimp around the time I posted the entry, “Blinded By the Light, Wake Up Like a Douche, I’m Rolling Over in the Night.”  This was the entry previous to my last one.  The date it was posted was, March 24, 2013.  So just a little over 2 weeks ago is when I began my adventurous journey with Gimp.

One of the first few pics I made with Gimp and posted on facebook is what prompted me to write this entry.  I showed facebook world, how “bad” my dad looked when he was in the peak of his pop singing career. Here’s how and why it happened.

After posting “Blinded By the Light, Wake Up Like a Douche, I’m Rolling Over in the Night,” I looked over the entry myself to quadruple-check for spelling errors and/or typos.  I reached the part of the story where I chronicled my memories of my dad singing the song, “bad to the bone” by George Thorogood in his truck when I was younger. I posted this picture of my dad that was taken around the time he began listening to that song, when he was roughly 26-27 years old:

You may recall that directly below that pic, was a pic of Michael Jackson and his “Bad” album cover:
jackson bad album
As I sat there in my regular household attire (a t-shirt and boxer-briefs), viewing that post, I had one of these moments:
rico idea

Uh-oh....Rico has an idea. Look at that enthusiasm!!!


By seeing these two photos next to each other, an outstanding idea was sparked.  Instead of describing it, I will attempt to display my thinking process regarding this idea, visually.  It went something like this:



dad michael jackson
dad face cropped michael jackson

This was my dad in the peak of his pop singing career (as so I wrote on the caption when I posted this pic and tagged him with it on facebook). I know it's Michael Jackson's "Bad" album, but for some reason, I keep expecting him to start wailing out tunes that sound like Hall and Oates.





dad hall oates

And if your not a fan of the "Jay Leno chin" version, maybe you'll like the, "my forehead is either huge or my jerry curl is receding quite a bit or both" version better. This was the original...the one I posted to facebook. I didn't try changing the pic until tonight...and the result? One where he has a Jay Leno chin and one where he has a huge forehead. Take your pick.


Haha, how about that?! I feel proud to say that I have the most pimp-nasty dad in the world. Obviously, I love ruffling the feathers of my dad, for he has been a pretty good source of material in quite a few of these entries by now. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, it’s all in good fun and I think he knows it. Here is a list of the Papa Swaff entries.
“Blinded by the Light. Wake Up Like a Douche, I’m Rolling Over in the Night.”
“My Dad Charged Me $1100 to Shovel His Sidewalk”
“Swaff-Style Halloween”
“Feed the Horses”
“These Jerk-Offs Who Constantly Drive by Swimming Pools”
“Papa Suave’s Reaction to 2 Girls 1 Cup”
“Princess Mark Swafford and Little Red Riding Jacinta”
“Rico Swaff’s Super Wildlife Adventures”
“My Biggest Fear”

Haha, even some of the titles of the entries can make you cringe…especially if you imagine yourself being my dad while reading them.

Oh, and remember that picture I posted a little earlier with the light-bulb going off in my head? The one where I look super-enthusiastic. Turns out, I was actually trying to look like I had no enthusiasm.  I was trying to look like a dude from a famous painting. I used that photo when I posted Krystal and I’s faces in the famous painting of an old, unenthusiastic farmer holding a pitchfork and standing in front of his house. Standing next to him in the painting is his equally unenthusiastic wife who appears like she may be pissed off or trippin’ about something. As many of you know, the painting is called, “American Gothic.”  I’m sure you all know what painting I am talking about.  Here is what I came up with for that:


american gothic remake

American Swaffic


So what’s Rick up to?????


mullet man bad

Don't even think about it Rick. You and Michael Jackson are not a good match. You are an insult to Michael Jackson.

If Rick’s head is going to be cropped to replace a celebrity’s face, the celebrity has to be a sack of shit flying out of a truck.

It has to be someone pretty sleazy…
Someone much trashier…
Someone he could bond with due to their similarities…
Someone he could hang out with in a trailer and watch WWE wrasslin’ with….
Someone phony as hell…..
Someone who probably has a chlamydia-infected penis…..
Someone who is a douchebag and appeals to douchebags among the likes of Rick…..
Someone greasy as hell…like if you were to grab this person’s face in squeeze, you’d probably get a hand full of grease….
Someone like……

I KNOW!!!!

kid rock mug shot
Kid Rock and Rick….that has to be a match made in heaven.
mullet man kid rock

Kid Rock and Rick The Mullet Man are basically the same person. The names even match well... The guy in the pick is, "Kid Rick." And he's "cocky." I don't know why Rick thinks he has the right to be"cocky" though. Maybe he thinks he has the world's best booger collection and he thinks he is better than everyone because of it. Or maybe "Cocky" is in reference to all the roosters he has stolen from farmers, eaten and wrassled around with. I can imagine Kid Rock puling Rick-like shenanigans. I can see Kid Rock and Kid Rick touring together, becoming friends, attending WWE shows together and even sharing their used toilet paper with one another in a porta-potty at the races..



* NOTE: To all you Kid Rock ball-washers (I know there is an Army of you out there): Don’t become too butt-hurt over me slamming Kid Rock.  For the most part, I’m clowning around.  Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means, a Kid Rock fan… I personally think he’s corny and gimmicky. However, I don’t hate him….the hate above is exaggerated.  In my area, we have a regional carnival type deal with a different band that plays every night.  It’s called Steamboat Days and it lasts about 6 days and the headlining bands generally consists of; a couple country music “artists,” a post-grunge band, an 80’s hair-metal band or two, etc.  I generally hate the lineup on an annual basis and this year is no different. They did land Kid Rock this year though. I have access to VIP tickets for every night of the week this week and I think the only night I plan on going will be the night Kid Rock plays. To be honest, the only songs by him that I like are “Bawitaba” and “Only God Knows Why.” The rest of his songs make me want to forcibly rip my upper and lower jaws off so I can clench and maneuver them with my hands and manually move my hands up and down to chew my ears so I don’t have to hear his shit. I don’t mind some of his “Devil Without a Cause” stuff, though. It’s aight.