My Son Just Tied My Daughter To A Ceiling Fan

Aaron D. Graham

So, my wife and I are teaming up to co-author a book idea. Somehow, I got roped into writing a baby manual. Can you believe it? Me, parenting advice? Or, perhaps it’s a marriage guide for disillusioned couples struggling to keep their identity in the middle of a family. I don’t really know. I just write what my wife tells me to write. To sum up a possible tag line: Maintaining a sense of worth while raising children.

Or, to put it another way: “God, I was supposed to change the world, now all I’m changing is this dirty diaper.”

Which is currently our working title, so don’t steal it.

I always thought my first book would be some epic volume I of High Fantasy, not parenting and relationship advice from a male perspective but my wife wants me to add my own unique flare to her otherwise matronly…

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A Treatise On My Chances With Supermodels, Sainthood And Other Summer Musings.

Odds are funny things. I think we subconsciously allow odds to dictate our lives far more than most people realize. For instance, I love watching my kids swim in my pool even though there is a CHANCE they could all drown and die. Why? Well, because the odds of someone accidentally drowning is only 1 in 79,065. However, I won’t let my kids run across the major interstate during rush hour because the odds of my children surviving that isn’t nearly as good.


There are many things we allow ourselves to do because there is an acceptable level of risk involved. Since I was a kid, I’ve known that the odds of successfully navigating an asteroid field are 3,720 to 1 because C3PO just kinda knows these things and it worked out ok for Han Solo.


Speaking of asteroids, there is a 182,138,880,000,000 to 1 chance that a rock from outer space could crash into my living room, but I still sit on my sofa in my boxer shorts and play video games.

Another example of picking and choosing life changing events based on odds occurred to me in college. I gave up my dream of dating Jordana Brewster because my odds of dating a supermodel are 88,000 to 1.


My odds of dating Heather Miltimore on the other hand were much more reasonable.

Some other odds I found interesting was that even though there is a 576,000 to 1 chance of me being struck by lightening, I take courage in the fact that there is only a 2,320,000 to 1 chance of me actually being killed by lightening.


I wonder if this is what Ben Franklin told that stupid kid who he talked into flying that kite with him?


Now, in light of all of these crazy odds, here is one that is a little more disturbing. There is a 117 to 1 chance of you ending up on a plane sometime in your life with a drunken pilot. No, I didn’t miss a few extra zeros. That’s it folks: 117 to 1. Hell, that’s almost the same as your odds of being audited by the IRS sometime in your life, which is about 175 to 1. Unless, of course, you recently donated some money to a political right wing 501.c group. In that case, I hope you saved your receipts. But don’t worry about that drunken pilot thing. Your chances of actually dying in a plane crash is only 354,319 to 1. And as I just pointed out…you have a better chance of dating a supermodel sometime in your life than you do of dying in a plane crash, regardless of the sobriety of the pilot. So, “Mazel tov” and pour that pilot another round and don’t let that stop you from taking your family to Hawaii this Christmas.

Reviewing odds like this in the middle of summer gives me hope for my Dallas Cowboys winning the Super Bowl. Because if I think about the fact that there is a 20,000,000 to 1 chance of me becoming a recognized Saint in the Catholic church sometime in the future, it makes the fact that Las Vegas only has a 40 to 1 line against my Cowboys winning the Super Bowl this year way more exciting!

So cheer up, my faithful readers from Jacksonville, Oakland and Minnesota. Though your odds are somewhere around an IRS audit, there is still hope!









What To Get Dad For Father’s Day Who Already Has A Drawer Full Of Neck Ties He Never Wears

Father’s Day is coming up and my wife is always asking me what I want. Every year I tell her the same thing, but she never gets it for me:

I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot, range model air rifle with a compass in the stock.”

She just laughs at me and says, “No, really what do you want?”

Fine, I want a force activated, double bladed light saber with 1.21 Jigawatt energy pulse and a purple beam.”


Oh, and a compass in the stock would come in handy too.”




But she just tells me I’ll cut my arm off.


Last year I got a grill, which would be cool and all, but basically it’s her way of shoving “Dinner Duty” off on me 4 or 5 nights a week from the last week in May until the first week of September. She does this as a sneaky way of not cooking for 3 months. In all fairness, she does put the frozen French Fries in the oven and bake them at 350 degrees for 15 minutes, or until golden brown. A grill for Father’s Day in my household would be like if I bought her some sexy lingerie as a Mother’s Day gift.

But women never quite see things the same way.

Speaking of my wife, you all need to check out her blog too. (Insert Shameless Plug Here: Heather Graham’s Blog ) I promised her that I would promote her blog on my site to double her exposure. She is an aspiring writer and has grand dreams of collecting an entourage of loyal followers to build a pipeline for a future business plan and possibly a book deal in the near future. Which will be great because when she is out on some book tour or writing junket, I can stay home and grill burgers for the kids.

I doubt I’ll get either my Red Ryder BB Gun, or my lightsaber this year, so I had to do some digging for suggestions. For my female audience, if your man is anything like me, these are all GREAT ideas. But then again, there aren’t too many people like me, so you probably want to stick with that pair of Superman Tube Socks you were eying up at Target.

I’m sure he’ll love it.

As for me, one of the top of the things on my “Father’s Day Wish List” would be the Henry VIII with heat sensitive vanishing wives!


As the coffee gets cool, the wives tend to vanish. Note the subtle play on the heat of passion cooling to the elimination of the wives. This would be so cool!  (Oh, the puns don’t stop with this gift)

As another option, I am not a fan of the Family Stick Figures as window clings in the back of the family SUV. I don’t even really like the Star War’s Spin off clings, even though I’m a huge Star Wars Nerd. But Stick Figure Zombie Clings…I would DEFINITELY hang that along the back window.


Has anyone seen that bumper sticker that says something like: “My Family Stick Figures Kicked Your Family Stick Figure’s Ass”  I doubt my wife would let me put either of these on our Nissan Pathfinder, but a guy can dream, right?

Another idea for Dad could be his very own Einstein Plush Doll. I don’t know why, but I would love to set Albert up by my Boba Fett action figure at work. Some guys have a Payton Manning Bobble Head. I want an Einstein plush doll.


Of course you can never go wrong with the Candy G-String.

Image Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

So ladies, I have given you some great idea for the over grown nerds in your life.

Ok, enough for tonight. My wife just asked me to fire up the grill. She bought some steaks for us to eat tonight.









Friendly Tip: Please Proof Read Your Texts BEFORE You Hit Send

‘m always on the lookout for something funny on the internet. I used to have a rule that I would not start my day until I found one thing that made me truly, deeply laugh. I must admit, I don’t do it as often as I should, but there are days when finding those hidden gems online is like a treasure trove of “ROTFLMAO”

So, I stumbled on this site called and it was pure gold! What could be better than laughing at someone else’s “smart” phone blunder? Just when I fear that technology is progressing to quickly and I might find myself wishing I had taken the blue pill, my fears are temporarily relieved by the fact that our smartest phones still can’t quite keep up with human wit. Sites like this proves our technology is not quite intelligent enough to pose any real threat of machines becoming smarter than us and launching a campaign of World Domination. Right now…our machines are not all that smart after all.


So we can laugh in perfect security at other’s misfortune. Take for instance, poor Jake. He seems like a nice guy. Jake seems like the kind of bud who actually WOULD lend you his truck to help you move and not make a big deal about it. Not only that…he even decided to help paint Jason’s Living Room.

Poor Jason didn’t realize what color Jake picked out:


I wonder what the poor girl at Home Depot said when Jake took that in for one of those guaranteed color matching.

Then there is Chris. I can relate to Chris. He finally catches a date and the chick actually texts him first to tell him what a great time she had.

Until his damn “Smart” phone started being too cute:


I wonder if Chris ever got to touch those nipples?  Vote below on my comments if you think he did…hell, if you think he even got a second date.

Back during my “dating days” I took a trip to Europe for about a month and left my girlfriend behind with nothing to remember me by except for my Lava Lamp (which I still have to this day) and some of my clothes to comfort her in my absence.

Evidently Charlie found something else to cling to late at night:


Sorry Charlie.  I bet he hates his IPhone now.

Finally, we come to my favorite. I love my mother. They say no one knows you like your own mother. Matthew’s mom knows him better than he knows himself..Poor bastard:




An Awkward Reunion


Hi WordPress. It’s great to see you again. I know I’ve not seen you in awhile. How have you been? We used to be so close.

Oh, I’ve been good, thanks for asking. You are looking good. I like what you did with your hair. It looks nice. How long has it been?

Seriously? 120 weeks!!! That is 841 days since I posted last. Wow, so what have you been up too?

So…are you seeing anyone? Maybe we should text each other sometime. Catch a drink. Maybe go Tweet together at the movies. That would be fun. You know, I really had a good time when we hung out before.

No, I’ve not been seeing anyone either. Blogit tried calling me, but you know…being with her just made me feel cheap. I know…she’d sleep with anyone, the little tramp.

No, I ddin’t touch her, but I’m glad you were a little jealous. *smile*

Anyway…it was great catching up. I’ll text you. And I don’t mean it in that “guy way” where “I’ll text you” means “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

I’ll see you again tomorrow, ok?

Take care and its good to be back.

Really…its only been you. Wanna know a secret… You were my first.

What Piece of Work Is Man? In 1,000 Years Civilzations Will Marvel!


Friday makes me proud to have a job because I wouldn’t enjoy the weekend as much if I were unemployed. What would be the point of Friday if it felt the same as Wednesday? Having a job makes me proud to be an American because in America there are no cats. Being an American makes me proud to be a Human being because:

 “What a piece of work is a man! How noble in Reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! In apprehension how like a god!”

Yes, how noble in reason indeed. Like the Columbian doctor who was just sentenced up to 8 years for a peculiar buttocks enhancement procedure. Tragically, the patient died during the operation, but the doctor may need to remember the surgery when he goes upstate. It may come in handy. I’m just sayin’.

Oh, the things we are capable of when we set our minds to it! How infinite in faculties!

Such as our fascination with midgets. From a Munchkinland to Minnie-Me, we have turned these unique expressions of our DNA into icons of the 20th century. Like the little guy on COPS who didn’t want to go to jail.

We have always liked Midgets. Even if it’s just to watch them climb a pole. But I have noticed business owners using this fascination to draw a crowd. Recently, a bar in the Dallas Ft. Worth area advertised “Midget Wrestling” to entice a crowd.

Is this exploiation? If it’s ok to watch two Midgets wrestle (For a $10 cover charge at the door) would you also pay to watch a 280 lb regular sized adult bouncer hurl a Midget across the room and market it as “Dwarf Tossing?” I think tossing these little guys across the room is going a bit too far. Evidently in New York and Florida, the State Legislators agree with me and have made it illegal to toss a Dwarf in a place that is licensed to serve alcohol.

In form and moving how express and admirable!

On the other hand, have you ever read some of these bizarre laws that were passed a hundred of years ago and are still on the books? You wonder where they came from, such as in Texas it is still illegal to shoot Buffalo from a second story hotel window.  Yep. I ain’t kiddin. Now, mow ‘em down all you want with your automatic riffle from the ground floor, but don’t you dare shoot ‘em from the second floor.

That’s not fair to the Buffalo, after all.

In a hundred years there will be a Blogger (or whatever they use in a hundred years to keep a running log of an individuals thoughts on a variety of subjects) and this futuristic Journalist will read this law about not being able to toss a Dwarf in a place that is licensed to serve alcohol and think, “Who were these crazy Americans that needed to pass a law that made it illegal to toss a Dwarf?”

In a thousand years, some Archeologist will run across this law and write a ground breaking book in which he/she reveals that our National Pastime was not Baseball, but in fact Midget Tossing. (Until a Prohibition movement was started in New York and Florida that banned this barbaric practice)

“In action how like an Angel! In apprehension how like a god!”

If I’m Consistently Late To Work 7 Out Of 10 Days, Can I Ask For A Raise?

My fantasy has finally come came true!

Now, before you get all uber excited I will resist inserting the obvious innuendo [here]

See, this is me walking wide around said innuendo and refusing to insert anything where it may be inappropriate.

Wait a second…gal’darnit…I did it again. I’m sorry.

(BTW, my wife just asked me what I was doing. ‘Blogging,’ I told her. ‘You’re blogging again? YEAA!’ Now, I know she is biased, but it is good to be back after a 4 month silence)

I’m talking about the World Series between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Texas Rangers. You see, I have this fantasy involving certain professional sports teams pairing off in their respective championships. Like an “Ali v Foreman, the Golden Years Rematch.” Or Danica Patrick racing with Jimmy Johnson in a head to head NASCAR final stretch. My Basketball fantasy came true in June when the Dallas Mavericks had their sweet revenge against the Miami Heat. It was all so perfect. Game six, in Miami, a once arrogant sold out crowd growing quiet as they watched what every so-called expert considered a foregone conclusion slip away from them.

And now, in Baseball I am just over 24 hours away from my Fall Classic fantasy. You see, I grew up a St. Louis Cardinals fan. My dad is from St. Louis and is passionate about it. I grew up in Texas, but since the Rangers were not really all that great in the 80’s I don’t have too many memories of my hometown team having much playoff success.

Until last year, the Rangers had never even made it to the American League Championship Series, let alone a World Series.

But since the Rangers have been morphing into a mini dynasty of sorts I’ve had this wonderfully delicious thought: What if the Rangers faced the Cardinals in the World Series? This year, that seemed all but impossible in August. Now, here we are.

The beautiful thing about it is that I will have that rare moment in sports where I truly, deeply love both teams. I will sit back and celebrate every hit, every strikeout, every Home Run and every win along with my teams. It will be a new experience for me in sports because the anxiety will not be there. If the Cardinals win, great. Tack up one more championship banner next to their collection of 18 National League Pennants and 10 World Series Trophies. If the Rangers win…well, all they have so far is 2 American League Pennants…one of them is still on order and is due to arrive sometime in November.  

I love Baseball. Most of you probably do not. Some may not understand it, or are easily bored by it. Some have never really given it a chance. Others might have tried upon occasion but quickly became distracted by other pressing things that needed to be done in a day.

It is a slower game than the blinding speed of the NBA. It is not as brutal as the NFL.

It is a game that can drag on, as most things tend to do in the heat of summer, but it suddenly changes and requires nearly instantaneous reflexes and almost incalculable speed.

It is the only game that, in theory, requires just two individuals to play defense: one to pitch the ball, and another to catch. A team only needs fielders to back up a pitcher when he fails. In this way, Baseball illustrates the strong independence that defines Americans. We are a country dedicated to the idea of individualism and self determination beautifully demonstrated with one batter standing up to one pitcher.  The rugged individualism that defined our country is captured in this duel, as is the long walk of shame back to a dug out after a batter fails to achieve what he set out to do. There, he must sit and contemplate this failure until he is given another chance. Then, he must use everything he learned from his past and stand up to the same foe who beat him just 8 batters before.

Because in life, there will always be another chance.

In the NFL, a Quarterback must complete about 70% of his passes in order to be considered successful.  In the NBA, a player must make over 60% of his shots in order to be considered a star.

In Baseball, to fail 7 out of 10 times in the course of a career is to be considered a legend. To fail 6 out of 10 is to be considered a god.

Is there anything more human? 

Baseball is poetry in motion. It is our history in action. Baseball captures our wildest dreams and our most humble aspirations. I don’t know of any child who has ever played the game who did not imagine being in the bottom of the 9th inning, down by 1 run with 2 outs, bases loaded and it is your turn to bat. You only have one chance for greatness and only one last chance to make a difference.

In a philosophical point of view, Baseball is so analogous of our struggles as humans.  If you are able to stand up to your adversary and stare down your fears, you can conquer anything your enemy can throw at you. If you strike at the perfect moment, you will advance, but you must run as fast as you can to beat the throw from the shallow outfield. There, you must watch patiently for your chance to steal second. Once there, you must wait for help, because so few of us can compleate our journy alone. We need friends to back us up and drive us on. You dig deep for the final streatch, going farther than most will ever go. Then, when  your ordeal is almost done, after all you’ve gone through, after all you’ve seen and accomplished, in the end, Baseball is about struggling to make it back safe to the one place where you started: Home. Is it any wonder that Americans call this “Home Plate” and sliding into it being “Safe”?

It is a game of justice where the only measure of success is purely how well you played. In most other games, there is a factor of time. Last Sunday the Dallas Cowboys lost their game and one factor was the fact that when they had a final chance to win the game, time was against them. When time runs out, your chances are over. There is no clock in Baseball. Nothing will stop you except your own failures and no matter how large a deficit you might be facing, nothing is impossible until that moment when you were finally beaten; not by the final seconds of a clock, but by your own mistakes.

Baseball is the story ofAmerica: all of our glory, all of our heritage, and everything we value has been poured into its rules and structure. Our greatest accomplishments can be illustrated in its lore as well as our greatest failures and sins. It is a game that illustrates every side of the American experience in vivid action. It is a game of wealthy owners and poor players, monopolies and Unions, slavery and freedom and racism. It is a game that has shows our childish pranks and gimmicks as well as our sense of honor and duty. It is a game that has shown the public our darkest nature as well as our commitment to set things that are wrong as they always should have been.

It is a game of Redemption.

It is my sincere hope that you will enjoy this World Series as much as will. Perhaps some of you will take this to heart the next time a Baseball game is on some lazy Saturday afternoon and take some time with your family to experience the game with a fresh sense of what has become our collection of American Mythology: A Story of Us.

What Was Then...