The Government Shutdown (As Explained through a Menage-a-Tois)

It occurred to me that even the people most affected by the government shutdown don't quite understand why this is happening or what it will take to get it resolved. So in an effort to broaden understanding and to talk about sex (my favorite topic), I've put together the following scenario.

• The role of the Republicans will be played by Slutty McSlutterson,  gold digging whore whose turn-ons include money, white people, and feather dusters.
• The role of the Democrats will be played by Moonchild Sunflower, an optimistic hippy willing to get into bed with just about anybody if she thinks it will improve her outlook.
• The role of the furloughed government workers will be played by Captain John Largecock. 

John and Moonchild have had a challenging yet mostly harmonious and monogamous relationship for the past 5 years, but lately Moonchild has become restless. Sure, John is happy but she needs to know she's making a difference in the world, too. John is fine with this as long as 1) he doesn't have to do anything and 2) if there's even the slightest possibility he could bang someone else. 

Moonchild decides she wants to open up a soup kitchen. A place where those who are neediest can go to be fed. This will cost money. John is willing to help because Moonchild does things most girls won't do and like the battery, she's Everready, but his giving will only go so far. Moonchild will need to get funding from somewhere else. 

Enter Slutty. Slutty is John's boss at the rock quarry where he works smashing boulders all day with his ginormous schlong. Slutty agrees to give Moonchild the money. She'll even get into bed with her, but just to be clear--there'll be no kissing. She's like Julie Roberts in Pretty Woman that way. 

Everything is going fine. John is plowing Moonchild. Moonchild is happily watching her soup kitchen being built and Slutty is casually watching everything in the corner wringing her hands and cackling like a villain in Scooby Doo. 

One week before the opening of the soup kitchen, disaster strikes. Slutty, whose other turn-on is tormenting people poorer than her (i.e., everyone), tells Moonchild she changed her mind about the soup kitchen and now wants to turn it into an animal testing lab. She demands that Moonchild hand over the deed or she will fire John. 

John, for his part, doesn't give a shit about the homeless. He just wants to break rocks with his penis and get paid for it. It makes him feel alive. But that won't happen until all three can come to some kind of agreement. 

They take the next logical step and have a threesome. What follows is a continuous struggle to see who gets to be on top and a race to get their rocks off and get the hell out of the room.

This is where we currently are--in the middle of the least sexiest menage-a-trois between three people who couldn't be less pleased to be there, but are demanding to be satisfied nonetheless. 

So how will this ever get resolved? All three parties are either going to need to do something unpleasant, like that thing my wife let me do that once but only because it happened on accident and don't bother ever asking again. There isn't enough alcohol in the world, so stop hounding her about it. Or, one of the people is going to have to just say, fuck it, this isn't going anywhere, I'm just going to lie here until it's over and then go home and shower. Which is also coincidentally how my wife and I make love. 

This is where we are. Waiting for the worst facial in porn history, in a situation where not even the person jerking off to this scene at home is going to feel like he got his money worth. 

And...end scene. Questions? Feel free to check out my soon to be released erotic novel "That's Why I Only Fuck Libertarians".

Five Things to Do While Furloughed

My wife has given me instructions to come up with a list of things to occupy myself while I'm stuck at home during the furlough. Her exact words were actually, "If you don't get out of my face, I will rip out your spine through your throat." 

Now next time I tell you to vacuum, maybe you'll do it the first time. 

Women can sometimes be difficult to read, but after 13 years of marriage I am finally able to navigate the subtle vagary of her speech. What she actually wanted was for me to come up with a list of things that will keep me occupied during my time off, nourish my longing for a sense of accomplishment and keep me stimulated. Or she would indeed reach into my mouth and pull out my spine. 

Here's what I came up with for the week (because I'm harboring some misplace optimism that this will be resolved soon):

1) Monday- Clean my daughter's room. 

I've put aside a full day for this because, and ladies I hope I'm not ruining any of your mystery here, women are slobs. They are not delicate and flowery butterflies who emerge from a cocoon of light. They are disgusting pigs who leave a path of ruin and destruction in their morning preparations. Don't believe me? 

  

2) Tuesday- Clean My Son's Room
Again, another full day. Because while women at least maintain an appearance of orderliness, men fart in orderliness's general direction.

3) Wednesday- Play with Legos
I have a large collection of Legos which I bought off Craigslist ostensibly for the kids, but let's face it I am a giant child. And on Wednesday I'm going to play the shit out of them. And maybe watch Zombie Strippers and drink Mountain Dew with real sugar while I do it. It's going to be awesome.

4) Thursday- Go for a run. 

When I was actually in shape, I used to run on these beautiful dirt trails near the historic Savage river. While on furlough, I have gained 5 pounds from self-loathing eating. Add this to the other 15 extra pounds I gained from general self-loathing and it's not a pretty sight. I've allocated the full day-- 1 hour to drive there and run and 5 hours to puke and dry heave.

5) Friday- Go for a bike ride and then play video games all day.

I doubt I'll be ready to do another run but a 5-10 mile bike ride is something I can probably handle and it'll make me feel much less guilty about sitting on the couch for the remainder of the afternoon playing video games. Plus, with the ankle injuries and cuts I know I'm going to sustain, I'll be good for doing little else. Now I'm not a gamer by any means, but I contend that's more of an issue of free time than free will. And who knows? Maybe I can turn shooting zombies into a future career. 

Bring it on world! Jamie is back. 

Sequescation: Day 4

Sequescation- An unplanned vacation courteous of government stupidity; similar to staycation, but substitute Pina Coladas on the deck with Ramen noodles in the dark. 

Oh, it's gotten bad. Yell at the geriatric volunteers manning the GOP booth at the local village fair bad. Which I totally did today and don't feel bad at all about. Even when the woman told me she was just here so she could get out of the house more.

The furlough has gotten 'intrude on my weekend bad'. Which I really take offense to. I used to long for Friday night the way a Tijuana prostitute longs for a dose of relief-giving penicillin. And it's totally not a selfish longing. It's not about sleeping in late which is physically impossible to do in my house unless you're the sort of person who could curl up inside the running engine of a 747 for a short kip. And it's not about going drinking with friends--all my old buddies have been reduced to names on the chat screen of my iPhone and exchanges that read like the deranged close captioned typing of a Married With Children episode as captured by a drunken hobo.

No, the weekends are all about my kids. We go on real life adventures. Go-Karting, paintballing, I know you did not bring my kids to a monster truck show type adventures. Glow sticks often figure prominently. It's awesome. It's also my reward for a miserable week and seeing the look on my kids faces while they're doing fucking flips on a trampoline the size of an Olympic swimming pool reminds me why I work in the first place. 

I'm Julie and I'll be your cruise director. Have you guys ever participated in a crash derby? Well, get your fucking helmets on and buckle up. And remember...don't tell your mother.

But after nearly a week of not working, the weekend is just another damned day, no different than the last four days I spent at home working on my manifesto and sending packets of flour to my congressman. And summoning the energy for my kids who are raring to go after a long week at school is, well, difficult. 

As a father, that's the last thing I thought I'd ever say. I never wanted to be a dad who treats their children as a chore. I want to be a fun dad, who enjoys his kids as people. Who'd go out and have a beer with all of them if such things were legal in this small-minded country of ours. Like my dad did for me (the fun outings, not the beer drinking). 

I see on the news that congress has actually found something to agree on. They voted unanimously to give federal workers backpay. I'm as excited to learn that I'm going to have a paycheck for this lost time as I am that the dems and ball-sucking republicans are finally seeing eye to eye on something.  Wonderful, just make it fast boys until something much more precious than money is lost. 

I'm speaking, of course, of the kill your own turkey weekend I have planned with the kids in November. Don't worry, I'm not crazy enough to give my kids a gun. They have to strangle the turkey with their bare hands, otherwise Thanksgiving is cancelled.

Furloughed: Day 3 (A Defining Moment)

Everyone experiences a defining moment at least once in their lives. A moment where you will have to make a difficult decision, take some kind of fantastic chance, or sacrifice everything in order to achieve something great or to rise above tremendous adversity. If your name is Walter White, you experience one of these seemingly every week. However, most of us only get one or two of these moments in a lifetime. And, sadly, we're more often defined by the actions we don't take, than by some heroic deed.

My moment came this morning. 

After having the covers yanked off me like a magician performing a tablecloth routine, my wife told me to shower and get dressed. I stumbled to the shower, mumbled something about 'fuck da man' then stood bleary-eyed in front of my dresser. 

There was nothing to wear. 

My choice was clear. I could:

1. Take this as a sign to go out and exercise. 

Grab life by the horns. Turn this terrible experience into something positive. 'Own it', as my boss likes to say. Be the windshield and not the bug. 

2.  Do laundry. 

Okay, not exactly a defining moment decision, but doing laundry would at least say, 'hey I'm still here. I'm not quitting.' Life has given me lemons. I'm not ready to make lemonade yet, but I will pull out the ingredients I'll need to make it. 

3. Fuck it.

Stuff my belly into shorts that haven't fit me since Color Me Badd was climbing the charts and throw on a shredded WHFS radio station t-shirt from 1992 and eat Capn' Crunch and a Mountain Dew on the couch.   

I think you know what I decided. 

This is what success looks like.

And here's the requisite duck-face picture you have to do when snappin' selfies:

I haven't shaved since the lay-off. I grow facial hair like Emanuel Lewis. 

Be sure to stop in tomorrow when I tackle the tough question: Showering, is it really worth the effort?

3 Awful Things I've Learned About Myself From Being Jobless (Furlough, Day 2)

We're into day 2 of the government shut-down and what has become my own personal Rear Window. I spend most of my days staring out the window and phoning the police to report my neighbors' suspicious activities.

Holy fuck! He's planting those tulips too close to the house. I'm calling the police. 

I've also stopped tuning into the news because if I want to see nothing getting accomplished, I will simply watch my son do his math homework. We're at the part of the film where Jimmy Stewart has begun to turn away visitors and has made some rather unpleasant discoveries about not just his body-smuggling neighbor, but himself as well. Like these:


1. My Self-Worth is Predicated on Making Money

Sure, having a freakishly large penis is nice, but it doesn't pay the bills. I mean it could, but apparently the Puppetry of the Penis theater has closed its doors for good.

And yes, this is totally a thing. 

And I've realized that a very large part of my self-worth hinges on my ability to provide. What's more, my go to's in college--drinking and food binging--all come with hefty price tags, and if I can't bring in money, I'll be damned if I'm going to spend anything. Of course, this wouldn't be such an issue, if I wasn't so damned useless. Which brings me to number 2.

2. When the Zombie Apocalypse Comes (and it will Come), I Will Be the First to be Eaten

If the Walking Dead has taught us anything, its that the only people who will survive the oncoming zombie invasion are those who possess useful survival skills like hunting, farming, repair, or are hot and can deliver long monologues.

This bitch couldn't cook.

These skills elude me. Other things that elude me: home improvement, a green thumb, and any degree of physical fitness. This leaves me little options of things to do during the lay-off except stare into the black abyss of my money hungry soul. Which brings us to the worst of my self-realizations...

3. I Actually Like Work

I don't even like typing those words. I hate work. I complain endlessly about it--the pointless meetings, the crippling bureaucracy, the annoying, annoying people. But here I am, sitting at home realizing a life-long dream of having nothing to do, and I miss being at work. I miss the challenges, I miss the strategies, I miss overcoming crippling stupidity, and most of all I miss the high of accomplishing something despite all the aforementioned daily obstacles.


Gotta go. My neighbor just walked right past his damn empty trash can for the last time. If the cops won't get involved, I'm going to have to call in the FBI.

Furloughed: Day 1 (My Marriage Declines)

Apparently, after I leave for work in the morning, my household becomes a finely tuned and fragile ecosystem and any introduction of a foreign body (i.e., me) can destroy what routine my wife has carefully built.

In this scenario, I am the Exxon Valdez.

Even the presence of me sleeping in bed at 8am was enough to annoy her as it prevented her from turning on the lights to get dressed. This elicited a deep sigh which was enough to rouse me. It was a sigh that I am well acquainted with. It chilled me to my very bones (largely because I knew a kick to the groin usually follows).

In the living room, I turned on the TV which apparently is a cardinal sin as every set of small eyes were immediately drawn to the magic box and distracted from their morning responsibilities.

When I left to go upstairs to watch the news, I left behind me an endless wake of questions about my presence from my kids that had my wife sighing even more.

When I returned to the kitchen, I could not take a step without occupying space that my wife either needed or was planning on using.

When she left with the kids in tow, vague threats were made about my finding something useful to do like cleaning the house or doing some errands, which, let's face it, is just setting me up for more failure.

Please don't let this drag on, congress. My marriage and groin are in jeopardy.

Explaining the Furlough to My Son (A Transcript)

In which the author tries to explain the government shutdown to his 9-year old son.


Alex: (having overheard a conversation between my wife and I) What's a furlough?

Me: It's when the government shuts down.

Alex: How does that work?

Me: All of the non-critical government employees essentially stop working and go home.

Alex: Are you non-critical?

Me: Um, yeah.

Alex: So you're not working?

Me: Not right now, no.

Alex: Are you getting paid?

Me: No, but we'll be fine.

Alex: Oh, I'm not worried. We're rich.

Me: We are?

Alex: Why did the government shut down?

Me: It's complicated.

Alex stares at me. He will do this for hours until I answer. 

Me: It shut down because the Republicans and the-

Alex: Who are the Republicans?

Me: They're a political party.

Alex: A political party?

Me: Yeah. So the President and Senators and all the people that run the country belong to a different political party.

Alex: Like a religion.

Me: Yeah, but without the morals.

Alex: What?

Me: Nothing. So the different political parties can't agree on how much the government gets to spend for the next year. It's called a budget.

Alex: Like what mom puts you on?

Me: Yes, but instead of complaining about me spending $2 on a Mountain Dew everyday, they're unhappy about billions being spent on free health care.

Alex: What's health care got to do with it?

Me: Abso-fu--

Wife: Honey!

Me: Nothing. It doesn't have anything to do with it.

Alex: So why is health care included?

Me: That's complicated.

Alex gives the forever stare.

Me: Alright, let's say you got an allowance because you actually did something around the house.

Alex: Ha, ha.

Me: And let's say every week you had a list of chores you have to do in order to get your allowance.

Alex: Okay.

Me: And you do all the chores expecting to get your money, but then mommy says you can have your allowance this week, but you're never going to get a puppy.

Wife: Why am I the one denying our child a puppy? You're the one who--

Me: I'm teaching here. Shush. So what would you say? Would you take the allowance knowing you will never, ever get a dog?

Alex: No. Or I'd ask grandpa for one.

Me: Congress doesn't have a grandpa.

Alex: What about Uncle Sam?

Me: I think you're losing track of this--

Alex: Are we done?

Me: Yes, but do you--

Alex: Can I play the Wii?

Me: As long as we still have power.

Alex: What?

Me: Nothing, have fun. I'll be in the bathroom if you need me.