This blog is now sugar FREE, fat FREE, gluten FREE, all ORGANIC and all NATURAL!!

Tuesday, January 31, 2012



Nostradamus made many predictions.  All were made in symbolic poetic form such that often when an event occurs, scholars can go through his “couplets” and eventually find one that they can twist into being a prediction of a current event.
My predictions are specific, no symbolic crap.  This is what will happen in 2030.  If I am wrong you can visit my nursing home and tell me.

Predictions for the year 2030:

Smoking will be illegal in every city in the United States except Las Vegas, Nevada, and then will only be allowed after sex.

Marijuana will be legal in all 53 states (including new additions Canada, Mexico, and France).  Emperor Barrack Obama will sign a bill legalizing pot stating, “Dude, like why not?”

All American citizens will be fully covered by health care; heart attacks will need to be scheduled two years in advance.

A major Muslim cleric will declare it is OK for women to pee, but only under extreme circumstances.  

Great Brittan will pass a law making dental care free for any citizen who still has teeth. (GOY Brits)

A white man, winner of the 100 meter dash in the 2030 Olympics in Kabul Afghanistan will be stripped of his medal when he is found guilty of Melanin doping.

A picture of Bigfoot taken in Pakistan will be discredited when it is proven to be Osama Bin Laden.  I missed on that one.

 Fellatio Therapy will be accepted treatment for anxiety in males and will be 100% covered by government health care.

Ninety-five percent of all American males will be diagnosed with anxiety problems.

Fox news will hire a brown eyed brunette news women declaring “she may not be fair, but she is balanced.”

Ron Popiel 4th files for bankruptcy when his invention Popiel’s 3D contact lenses are proven to not only cause headaches, but are not really needed to see life in 3D.

A final tally of the 2000 presidential election shows that Al Gore actually carried Florida by 7 votes.  Democrats pass legislation declaring the years 2000-2008 null and void.

Monday, January 30, 2012


Labyrinth Labyrinth is a game of physical skill consisting of a box with a maze on top with holes, and a steel marble. The object of the game is to try and tilt the playfield to guide the marble to the end of the maze, without letting it fall into any of the holes. The game features a suspended maze surface that rotates on two axes, each of which is controlled by a knob.

The other day while surfing the net, I saw a picture of this game.  LABYRINTH. I was never very good at ping pong.  I could never put the beebees in the holes of those stupid Cracker Jack puzzles.  It took me years to get a single side of the Rubik’s Cube all yellow. 

I was a master at Labyrinth. 

Pop brought this game home Christmas 1956.  You had to maneuver a steel ball past 60 holes in a maze by tilting two axes of the surface, controlled by two knobs.  We had no computers, no Playstations or Game Boys.  Labyrinth was our obsession.    

It took my two brothers and me a week to get past the fourth hole.  Zipping through 9-10 took another week to master.  Getting by 25 was a bitch, and hole 43 took everyone out for at least a month.  By the spring my brothers and I all managed to get that ball consistently to the end…60. 

My brothers tired of the game.  At only 10 years old I was not so easily bored.

Getting to 60 was not enough; I had to take that ball back to zero.  Then back to 60 again.  The record became 60 and back, six times, finally crapping out on the way back the seventh time at 43.  Mastering the game to 60 and back was not the end of the game. I went for a greater challenge.  I went for the gold.  I started playing Labyrinth by controlling the knobs with my feet!

It was like starting all over again with the same stumbling blocks, hole 4 then 9-10, 25 and the ever difficult hole 43.  After six weeks I was astonishing my older brothers with a record run of 60 and back, 60 and back, and out at hole 25 on the attempted third leg.  The game mastered, I finally bored of the sport.

I never played again nor did I even see the game until my freshman year at college.  Professors at school often rented out rooms for student’s dates on big weekends (My school, Lafayette, was an all male school.)  When dropping off a date at an English professor’s home one weekend I saw the Labyrinth game on a living room table.

“Wow, I haven’t seen one of those in years!”

The professor related as to how the record in his family was maneuvering the ball all the way to the 25th hole.

“You want to try it?”

“It’s been years, but sure.”

I slid behind the maze-game and in four minutes, on my first try, I took the steel ball to 60 and back as if I had never stopped playing the game.

“Holy Crap!  How did you do that?”

“Just lucky I guess.”

I decided not to tell him that I used to do it with my feet.

Sunday, January 29, 2012



This week’s goofy headlines and my stupid sophomoric comments.

Occupiers’ Throw Bibles, Allegedly Urinate on CrossThe "Ninety-nine percent" protesters are upset that there is only one son of God.

Costa Cruises says it has not offered Concordia guests discounts on future tripsCruise Line says they are sorry already, they made a mistake, but surviving passengers are just being greedy expecting a discount for future cruises.  President of the Line also stated, “Hell, we already refunded passengers for the unfinished portion of their last trip.”

Divers find large, unexplained object at bottom of Baltic SeaHuge object has scientists baffled.

Director Michael Moore goes on snorkeling vacation in the Baltic Sea- Hmmmm

Low IQ & Conservative Beliefs Linked to PrejudiceAs someone who is not too bright and is also a conservative,  I find this to be very offensive.  I suspect this study was done by Pollocks, Kikes, Spicks, Chinks, Ragheads, Dotheads, or Niggers!

Pennsylvania school district bans fur-lined boots – How do these kids expect to learn with warm feet?

Picture of Snoozing Sub Gets Student Suspended – Student apologizes for waking substitute teacher with camera flash.

Justice Department launches unit to probe mortgage-backed securitiesAlso forms a commission looking into the Lindberg kidnapping.

Canadian dwarf-tossing contest stirs controversy – Instant replay clearly shows dwarf landed inbounds.
Jobless man builds a house out of $1.82 billion worth of shredded moneyNot the brightest bulb in the lamp, unemployed short order cook Robert Trionbo declared, “I may be broke, but I’m not homeless!”

Saturday, January 28, 2012


I was never a ladies’ man.  I dated when I was young, and I’ve been married three times, but I was never a ladies’ man.  Some guys just have a way that charms the ladies.  They can be the bad boys, they can be inappropriate, they can be obnoxious, but they somehow have the looks and the twinkle in the eye that lets them get away with bad behavior and still the ladies are interested.

I have known many such guys.  I was never that guy; until I became “The Romantic Man.”  (Pronounced Romon’tic Mon.)

“The Romantic Man” was a character, a persona I would occasionally adopt at parties.  I’m not sure where this character came from, I think maybe “Saturday Night Live” though I have not seen him on any reruns.  “Romantic Man” was overly flirtatious.  He had a Ricardo Montalban accent.  He was inappropriate.  He was harmless.  The ladies loved “Romantic Man.”

At a party, after a few cocktails, I would be approached by a lady.

“Hi Joe, how are you?”

“Not Joe, I am… ‘Romon’tic Mon’; and you know, I find you to be very beautiful.”

“Oh thank you Romantic Man.”

“You know, if you don’t mind me saying so, please do not take the offence, but you know your ass, it is very beautiful; very how you say…sexy.  You and I, we could make the music beautiful no?”

“Oh Romantic Man, but I am married so it could never be.”

“Pity, but if you were ever to leave this man of yours, remember always, the ‘Romon’tic Mon’.”

It was always all in good fun, everyone knew the Romantic Man was full of shit  harmless but somehow the ladies liked the bull-shit flattery.  They knew it was all in fun, but they liked it. 

I learned that this was the “Players” secret.  Lay it on thick, but act harmless.  It gives a woman the chance to laugh you off with no hurt feelings no insulting indignation and still have her ego massaged; or she can flirt right back, still in a joking mode.  Of course, the trick is to behave not with the “Romon’tic Mon” persona, but with a little of the “Romon’tic Mon” attitude.

Even with this new insight, I could never become a ladies’ man; it was and is not really in me.  I did have fun as the “Romon’tic Mon.”  Why you ask am I using the past tense?  The “Romon’tic Mon” is no more.  He was destroyed by vicious lady who called him out on his bluff.

“Come ‘Romon’tic Mon’, come with me upstairs, I will show you my beautiful ass.”

“Oy vey, ah…er… well, I don’t know, oy I’m fashugana!”

“Romon’tic Mon” became “Little Old Yiddisha Man” flustered and scared.”

“Romon’tic Mon” was destroyed; “Romon’tic Mon” is dead.

You know who you are….. Julia DiGi.         

Friday, January 27, 2012

NEWS AT 11:00

NEWS AT 11:00

This post was inspired by my step-crank Peter.  If you find it entertaining, it is due to my sharp wit.  If it sucks, blame the step-crank!

So I’m on my computer the other day at around 8:30 with the TV on in the background and I hear the announcer blurt out, “What you don’t know about your dishwasher that can kill you….NEWS AT 11:00!  I’m thinking, “Damn…I was about to run the dishwasher, now I have to wait for the 11 o’clock news or I might kill myself.”

Of course they don’t tell you at 11 o’clock how your dishwasher might kill you, they wait till 11:29 before the dishwasher news finally hits the air.  It turns out that if you overload your dishwasher, run it at high heat dry and have a frayed wire in the outlet, it can cause a fire which could kill you. 

“DUH at 11:00.” 

How about just saying “Don’t use electrical shit that has frayed wires!” 

TV stations do this every night.  They do it on every channel.  Every night there are five different things that I have to wait until 11:29 to find out how not to kill myself.  Usually the warning comes from some study not yet verified and only a snippet of the study is used.

"Cell phones may melt your brain!  NEWS AT 11:00.” 

At 11:29 I find out that scientists have submitted a 2000 page study on the safety of cell phones that contains a one sentence statement:

“Studies indicate that constant use of a cell phone, eight hours per day or more, has been shown to lower the IQ of 8% of lab rats by 4% in a double blind test.”

Frig the cell phone warning; to me the real news story is that scientists managed to have lab rats talk on a cell phone for eight hours a day!

“Your shoes may make your feet fall off!  NEWS AT 11:00. 

Now I can’t wear any shoes until 11:29.  It turns out that if your shoes are two sizes too small and you wear them two days in a row, it could cut off circulation, cause gang-green, and you could lose your feet.

You know…without hearing this dire warning, I’m pretty sure I would take off the shoes when I could no longer feel my feet. 

“DUH AT 11:00.”

“Saliva, the stealth poison! NEWS AT 11:00.”

I think I’m just going to take a chance on this one. 

Thursday, January 26, 2012



They say that 60 is the new 40.  If you believe that, here are ten signs that you are in fact getting old:

1.    You start at least three sentences a day with “I can remember when”, or “There used to be…”

2.    You know that Regis Philbin was the announcer for the Joey Bishop Show and you remember that Joey Bishop had a show, and you know who Joey Bishop was.

    3.  You think Betty White is hot!

4.    You have to lasso your foot with your sock to get dressed…..and it takes more than one try.

5.    You worry that your grand daughter is going to get hurt climbing the stairs…and she is eight!

6.    You call the TV remote control “The Clicker”.

7.    You know who Cathy Lee Gifford’s husband is.

8.    Your doctor calls you Sir.

9.    You hate today’s music.


RT - Senior Games: If Hasbro made a “Twister” game for seniors it would be a big seller; just one HUGE yellow dot and an all yellow spinner.  

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


Last week in “P-Whipped” I posted the three things men need in order to be happy (Food, shelter, and getting laid on a regular basis).  As a cranky old man, I think I qualify to be an expert on that topic.  This week I am stepping out well beyond my expertise and I am posting on what women want.  Before any women get their panties in a bunch about my unmitigated gall, this post is on what men THINK women want. 

These “What Women Wants” are in no particular order.

Women want NOT to be told “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” 

Women want to be thin.  Every woman I have ever known wanted to lose at least five pounds.  They want to be thin for gay men and other women. Most men are perfectly happy with the extra five pounds on their women.  Why women want to please or impress gay men and other women is a mystery to me.

Women want children.  This is genetic and defies logic; it is a necessary instinct to assure survival of our species.  After childbirth many women have no idea what drove them to having a child.  They complain about how much work a child is, and twelve months later they start to think that one more would be a great idea.

Women, especially women with children want eight hours of sleep a night, they will settle for six.  They are lucky to get four.

Women want someone to take out the garbage.  Women will wash, clean, cook, and change diapers.  Women will even mow lawns and do yard work.  Some women will repair stuff and do carpentry.  No woman will take out the garbage.  I don’t know why.  It is way easier than most other tasks they will do; for some reason women draw the line on taking out the garbage.

Women want a warm set of feet in bed at night.  Once again, I don’t know why, but a hot water bottle will not do, they want a pair of warm feet.

Women want women friends and the time to get together with them.  They do not like their man to get together with other guys, but they have to have their girl’s night out.

Women want anyone to watch over their children from time to time (see women want eight hours of sleep).

Women want someone to listen to them.  They have their women friends; they also want their guy to listen to them.  It is hard for a guy to listen to anything women related for over seven minutes, it is the one thing we learn to fake.  When listening, NEVER NEVER tell a woman how she should feel!

Women want sex on a regular basis. (Interpretation of “regular basis” is often a subject of dispute between men and women.)   

Women want to shop.  Men hunt.  Shopping is the new gathering.

Women want shoes.  Women want shoes to match their every outfit; then they want more shoes.  When women have all the shoes they could possibly want, they want more shoes.

Every once and a while, women want a man to say thank you. 



Tuesday, January 24, 2012



TV ads for new products always show the pain and inconvenience of doing things without their new wonder product.  Crack an egg to make breakfast, and the shell ends up in the omelet.  Grandma bites into it, breaks a tooth, stands up in pain, trips over her walker, falls, and she can’t get up.

“You need the handy easy to use ‘Eggyout’!  Yes, a handy kitchen tool for safely cracking an egg.  No more wasted eggs and shells in your food, it will pay for itself. You also won’t need that medical emergency panic button around Grandma’s neck. Only $9.95, order now and get a second ‘Eggyout’ free.”  Simply pay separate shipping and handling $7.95.
Reach into the cabinet for that plastic container and fifty two containers and lids of various sizes and shapes tumble out. The bowl of leftovers you are holding flies into the air, you slip on the lettuce, break your coccyx and you can’t get up.

“You need ‘Tupperguard’.  Yes ‘Tupperguard’ is a safety net which attaches easily to your cabinets and opens with the doors to trap those dangerous falling objects.  Only $9.95 you will save more than that on Doctor bills alone.  You also won’t need that medical emergency panic button around your neck. Only $9.95, order now and get a second ‘Tupperguard’ free.” Simply pay separate shipping and handling $7.95.
Here is a million dollar product and the million dollar ad I’d like to see:

Scene 1.  Three men lined up side by side facing the urinals in the men’s room.   Zip, Zip, Zip….  OUCH, OUCH, OUCH….  Three men hopping in pain, a narrator’s voice declares, “Dingus caught again? Wow that hurts.  Get ‘Zippoclear’.  ‘Zippoclear’ is a plastic sheath which fits in your draws and prevents DZG, or Dingus Zipper Grab.  Easy to install, held in place by Velcro, ‘Zippoclear’ not only prevents DZG but enhances that certain area which so attracts the ladies.”

Scene 2. The three men walk out a restaurant, arm in arm with googol eyed models, as all female patron’s heads turn admiring the obvious bulges.
Scene 3.  Three men lined up side by side facing the urinals in the men’s room.   Zip, Zip, Zip….AH, AH, AH.  “YES ‘Zippoclear’, no more DZG”

Scene 4.  Quick pan to a beautiful model, “And I love it too!”

Narrator: “’Zippoclear’ Only $9.95 you will save more than that on Doctor Bills alone.  You also won’t need that medical emergency panic button around your neck.  Order now and get a second ‘Zippoclear’ for free.”  Simply pay separate shipping and handling $7.95.

Monday, January 23, 2012



I have mentioned in several posts that Mrs. Cranky and I have not had a fight or an argument in over three years.  A fly on the wall would dispute this assertion. 

The simplest statement or slip up is liable to elicit a “Fuck You!” from Mrs. Cranky.  I am often called a jerk.  “I hate you” is a common rebuttal to any discussion or comment I may make.

“Fuck you too” or “I hate you right back” are retorts not left out of my arsenal. 

“Then”, you ask, “How can you claim you never fight with your wife?”  The answer is simple.  These nasty little conversations are not out of anger or hate.  Mrs. Cranky will tell me to go fuck myself, and I will respond “Right back attcha” because we can.

We were both in marriages where such comments would bring severe repercussions.  Mrs. C once used the F word in her marriage and the response apparently was painful and severe.  I never dared to speak to my ex with anything approaching aggressive language; the venom would have come back at me in a torrent I would not have been able to survive.  I had to bite my tongue if I wanted to avoid the head spinning green sputum “Exorcist” like violence my ex was capable of delivering.

Fifteen plus years of suppressing “I hate you” and “Go fuck yourself” have made the ability to now say these things cathartic.  Pent up anger needs release even if it is not real.

A typical discussion at the Cranky house might go like this:

“Where is my breakfast in bed?”

“It’s downstairs in the fridge where it is every morning…Jerk!”

“Some wife you are!  I hate you!”

“Fuck you and your breakfast too!”

“Fuck you too!  I hate you!”

“I hate you right back!”



“…Ah…was that good for you?”

“Yea, that was great, I always wanted to do that.”

“Me too.  You want anything while I’m downstairs?”

“Juice would be nice.”

“You got it.  Oh, and I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

Sunday, January 22, 2012



A week has gone by, and it is time again for Cranky’s Headlines and stupid sophomoric comments. 

Police say woman offered sexual favors for chicken McNuggetsNot surprisingly, the McNuggets declined.

Why Gay Parents May Be the Best ParentsExperts do concede that the whole conception thing does tend to be a problem.

Iran's 'morality police' cracks down on Barbie – OK, I know that you’re a backward, misogynist society, but …. IT”S A FRIGGIN DOLL!!

Man in Stable Condition After $44 Million Hospital BillFor $44 milllion he should be better than just stable!

Delta: Flight diverted to Fla. for 'unruly' coupleWhy do unruly people always get their way?

Kim brother says N.Korea heading for collapseWhat does Rob Kardasian know about North Korea’s economy?

Florida police officers paid to drink alcohol, eat Doritos on the jobFlorida police officers demand time and a half for hangovers.  

School Fears “Cougars” Mascot Will Offend WomenAfter ruling out “Cougar” school officials are torn between naming mascot “The Bearded Clams”, the “Golden Beavers”, or “The Snappin Gyros”.

Ill. man in joking mood despite nail in brainImagine if he had a nail in his funny bone.

Russian scientist claims signs of life spotted on Venus – Tried to get a picture, but the little green dude ducked behind a rock.

Friday, January 20, 2012


Not the real Cole and Connor

Thursday is babysitting day for Grandpa Joe.  I haven’t posted much on this endeavor as I don’t want to get into competition with the mommy bloggers.  I thought I would do a brief post for the benefit of Cole 3 and Connor 1.  I thought it would be fun for them to have a record of my Thursdays babysitting.

Mom and Dad are school teachers, so they need help to watch the boys.  Grammy S. takes care of the boys and their two cousins every school day except Thursday.  That is where I come in to give Grammy one day off.  I’m not sure she really wants this day off as she does stop in at 9:30 to take Cole to reading time at Barnes and Noble, and she changes and dresses Connor.  I let her have this Grammy moment as I think she needs a little fix.

So here are my two stories for the boys to let them know years from now that Grandpa Joe was in their life. 

The first story is one that I know the mommy bloggers cannot tell.  Cole is a bit of a biter.  He gets this from his father so I don’t worry too much about it, but I know to be aware.  Connor, I thought, was safe in this regard.  Last week, Connor was doing a snuggly thing and had his head resting between my legs as I stroked his hair.  Out of nowhere as I was stroking and watching TV I felt a tremendous pain.  The little rascal was testing his new teeth out on my pants and he bit all the way down on my….eeeyowow!! From now on Connor can brush his own damn hair.

Today I had to chastise Connor for not sharing.  Usually it is Cole who grabs stuff away from Connor.  Today Cole was sitting on a plastic tub and Connor was attempting to push him off of it. 

“Connor!!  Let Cole have the tub, you have plenty of stuff to play with!”

Connor persisted and Cole pushed him away.

“Hat hat!”

“I don’t know where your hat is Connor; now find something to play with!”


“I don’t know what you want, now stop it.”

Minutes later, Cole got off the tub.  Connor picked it up and put it on his head (OH HAT!) and under the tub was his juice bottle which he grabbed and happily drank from.

I was yelling at Connor when it was that little scootch Cole who knew what he was doing hiding the juice all along.

“Sorry Connor.”

Thursday, January 19, 2012



I read blogs everyday written by young moms, stay-at-home moms, working moms, single moms, older moms, moms with tons of kids, moms of twins, moms with little children, adolescents, and teens. 

The theme of many of these blogs is worry.  Worry about potty training, worry about eating habits, worry about exercise, worry about too much TV, worry about bullying, worry about school. 
I sometimes think how nice it is that my children (3 out of 4) are grown-up, on their own and doing fine.  Then I realize that I still worry. 

How are their finances, do they know what they are doing?  Do they even have a clue about raising my grand-children?  Are they driving safely?  Do they need new tires?  Do they check their heating systems every year?  Are they overworked?  Do they party too much?  How is their health?  Are they eating right, do they drink too much, can they survive a bad relationship, are they at risk with hobbies of distance running, mountain biking, snowboarding, casino gambling and diversions I do not know about? 

It turns out as a parent you never stop worrying about your children.  As they get older you just can’t express your concern.  Your job is basically done, they are grown and on their own. 

They are probably smarter than are you, and most of your concerns are unfounded.  Offering even good unsolicited suggestions will not be heeded.  Your credibility is tarnished.

That does not mean you do not worry.  You offer advise if it is requested, otherwise you stay silent…and you worry.  You don’t love your grown children the same way as you loved your helpless needy infants, toddlers, adolescents and teens.  But you do love them and you do worry.

The fact is that with age your children start to worry about you.  How is your health, are you getting forgetful? Can you still drive safely?  Are you OK?

While helping me with a simple task a few years back, my 35 year old looked at me with concern and jokingly remarked, “You’re going to be living with me soon aren’t you.”   

At every stage of the parent child relationship your love changes in intensity and direction, but always it is there, and always there is worry.  

Wednesday, January 18, 2012



I love my doctor.  I hate to see my doctor.  I love him because he is a really good guy, and he is a really good doctor.  I hate to see him because he always asks a lot of questions, takes a lot of blood, and seems to think it is important to probe me in the most intimate way.

When my x-wife used to get really pissed off at me she would either make an appointment to see a couple’s councilor or make an appointment for me to see Dr. R.  I preferred to be emasculated by the couple’s councilor than being deflowered by Dr. R.

Dr. R greets you in the patient’s room with a big smile and some nice words.  He doesn’t fool me; everything he does is seeking information.  As he reaches out to shake your hand he also grabs your pulse with his left hand.  He eyes you up and down checking the color of your skin bends in close to smell for breath or body odor, all the while keeping up a friendly banter.  I don’t let him get away with it.

“Here Doc smell my arm pit, want to sniff my butt?  What are you a doc or a dog?”

“Very funny, I’ll remember that when I put on the rubber glove.”

“Come on Doc, really?  Are you going to at least buy me a drink first?”

“Twenty four thousand eight-hundred and twelve.”

“Twenty four thousand eight-hundred and twelve what?”

“Times I’ve heard that stupid joke.”

This week I had to see Dr. R because I have been experiencing periodic stomach pain and bloating.  I thought it was just gas, but there was no belching or farting relief.  I was afraid it might be gall stones, or an appendix or a problem with an organ I’ve never heard of.

After the usual touching, looking, sniffing and grilling formalities, Dr. R ruled out about fifty different possible ailments and then stated with confidence, “Diver-something-itis.”  Well that’s what I heard.  I was just glad my pain had a name and taking care of it would not require a knife.

Dr. R explained the condition to me, advised me on a diet change, took some blood, and just for good measure performed the dreaded cavity search.  He then left to get me some information on Divertrichanosis. 
I was very impressed with Dr. R.  His diagnosis made sense, his suggested treatment with a high fiber diet made sense, and he was the consummate professional.

When he returned with a printout and began to explain the importance of a high fiber diet I could not take my eyes of a strange white glob of something enmeshed in his goatee. 

“Excuse me Doc, but I find it difficult to give your instructions much credibility when you have a glob of gunk on your chin.”

“What?”  Dr. R wiped his chin stared at the glob then looked at his nurse.   “Do you think you could tell me when I have yogurt on my chin?”  The Doc tried to act angry, but then just started to laugh.  “Damn and I was on such a roll too.”

That’s why I like Dr. R, he is an excellent Doctor but he is also just a good guy.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012



There is a fine line between being pussey-whipped and being abused.
Most guys will tell their friends, that they do whatever they want in a relationship and still get laid on a regular basis.  Most guys will lie to their friends.  Most friends know they are lying.  It is all part of the code.

If in fact you do whatever you want in a relationship and still get laid on a regular basis then you are probably an abuser.

If you do whatever your wife tells you and do not get laid on a regular basis, you are not pussey-whipped, you are being abused.

If you do whatever your wife tells you and get laid on a regular basis are you pussey-whipped?  Hell yes and who cares?  You are getting laid on a regular basis!

Guys need three things to be content; food, shelter, and to get laid on a regular basis.  Whatever (legal of course) it takes to get these three things is perfectly acceptable to any man, as long as he can still lie to his friends about much of what he does.

The ideal relationship of course is one of give and take.  Your wife needs to spend some time with just the girls; you should have occasional time with just the guys.  Your wife needs to watch girly shows on the TV, fine, as long as you can watch football on Sunday and Monday night. 
However, as long as you have food, shelter, and are getting laid on a regular basis that is compromise enough.  Is that being pussey-whipped?  It is the definition of being P-whipped, who cares – YOU ARE GETTING LAID ON A REGULAR BASIS! 

Single guys will take a lady to a fancy expensive restaurant, bring her flowers and chocolate, dress up to the nines, polish their shoes, be the total gentleman all night, and miss a crucial game on TV, all on the off-chance of getting laid.  They never consider this as being pussey-whipped.
If I do the dishes, fold the laundry and watch a “Say Yes to the Dress” marathon knowing I will get laid that night (of course I never do these things), these same single guys who only hope to get lucky will call me pussey-whipped.   So be it.  As long as I GET LAID ON A REGULAR BASIS!

The above is of course only a fictitious example of what some married men will do.  It bears no resemblance to my own relationship in which of course I completely rule the roost.  Right Mrs. Cranky? Right? Right?  Hello!

Sunday, January 15, 2012



It’s that time again, time for Cranky’s HEADLINES of the week and my stupid sophomoric comments:
Marijuana doesn't harm lung function, study foundScientists declare, “Like dude it ain’t do nuttin to do no harm…ah…pass the chips.”

FAA says pilots can guide whooping cranesBut they can’t date them.

TV chef 'sorry' for shoplifting cheese and wineThis week’s show – How to entertain your guests while on a strict budget.

Jon Huntsman: Third Place Is a Ticket to RideTicket is for Palookaville.

Dragnet: Alleged Cross-Dressing Georgia Car Thief CaughtGeorgia strictly enforces all laws against cross-dressing.

Buried Alive Fiancé Gets 20 Years in Prison – Why is being buried alive a crime? I would think the person who buried her alive would have to go to jail.

Italian drug dealer guarded stash with 'mini alligator'- Dealer lost his hand when he thought he hid the drugs in his shoes.

15-year-old Maryland boy sentenced 85 years for killing teacherAnd the conviction will remain part of his PERMINANT RECORD!!

PepsiCo finds trace fungicide in orange juice – Now claims their cola not only “Hits the spot” but also cures Athletes foot! 

CA man suspected of poisoning wife's Rice Krispies – I have to say this – Does that make him a CEREAL killer? (I’m sorry, it’s the Tourette’s!)