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I met maddmom exactly 23 years ago tonight. This picture was taken a month later.

Damn, I'm a good looking broad.

ed- Yes, I changed this post, maddad can't add.

I have learned! I can be taught!


If I turn on my space heater when maddmom is running the washer, while I have every computer, phone, ipod, printer, router...hell every device that can be plugged in, plugged in in my office, the breaker will trip.

And the breaker cares not if I am in the middle of a web conference or trying for the world record for commas in one blog post.


I've also learned that if you decide to tune your ipod to the music you listened to nearly non-stop during your freshman and sophomore years of college while you do your physical therapy, when you find yourself lying awake all night, due to the effect of a wracking cough on recent back surgery, you will understand why the word "nostalgia" sounds like the name of a particular pernicious disease.

Actually, I think it was, originally, a disease. But what the hell, I've got an earworm issue and it's Queensryche, so if you think I'm in a good goddamn mood, you'd be wrong.

But, you know, listening to that crap was a choice. The cough wasn't. But no one pays attention to how late they stay up on Saturday night, because,hey, you got the next day off. But Sundays are all about over doing-it. People over do eating, drinking, sitting on their ass. They over do yard work, they start projects they can't finish, they go on bike rides that are too long. They go to church and everyone but the Catholics over do the sermon, they visit with relatives or relatives visit them and they wish they would go away. Unless you don't have relatives close, then you wish you did so you could have the dog do something gross so you could ignore it and see if they got the hint.

So I got up too early Sunday, over did it on the late 80's alt-metal scene and ended up taking more laps around the house last night than the cat.

I checked for cough medicine. I checked the pilot light on the gas fireplace. I checked the kids, all of whom talk in their sleep. Yeah, creepy. It was weirdly bright, so I checked to see if any lights were on in the kid's rooms. And at some point, I freaked out that we had a water leak because I heard a toilet running, and no, it wasn't Operation Mindcrime. So I spent some time after 2am trying to fix the kid's toilet as quietly as possible, but after I put everything back together, it started running again.

What I didn't do was to write down all of the weird crap I was thinking about, which is what I would have done when I was younger. Then I would not only have had better blog fodder, but I would have the seeds from which the Great American Novel would have germinated.

When I was younger I did think I wanted to be a writer. But you have to proofread to write prose, and you have to describe actions, settings, moods etc. And re-writing, I have no patience for that. So later I thought play writing was for me. But I realised that I hated most of the people involved in theater.

Then there's the whole lack of talent thing, which I was lucky enough to realise early enough to set myself on a career path that can actually feed my family.

But every now and then a smell or a song or something will set me off and I'll find myself looking for a clove cigarette, fountain pen and notebook and it will be hours before I can suppress the inner douchebag and get back to real life. Not everyone can do that. Some people have decided that to be happy, they have to do what they love.

What these selfish assholes don't realize is that they suck at doing what they love. Instead of whining about how the government should buy them out of their too-expensive house and expanding the SCHIP program to cover every kid from Suri Cruise on down, they should realise that, yes it's possible to be happy working for the man, and moreover when you work for the man you get paid and you can afford things like your Volvo SUV and, occasionally, health insurance for your kids. Maybe not all at once, but you picks your poison. That's how America works.

PS: Oh yeah, spell check sees "Queensryche" to be "Cornstarch". Put an umlaut on that, sukkas!

Friday Fun


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Suck it Canada


2 Days sukkas!

Gimme the keys, I can drive...

Maddad is cleared for takeoff. Hide your pets, move your realty signs and say goodbye to your decorative roadside plantings, I'm back on the road.

But I can't afford any gas.

But that is a temporary condition, because I, maddad, have made a decision that will surely benefit me in the days, weeks, months and years to come. That's right, maddad will be back in the career drivers seat. A traumatic decision, but hey, it needed to be done. So I did it, and that's that. Yay me.

There are people who can trust their gut and make a decision the very instant they feel it has become necessary to take some action, these people are called "Movers and Shakers", and they typically have more money than you or I.

Then there are people like me, who eventually make decisions after they have annoyed the entire world discussing the probable implications of making it. These people are overly cautious, but to their credit, they knew all the time they were going to have to make this decision and they realised there wasn't any real choice. They are called "Moderately Successful". This is me.

I'm "Moderately Successful". Then there are the people who only make a decision after its been made for them, these people are called "the unemployed", or "That Guy". I used to be one of them, but I changed.

At some point, I hope to be able to trust my gut and do what needs to be done without a lot of drama, but I'm still too cautious, too afraid to take a leap without knowing exactly what's on the other side. I have a problem with too much risk.

"Movers and Shakers" don't have a problem with risk, especially if the only variable is their own performance. The "Moderately Successful", if presented with the same choice, are worried that they might not be as good as they think they are. "That Guy" thinks it's all too much work.

Don't think "That Guy" has no self esteem, he's usually loaded to the gills with self esteem, he's just got a comfort level that must be maintained. I felt that way for a long time, until I realized I had to literally put my money where my mouth is.

Now there's a moderate amount of risk in my environment, because a while ago I realised that if I took a chance, the increased risk might pay off. It was the "might" that got me.

That word "might" is probably the most evil word in the English language. The mere sound of it can freeze a grown man in his tracks. If I go outside I "might" get hit by a meteor tomorrow, I "might" get run over by a bus. All true, but I'm willing to risk going outside.

Now try this: I've been doing "A" every day for the past three years, if I do "A+" somewhere else, I will make more money, I might make the same amount of money if I continue to do just "A" where I am, but I have no control over that. However, because I am only "Moderately Successful", I have to be absolutely sure that I'm not going to make as much money for doing "A" if I stay put.

And that's stupid. As stupid as worrying about that meteor. I should just go and do "A+".

That's what a "Mover and Shaker" would do, and he'd already be making that extra money while the Moderately Successful tries to make a decision and "That Guy" bitches about all the extra work he has to do now that the "Mover and Shaker" has left.

If any of this sounds familiar, it should. I went through this just a couple of years ago. That was the day I became "Moderately Successful". Previous to that, I was "That Guy". Traumatised into paralysis by a series of dead-end jobs and promise-slinging unethical bosses. I became "Moderately Successful" the day I realized that it was nobody's job to manage my career but my own. Managing my career, in fact, was my job. I owned a company with six shareholders; maddad, maddmom, The Prince, Dangeresque, The Beast and Skippy. Madmom and I were the Board of Directors and I was the CEO. I was not generating enough shareholder value and was in danger of being replaced, it was time for a turnaround strategy. I found one.

maddad & Co is now out of our turnaround phase and into our growth phase. Wish me luck. I'd let you all buy stock, but maddmom gets jealous.

Who's the anonymous sex machine who gets all the anonymous chicks...MADDAD!


Anonymity is a big, hard to spell word and it seems to be a big deal on the intartubes today. In fact, it wasn’t until I read this that I even decided to post today. Why? Because I’m sleeping with his mom.

No I’m not. I’m kidding. He’s not even really against anonymity. Neither am I, obviously.

Why do I blog anonymously? Why not? Seriously, it’s not like I hide behind some kind of shroud of secrecy. If you read my site you’ll be able to figure out who I am pretty easily. In fact, until I started getting some pretty disturbing spam, I used to have my personal email address, myrealname_at_gmail.com published right at the top of my site. Then I iconified it to stop the spam, and I started getting comment spam and spam from my blogger profile, and one douchebag who I worked with for about four days started emailing my posts to people I used to work with. Not that I cared that they read my blog, they knew me, they’ve heard worse, trust me. Some of them are still around, which is cool.

But the real reason I blog as maddad is……….maddad was my log in to all the on-line games I used to play on shockwave and miniclip, back when my blogging pc was powerful enough to run most of the games on there. I live by the “one login to rule them all” rule, otherwise I get confused. I got it because my son “Dangeresque” was a big Simpsons fan, well when his mother wasn’t home, he and I would watch the Simpsons together. One night he saw the Simpsons episode about Angry Dad. Dangeresque then made a comic book as a project for school, his own version of “Angry Dad” called “maddad”. So I had to get used to funny looks from teachers for a while.

As it happens, I got confused anyway, because maddad is a pretty popular on-line name. One “maddad” is a pretty prolific on-line pornographer, one is a nasty Usenet troll from Eastern Europe or Canada or somewhere, and one is some guy who blogs and thinks I stole his name. So sometimes, when I tried to register on a website as “maddad” I’d find it was already taken, so I’d have to come up with a new login. Something I’d never forget, of course, and of course, I forgot. Well, I have this damn security function on my PC that deletes my cookies when I shut down. So, for sites that already have a “maddad”, I’m “Lost My Cookies”. Because I lost, or rather deleted, my cookies.

I use nicknames for my kids, unless I forget, and my wife too. Why not? It sort of fits the whole “theme” of my site.

I’ve been doing this for a while, I’m thinking four years now, and way back when I started I asked for some hints on successful blogging from a couple of people who’s blogs I used to read. Only one of them ever wrote me back, it was Rob Smith, Acidman. Rob told me to live by four rules:

1) Don’t keep a blogroll. It’s a waste of time and you won’t be able to keep up. Plus someday you’ll piss someone off and they’ll try and generate traffic by “ceremoniously de-linking”. It’s bullshit, don’t bother.
2) Don’t blog about work, you’ll get shitcanned. (he did and eventually got shitcanned).
3) Be as honest as you can be without hurting the people that you love. If they love you, they won’t be hurt by honesty, but two-way love is a rare dog.
4) Don’t get involved in blog-fights, it’s stupid and why help someone else’s traffic.

He told me if I followed those rules I’d have a good blog, if I had any talent. He also said I wouldn’t get any traffic, which is why he didn’t follow any of the rules.

So I don’t get much traffic and you get a lot of half-assed posts by some guy named “maddad”.

And you’re going to have to trust me on this; “eat a bag of dicks” just sounds cooler coming from maddad then from {insert name here}.

Happy Anniversary


To Sean Penn, who was on Saturday Night Live 20 years ago this Saturday.

"Here's" your damn "post"

True story:

Once maddmom and I were driving to an outlet mall in "Helen" Georgia and we stopped for some food. While ordering we degenerated into a completely inappropriate laughing fit at a sign asking for donations for a child who had lapsed into a "comma". Ever since, I have been unable to "punctuate" effectively, and I've used "impact" as a verb.

the "blog" of "unnecessary" quotation marks

Well, Hell


I wrote a pretty humorous post about how I was explaining my inability to travel to people at work while I was doing my PT today. My PT pretty musch revolves around walking 2 miles a day and working up to 2.5 miles a day, so I should be able to post from my blackberry while I do it.


Gmail on my new BB causes Java to throw an exception, so I lost the whole post.

That's why you are getting this so late.

It's also why this isn't funny.

The other post was...it was funny and completely inapropriate. It had a lot of naughty words like "testes" and "lunchbox" in it.

Now I'm just nasty and bitter and pissed off.

I mean more nasty and bitter and pissed off.

And I didn't get anything done today that I wanted to get done today.

And I'm getting fat. (er) because I can't exercise.

Walking doesn't count as exercise. Look around, who's doing all the walking? Seriously, on any given day, who's walking around your neighborhood, school track, playground, park or office complex?

Fat people.

That's right, I said it, walking makes you fat. I'm fatter already because I've been walking for a week. Fat Fat Fatty McFatterson. The only way I could get fatter is if I wore a pink sweatsuit and carried Heavy Hands.

I want to be able to work out again, and just to be totally honest with you, I didn't really like working out. I liked stopping. It felt great when it was over, I was tired and I slept through the night. That's why I want to work out.

Now I'm limping around the neighborood waving and smiling at all the fat laidies huffing and puffing like their damn heart is going to explode if they have to step up one....more...curb....


With Sharon Stone as Maria...


All Sesame Street all the time here at Like a Train Wreck. I'm here to show the kids why us old guys can still watch it.

See if you can find Ray Parker Jr and Donald "Duck" Dunn. We had it good back then, no Elmo for me thank you.

Brought to you by the letter C and the number 7

Might want to turn it down

Great movie.

This is worth it just for Elmo, about 3/4 of the way through.

You begin to think there's nothing left to read.


That it's all been said before and again. Well, it has. But there's always a chance
Jack has changed the order. And you just have to find out.

Don't you?

I yam I yam I yam a manly manny, manny ,man...


Pay no attention to the post from late last night where someone was crying like a bitch.

'cause it wasn't me.

I would never try and prove my manliness by not taking my pain meds before bed and then end up pacing the house at 2:30am holding my balls, limping, weeping and looking for chocolate.

Not me. I do what my doctor tells me. Doctor says, "take your meds, you'll need every bit of it and maybe then some." I do it.

Or at least I do now. And as far as you know, I always have.

Anyway... we made it through the whole weekend here at the Mcmahonsion without a crisis. No stitches, no car accidents, no emergency surgery, no ER visits, no pregnancy, gunshot wounds, poison ivy or diarrhea.

Peaceful easy feeling.

So today the carpet guys are here replacing the carpet they installed last year. Under warranty. Woot!

Let's make a mess!

Dear blog



Brotherly love



A note from the Beast.
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Humorless Gallows

Last night as things were winding down from dinner and the kids had finished their homework, we had the scare of our lives. I had just hung up the phone with my father talking about my surgery and maddmom and I were in the kitchen talking about our day, which was pretty hectic already, when from nowhere The Beast came screaming in from the back yard, hollering "He's CHOKING! DANGERESQUE IS CHOKING!" I took a look out the back window and maddmom and I hauled ass to the swingset. Dangeresque and The Beast had been twisting each other up in the swing and twirling around, nothing unusual, except this time, Dangeresque had somehow managed to get the string from his sweatshirt hood twisted up in the ropes. The Beast was twisting him up further and when Dangeresques feet were off of the ground the seat of the swing broke.

He hanged himself.

Somehow though Dangeresque managed to grab the ropes and hold himself up while The Beast ran in to get us. I don't think I've ever run that fast. Maddmom grabbed one side of him and I grabbed him from behind and held him up, and somehow out of nowhere The Prince got me a kitchen knife. I cut D-esques sweatshirt off and we got him inside and checked him out, and maddmom bundled him off to the ER because I'm not allowed to drive.

He's OK physically, aside from a neck rash like Clint Eastwood from "Hang 'em High". X-rays checked out, and they even gave us a note for the school explaining the acident. Mentally I think all six of us are still shook up, I've been up all night, every noise from the kid's rooms has me on edge, I gave up sleeping somewhere around 3:30. Even the post-op pain medication can't put me down. The Beast is terrified and had to sleep with Skippy, and the Prince, who came through with the knife, was completely freaked out.

maddmom is completely wiped out, between my surgery and the ER last night, she's been run pretty much ragged and needs a vacation like nobody's business.

I just can't believe how close we came to losing him. I'm still shaking.

He's not going to school today, he and I are recovering. I might never recover from this one.

Back Bacon



This is what the neurosurgeon took out of my back last night. She was justifiably proud and gave me a picture. I feel great and can walk again.

Talk later.
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Baque of the Red Death


It's a herniated disk. Yay!

I'm off to a neurosurgeon today to get it fixed, and that'll be nice. I feel for the poor doctor though. I've got the worst bacne I've ever seen. It's probably from the steroid shots I got last week. At least I'm hoping that's where it came from. It's either that or I'm going through puberty again. Seeing how well that worked out the first time, I'd like to pass. On the other hand, from what I see on the news, seventeen year-old girls are putting a lot more out there than they used to so I got that going for me. Of course, I wasn't married thre first time through, might cramp my style.

So I'm hoping I'll be able to walk again soon, that'll be nice. I honestly haven't been able to stand up over the last couple of days. Friday I had to drive an hour to get to my MRI appointment and I had to pull over three times just to be able to make it to the doctor's. Can't wait to get this fixed.

anyone wants to send me a gift, there's a beautiful TR4a for sale on ebay. That's what I want.


Kill some time in Pepperland


Watch out for the Blue Meanies

I'd kill for a couple of Blue Meanies myself. But maddmom sys I'm not allowed to complain about my back any more.

I saw the best minds of my generation


raised to believe this was a good poem.

Mail your disagreement to nowhere Zen New Jersey on Ambiguous Postcards of Atlantic city Hall.

I don't give a shit, it's bad.

Cross posted to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes

Running out

I have to drive today. I'm miserable with sciatica. Maddmom is in "I told you so" mode. But I can't miss this appointment.

"maddad" doesn't do me justice today. "Rabid" is close.

"Put him out of his misery" is closer.

Crying like a little baby girl is closest.



First Puff Can Turn Kids Into Smokers


I don't believe it.

Here's some science content for you, direct from maddad.

If you try smoking, and you like it...you may continue to smoke.

Where's my fucking grant.

Even better, from the article:

Another factor that appeared to somewhat up the risk for dependence was having seen an ad with Joe Camel -- the Camel cigarette brand's mascot between 1987 and 1997, the study found

Bullshit. Just Bullshit.

If Joe Camel is so damn powerful he should be wall-papered across the Middle East, North Korea and China. If kids today who may have seen a joe Camel ad back before 1997 increase their risk of becoming dependant on tobacco, we should be able to convince the nutters to stop blowing shit up.

Nice Day



At the
Chautauqua. Which is an old Indain word meaning "full employment for ocarina playing hippies".

It was very crowded this year, but the weather was beautiful and some of the art on display was very nice and a good time was had by all. Even me.

I've been taking this medicine stuff for my back since the DMV incident and for a while there I thought it was helping, but as I started lowering the dose (which was neccessary or I'd either eat myself to death or commit multiple homicide), I started noticing more and more pain. And today, well, it's just like I ain't ever eatin' no pills a'tall!

I want an Oxycontin and Tequila drip. Or I swear I'll shoot someone.
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