AdPock

Right there and then -- perhaps because it was his birthday and he was now old enough to be President -- Tom decided he would no longer care what anyone else thought of him. From now on, he would just use the goddamned kiddie urinal instead of standing on his tiptoes, trying to look like an actual man.

Toby liked to start his day with a game of solitaire. It got the mind moving while his bowels did the same. And what else was there to do once he'd finished scanning five self-allotted minutes of Facebook? Unfortunately, Toby also allotted himself exactly one solitaire victory. How else could he move on with the day if the game didn't finish to its proper completion? Unfortunately, this day, Toby never won that game. So he never left the toilet. 

Harry understood that he was the only one getting in the way of his own happiness, but he was a big scary guy with a black belt and a temper.

AdPock had been ignoring Missy since they first started dating. But now that they were married, she deeply resented it.

Bob was way into the communal concept of getting high at 4:20, but if he waited till then, he'd waste half his day.

60 seconds, motherfuckers. Just hang on for 60-fucking ticks. Christ, this is dick-sandwich time. Stop it. No bad thoughts. No bad juju, not now. Now is when the Fish need you most. It's now time. Hold the line. "Hold it. Right here, baby! We hold them here and it's ball game! Sweet Jesus who art in heaven, please let them hold it right here, baby!" "Does baby Jesus root for the Dolphins too, Daddy?" Asks Charlene, the yelling guy's precocious 6-year-old daughter. "Ask your mother, Char, Daddy's focusing...” The Dolphins don't hold. "Fuck!" First down Bills. Down to the Dolphins 34. But the Fins are still up by 4. "Right now, fuckers. Just keep 'em out the endzone, Fish! Right now!" "That's a quarter, daddy. Actually, two." "Charlene! Not now! And there's no charges during Dolphins games, right?" Now is when they always fucking take that big fucking bi...

My wife is trying to train me to share restaurant food with her. She wants us to start splitting everything, apparently in some sort of fairytale effort to make me eat less, save money, shed cholesterol, and learn about the widespread benefits of sharing in general. She formally proposed the idea about three weeks back. “Honey,” she said while looking over the menu. “Let’s split a salad, an app, and an entrée?” Then she got all excited, like it was the best idea she ever had: “Yep! That’s the plan.  Every  time we go out!” At first, per usual, I thought she was out of her mind, and told her so. Splitting meals? What kind of a man splits a meal? Not a proud American man like myself. I ordered a steak. And I ate the fat. Obviously, that wouldn’t be the last time we talked Sharing. Oh no, it’s in her head now. But she’s wizened up since that first attempt. She’s refined her strategy. She’s put those other sharing benefits on the backburner and placed all her guilt-laden ...