Monday is Manday: Smoke 'em if you Got 'em.

Saturday. A sacred day for men. We cut the grass. We work on our car. We drink beer.

We also smoke cigars. I spent Saturday sunk into my favorite fleet of leather armchairs with my knuckles wrapped around an Uzi.

In this specific incident, that Uzi is a cigar named after the Public Enemy song, is the private blend of Drew Estate owner and cigar hero, Jonathan Drew.



If you smoke, you know Drew Estate. They're bringing swagger back to cigars the Goorin (more on them later) is bringing some panache back to fedoras. Here's how the Stogie Guys describe the guts of an Uzi:

Uzi (or MUWAT, as Jonathan Drew of Drew Estate calls it) is made at the Joya de Nicaragua factory with leaf mostly from Drew Estate, including a San Andreas maduro capa wrapper, Connecticut capote binder, and Brazillian mata fina filler. Also used as filler is Nicaraguan leaf from Joya de Nicaragua’s tobacco stocks.

I know this: the guys around me were sort of jealous and all walked into the humidor and bought their own.

 

Go the F*ck to this page and read my article on Go the F*ck to Sleep!

As I ramp up to dominating the North California parent blog landscape, I've been summoned to review Adam Mansbach's seminal title, Go the F*uck to Sleep.

 

Please visit the link to read my review and please comment. Thanks.

13 Things about Sasquatch I Wish Were Myths

 

1. Aspires to be as swift as a three-toed tree sloth

2. Poops footballs

3. Openly asscrackian

4. Constantly under attack from his own hair

5. Parks his shoes in the foyer instead of the garage where they would fit

6. Watches Intervention and Hoarders like he's taking notes

7. Say what?—chicken butt! joke is turning me psychotic

8. Thinks vegetarianism is all grilled cheese sandwiches and pizza-not actual vegetables

9. Believes the internet is an encyclopedia

10. Thinks he's irish

11. Accomplished Loomer

12. The farting. Must. Stop.

13. Keeps patting me on the head, saying: "you're adorable"

 

Halloween Post Mortem

As always, word of our neighborhood's candycentricness on Halloween has spread to the far boroughs. Swarms of children and their parents thronged our sidewalks and scaled our porches to get candy and we obliged. [My Attorney] actually went into Candy Panic when we looked out our front door and realized there was a line. 

She shot out to the store to front load a metric ton of Mars Bars into the trunk and race back in time to find out the mass candygank had crested and we were left with only our darkened doorsteps and a buttload of candy.

Until 10pm.

Then three kids hit the bell. The dogs go ape. Tweens and their keeper, a kid with hair on his hands and a watch. Barely even in costume. I tried to deny but he already had a fist full of Reeses and was backing away laughing.

A word to future Trick-or-Treaters (TOTs). The following rules will heretofore apply to the House of G:

• If you're texting while I'm putting candy in your bag, bear in mind I keep a secret stash of dog-licked all-natural black licorice under the regular candy and while you're LOLling I'll be putting it into your bag.


• If you ask for candy and you're still wearing your school uniform you get Ramen.


• If you have body hair, you get Ramen.


• Mr. "I'm a werewolf"/"You're not even dressed up."/"Full moon is next week," you get Ramen


• The Papa Joe's pizza delivery guy is not in costume, he's bringing me dinner. Get out of his way.


• "I'm a Republican/Democrat/Occupy Wall Streeter" is not a costume. Ramen.


• Any adult dressed as Wilford Brimley gets beer.


• All of my candy is unwrapped then pre-licked by the dogs.


• Ramen.

Please see my first post as Kitchen Bitch

Go here and like it on Facebook like your life depends on it!

The Long Con

Sasquatch: Dad, can I have $20?

Dad: I gave you money this morning.

Squatch: Dad, that was yesterday.

Dad: Oh. Yeah. Wow. Summer, right?

Squatch: It's cool. You've been working a lot.

Dad: Yeah, thanks. . .wait a minute.

Squatch: Working on . . . on getting old.

Dad: Gimme a second (dials mom).

[My Attorney] What?

Squatch: EVERYTHING HE SAYS IS A LIE!

Dad: never mind (click).

Squatch: Ten bucks for trying?

Dad: Seriously?

Squatch: Five for bravery?

Dad: You've got balls, kid (hands him a fiver).

Squatch opens his wallet to put in the five bucks–it's full of money.

Dad: What the hell?!

Squatch: What?

Dad: How much money is that?

Squatch: A buck twenty.

Dad: WHY ARE YOU HITTING ME UP FOR CASH?

Squatch: I need it for lunch!

Dad: [cursing]

Squatch: Dad, I'm not spending MY money on food.

Dad: [cursing]

Squatch: I mean, you guys are my providers, right?

Dad: What the hell am I going to eat?

Squatch: (pulls a 20 out of his billfold) Here, buy yourself something nice.

Dad: [explodes]

That little ^%$#%#$%!

He got me:

Son: Dad, did you see that evil clown that hides from ugly people?

Me: No . . .

Son: [Grin.]

Dad: [Facepalm.]