Holiday Egg Blog: A Christmas Shit List

Never ever would I complain about a gift I received on Christmas. In fact, even if something such as a bumble bee sweater or steak flavored edible underwear is mind scrambling dreadful, I’ll still prance around with it on in front of the giver with a phony smile and even suggest they buy the same items for all of their family members the following year. That way, after those family members express displeasure, I look far more impressive as an individual. However, on that notation, I can make fun of the gifts I provide for others during the Ho Ho Holiday season. This year has proven to be no exception.  I purchased a gift for Britt, my new wife, which was exceptionally shitty.

The Turbo Homedics Sound Machine (THSM) seemed not only perfect, but a gift my new bride would receive solidifying our bliss.  This was a surprise gift; one costing nine dollars and zero sense.

By sound machine, allow me to explain.  The THSM is a device which does not provide music, rather sounds referred to as “white sounds” meaning (to an idiot like me) soothing sounds placing a person in a state of comfort when otherwise pissed because they can’t get to sleep.  There are four functions on this concraption: rain (we don’t hear enough of that in Seattle) brook (that only makes me think of trout) Ocean (great whites) Dockside (boats and beer….a great combination).  These sounds, however, when concerning the THSM, are like rear view mirrors; sounds on the THSM are much larger and more offensive than you should hear.  I’ll present some examples of how these sounds would be interpreted by the common man, woman, child, or derelict:  Rain (pipes bursting)  Ocean (Hi Fi Radio Static)  Dockside (competitive snoring)  Brook (drive by shooting).  After a democratic vote with Britt, we left these others off the list which certainly should be recognized: Screaming Baby, Ambulance, Apartment Neighbor’s Domestic Violence, A Dentist’s Drill, Anything sung by Ricky Martin or Michael Bolton, and last but not least,  Elderly female Asians speaking in their native language just prior to singing Karaoke….(no offense to my relatives Simon, Caitlin and Minh………my sister, Anne, persuaded me to write this one).

Ingenuity has never been one of my strong boots, but I have discovered a way to utilize this ridiculous item as opposed to taking it back to Bed Bath and Befraud.  (I lost my receipt).  This last explanation is not for the faint of fart.  Britt and I live in an 800 square foot house.  Much to Britt’s dismay, I refer to it as the “Exorcist House” because first time visitors who wish to receive the grand tour can stand in the middle of the living room, turn their head 360 degrees and see the entire bumble home…..the master bedroom, the guestroom, the kitchen, the one bathroom, the cat box, the front and back yard and our weird neighbors.  My elongated point:  We have a tiny house so when I go to the bathroom to complete my morning journey, (release the hound) noises extracted from my body are more embarrassing than they should seem.  As newlyweds, I still feel uncomfortable making these sounds and can sometimes be found on the lawn because, as most of my friends know, I am a timid cuss.  How did I alleviate this issue?  Answer?  The Turbo Homedics Sound Machine!!  It sure was a shitty present, but she’d prefer gunfire and excessive radio static to what comes out of my butt.  Now I just need to find a fan the size of a walrus.

Happy Holidays!  I hope you gave something to someone that was worth a shit.

origin of a wild man

Perhaps I should briefly discuss, describe, complain or swing regarding the purpose of the name of this website. Swing Like a Wild Man was created by my brother, Tom, yet provoked by my brother, Greg.  Physically, I applied it.  Verbally, Tom patented it. I believe Webster’s official definition of it is: when frustrated over a game, Monopoly, backgammon or a person (such as Reggie Jackson),  being picked on or just generally pissed, one must throw punches which may result in hitting a brother, one of his friends, another brother or the Comcast guy outside trying to fix your cable.

Being the youngest of 13, six girls and seven boys, it was critical to defend yourself.   They were all tough, mostly the girls, with the exception of Steve, a freak and fruitloop of nature.

I was both the youngest and smallest.  If you can imagine a raccoon in a garage faced by two dogs, that was me.  They were going to beat me and provide necessary concussions, but they weren’t going to have fun doing it.  Tom and Greg, my oldest and closest brothers picked on me a bit, but since I couldn’t beat them up, I beat up their friends.  That usually wasn’t a problem.  I merely was forced to swing like a wild man.  I was an extremely crude version of one of my idols, Sugar Ray Leonard.

Reasons for swinging and crying like a wild man:  The LA Dodgers losing to the Atlanta Braves on a grand slam in the 9th inning while your brothers taunt you concerning the loss…the Seattle Seahawks, losing on a Sunday after a pious day in church………Greg calling me “toehead” for the 8 billionth time……..someone drinking my glass of eggnog on New Year’s Eve……and eventually, a blackjack dealer uttering the words, “Blackjack” just before I thought I could afford to buy my mom a pony.

More swinging later……….the dogs are pissing me off.

PMS.  Jack is currently shitting on the lawn.  That will make my wife happy.  After picking it up and tossing it in the neighbor’s lawn, it will make me happy.

Rock fights

I’m wondering if Brian Boitano was ever involved in a rock fight? Even as males, my brothers and I ultimately said, “okay, let’s digress to rotten potatoes.” Personally, I preferred the rocks. They hurt, but didn’t smell nearly as awful, and considering my gag reflex, the rocks bouncing off my skull almost seemed affable.

More to come…..