In Sickness and in Health

Yesterday, I posted the article about having a large family on another page. I got this response from another guy:

“I was 1 of six and my wife was one of six and we had six ourselves. We also raised a niece and nephew for much of their childhoods as well so generally we had 7 to 8 children living in our home at any given time. Definitely a challenge, especially considering my wife is paraplegic and spent nearly half of her time in the hospital dealing with bone infection. I can remember back to a time when I had four children in diapers at the same time and a wife on bed rest for a year healing from a surgery. Try getting stuff done around the farm while watching 5 kids, definitely an interesting feat.

As for sleep, give it up, never going to happen, I would get the wife’s bandaging done around 2 to 3 am and then be up at 6 am to get the two older boys ready for school and haul them 12 miles to school. I would get back home just in time for the younger to start waking and then I would bath them dress them and feed them breakfast along with the wife. Then off to work hauling all of them around with me… I was doing well to get 3 to 4 hours of sleep a night. Luckily I have trouble sleeping so even under ordinary circumstances I could never sleep more than 4 1/2 hrs a night, so 3 to 4 wasn’t all that hard on me thankfully.

To which I reply:

“Sounds tough, your wife get sick?”

He responded:

“She was in auto accident in 2000 which left her paraplegic and with infection in some of her bone tissue. Over the years the infection in the bone has worsened to include 8 resistant bacteria which makes it tough to deal with. She lost her right leg 4 years ago due to the bone infection and at this point they refuse to do any surgeries on her anymore due to it being doubtful that she could ever heal up from them. Crazy enough though, we have had her on bed rest for a bit over a year and half and she somehow has managed to grow tissue over the exposed pelvis bone and is slowly healing again. She has lived for more 12 years longer than they originally gave her as an estimate. We are hoping she will still be around when the youngest is 18 and maybe even to see some or all of our children married and maybe even a grand child or two.”


Dang, sounds rough. The guy must really love his wife and kids to not just jump ship.

Consider this example, and then think of half of all marriages ending in divorce, most of which involve kids. These divorces are typically “I fell out of love”, or “irreconcilable differences” in which 70-75% are initiated by the woman (or man for the remainder if he knows it is a forgone conclusion). Commitment is a real thing, for men. And women wonder why guys are reluctant to commit to marriage. The reason is commitment is commitment, not to be taken lightly.

Don’t Overgift This Christmas

We all heard it “you’ll spoil your kids”. But have you ever thought that you are doing the same thing if you overgift your wife?  While riding into work this morning, I found myself listening to a jewelry ad. They were telling you to buy an expensive ring “because she is worth it”. Guys, you are worth it to not piss away hundreds of dollars so your wife has this frivolous status symbol.  Of course you don’t need to be a cheapskate, but do not saddle yourself with debt for some frivolous, unappreciated things that do little more than take up space in your garage or closet. There is a line between being the provider, and the used workhorse. Figure out what that line is, and don’t cross it. You may actually find yourself having less than diminishing returns, and actually having negative results.

Early Crude Music

You think your mom or grandma were these innocent angels back in the day? This is a song from 1929. I am amazed how much the wool was pulled over my eyes when I was younger, thinking that this was the first generation to have real depravity.  Nope, the only difference now is with increased communication, secrets cannot be hidden as well.

Remove Responsibility from the Irresponsible

“No worries, we will take care of your job for you.”

One need not to look very hard at the statistics of children who are raised by single mothers to know this is a bad idea. No-fault divorce or unmarried women having children has caused a huge population of children growing up with a much greater propensity to drug abuse, suicide, and other social ills. Through no fault of their own, these children are more likely doomed to poverty and a self perpetuating propensity to broken homes.

As such, we as a society need to treat this child abuse and neglect as what it is, abuse. These abusive mothers are unfit to rear their children. A single mother who makes the choice to have children in these circumstances has proven herself mentally deficient to care for these children by the very fact that she thinks so little of them as to deny them a father.

Heterosexual married couples who adopt children have kids who are fit for society. For the most part, adopted children have the same likelihood of becoming productive members of society as do children born into nuclear families.

In light of these facts, I am proposing a solution to the scourge of unfit mothers and bastards in society. Continue to allow no-fault divorce, but declare the spouse who filed for divorce as unfit to raise their children. The children will be put up for adoption to a couple who is better suited to raise them. Same with single mothers, those children will become wards of the state and put up for adoption to loving couples. Also, eliminate alimony to the party filing for no-fault divorce.

You may ask, where will the couples come from that are willing to adopt these children. I have a solution for that. Those abusive mothers who voluntarily cut the fathers out of their own children’s lives shall pay child support to the adopting couples.  Instead of shouldering the cost of adoption on the couple, have the unfit parent pay child support if they are the one who filed for the divorce, or if she decided to have a child on her own (given that she has the choice to have an abortion, and has the option of birth control) lay the financial burden on her. If she does not pay child support, put her in jail.

Sound harsh? Well, that is roughly the deal a father has when through no fault of his own is saddled with a divorce or she decides to have a child out of wedlock. Only difference is, she is the one who decides to put herself in this situation. No longer would she be burdened with the responsibility of raising a child on her own, only the financial cost of raising that child.

Doing this would do a few things. She would think twice about going after the “bad boy” and riding the carousel. Women would again seek after the good men who may be less attractive. Shouldering the financial onto the single mothers would incentivize more couples to adopt children. These children would be in more stable homes, and eventually the number of welfare cases would decrease. Men would be more likely to marry if they are not the only ones shouldering the financial burden caused by divorce. This may increase the number of false allegations of abuse leading up to a divorce, but that too can be handled by real jail time for perjury.

When I first thought of this piece, I was thinking of putting this out as satire, but the more thought I put into it, the more sense it makes.


This site has changed and I have to comment on it.  It USED to be a place where Godfather quotes, Natalie Portman (yumm),  Gary Oldman (who?) and all the other hehs of the interwebs were had.

Now, I must say, that we have won the battle but lost the war.  We are all in fact, MINOs.  Yes, furthermore, I’ve found out recently that we are all also, socialist for not participating in a “pay to circlejerk” ponzi scheme.

I used to have high hopes for this site, but we went one potato too far.



Time to take your balls and go home


The Value of a Moose Turd Pie

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of the Moose Turd Pie, it is the act of being purposely inept at some activity so that you don’t have to do it. When I was a little kid, my dad was a horrible cook. If my mom was gone, we would have toast or gummy mac-n-cheese. At 8 years old, I could cook better than my dad. However, my mom was fairly decent. Consequently, she would do 90% of the cooking while my dad would do the bulk of the work on the farm.

Now, my parents are getting old, and my mom is getting rather geriatric. She does what she can in her wheelchair, but she is unable to do much of the cooking or cleaning. My dad has stepped up to the plate, and it appears that he has become a decent cook in the last decade.

Thinking back to my grandparents, I noticed the same pattern. My grandpa worked on the outside stuff, but fumbled around with anything in the house until the point came that my grandma physically could not do it anymore.

Our Moose Turd Pies

I hate doing laundry, when we met in college, I would just wash and stuff the clothes in the drawers. I wouldn’t bother sorting, just dump the basket into my dresser and pick out the socks, or shirts out of the pile as I needed. My wife, on the other hand, spends time hanging up the closes, folding, ironing and the whole bit. I know how to do all that, but I couldn’t be bothered. I will help fold, but never along the right creases or whatever.

On the other hand, my wife abhors working on cars. Something as simple as changing a tire is beyond her, so she will leave it up to me. I know she could if her life depended on it, but I go ahead and do it. I like my tools to be put back where they go, and I like to know the nuts are on tight.


On the outset, these may seem like a negative behavior. I could take the time to do the laundry, but instead, I am “dependent” on her to make sure I have underwear in my drawer. She is “dependent” on me to make sure the car is running. In essence, we are working together as a team in this journey of life.

STORIES OF MY EX-WIFE – PART 1* – Jammyjaybird

Picture it: Tall, sexy, legs up to her neck, an apple bottom that swings a bit too sexily when she walks in her designer jeans. Twenty-three-year-old American girl with a big mane of blonde hair, and she has a swagger, like she knows that everybody is always looking at her. She’s right. They are.

On our first date, two other guys try hitting on her when I go to the bathroom. I can’t blame them.

Second date, we bang for close to three hours. She’s on the pill and we go bareback and she’s incredible. After, I pass out and she cooks me fresh pasta. This can’t be real. She’s hot and she bangs like a minx and she cooks for her man.

But she’s blonde, and I like brunettes. Still, who am I to complain about this gift that has fallen into my lap.

I find out that she’s funny too, which is rare in a woman. She literally makes me laugh out loud—hard. How many women you know can make you do that? Today, I understand the humor was just a mask for her aggressive nature. But I didn’t know that then.

She works part-time near my apartment. Couple times a week, at lunchtime, she comes over for food and sex, in whatever order. One day, she says that we ought to be exclusive. I quickly agree. In my mind, it’s never going to get better than this. I’m happy. She’s happy. After almost a decade of dating—I’m thirty—the world feels reborn.

After a month, she goes home to visit her mother and father. I’m going to marry this guy, she tells them. I find this out years later.

We become inseparable. She’s a highly emotional person, reactive, full of laughter. This is not my usual cup of tea, but for some reason—that starts with ‘p’ and ends in ‘y’—I decide to strap myself to this rocket and see how far it goes. I’m entranced by her personality, her body, everything.

Halloween comes. I dress as Hugh Hefner, she’s a Playboy bunny. Bustier, fishnets, heels, pink ears. Out on the streets that night, we draw a thousand stares. Aw, who am I kidding—they were all looking at her.

We buy tickets for a journey to South America. Two weeks, no tour guide, just us and our combined weak-ass Spanish. We barely have the money to afford it but who cares. It feels like the world is our oyster. Photos from that trip still pluck a heartstring. It’s the best memory I have of our time together.

I know your next question. If she’s your ex-wife, weren’t there warnings signs?

Of course there were.



  1. The tramp stamp on her lower back. What a classic tell. I knew what it meant then, just like I know what it means now. I just didn’t care.
  2. The screaming fits when her desires cannot be fulfilled. On a couple occasions, I have to hold the phone away from my ear, the bellowing is so loud. My justification: It’s a phase. She’s seven years younger than me. She’ll grow out of it.
  3. The closet crammed full of designer shoes and designer clothing. On a part-time fifteen-dollar-an-hour wage.
  4. The Sex and the City ringtone on her phone. That damn song haunts me to this day.
  5. The way she walks a step ahead of me. She will not let me lead.

I knew these were red flags. I didn’t care. Here’s why.

  1. Her parents had a strong marriage. High school sweethearts, fun people, very loving.
  2. Her parents also liked me. A lot. Her dad gets drunk and falls off a roof into a pool the first night that I meet him. The second night I meet him, he tells me he loves me after I go around finishing other people’s cocktails in a tiki bar. Honestly, I loved that guy too. Everybody does. He is the life of the party, a larger than life character, an absolute force of nature. The type of guy that they will tell stories about for decades after he passes away. You know the type.
  3. I have total confidence in my ability to overcome relationship problems through the force of my own will.
  4. She’s smart. I assume I can reason with a smart person. (You know what they say about assumptions.)

I don’t remember how this happened in my head, but a year and a half of this rapturous passion goes by, without dimming, and I decide it’s time that we should get married. I search for and find a travel package – only $1000 for a winter trip for two to Vienna, Austria, plane and hotel included. She’d always wanted to go there.

I suggest the vacation. She gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. I purchase the package, then give her a card a day later. Inside I write: Do you know what’s going to happen in Vienna? As she reads it, I hold her eyes.

“What’s going to happen?” she says.

“Let’s go shopping this Saturday,” I reply.

Now she’s all excited. “For what?”

“You know for what,” I say.

Her eyes light up. She’s running around like a beautiful but overstimulated rat. That Saturday, with her at my side, I purchase the seven-thousand-dollar ring of her dreams, on credit. That was two months’ salary, more or less, at that time. Yes, I followed the classic advice for chumps, not knowing any better. (Today? It would be an eighty-dollar ring, or maybe just a kiss on the cheek.)

Interesting thing, though, was that I was the driver of the engagement and the marriage, not her. This is not typical. Usually men have to be dragged into a relationship. I guess it shows how certain I was that we were meant to be together.

Regardless, when we come back from Vienna with a pair of rings on our fingers, I have no idea of the absolute shitshow that was about to enter my life. And she is going to be the star.


Coming up in Part 2: How it all went bad.


*some identifying details have been changed.

  • Jammyjaybird