Friday, September 29, 2006


i just heard the new single by the rockstar: supernova band, and i've just gotta say: i would rather cut off my nuts than hear it again. yeah, it was that good.

apparently, it is not only illegal to smoke inside any public places in washington, but i guess it must be illegal to smoke within the confines of your car. why? you ask, as well you should. i do a hell of a lot of driving around the greater lakewood area, and i've noticed a few things about drivers. someone will always run the red light. always. people with a handicap symbol on their license plate seem to on the average drive 5 under the speed limit. which is not as bad as people with bush '04 bumper stickers, who drive about 10 under, in giant suv's, and seem to think they own not only the whole fucking road, but everything within a ten-mile radius as well (and maybe they do.) but i have also noticed a new trend of driving with your window rolled down and your arm jutting forth, fingers clamped on a cancer stick. the arm is only brought in to take quick, furtive drags on the cigarette, and then is ejected rapidly from the car again.

nesquik powder seems specifically designed to clump up and glom up when placed in milk. is this a bad thing? fuck no! i used to put about 4 tablespoons of nesquik in my glass of milk, give it one quick stir, eat the clumps and residual sludge on the bottom with a spoon, and then chug the brown milk. can't wait to show this method to my kids.

and yes, i am sure a few of you out there are "ew"-ing as you read that. but you know what? childhood happiness is lots of things. buttered toast dipped in milk, watching ants, blowing all the seeds off of a dandelion, and eating clumped up nesquik sludge. some of those things should be passed on from parent to child, and by christ, in my opinion, this is one of those things.

it seems that myself and many of my friends, and even my mother, agree you can't be a parent without screwing your kids up. so, when my boys are talking to the therapist, i hope they will say at some point, "yeah, dad was a rat bastard, but damn, could he make some yummy chocolate milk."

and after a break for belly zerberts all around, i think it is quite possible that the yummy chocolate milk might be more prominent in their minds than daddy being a rat bastard.

darth sardonic

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

you know i adore you

2006 has been an insanely rough year on the sardonic household, and each time we surmount some pain in the ass, a new, bigger one seems to yawn before us.

at some ungodly hour of the morning, i was having this dream that i was being besieged by these horrible creatures with big, red, blazing eyes. i was staring right into them. deep, evil, dangerous eyes. i opened my own sleepy eyes to find myself staring straight into a pair of intense brown orbs.

i did what any red-blooded fella would do, jerked up in bed and screamed. which, of course, made no. 2 cry, all he was doing was intently staring daddy down while he slept. nothin wrong with that, right? the wife shrieked. once she knew what had happened, and no. 2 was calmed down and safely back in bed, she, like any supportive wife, laughed. and laughed. and she might've cried a bit, she laughed so much.

i think i just grumbled.

i hate stupid people. but what i really hate is stupid people that are proud of their stupidity and have the sheer unadulterated audacity to suggest that all should adopt stupidity as a lifestyle.

our dippy twat of an ex-landlady recently sent us a court-ordered check for monies we felt were unfairly taken from our deposit upon vacating the premises. i say unfairly because she took out upwards of $500 from our deposit, but when asked to present receipts to show the work done and materials purchased, they only added up to around $400. and a few receipts were obviously cranked out on a five-year-old computer by someone with only a vague understanding of how Word works. i could've produced, after a mere 15 minutes of deliberation, much more professional letterhead on my dell.

so obviously she is already attempting shady dealings. the court seemed to agree, since they ordered her to give us the money based solely on copies of the receipts and a written explanation for why we were seeking damages. it wasn't like people's court. there were no witnesses, no one stood before a judge and explained anything or called anyone names (i am doing that now).

but she felt the need to include with the check a letter basically telling us that we should be more like her and "take the high road." ummmmm, whatever you dumb snatch. she also said that if she wanted she could counter-sue. my first thought was, "oh please do, cause i really don't feel we took you for all the money you owe us, and would like another chance at getting some more." but it would be a "waste" of her time and money. ummm, yeah, you didn't even stand in front of the judge and he or she decided you owe us money, get your underhanded ass up in front of the robes and see how things go.

dumb twat.

on a slightly happier note, i recently bought a pair of pants with a 34 waist. and wore them. for several hours. and again later.

i am finally nearing my goals as far as how much mass i lug around with me (or the lack thereof), and i am quite happy about it. and pass that happiness along to you, the beloved reader.


darth sardonic

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

stupid titles, i can never come up with a good one...

last weekend we went to ikea, to buy a bed frame and a cd tower.

this is not overly significant, except that i have begun closing on friday nights at work to recoup some losses.

this is not overly significant, except that i don't even get out of work until 1:00 or 1:30 am.

this is not overly significant, except that i tend to be extremely tired and grouchy the next day.

now back to our regularly scheduled program:

as i said, we went to ikea to buy a bed frame and a cd tower.

ikea is easily 45 mins. to an hour away from where we live. we go, we wander through aisles of ultramodern sparse and spartan furniture that my wife and i just dig. we rub shoulders with seattle's elite. (i'm laughing here cause ikea perpetually seems to be full of people who are full of themselves.)

we pick up the bed frame. we bring it home. i begin assembling it.

at first, i let the kids help me. we laugh, we joke. i let them turn the wrench.

then my sleep deprivation combined with the increasingly aggravating nature of the completely wordless assembly instructions began to take its toll. for their own safety, i chased out the other family members.

then i get to the part of the assembly that i had been dreading: insert cylindrical metal piece with two perpendicular screw holes into opening in wooden slat. while battling gravity, and cursing heavily, maintain directional integrity of metal cylinder while holding two wooden pieces together and inserting screw with futile hopes that all lines up so screw may be properly inserted. sacrifice chicken. pray to umbooku. beg and plead that magic will somehow work and this time all points will align. it is easier to align all nine (or is it eight now? i heard some gossip that we are no longer accepting pluto as a planet. frankly, the very thought of pluto not being included seems to tear asunder the very foundation of my belief system. i feel like i have been lied to all these years. by astronomers, no less. anyways.) planets than to align these three points. and you have to do it 7 more times!!

as i fumble with this, sweaty and bedraggled, i imagine tall nordic workers laughing in uproarious manner at the yank as he battles a seemingly simple task.

like a bubble rising in a bottle of maple syrup, a thought surfaces in my mind:

something is not right here.

i can't figure out what it is, entrenched as i am in what is sure to be a duel to the death with white birch and polished metal.

oh well, back to the task at hand.

again, another maple syrup bubble:

we are missing the slats that cross from one arm of the frame to the other and upon which the mattress is designed to sit.

this particular murky bubble surfaces at about 4:30.

as i continue to struggle with the frame, and bellow at my kids in a voice that i am sure resembles the moo of a cow now, the wife hurtles north back to the store to find out that the slats are sold seperately, because if you have a box spring (which we do not), the slats aren't necessary. however, nowhere was this posted so the more plebeian, middle crust shopper might know, and purchase said slats before returning home and assembling said bed frame. apparently the richer people who usually frequent ikea just know.

so the ring of tall, blonde, blue-eyed figures laugh even harder now, pointing at me and slapping their knees or each others' backs at just how clever they are.

the wife arrives home, the slats are laid down in the now completed bed frame. the mattress is placed, the already-asleep occupant intact, and a gin and tonic is consumed.

and all is well with the universe.

darth sardonic

Thursday, September 14, 2006

do we really care?

i'm tired of hearing the name, tom cruise. i mean, i am tired of hearing brittney spears, paris hilton, lindsey lohan, and a passel of others. but i've got a big "who the sweet cherry fuckstain cares?!?" for tom cruise.

did you see the clip of the prankster who squirted water in his face? if it had been me, i'da been pissed i hadn't thought of it. if i called the character back, it woulda been to clap him on the back, not level a lecture at him.

tom cruise isn't a scientologist, he's a member of the holy church of tom-cruise's-shit-don't-stink-and-he-is-god. and everyone has been running around kissing his ass for so long now that he is completely convinced that he could do no wrong.

so i'm pleased that someone (in the form of paramount) finally said, "uh, listen, pal. you better get back to your roots cause you've forgotten what it's like to be human. and as a result of this bit of amnesia, you are not good for us."

unfortunately, members of the aforementioned church have to stroke tom's overinflated ego by helping him get his own private production company. "oh, yeah, tom, everything you do is gold, baby. don't listen to paramount."

well, he can join forces with vin diesel in the next mission: impossible movie.


darth sardonic

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

the battle of the boxes

yes, my beloved nonexistant readers, who i pummel incessantly with lyrical shit that mattereth not to anyone anywhere, we are winning the battle of the boxes.

the dead and wounded lay discarded in the carport. we have taken the bedrooms, with only one or two hangers-on. we have completely darthicized the bathrooms, no trace of the boxes remain. the living room is ours. the kitchen was taken with barely a fight. and we slowly eat our way into their reinforcements in the dining room and shed.

oh yes, my droogs and only friends, this is some kind of sardonic record. never in the history of my family have we managed to empty out boxes and make our house feel like a home so rapidly.

everything else in life toddles along more or less on an even keel.

so more bulletins as news warrants.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

we have a living room

i hate moving. in case you missed it, i fucking hate moving.

but all our stuff is out of the old house and sorta into the new.

a few interesting facts:

no. 1 can say "mommy" 398,764,593,217.64 times in the time it takes one to pack 14 boxes.

if you say you are going to get an early start, it means before noon. if you're lucky.

goodwill, though a non profit, charitable organization, will not take anything "worn, dirty, or needing to be put together." now, my beloved nonexistant reader, i am not saying that what we were getting rid of was trash that we were trying to pawn off on goodwill. it was nice stuff. a decent sleeper sofa and loveseat, sundry clothes, a couple beds. but whatever we had was apparently not good enough for goodwill. who knew? fuckers.

there is always at least one thing that you were gonna get rid of that your kids are going to discover and rescue and for which they will manage to convince the governor to allow a stay of execution.

nothing tastes better after a long day of moving than an amaretto sour. unless it's maybe two amaretto sours. ok, maybe three. or, err, well, whatever.

you will forget the day that the internet is being turned off. you will curse the computer. you will call the provider, and find out you are an idiot.

you will move heavy shit, beat yourself up, keep going and going till you think you cannot go anymore. then you will get up the next morning, pop advil, and tackle it again until you are sure that even your very soul aches. the next day, you will painfully crawl from bed, insist you are unable to even stand upright, drink some coffee, take a million advil, and do it all again. at some point, the ache becomes the norm and you get your second wind.

and, o beloved and disappointed nonexistant reader, i am not that heartless. though many would beg to differ. i am not saying that steve irwin's passing is funny. yes, i know, i caught hell for my last post. from many sources. yes, i am a prick. no, i am not seeking help. but i am sorry.

and credit where credit is due, steve irwin was one brave, and yet caring and gentle individual, and i have always been amazed and in awe of what he could do.

so while it struck me a bit funny how he went, and i acted way too fucking fast on that impulse instead of taking some time to reflect, the man has always held my respect.

i hope that does the man some justice.

darth sardonic

Monday, September 04, 2006


i just found out that steve irwin, aka the crocodile hunter, died from a wild animal attack while filming a tv show.

wow. really? never saw that one coming.

more news on our move and aching muscles and how many times no. 1 can say "mommy" and "skywalker" in a 24-hour period and why goodwill should change their name to badwill to come.

darth sardonic