Author: Chris

A new child means new material, I’ve been told.  Here’s some quick ones I thought of!

Now that I have two kids, I’ll finally have more time to write new jokes!  Haha, that’s a joke within a joke.  It took me four days to type that without interruptions.

My son’s circumcision was supposed to take an hour; it took two and a half.  Guess my son takes after dad, huh?  (Points down at groin, raises eyebrows.  Someone from crowd yells, It means you’re not the real father, needledick!)  OK, maybe skip that joke.  Moving on.

My wife and I discussed briefly if we are stopping at two kids, but the truth is I slammed my balls in the car door 17 times when I found we were having a boy and I have met my one of each quota.

I found boys are different from girls in that they pee all over everything if you leave that thing uncovered.  So far, I’ve enjoyed because he’s got me once, but my wife and mother in law about seven times.  That’s a tolerable laugh ratio to getting peed on ratio.

I can’t wait to teach my son manly things, as soon as I figure out what they are.

I’m going to make sure my son knows how to throw a baseball…or just coach the team so he can start.

My son will be taught the best way to handle bullies is to tell his two and half year old sister that wears shoes meant for four and five year olds so she can kick their asses.  Literally at the same time, no matter how many, her feet are freaking enormous.

I don’t know what age I’ll have to have the “sex talk” with my kids, but both are under three and they have been told to leave my liquor and beer alone upon penalty of excommunication from the family.

Well, that’s all I have.  I may use two of these, if I can remember them a week from now.  Thanks sleep deprivation!

We (my wife, daughter and I – no word from the dog or cat yet) would like to introduce baby #2 in the Coen hacienda, Jackson Grant Coen.  We are very excited and very tired.  Really tired, but my hulk baby son is healthy and running the show.

We actually didn’t wait around this time, my daughter was almost a week late and my wife likes being pregnant about as much as I like being sober, so she was induced early this time.  For anyone without kids, an induction is the polar opposite from the movies.  In the movies, some lady’s water breaks at a wedding, or work, or the grocery store, and a Benny Hill scramble, followed by a high speed car scene ensues.  An induction is where they start an IV and every 25 minutes someone tells you nothing is changing for about 10 hours.  BUT OH WHEN SOMETHING DOES ACTUALLY START LOOK THE HELL OUT.

He was delivered at 9 pounds, 3 ounces, so the same size as his sister.  I have really fat sperm, apparently.  Everything was good, only five fingers, unlike Obama’s portrait, and this time my wife actually got to eat.  Well, the food she ordered never showed up, because why would a hospital actually want a woman that pushed out a behemoth after not eating for 12 hours need nourishment?  I got Wendy’s.  Side note to Wendy’s – why is the guy at the counter wearing a weed ring and a hat that says, “DON’T GIVE A SHIT” on the front, under the bill and on the back?  Might want to move him to the back.  I didn’t even need to use my business degree there; just a little common sense.

We named him Jackson after his grandpa, who lost his fight with cancer during the pregnancy.  We are very proud to honor Jack in this way and know he will be looking out for our little man as he begins his journey.  My wife and I had a really hard time with boy’s names, mostly because I hung out with so many scumbags over the years.  She would say, “What about _____?”  I would grind the gears in my head and realize ______ suckerpunched someone or stole a car or spilled a beer on my N64 back in the day.  So Jackson Grant it is, plus a lot of people think it’s a Civil War general reference.  If it were, Stonewall Jackson and Ulysses S. Grant were good ones, plus Stonewall Unconditional Surrender Coen is a pretty badass nickname.

I could blog about the Super Bowl, but ESPN has at least 50 people writing about it right now.  The commercials are being covered also.  So I decided to type a few words about the biggest thing in my life, my son.  At the time of me typing this, we are (probably) 48 hours away from having the heir to my Coen name.  Sorry, buddy.  At least you aren’t being born under another stupid Pats championship.

The first pregnancy for my wife was in the summer – hot, with swollen feet and we didn’t know nothing for nothing no how.  I even took a breastfeeding class (I sat in, taking notes aka drawing pictures of boobs) to support my wife.  Number two, not so bad…for me.  I felt OK, you know?  (Any guy that says “we” are pregnant should be kicked in the ass).  My wife had horrendous acid reflux where she was either dehydrated or choking back stomach acid puke the whole time.  Her back is shot – I have to use a massager on her almost every night.  Oh and there’s a little girl that still asks for momma no matter what she feels like even as croop somehow ran up the chain to her a couple weeks ago.  It’s a coughy, snot-filled mess in here.

So, through all this, my wife has made it to the finish line.  At 6 months, she was putting in tile to finish our house project on the old house to sell it, on her hands and knees.  We sold my condo and her house, plus moved into a new house and bought a new car since she’s been pregnant.  Her father also passed away suddenly early on in the pregnancy, which was just crushing.  Being a mom meant there really wasn’t a chance to slow down or grieve.  Despite all this, she has persevered.  I am in awe of the capacity of women to have children, but my wife deserves a purple heart, especially if he’s anywhere close to our 9 lb., 3 oz. first child.  Luckily, he’s a boy, so I think I am supposed to let him be raised by wolves for the first six months.  Does anyone know where there are any wolves?  Damn urbanization.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told this story, but here goes.  I went through confirmation as a middle schooler – for you unwashed heathens, that’s where the church makes sure you’re ready to step up from childhood to adulthood and deepen your understanding of the Christian faith.  Now you know, before you burst into flames.

I was there very early one day and our pastor’s assistant was there.  He was a few years older and insanely smart.  I think he missed a perfect score on his SAT’s by one question.  He was very straight laced, almost robotic, and his family was similarly built.  His mom and younger brother were there, across the table.  Younger bro: “Mother, it appears I have misplaced my pen.  May I borrow another?”  His mom was crestfallen.  “I am very disappointed in you.  I gave you that pen and trusted you would be responsible.  Your brother has his pen.  You should behave more like your brother.”  Younger: “I’m sorry mother.”  Before the sad music started playing, older brother stepped up.  “It’s OK, mother.  I have brought an extra pen and he may have mine.”  He pulled another pen from his planner and held it out like a golden ray of sunshine burst from heaven as a chorus of seraphim erupted in hallelujahs.  You would have thought he gave him a kidney.  There was much ballyhooing and gushing and the whole scene was so humorous to me, I shook with laughter that I kept bottled inside.  My friend Aaron was next to me doing the same thing.

Later, during the most serious moment of our important religious journey, my pastor asked this room to close our eyes.  He then built a very tranquil scene where we were walking down a road.  Jesus appeared next to us and walked with us, silently, for a while.  Our pastor then said, “What would you ask Jesus?”  Deep, contemplative thought almost hummed like beehive in our meeting room as the most serious and important inquiries filled the heads of each young adult.  I leaned over to Aaron and whispered, “Hey Jesus, can I borrow your pen?”  He began to shudder with his entire body and little explosions of laughter erupted.  I caught the bug and immediately began fake cough laughing as tears streamed down my face.  I shot a quick eye over to my pastor and the stare was so intense, I think he burned the side of my head.

I think if he wasn’t a religious man, he would have strangled me to death right there, but he probably knows I was damned for ruining the moment.  I like to think the comedic gem is at least tolerated, if not flat out appreciated, so I may get a pass.  Either way, I passed the confirmation process, maybe just to get me out of there so I didn’t ruin it for the next batch.

Well, the crisis of the day yesterday was Chief Wahoo, the red faced 1940’s throwback mascot/logo of Cleveland Indians was announced retired, sort of.  This year, business as usual, but in 2019, heeeeeeeee’s OUT!  (A little baseball joke, get it?  I hate myself.)

“What do you think about it, Chris?” yells absolutely no one.  Well, I’ll tell you.  Absolutely nothing changes for the Indians.  They still have the same team, same colors, same payroll, same stadium and a logo that some Native Americans felt was racist (and some white people who act like they’re full blooded Native Americans, oh boy are there a lot of those) is gone.  Side note: If a white person glows in the dark and tells you they are Cherokee when their whole life and ancestry is from Ohio, they’re probably lying.  Sorry Elizabeth Warren, I don’t really buy it.  You sunburn when a lamp is turned on.  In all seriousness, the logo was very 1940’s-ish exaggerated features and since the Indians are red also, very pronounced red.  It should have phased out a while ago and no, the Indians weren’t named for Louis Sockalexis.  He played three years for them and barely saw the field.  I know, I heard the story also.

I do however draw the line at changing at the name.  This is the part of PC culture I don’t get.  No one goes to root for a team and mock the mascot at the same time.  Well, except me.  I’m a Steelers fan and this is their mascot.

Yep, just a big ol’ yellow guy walking around with steel beams, just like all steel workers.  I remember when my dad used to come home from the mill and watch TV sitting on a pile of steel beams, relaxing after a hard day.  Back to my original point though, I think it’s great we have teams that honor Native Americans by name.  The US has named several battleships and aircraft after fierce warriors and there are plenty to choose from.  Tecumseh and Pontiac united many tribes under a common cause, Crazy Horse was present at the three biggest victories over the US Army in the western battles, and countless others, from Kintpuash to Osceola to even the perseverance of Chief Joseph are stories of resistance known to most historians.

So in recap, less people are offended by something that was legitimately offensive to most (if you don’t believe, use the internets) and nothing changes with the team.  If you think the name needs to go, you need to smoke a bowl or take some angry pills and use your brain instead your overreacting anger reflex.  No matter what, though, we should all unite behind the Steelers getting rid of Steely McBeam, whatever your views on the Indians.  That mascot sucks.

Last week I saw a clickbait story about a Domino’s that saved a customer’s life.  I’m sadly likely to read a lot of those stories, so I clicked.  A Domino’s customer in Oregon ordered every single day for years, then just stopped ordering.  The store tried calling, then after 11 days, sent someone over.  The TV was on, but no one answered – they called the cops and the guy had a stroke, but was still alive.  It saved his life.  Nice story, over and above service…then the internet took over and ruined my limited faith in humanity.

“Why didn’t they check sooner?” one lady typed.  Hm, I don’t know dummy.  Do you track each and every one of your customers?  How many haven’t ordered for 2 or more days?  Don’t know?  MURDERER!!!  Also, ever heard of vacation?  Do you share your vaca plans with your local pizza shop?  Nope, sure don’t.  Not unless you’re a lonely, lonely sap.

“It was probably the pizza that killed him.”  Probably a comment from someone who drinks every night or smokes 4 packs a day.  Yes, pizza kills every day.  That’s why it’s regulated by the FDA.  Oh, it’s not.  You’re an ass.

Then of course, I saw a “work from home” post, which has that ever worked?  Someone dives into the morass of comment world, then clicks on a repeating comment for their career choice?  “Where’d you get your job?”  “Well, I was about to shit on Domino’s for saving a guy because they should be delivering kale chips, sure they’d go out of business, but then the darnedest thing – I got a job selling timeshares working from home!”  Actually, that would make sense.  Probably did go down like that.

In summation, if you chose to crap all over a restaurant that single-handedly saved a customer’s life, I hope you order all your meals from internet commenters like yourself.  When you have a stroke and lie dying on your floor, alone, the best you can hope for is for someone to come over and mock your food decisions and leave an unwarranted yelp review of your living room.  Then I’ll comment how they should have done it sooner.