Archive for the ‘about me’ Category

Just something short today.

* ziiiiiip

You knew that was coming.

(that’s what she said)

My wife mentioned that she got behind a car with a vanity plate the other day.

Now – for those readers I’ve had for a while, you know I hate vanity plates.

Please disregard the fact that I’ve had TWO of them.

The first one was on my bitchin’ 1970 Oldsmobile 442 when I was 17.

It said:


Fuckin’ ay, that’s right.

It was originally because of Rowdy Roddy Piper…my name being “Rodney,” and the car all looking super badass and fast and OHMYGODAMIGONNAGETLAIDINTHISFUCKINGTHINGORWHAT and shit.

When I was thinking of what to get on the plate, I was asking around for some ideas.

Most of them were, ‘eh’..

And then my mother offered up this gem:

“Why don’t you get, “RODNEY”…?”


Jesus H. Christ, mom.

Why don’t you give me a perm while I’m here?

I’m pretty positive that this type of recommendation is what drove the Menendez brothers to kill their parents.

Mom Menendez: “ know, a license plate that says ‘Lyle’ might be nice..”


I’ve digressed.

My other plate was on a screaming red car.

It said:




Ironically, that was back in the day where I had just met my wife and getting sex more than 12 times a year and my rod did – on occasion – get red.

Now it’s just black from personal misuse and a reaction to excessive use of makeup and polyester outfits.

Perhaps I’ve said too much.

So my wife says she’s behind a car the other day with a vanity plate.

Getting closer she sees that the plate says this:



Does anyone else here see:


Why would you get this?

My wife has a similar plate, but she’s a teacher in a public school so it’s okay.

(they pass these out as bumper stickers to the Teacher’s Union)

I’m guessing the woman’s name was “Di” and she has “kids”…hence:


I’m HOPING this is the case.

The other options are:

1) She likes dipping kids in varying food colorings:

Dye Kids

2) All her kids are lesbians:

Dyke Kids

The only conclusion here is that this actually says:


This makes me angry.

Angry that I didn’t think of this first.



What the Hell was my mother thinking?

She’s just lucky I didn’t have a shotgun lying around.

I’m pretty sure that’s considered ‘justifiable homicide.’

Moog out.

Handy Incapable

Posted: August 13, 2010 in about me, rants

From the archives of “This Moooooog’s House,” comes:

“You know you’re not handy when…”


Do you like your men burly and rugged?

Do you like your men self-sufficient and able to take on any task with ease?

Do you like your men with grease on their face, a dirty rag in their back pocket and a power tool in each hand?

Well, then, ladies…

You’re in the right place.

Because that guy sounds just like my contractor.

I’ll see if I can hook you guys up.

I’ll be in the living room playing XBox and eating Doritos.

You see, I’ve tried being handy.

Let’s just call that ‘Epic Fail’ and continue on with some examples, shall we?


1) Ten minutes into replacing a toilet seat, your kid knocks on the bathroom door and says:

“Hey…do you need help in there?”

Thanks, hon.

It wasn’t humiliating enough realizing that I’ve been in here for TEN FUCKING MINUTES trying to remove a goddamn toilet seat, so could you please come in here and help me remove these two bolts?

You’re a dear.

2) Your entire tool kit consists of a power screw driver that may or may not work, three different sizes of Robo Grips that your father in law gave you 12 years ago, and some speaker wire.

I have a giant Sears tool chest that houses these four items and something else that resembles some type of shiv.


3) Your idea of ‘refinishing the hardwood floors’ consists of pouring a half gallon of polyurethane over the floor straight from the can and spreading it around with a Swiffer.

Sanding the floor ahead of time was not an option as I was unable to figure out how to do it using speaker wire and Robo Grips.

4) You are sometimes covered in your own feces.

This may also be the sign of a sick, sick fetish.

Don’t ask me how I know that.

5) You’ve paid a contractor to come and tighten your faucet.

I’m not proud.

I probably could have done that if I’d figured out how to use the damn Robo Grips.

I’d go try to find the instructions, but this XBox isn’t going to play itself.

Moog out.

Before I start today, I just want to be serious for a second (mark your calendar) and go all-out and pimp myself out.

Hey..even I get tired of the beatings from Rodrigo after a while.

On April 2nd, I will be the ‘Special Guest Host’ for a fundraising bash for New Hampshire HorseTalk Therapeutic Services which is an organization that provides hippotherapy services.

When I was first asked to do this by the fantastic Mama Whiskey from The Whiskey Girls, I was all like:

“Horses can talk? Why can’t they raise their own money, then?”

“What is hippotherapy? I thought hippos were pretty dangerous except for Henrietta Hippo who, as far as hippos go, was pretty hot.”

But then Mama Whiskey told me to shut the Hell up or she’d get, like, Carrot Top or some other W-lister to do this so I went to the site and found out that they do some really really miraculous stuff for people who need it and apparently I’m just a stupid asshole.

So – you’ll be able to find ME – yes ME – on April 2nd at Milly’s Tavern in Manchester, NH hosting this awesome event.

Bands, auctions, masssages from the Whiskey Girls, Cabin Fever Whiskey, raffles..a ton of shit.

Come down.

Meet me.

Support the cause.

Have some fun.



Pain and Suffering.


The latest rage for asshole lazy bloggers is to self-promote themselves by reposting some of their own Twitter Tweets as blog posts.

I am now stooping to this level.

Actually, I’m 5′-2″ tall.

No stooping required. Already there.


Below are some of my very own Tweets that I’ve subjected my 12 followers to.

Click here for Volume One and Volume Two.

The skew on this one, though:

All things of my blog’s search results (things people have searched on and in which ‘Mental Poo’ came up in the results).



My blog is #8 in the search for ‘Tony Danza Anal Rape.’ Um…Who’s the boss? I think we all know now, Tony.

My blog came up in the search for ‘vasectomy party.’ I’d hate to see the cake. Worst. Party. EVER

My blog is #8 in the search for “Angela Lansbury Naked.” Dick Van Dyke, you’re one sick motherfucker

Search my blog came up in: “motorcycle vibration orgasm.” Like I’d EVER put my bike away if I could get that to happen. Oh. Women. Nevermind

my blog shows up in this search: “midget pirates using shit as lube for dogs.” I’m so proud I could cry.

I’m #10 in the search for ‘poop porn.’ I seriously need to try harder for that top spot.

Search my blog comes up in: “women eating food stuck in their asses.” Looks like my dad is using his new PC.

search my blog comes up in: “Dog fucked my daughter.” Dude. Why are you Googling this and not killing the goddamn dog?!

Latest search my blog shows up in: “peasant porn.” Really? Don’t they have enough problems? I mean, shit, they’re peasants.

latest search my blog is in: “things that a piece of poo would do.” My answers would be ‘exit’ and ‘smell.’

My blog just came up in the search for “mr big hairy ball.” That’s me. Minus the ‘big’ and ‘hairy’ parts.

My blog is #12 in this search: ‘eat my shaved peach.’ I need to check out those 11 other sites IMMEDIATELY.

my blog just appeared in this search: “women eating dog sperm porn.” Um…Without seeing it, I’m guessing it’s the worst. porno. ever.

My blog came up in the search for ‘alternative midgets.’ Because if your first choice of midgets doesn’t pan out, you always have me.

My blog came up in this search: ‘poo in a condom.’ Huh. Guess I used them wrong. Explains why my kids smell like shit, though.

blog was in this search: “amputee porn.” Why didn’t I think of this? Easiest porn ever. What can they do, lean on you to death?

Blog just came up in the search for ‘Ask the magic poo.’ There’s a magic poo?! I feel SO ripped off with this stupid 8-ball.

My blog just came up in this search: “where are midget maids.” Like my toilet would look this gross if I knew.

blog came up in this search: “cant relax the sphincter to poo.” Yeah? Try prison. I have the OPPOSITE problem.


If you’re linked to me on Facebook, you may have seen these as well.

If you want to find me in either place, click here.

Twitter at: or you can just click this button:

Find me at Facebook by clicking here:

You’ve been warned.


Before I start today…I have an announcement:

I’m sterile.

Actually, that’s old news…but my son ran around the house this morning for some reason screaming:


I have no idea why.

But, hey, son:

When you’re MY age, that actually becomes a SELLING point.

Yeah…I’m lookin’ at YOU, Kate.

Where was I?

Oh..the announcement:

Ed from Ed’s Funny Pages told me that I’d been nominated for ‘Weblog of the Year’ AND ‘Best Humor Blog’ over at the 2010 Bloggies.

I don’t know what that is, but if you vote for me and I win this shit, I’ll make you all royal subjects in my giant.. um.. bloggish.. kingdom.. thingy.

No idea.

So..feel free to swing over if you feel like it and throw me a vote or – if you find a blog that’s better and funnier – you can vote for them up until the point that I hack their site and tear down everything they’ve worked for.

There can only be one king.

Thanks, everyone.



Pain and Suffering.


The latest rage for asshole lazy bloggers is to self-promote themselves by reposting some of their own Twitter Tweets as blog posts.

I am now stooping to this level.

Actually, I’m 5′-2″ tall.

No stooping required. Already there.


Below are some of my very own Tweets that I’ve subjected my 12 followers to.

For Volume One click here.

The skew on this one, though:

All things of my very own pain and suffering.



Yep…fucking hand is broken AGAIN. I’d say God hates me, but he did break my non-masturbation hand, so I’m on the fence.

found out this morning that playing “the stranger” with a broken hand leaves a bad case of cast rash on your weenie.

Just tried to wash ass smell off my cast hand. Came out, smelled my hand and said, ‘Ugh..pew.’ Look up…some guy staring at me. Fantastic.

Right now I have a whistling nose booger and am saying “Here comes Thomas!” in an English accent, then making it whistle. Worktime Funtime.

Typo on a flyer at work said they were giving out ‘Flew Shots’ today. Three people have died jumping off the building.

I’m totally not getting H1N1. I’m holding out for H2N2…let them work out the kinks in this one before I dive in headfirst.

Someone asked if Jesus would get a flu shot. I said ‘no’, as he now has an aversion to sharp things piercing his skin. Here I come, Hell

Home sick today. Must rest. Rest = Xbox and porn. Xbox needs to make a porn game. Maybe a better idea for Wii. I’m apparently delusional.

Nightime Cold + Mucinex + two large cups of coffee = dizziness and hallucinations & OMG OMG OMG A RAT IS EATING MY FOOT! Wait. Just my shoe.

This cold has me coughing up a ton of goopy shit. So this is what it must feel like to be Paris Hilton.


If you’re linked to me on Facebook, you may have seen these as well.

If you want to find me in either place, click here.

Twitter at: or you can just click this button:

Find me at Facebook by clicking here:

You’ve been warned.


Q&A – Part Menage-a-Trois

Posted: December 11, 2009 in about me, Q and A

Before I start today, just wanted to mention that I have another word added into the Urban Dictionary:


slushveling (v.):
The practice of shoveling slush (snow + water).

It’s just like regular shoveling, except you immediately throw out your fucking back.

Six inches of snow, then it started raining. I spent 2 hours slushveling, then a week at the chiropractor adjusting my new bout of scoliosis. I’m moving to Florida. Fuck this shit.


Right now, people in Arizona are all, like, ‘the fuck?’

Whatever. Confusion is what you get for picking a place like fucking Arizona to live.



From the Q&A files, I bring you Part Menage-a-Trois (‘Dear Penthouse…’) of my Question-and-Answer column.

For part one, click here and for part two click here.

This is where you ask the questions about me, and I give you some answers. *

* answers may or may not be completely wrong based on how I’m feeling and on what narcotic I’m taking at the time.

Let’s begin:

Why are you so cool? – Kate

Um. It’s, like, the middle of fucking winter here in New England.

No offense, but that was a pretty stupid question.

What shade of lipstick is your hand wearing and where can I buy it? – Deb

Actually, that is my wife’s nail polish.

As far as the color, I’m going to guess ‘some sort of red’ but in all honesty I’m just reaching at straws here.

My wife is totally going to kill me now for using her nail polish.

At least this time it’s not on my toes.

Perhaps I’ve said too much.

JD at I Do Things asked TWO questions:

Ooh, I have two questions:

1. Is there any topic that you consider off-limits? I’m guessing not, but let’s get the record straight. AND if the answer is Yes, then you need to blog about that topic in the next few weeks.

2. Will you shave MY junk so I don’t have to? Not a Brazilian or landing strip, just regular-style.


#1: Anything off limits? The only thing I RARELY touch upon (besides my prostate because I have stubby fingers) is politics and anal rape.

That is probably being redundant.

I also don’t write about politics because I’m a Republican and a sore loser and like not being audited.

#2: If you can get your husband and my wife to sign off on the permission slip, then GAME ON BABY..

However, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re most likely on your own with that last one.

CatLadyLarew asked:

Since no question is too personal…

At what age did you reach your full height?

Are you taller than your children?

Since you are made of steel, does that mean your penis is always erect?

What color is your Harley?

I reached my full height by age 3. Maybe 13. Can’t remember. I’m old.

I AM currently taller than my 9 year old daughter and 6 year old son, but not by much.

At some point, non-penis related shrinkage will set in and we’ll have complete reversal of the ride-height requirement at amusement parks.

This will suck because I really like roller coasters.

Since I’m made of steel is my penis always erect?

Let’s just say that maybe I should change my name to ‘Midget Man of Balsa Wood.’

My Harley is black. Sorry. My Harley is “African American.”

Phew. Dodged a bullet there.

(FYI, JD: Race-relations are also off-limits)

“I was wondering if your rather disconcerting obsession with porn had anything to do with your being named Rodney. I mean, I see “Rod”, and I immediately think huge, hard junk and hot monkey love and, really, doesn’t everyone?” – Holly via email

My disconcerting obsession with porn is based on the fact that I am, at least the last time I checked, male.

It’s what we do.

On a related note:

Guys, I have Holly’s email address if you’re interested.

The story of HOW I got my name, though, can be found here.

And you thought this was gonna be easy.

Last but not least, Dorian via email writes:

If I shouted “Hey Moog, go put some fun between your legs!” where would you run to?

A. To your motorcycle.
B. To your wife.
C. To a lockable and inconspicuous bathroom.
D. To that shoe box on the top left hand shelf of your garage (next to the can of WD40.)

If it’s the third Sunday of every other month, my answer is definitely ‘B.’

Otherwise, I’m going with ‘A’ – my motorcycle.

Which I’m then driving to an inconspicuous bathroom with the contents of the shoe box from my garage.

It’s how I roll.


If you have something you’d like to ask me, email me at and put ‘Q&A’ in the subject line.

But hopefully that gives you a little peek inside of me.

Just. Like. My. Proctologist.

Moog out.