Reptile Wrangler

Rest in peace my friend. I can safely say that Steve Irwin was one of the craziest SOBs I ever watched on TV. He made Australia cool. One of my college roommates actually went to study in Australia because Steve Irwin was a native. No joke.

I can’t imagine how many poisonous and deadly animals Irwin man-handled in his life, and it’s a sad day indeed when he gets offed by a sting ray with a nasty case of claustrophobia. There is a rumor going around that he pulled the 10” stingray barb from his heart before he died. Atta boy. I’m not sure if you know much about stingrays, but that’s kind of an affront to them. Guess the conservationist in Steve lost in the end. We mourn you Steve Irwin. El Diablo and I shall celebrate your life by consuming unhealthy amounts of tequila and chasing wild animal around our backyard.

I have to tell you, Big Cat isn’t too pleased with the loss of a legend like Steve Irwin. The squirrels and the bunnies are in for one hell of a ruckus in the coming days.

Where to start?

I guess I owe an explanation. It’s been nearly 8 months since I last posted, so here’s a quick update. Hippie gave birth to our son in February, and when he greeted the world at a scale-bending 9 pounds, I knew my world had changed. He can’t walk yet, but I see him sneaking furtive glances at my beer, and I know he’s itching to light his first stogie.

I’ve come to call him El Diablo (for those of you who don’t know, that’s Spanish for fighting chicken) or Big Cat. Both monikers are an apt description.

Anyways, El Diablo and I have been down in Costa Rica for a bit trying to engage in some quality control discussions with our cocaine distributors. Things got a little dicey when I had a slight disagreement with a colleague named Shit for Brains, and he pulled a knife. Business negotiations have no decorum these days.

Long story short, Big Cat showed him what the fuck was up. I was particularly pleased with his uppercut to the chin, though it didn’t even touch what came next. As he sucked on his pacifier, Big Cat stuck his hands right into Shit for Brains’ left eyesocket, and yanked the entire eyeball out. I was about to be disappointed with his shameless replication of the Kill Bill 2 scene, though when he calmly removed his pacifier with his left hand, and popped the eyeball into his mouth with the right...all while our friend was writhing in pain…Well let’s just say I let him have a little beer after that one.

Viva El Diablo!

Where 'Da Hood At?

Beginning Wednesday, my life becomes ungodly hectic. In addition to my anticipative parenting and work, I start my new responsibilities as guest seal-trainer at the zoo. I don’t know how familiar you are with seals, so let’s just say that unless you can imitate their language precisely, the task is often life-threatening.

Since I will have less and less time to devote to this wonderful partnership between myself and the Internet, I have agreed to allow a guest blogger to post on my site. Agreed may not be the correct terminology, but the thumbscrews at the end of the 2 hour long hormonal rage were just too much for me to take.

I fear after reading her posits, that my ranting will no longer be welcome, but that’s what happens when you allow talent into your life. So in the near future, look for The Amazing, The Wonderful, The Oh-My-God-She-Seems-So-Smart-Why-Did-She-Marry-Him….Hippie.

Whoops...

I have a blog? Amazing? Pathetically, I have not written for a while now and am completely ashamed. OK, that’s just a lie. There’s less than 10 people who regularly read this detritus, so yeah not so much with the guilt thing.

Anyways, on to the exiting stuff…You may remember that I have a son, as of yet, unborn. I have taken to calling him Tail due to his first ultrasound, but he is tail no more. His new name is Hatch, taken from Sylvester Stallone’s character in the 1981 soccer drama Victory.

He so earns his moniker from the excessive kicking of Hippie’s stomach. What’s even more wonderful is that he seems to store his kicks up and send one into her abdomen whenever I am near. I love it. I figure it’s his way of saying “So Dad, what’s up?” However, She of The Expanding Uterus finds it less than endearing, often scolding Hatch for his behavior.

While I laugh when he responds to my proximity, I believe this will become less amusing when I am left to care for him by my lonesome and he morphs into Jack-Jack.