Dog child


Can you believe it?? I have decided to do two dog inspired posts in a row. No, it’s not an illusion and please don’t keep hitting refresh on your browser.

So, once again, I found myself thinking about my dog (as one does during the day) and the more I heard stories from people with small children, the more I began to realize that my dog is the perfect try out for having a child. A doggy-starter kit if you will.

Let’s just assume that for all intents and purpose, ‘dog’ and ‘child’ can be interchanged. Here is what I found out:

Dogs can’t be left alone – If I leave my dog alone to his own devices, he ends up murdering the trash or dragging kitty poo through the house. If you do this with a child, much of the same probably happens, except it’s their own poo. Eventually, though, children start becoming creative and make you nice things like a badly drawn picture of a scribble.

You have to feed a dog on a regular basis – Seriously? There are times I wish my dog had opposable thumbs so he could pour his own damn bowl of food. You have to do the same with kids until they reach age 5 or 6 as well, so another point to them I guess.

Given the chance, dogs would poop and pee everywhere – I have to take him outside or the consequences are dire. He is actually pretty good at holding it though, which is more than I can say for most kids.

Dogs require constant attention – Maybe this is my fault for being a big softie, but if I’m not paying attention to him he starts to get all whiney. If I do the same to a kid, the same happens until they get much older and then they just resent me and don’t show up for Christmas because they are “biking the country with their new boyfriend ‘Brad'”

Dogs try to put everything in their mouth – I’ve seen kids do it on a constant basis. Hell, they even have warnings on all toys made after 1980 that tell you not to let children have whatever it is because they WILL put it in their mouth. I think there needs to be a warning like this for every product ever made just for dogs. Because you always think “nah, my dog couldn’t possibly want a bag of Sriracha peas made from asbestos, they are gross, spicy, and potentially cancer inducing. I’ll just leave them by his bowl with no thought of repercussions. Nothing bad at all could happen from this.” and then BAM, you’ve got a fire farting dog with lung cancer.

I know there are a few more ways dogs are like children, and I’m sure I’ll get a few scathing remarks along the lines of “Dogs are nothing like kids.” “Raising them are completely different.” blah blah blah. You may be right, but what I do know is that eventually your kid will grow up to be a giant jerk, and my dog will always be the same old dopey, dumb, sweet guy he is. That is, until he dies, of course.

Everyone’s Best Friend



They say that they are “man’s best friend” but I’m inclined to think that they are everyone’s best friend. I used to think that people who only liked cats have no souls, and the more I hang out with dogs, the more I believe this to be true.

My wife often mentions that I love our dog more than her and I casually reply with “Well, if you jumped up and down and licked me on the face every time I came through the door, then maybe I’d love you more.” She normally doesn’t appreciate it, but it helps drive home a point. Whenever you walk into a house with a dog, that animal is always excited to see you. It shows it by wagging its tail and hopping around in circles, or even for those unfortunate ones, peeing all over the place. What does a cat do? Glare at you and maybe give you the middle finger.

Now I’m sure you’re saying “Well Chris, you are biased, you have an amazing dog and a really crappy demon cat.” While this is true, it always wasn’t. I actually grew up with cats. There was always a cat somewhere in my house at any given time, and what I can base from all these years of catitude is this: cats suck. They only want to be petted on their time. They only want to cuddle for seconds at a time and have no compunctions about puncturing your skin when you’ve had a bad day. Dogs on the other hand want nothing more than love at all times. I’ll admit that they may be overly needy, but I’d rather have a roommate who wants to try and be your friend than the one who sits quietly in a dark corner sharpening knives while staring at you, an evil grin spreading over their face, like the Grinch on cocaine.

I digress, as I know trying to convince lonely cat people that dogs are the greatest pets on the planet is like trying to convince gun toting, right wing southerners that salad is better than steak (it isn’t). Hopefully when the cat overlords finally take over the planet, they won’t come across this post, as I’m sure it won’t bode well for my ‘wanting to live’ stance.

Writing is harder than it looks…


Greetings again from internet land.

I realized that although I’m still working on book two in the Scattered Ashes series (pick it up at Amazon), three months is a tad bit too long to just word vomit on my blog board.

I’m sure anyone who is following me has been crying uncontrollably in my absence, possibly to the point of dehydration, but have no fear, for I am still around!

In most of my years as a writer, I think only recently have I come to the realization that IT’S HARD! That’s right, writing is hard. For the longest time, I didn’t think this was the case. Normally you just blurb out something onto a page and everyone generally likes it. Now, however, as I grow in my word painting, I realize that it’s not as simple. I can no longer get away with lame stories with no depth or character development, and I can’t ramble off topic like I’d so much like to do. It all takes focus now, and when you have a terrible need to multitask everything that exists in your life (I’ll call it multitasitis) wanting to sneeze out a post or a blog ends up being a lengthy chore on a never ending to do list.

But all those things aside, I have heard that anything that’s hard is worth doing, and I gotta say, writing is definitely worth it.

Until then!

Shameless plug


Well it has been a little over month since my last post and it has been bugging me ever since.

Sure I could list all the things that I’ve wanted to write about (dogs, car commercials, stupid sayings that although mean well are just plain angrifying), but I’d rather actually get around to those topics eventually.

However, in an attempt to be truly American, I would like to make an excuse as to why I haven’t posted in a month and why I won’t be posting as much in the near future:


That’s right, if you’ve been following along, you may know that I was co-writing a novel with my best friend. The first book is done and you can find us on Amazon, Smashwords, iBooks, and other places that carry eBooks.

Reception on it so far has been really positive, so it’s time to hit the grindstone and start working on the second book.

if you are truly interested in reading about an explosive sci-fi adventure through a post-apocalyptic Texas about two diggers trying to salvage what’s left of the wastelands in hopes of buying their way across the ocean to a better tomorrow, then follow the links below to dive into SCATTERED ASHES:

Amazon (for Kindles):

Smashwords (for ebook):

Also find Scattered Ashes on Kobo, iBooks, and Nook


Kicking nostalgia in the nose hole


I’ve found myself drifting back towards playing the video games of yesteryear. I’m not speaking of those games that came out on the original Xbox that still had full 3D environments and 8 trillion bytes per eye blink, I’m talking about your original NES games, and early 90’s PC games. As I was sitting on the couch after one rousing session, rubbing my soon-to-be calloused thumbs, I realized that I was only playing these for one reason.

I wanted to finally kick their ass.

I wasn’t the greatest gamer as a kid. I struggled through every game I ever picked up, and I recall vividly that Kirby’s adventure for NES was the first game I ever beat. And when I say I beat it, I really mean that I helped watch my little brother drop kick King Dedede into the stratosphere. It was soul crushing to play all these games, only to be waylaid so close to the finish line. I was sick of hanging out with my friends, lying through smiling teeth as they gave away the endings to games where I had barely survived the 3rd level.

So you could imagine my eagerness to re-return to these plastic cartridges that kept me tossing and turning at nights, contemplating strategies like a 5 star military general. These games no longer held a sense of nostalgia for me, they had become my arch nemesis, and I was the Mario to their Bowser.

I told myself that I’d finally beat Zelda, or Monkey Island without using online cheats or my little brother. The Game Genie would be secured under lock and key where even Samus couldn’t get to it. It was finally my time, and I planned on destroying every pixel bit by bit until I had emerged victorious through all eternity.

So far it seems that being a good gamer is genetic and it skipped a generation. My thumbs are sore and my eyes are bleeding from staring at the TV for too long. I still haven’t beaten any games.

Then again, the real reason I play any of these old games anyway is for the feeling of nostalgia.

I’ve out grown bad movies


It finally happened.

For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed watching really bad movies. I think it’s a trait that has been carried on through generations on my father side, because to this day, he still enjoys it.

I like the idea of being able to sit in front o a screen and turn my brain off. To not have to think about what mysteries await me or how someone will finally beat the aliens through an elaborate and intricate series of events that keep you guessing until the end.

I like the idea of being able to veg out and not have to critique a movie based on a book, or get kicked out of a theatre because everyone is tired of my doucheoise expressions of “that didn’t happen in the book” or “the book was so much better.”

I even like the idea of falling asleep in a movie because it is that mind numbing.

So, imagine my surprise when Sunday night rolled around and after an hour and 45 minutes of a movie, I was so disgusted by how terrible it was, that I felt like crying.

It had finally happened.

There was a movie out there so bad that it has caused me to renounce my bad movie watching ways. To stay away from direct to DVD releases and future Scy Fy movie marathons where a crocto something fights a giant dogopus (you know, a dog with 8 arms. Also it’s giant).

Like so many girls who have ruined me for others, I’d like to tip my hat to you, Death Race 3, for ridding me of my ridiculous obsession with all cinema that’s awful. I tip may hat to you, for it was not an easy task (hell, I liked Battleship).

But like all people scorned by those they thought infallible, one of these days, another crappy movie will come along and give new light to the “B-Movie” meaning, but until then, I’ll just have to settle for something less fulfilling: bad TV.



So, the wife and I have been talking for a bit about cutting out cable.

I’ll let that sink in for a while, as I’m sure I haven’t been the only one to consider this.

This thought alone terrifies the hell out of me. I won’t know which myths have been busted or which ghosts haunt the most lowly places in America? I won’t have a spiky haired doppelgänger point out the best crap holes to get a cuisine only made in countries with no vowels. I won’t be able to experience the mind numbing escapades of a sponge and his greedy crab of a boss.

I sit here in a video induced haze wondering if any of that really matters?

It doesn’t.

I have talked to several people who have mentioned that they don’t even miss the shows they have lost by ditching cable. This means I have a chance! Sure, I’m bound to go through some kind of withdrawals, maybe even hitting rock bottom by masquerading a friendly (and of course surprise) visit to a friends house as a means to catch up on the blankiest housewives of blank while ignoring the host as I sit on the floor in front of the TV and let it bathe me in its radiant warmth and familiarity. I may even get kicked out of Best Buy or Wal-Mart as I jump from TV to TV absorbing as much cable and primetime television as possible, promising my family members and close friends that I could “quit anytime.”

However, just like kicking any addiction, life will be more vibrant, colors will be crisper, and I will look back on the world of cable and chuckle as I see others go through the same struggle. My bank account will be $100 richer, my relationships 100% more meaningful and my Saturdays only slightly less cartoonier (I’m bound to relapse). But If I can come through this coaxial tunnel and make it out alive, then I should be able to kick any habit.

Now leave me alone while I drink this gallon of fudge through a crazy straw.