Archives for January 2014

Not So Nice Guy – Cover Reveal


2014 Screw It Chianti

Government Warning: (1) According to the author, women should drink lots of alcoholic beverages whenever he is in the vicinity. Also, women who are pregnant aren’t supposed to drink alcohol because it could fuck up the offspring. Phil assumes his mother drank heavily during his gestation, hence she is partially responsible for his irreverent behavior. (2) Over-consumption of alcohol impairs just about everything, which is convenient at times. Think of all the ugly people you had sex with. Ouch. See? Now, you have an excuse. Oh, and don’t drive a fucking bulldozer if you’re plastered, genius, because you’ll probably squash something, and fuck up your day.

Contains Vulgarities

Ingredients: 30,000 or so words—many of them naughty or nice, depending on your perspective. I use the work “fuck” 162 times. Make that 163. I like that word. Don’t you? Go ahead, and say it now. LOUDER. I’m in love.

Made in my office (coated in car hair, and currently contains four empty coffee mugs, and a nice box of Jujubes) in Carlsbad, California. If you’re in the area, don’t hesitate to get a hotel room. I look like Howard Johnson’s to you? No, I don’t offer tours. Bang on my door before seven, and you’ll have hell to pay, unless you’re carrying coffee, Baileys, and a lightly-toasted, heavily-buttered Asiago bagel.

Alcohol Content: Yes, please.

Recipe: Mug Cake

mugcakeSounds kind of gross, huh? Almost like “meat cake.” Well, it’s not gross; it’s delicious, and pretty easy to make, or this lazy ass right here wouldn’t bother.

Shit you need:

  • A mug. (Fucking duh.)
  • Butter
  • Sugar
  • Eggs
  • Sour Cream
  • Vanilla
  • Flour
  • Baking Powder
  • Brown Sugar
  • Cinnamon
  • Paddles to revive you from the heart attack in a mug.

It’s tasty. Forget about your waistline. Skinny people suck.


  • Soften the butter. No, don’t beat it. Nuke it for a few seconds. A few too many seconds and it will foam up, boil over, and fuck up your day.
  • Mix 1 tablespoon of butter and 2 tablespoons of sugar in the mug. Yes, two. If you use Stevia here, I will un-friend your ass.
  • Now stir in one egg (whole fucking egg), 2 tablespoons of sour cream, and a couple two tree drops of vanilla extra.
  • In a separate bowl, not the fucking mug, mix 1/4 cup of flour, 1 tablespoon of brown sugar (How come you dance so good?), and 1 teaspoon of cinnamon.
  • Mash a tablespoon of butter into the bowl. Use a fork. Don’t use your fingers, because the goop will get under your nails, and fuck up your day.
  • Sprinkle the end result (redundant douche am I) over the slop in the mug.
  • Cook it in the microwave for around one minute on high. Oh, I shouldn’t need to mention this, but you should not be using a metal mug here. If you do, it’s most definitely gonna fuck up your day and your cake … and probably your microwave. People will point at you and laugh. They’ll call you stupid. OK, you’ve been warned.
  • You’ll know it’s ready when you can stick a toothpick into it, and the toothpick comes out dry, just like my [blank] after a long [blank] session.
  • Let it cool. Eat it. Tell your office mates to get their own.

Recipe: Beer-garita

beergarBoss (or spouse) being a noodge? Dog ate a shoe? Cat puked? Offspring making you crazy? You need a drink, don’t ya? Well, allow me.

You need:

  • 1 can of frozen Limeaid concentrate. This stuff confuses the fuck out of me. Who drinks Limeaid? I mean, without alcohol? Nobody. Yet, there’s fucking stacks of it in the grocery freezer. Guess we’re all a bunch of Mexican wannabe drunks.
  • 12 ounces of fine, fine tequila. Don’t but the cheap stuff, or it will fuck up your tomorrow.
  • 12 ounces of filtered water. Remember, fish fuck in it.
  • 12 ounces of beer. Don’t use the dark stuff, even if you’re a yellow-toothed Brit. Ale, buddy.
  • 2 huge fucking limes cut into six wedges each. Do this before you drink, or you might cut off a finger, and fuck up your day.


  • Pour all that stuff into a huge pitcher and stir it. Do not put it in a blender, genius, because it will foam all over the place, and, you know.
  • Salt the rim of a large glass. No, that doesn’t mean lick the top of the glass, and throw salt at it. Put lime juice in a shallow dish, dunk the rim, then dip it in salt. Wah la.
  • Put a couple few cubes of ice in the glass. Yes, I said “a couple few.” Don’t like my English? You can file a complaint with my assistant, Hugo. Hugo Fukyerself.
  • Dump the mixture into the glass, without adulterating the salted rim, slappy.
  • Taste.
  • Add more tequila.
  • Taste.
  • Eat salty chips and dip. Perhaps, a cheese square.
  • Taste.
  • Look how pretty your mate just got.
  • You’re welcome.

Recipe: Atsa Good Meat-a-ball

meatballsI am Italian, as evidenced by my furry body and the fact that I exude shiny oils. Some days, my fucking fivehead could grease a pan. I know, ew. Sorry. Well, being what I am, I should know how to make a good meatball. Um, I do. These little babies will melt your panties.

Go to the store and get this stuff:

  • 3/4 pound of extra lean beef. If you’re a cheap-ass and you buy the fatty stuff, it will splatter grease everywhere and fuck up your day. Splurge a bit, sunshine.
  • 1/4 pound of hot Italian sausage. If you’re a wuss about spices, go ahead and buy the sweet kind. If you’re a total weenie, just skip this shit and use a pound of meat.
  • Optional – Tiny bits of pepperoni. Me likey.
  • You probably have this stuff lying around. If not (slacker), pick up a small onion, sea salt, oregano, red pepper flakes, Worcestershire sauce, Italian seasoned bread crumbs, skim milk, and Parmesan cheese. Hey, you should use the stuff in the green can you had leftover from those fucking awesome stuffed artichokes you made.
  • Chianti. No Chianti? Fuck. Something red and grape.

Now, pour that Chianti into a cylinder glass (not a fucking wine glass–sacrilegious), and start saucing yourself while you mix this. Grab a big bowl and combine:

  • Meat, 1 teaspoon of sea salt, diced onion, 3/4 teaspoon of oregano (ha ha, looks like pot), 3/4 teaspoon of red pepper flakes (unless you’re a pansy), 2 tablespoons of W sauce.
  • Mix that shit up real good. Get in there with your hands. Hey, you washed them, right? Ugh. Don’t want to know. Just try to avoid licking your fingers. Gross.
  • Drink more wine.
  • Add 1/2 cup of breadcrumbs, 1/4 cup of Parmesan, and 1/3 cup of skinny moo juice.
  • Some people add parsley and eggs. You want to do that? Then, go ask for their recipes.
  • Otherwise … mix the above stuff too.
  • Oh, fuck, forgot to tell you to preheat the oven. My bad. Do that now–400 degrees, top and bottom heat.
  • Grab a baking sheet. I suggest you spray no-stick shit on it, or it might fuck up your day.
  • Pinch off pieces of the mixture, roll them into whatever size your little tummy desires (me, golf balls), and place them on the sheet.
  • Cook them for 20-25 minutes until not pink, or you’ll get trichinosis, and shit your brains out … thusly, fucking up thy day.

Drink more wine. Eat meatballs. I like them as they are. Others dump tomato sauce over them. As long as it’s good sauce, I approve. Fuck Ragu.

Recipe: Grown-Up Breakfast

redmillEver stare at yourself in the mirror right after you wake up, and wonder who the porker in the mirror is? I do it daily. Pisses me off, actually. That fat prick is ruining my sex life. I’m like oh for winter. Fuck. It would make so much better sense if, as we gained weight, we became attracted to heavier mates. Nope. We like them skinny. Skinny people rarely like unskinny people, so the only solution is to trade the Asiago Bagel with cream cheese breakfast for fucking oatmeal.

  • Don’t you dare buy any of the instant crap, or the stuff flavored with maple syrup. That defeats the whole purpose. Behave, and buy Bob’s Red Mill Cereal Muesli. It comes in bags, and for oatmeal without all that sugary shit, it ain’t half bad. If your grocery store sucks monkey balls, and doesn’t stock it, buy it on Amazon … and, get yourself an adult toy for kicks.
  • This is the key part, because even good oatmeal still tastes like plaster of Paris. You need to find a high-protein, low-carb, tasty as, well, not shit protein powder. Unless you’re pregnant (What the fuck, dude?), you have to try this one I found called Ultra Peptide Whey, Lemon Cream Pie flavor. OMFG, is this stuff amazing or what? You’ll almost want to shovel the powder right into your noggin.
  • Now, dump an inch or so of the oatmeal into a bowl.
  • Sprinkle about half a scoop of the delicious powder on top.
  • Go to your fancy espresso machine and dispense hot water over the top. What? You don’t have an espresso machine? You’ve only inconvenienced yourself there, Fanny Frugal. Now you need to boil some water. Guess what? You can do that in a microwave. If you don’t have a microwave, please go stick a fork in an outlet.
  • Chow down the lemony goo, and watch the pounds vanish.

Recipe: Butt-Burning Chili

chiliIf you don’t have a slow cooker, go get one (unless you live in Boston, for obvious reasons). Slow cookers fucking rule! There’s some timing involved here, so pay attention. Also, I’m not getting too specific about how much of each ditty to pick up, because chili flavor is and should be fucking subjective. Make it how you like it.

Part One:

  • Do this in the afternoon or night.
  • Go to grocery store and buy canned tomatoes. I like spicy shit, mostly because I’m old and my tongue is numb. If you’re like me, get the one that has peppers in it too. I’d buy three cans or so. They’re cheap as shit.
  • Get this stuff too: Onions, bell peppers, garlic cloves, chili peppers, jalapeno peppers, your favorite bean mixture (the fart-making kind, not green beans, sweetie), two pounds of ground beef, half a pound of sweet sausage, half a pound of hot sausage.
  • I have this decorative spice rack that an ex bought me for decoration. Tired of looking at it, and guess what? It actually has useful shit for this recipe. You need cumin (tee hee) and chili powder.

Part Two:

  • Do this first thing in the morning.
  • Start frying up the meat. I suggest you cover it, or grease will splatter all over, and fuck up your day.
  • While it cooks, chop the peppers, onions, and garlic, and toss them in the cooker.
  • Toss in two or three cans of the tomato stuff.
  • Toss in a can or two of beans.
  • Don’t burn the damn meat. When it’s brown, turn off the heat, strain the grease into the sink (blow me, plumbers), and mix the meat into the cooker.
  • Spice that fucker. Just sprinkle away, the way you like it. Be careful with the chili powder–overdo that, and you’ll wind up with a real sphincter scorcher.
  • Let it cook on low for six or eight hours.
  • Eat a big fucking bowl for dinner, and let the rest cool, then put it in a container in the fridge.
  • I suggest you avoid doing this one on a date night. Watch TV by yourself on the sofa. You’re going to fart … a lot. Heck, have some fun and light one, or scare your sleeping cat.

Recipe: Mom’s Stuffed Artichokes

arti“Ma, I need something quick and easy I can whip up to impress a date.”

“You’re cooking for her? Sounds like a special girl. Is it serious?”

“Ma, food–talking food here.”

“Fine, don’t talk to your mother about it; just write it in your books.”

“That’s how I do.”

“How about artichokes? They’re a little messy. It will show you if she’s a priss or not.”

“Good strategy. Love you.”

I don’t really know when these fuckers are in season, but just keep looking in the produce section until you find a softball-sized one for under $10. If they’re over $10, give the finger to the clerk, and buy cheese and crackers.

You’re going to need other shit you probably don’t have in your cupboard, because the Pop-Tarts take up too much space: Italian (Is there any other kind?) breadcrumbs, garlic salt, and sprinkle-shit Parmesan that comes in that green cardboard cylinder. This fucker takes forever to cook, so maybe start it before you shower.

  1. Get a soup pot, and put three or so inches of water in it.
  2. Cut the bottom stem section of the artichoke so it will stand on its own.
  3. Turn it sideways and chop around an inch off the leaf tips.
  4. Pull the leaves apart a little. Watch you don’t cut yourself, and fuck up your day. Imagine telling your friends you cut yourself on a fucking plant. Not good.
  5. Mix the breadcrumbs, garlic salt, and parmesan (to taste) in a tiny bowl.
  6. Sprinkle that mix into the space you made between the leaves. Fill it up as much as possible.
  7. Place the artichoke in the water, stem side down. (Kind of hoping I wouldn’t need to specify that, but guaranteed if I didn’t, some dumb ass would dump all the stuffing by putting it in leaves first. Mouth-breathing shitheads.)
  8. Turn the heat on high.
  9. Cover it, so it boils more quickly, Slapnuts.
  10. Go do something, for a long time. Like fifteen minutes plus. Clear some Candy Crush levels, beat off, whatever.
  11. Check the pot, and make sure the water isn’t almost gone. Add more water. Let it keep boiling. I’m talking like a half hour or more. If the leaf meat isn’t tender, it will fuck up your day, and your date.
  12. Once soft on the bottom, turn the stove off, remove the plant, put it in a bowl to cool.
  13. Go answer the door. If your date shows empty-handed, tell that person to fuck off. If not, escort it to the dining area. A little fanny pat may be in order.
  14. Chat while scraping the leafy goo. There’s a method to do this, and I shouldn’t need to explain this shit, but I will. Grab the leaf by the tip (pointed end), place in mouth with the curvature facing down, bite down, pull leaf, scrape green stuff into mouth, chew, swallow, toss leaf into disposal bowl. If you have bottom dentures, then, well, you shouldn’t have made artichokes.
  15. Shine nails on chest, you talented fucker.

Recipe: Hung-Way-Over Soup

ramenShhh. Quietly. My brain is throbbing. Fucking whiskey. People, don’t mix whiskey with anything but water, or you’ll feel similar to me right now–red-eyed lump of shit. No time to think. Make this.

  1. Get Chili Flavored Ramen Soup.
  2. Put about an inch and a half of water in a pot.
  3. Open the soup packet over the water, so you don’t send little fucking noodle pieces all over the kitchen.
  4. If the flavor packet falls in the water, wash your fucking hands, and retrieve it with your fingers. Do this before you turn the heat on … just in case you’re stupid, and you like suing people because you’re stupid.
  5. Boil the water before putting the noodles in.
  6. Once boiling, gently place the noodles in. Don’t cover that shit or it will volcano all over the stove and, yes, fuck up your day.
  7. Open the flavor packet and sprinkle over the top of the noodles. Warning: If you foolishly open this packet over the steaming pot, the powdered shit will condense into a paste and stick to the packet … yes, and fuck up your day.
  8. After a minute or so, crack anywhere between one and three eggs into that shit. The number of eggs depends on how long you were passed out, and how fat you are. I’m kind of a fat ass, and I usually oversleep, so two.
  9. Take a fork and break those yolks up. Mush ’em in there good. Again, don’t cover this shit or bad things will happen.
  10. Another minute or two and you’re good.
  11. Turn off the heat and let it sit for a few minutes.
  12. Meanwhile, turn on the TV. I suggest news or something else that doesn’t require thought.
  13. Grab that fork and a thick potholder. Take the pot with soup, sit down, and place the soup on the potholder on your lap. Fuck up the order of things, and this won’t end well. It goes lap, potholder, soup counting from the bottom.
  14. Eat that shit with a fork. “What about the delicious salty broth?” you ask. Well, that depends on your blood pressure. I admit to drinking that shit down occasionally. What you do, I don’t need to know. Just don’t burn your lips, precious.

Recipe: Damn Good Cream Cheese Cupcakes

cccupcakesI always impress the shit out of women when I feed them these little fuckers. I don’t even know why. Guess it’s all the chocolate, and evidence that parts other than my swinging pecker actually work.

Steps, which are simple as a pimple:

  1. Go to the grocery store and get Duncan Heinz Triple Chocolate cake mix, eggs, vegetable oil, Philadelphia (E-A-G-L-E-S, Eagles!) Cream Cheese, and sweet dark chocolate chips. I’m assuming you have fucking water. If you don’t, crawl back into your cake, paint a picture, and die there.
  2. Also, pick up a small cupcake pan–small as in the size of the cupcakes it makes, not the pan, wiseass. Find those tiny cupcake paper sleeves they sell, and buy a shit-ton of them. They’re usually hanging somewhere around the pans, unless your grocery store is run by fucking dolts, like mine is.
  3. Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.
  4. Mix all the cake shit together with the ingredients as specified on the box. No, don’t make two different fucking batches. Throw it all in a bowl and mix. If you have one of those fancy mixers, knock yourself out, but be careful not to put it on HIGH (like the jackass writing this once did), or you’ll wind up looking like you’re covered in moles.
  5. Put the little paper thingies in the cupcake pan.
  6. Use a tablespoon and plop the goo you mixed in there about halfway; higher than that and it’s going to overflow, and fuck up your day.
  7. Use a butter knife, cut a cube of cream cheese about the size of a die, and place it in the middle of each cupcake.
  8. Drop a bunch of chocolate chips (I do four or five) on top of each.
  9. Throw the pan (not literally) into the oven, and cook for 15-18 minutes until the cream cheese is slightly browned on top.
  10. Take it out before they fucking burn, and let them cool on a surface that won’t fucking burn either.
  11. Transfer them to a dish, arranged nicely. If you’re feeling ambitious, go ahead and layer up that fucker three or four high.
  12. Cover will cellophane, so you can show your shit off–mad fucking skills, yo.
  13. Deliver it to a delicious server or bartender (no, not in lieu of gratuity), wait for compliments, hope for stronger drinks, and anticipate sweet lovin’.


Recipe: Bachelor’s Dessert Lasagna

iceboxI could eat a whole pan of this in one night … then hate myself even more.

Make sure you have a square glass lasagna pan. If you don’t, go buy a fucking cake pop at Starbucks. If you do, hit the grocery store and pick up bananas, graham crackers, vanilla pudding, and chocolate pudding.

Simple steps, even a dumb shit like me could follow:

  1. Line the bottom of the pan with graham crackers. No, don’t fucking crumble them.
  2. Cover it with thinly-sliced bananas. (Bananas are fucking good for you. Do it.)
  3. Pour chocolate pudding over them.
  4. Make another layer of graham crackers, then sliced bananas.
  5. Pour vanilla pudding over that layer.
  6. Crumble up some graham crackers and sprinkle the little shits over the top.
  7. Foil that fucker and put it in the fridge.
  8. Tell your roommate you will impale him on a spike if he touches it.
  9. Wait a few hours, cut a square like you (or your mom) would cut lasagna, slap it on a plate, and start shoveling.

Recipe: Pop’s Eggs



  • tree inches or so of pepperoni–the thin dry stuff not the cheap shit, and don’t be a pussy and peel it
  • two/tree eggs–me tree, you, I don’t know
  • cube the fucking pepperoni, trow it in a pan, let ’em fry, flip the fuckers, don’t burn ’em, you should have a nice orange grease puddle
  • crack and trow in de eggs, right wit de pepperoni and grease
  • smash de yolks then flip dat shit over for a few seconds
  • slide it onto a plate and mangia
  • don’t forget to turn the heat off or you set off the fucking smoke alarm


I don’t know if this just comes with age or what, but I’m less patient with my relationships, when I should probably be more patient. The first sign of any drama, no matter how sexually starved I happen to be, and I lose her number. Perhaps, this makes me unpopular with the ladies. Maybe, I’m getting a reputation.


What I am hoping is that by reading my take on the whole mating game, you’ll have a better appreciation for whatever predicament you’re in, be that anything between marital bliss and been lovin’ your fist.

Sure, I’m bitter sometimes. Aren’t you? How many times do you let karma kick you before you become jaded like me, and begin to expect it? So, you’re pissed. He dumps you for a skank-hole. Go ahead and be hurt–that’s natural. It’s an ego slap. As you get older, you’ll begin to take these more in-stride. Sure, you’ll complain about it to a friend, relative, or co-worker, but you’ll get over it.

Look at this book as my way of getting over it. A collection of irreverent, sarcastic, vulgar, crude, whatever-you-call-it essays containing my fucked-up perception of life, which might actually lower my blood pressure by writing, and generate a giggle or two for the reader.

Before we go any further, let me warn you that I love to cuss. Fucking love it. You’re going to read plenty of bad words, so reading aloud is strongly discouraged, unless you’re in church.

Also, since I have taken certain liberties with our language, and I am a bit whiny and insensitive, I’ve decided to enhance this tome with–drum roll, please–recipes!

Cheers, my dears.