Facebook the Sewer

Dear Diary …

Facebook is an amazing thing. It has revolutionized the way we communicate, and really has helped make the world become a better place. Oh who am I kidding? It’s a sewer! Like straight from the sewage treatment plant, festering full of every human germ of the world, and all the horrible things we say and do. It’s terrible!

Diary … I don’t even like talking to people, but Facebook has made even ME long for the days when all we did was talk face to actual human face, and not on some cesspool of a website that has become this place for everybody to spend all day whining and complaining about every little thing in their life.

And the biggest problem I have, is that it’s made people feel WAY too important. They think they’re like, Kings and Queens of their own little Kingdom … lording over their flock of dedicated Facebook friends.

Acting all important … like we’re all sooooo privileged to hear about your daily whining about your sinus infection, or about how one of Logan’s teachers was mean to him, or how it’s 32 days till your big beach trip.

Look … it’s fine if that’s the stuff you wanna post. I don’t care. The problem is that you THINK I care. That’s what always drives me nuts when I see this message …

“Just a did a big Facebook purge on my friends list. Congrats on making the cut.”

You know what? When I see that message, I’m actually BUMMED that I made the cut. And what are all of us supposed to say … those of us that made this magical cut?

“Oh thank you Lord of the Facebook for allowing me to still see your posts about how you wish it was Friday already and how you only got 3 hours of sleep last night. Rejoice to thee that I can be one of your chosen ones!”

Need I remind you that there’s only one true King … ME. King Zack. Nobody else.

So go ahead and post your little insignificant things. Just remember that’s exactly what they are … insignificant.

OK … moving on Diary …

The warm weather is finally creeping in, and soon we’ll be smack dab in the middle of the hot days of the summer time. So with that in mind, I offer everyone a piece of advice … especially men.

When inevitably somebody comes to your door … pizza guy, FedEx person, random kid selling coupon books for his school … can you please do us all a favor and put a shirt on before you open the door?

What sane person answers a door shirtless?

Immediately the whole normal balance of society and social interaction is thrown off. You have no shirt on!

I know you might be hot … but human beings put shirts on before they answer the door. Especially for strangers!

I really do feel for delivery people … the stuff they have to see .. stuff they don’t even wanna see … stuff they can’t un-see. Why are you doing this to them?

And they must be amazingly strong individuals, because how is it that we don’t hear more stories in the news like “Longtime pizza delivery guy decides he can’t take it anymore and stabs his own eyes out?”

I don’t care what anybody does in the privacy of their own home. Sit around shirtless … smoke weed … marry a goat … whatever. As long as it don’t affect me, then I don’t care. But when you cross that plane … the doorway of your house … that’s the threshhold to the outside world and society. Put a dang shirt on!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

No Hustle

Dear Diary …

We’re all in this together, right? The world is a crazy place. So if we don’t have each other’s backs … we’re screwed! Right?

It seems like the obvious answer to these questions is “yes … we’re all in this together,” but if we are, then why are so many of you showing no hustle when it comes to a green arrow?

You know … green arrow … at a traffic light. The quickest of the traffic lights. So when that thing turns green … you gotta punch it Margaret and show me some hustle so we can all make it thru this stinkin’ light together!

And this seems like common sense, but all last week I’m just trapped behind … slow … and … steady … take … my … time. C’mon man … I wanna get thru this light too! Move it!

Nobody hustles anymore … for anything.

At work … doo bee doo bee doo … doin’ my job … as slow as possible.

Crossing the street … walkin’ reaaaal … sloowwwwww

Pick up the pace slackers! You don’t have to move all crazy, but we’re on this Earth for a limited about of time, I don’t wanna spend my precious time waiting for your meatball sub legs to walk across the street. Hustle!

OK … moving on Diary …

I’m pretty sure every kid on Earth has the same thought about their parents … That they’re idiots. They all think we’re just dumb, oblivious humanoids that were only put on this Earth to make rules and mow the lawn.

I know that’s what my kids think … that I’m some fool that falls for their little games.

Like my son … he’s three … and he thinks he’s tricking me into giving him milk at times he’s not supposed to ask for milk.

Cuz what he does is he doesn’t directly ask for milk … he just says …

“Hey what’s in da refrigerator?”

I don’t know, what’s in there?

“Is it milk? You got milk in there?”

Yes … there’s milk in there.

“Is it cow’s milk? You got cow’s milk in there?”

Fine … here’s your milk. But don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing here.

My daughter takes a different approach … like when she wants a snack and it’s not snack time …

“Hey Daddy!”


[[[[Mumble mumble Cheez-Its?]]]]

What was that?

[[[[Mumble mumble Cheez-Its?]]]]

Yeah … I hear Cheez-Its in there. And she just points her little finger at the box. [[[Mumble mumble Cheez-Its?]]

Fine … here’s your Cheez-Its. But again … let me be clear … you ain’t tricking me into this. I’m giving you these things because I choose to give them to you. Not because you’ve … [[robot voice]] tricked … humanoid … robot … Dad … again.

I might be dumb, but I ain’t THAT dumb!

Of course, when you think about it, they are getting exactly what they want at the time they aren’t supposed to have it, so [[[robot voice]] Maybe … I … am … the … idiot.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye

The Best ______ Ever

Dear Diary …

I start this week with a warning, because this is a cautionary tale of trust, and how most people don’t really deserve yours. Here’s the deal … I fashion myself a bit of a foodie. I like food … I like eatin’ it. And I like makin’ it.

So as someone who makes food, I’m always on the lookout for delicious new recipes to try. Enter the internet … which is a phenomenal place to find recipes. In theory. The problem being, you don’t know the person on the other end. Much like when you think you’re having sexy chats with a pretty young lady, and turns out that lady is an ugly old dude with a porn-stache who’s got a thing for catfishing unsuspecting men like yourself. That’s what you actually get. So I’ve HEARD of course, because I would NEVER use the internet for naughty things. That’s just … um … wrong or something.

But back to the recipes …

Here’s the wisdom I pass along to you …

Any recipe that is titled “Best ____ Ever” or “Easiest _____ Ever” … anything like that … RUN AWAY! It stinks!

And here’s how you know it stinks … they say it’s the best. Because we can all agree … we got a lotta dumb people in this world … right? Probably more dumb people than there are smart people. So why in the world would we listen to their opinions? They’re dumb! So if they think it’s the “Best Lasagna Ever” … it ain’t. These are paste-eaters we’re talking about here, so clearly they have no taste. They eat paste!

You must get your recipes from a trusted source. And that trusted source is very rarely Pinterest. That place is just chock full of dingalings making lousy food and trying to pass it off as the “Best Ever.”

But I’m a sucker, and I keep going back. Lately I’m on this kick of making things that go in jars … hot sauces, simple syrups, pickles … stuff like that. So I see “Easiest Dill Pickles” ever. Oh and course they say “they are sooooooo delicious.” Excessive use of the letter “O” in their “soooooo” should’ve been a simple tipoff for me, but I dive in anyway.

And what do I end up with Diary? The nastiest jar of pickles I’ve ever tasted in my life. I open this thing … I kid you not … It smells like a horrible combination of dill and farts. And that’s what it tastes like too … Dill pickle farts. Horrible!

But it’s my own fault for trusting this goofy recipe in the first place. Lousy Pinterest … nothin’ but a bunch of wanna-be food bloggers coming up with their craptastic recipes thinkin’ they’re gonna be the next Rachel Ray. Out you go, Pinterest! Trust noone!

OK … Moving on Diary …

When I am King … as you know there are gonna be sweeping changes … and here’s another one to add to the list …

You know those signs on the highway that tell you the restaurants that are at the next exit? Well they are gonna be required by Zackmerica law to put in BIG writing how far away that restaurant is from the exit.

Yeah … I know they do it when you get OFF the exit, but you’re already committed at that point, so they got you trapped. And I’m done gettin’ trapped.

On my last road trip I pull off to get something … and the place is 3.7 miles away. I’m sorry, but that don’t count as “right off the exit.” And furthermore, I kept track, cuz I was mad, and it was 4.1 miles. So they LIED even!

Hooked and me and got me all ready for a cheeseburger, then dangled that thing in front of my face like donkey and a carrot for 4 stinkin’ miles.

Well no more of this in Zackmerica! You WILL put your distance on the sign BEFORE the exit. And anything over two miles … you ain’t even gettin’ on the sign, cuz you’re too far away! Don’t like it … move closer to the road. The end.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

No Friday Meetings and Your Elf on a Shelf

Dear Diary …

I often talk about how when I become King and Supreme Leader of Zackmerica, there will be TONS of new laws that will go into effect. Well today, I have one that I want to add. But you know what? We don’t even have to wait until King Zack is in charge. Start doing this law IMMEDIATELY!

And here it is … No meetings on Fridays. NONE. EVER! No exceptions and no substitutions!

First of all … let’s just stop lying to ourselves and all admit the truth … nobody works hard on Fridays. OK, you might work hard, but you still work hardER on other days. Case in point? You know what day of the week has the most botched surgeries? Friday! Now that should tell you something. That no matter how important your job is … surgeon for crying out loud … You’re still just a human that wants to kick back and enjoy the freakin’ weekend and you’re not working as hard as you do on Wednesday.

Second … And here’s the real reason why Friday meetings are banned … Your lazy butt had ALL week to get this stuff done, and now all of a sudden you realize “Oh no … it’s Friday and I haven’t done anything all week … I need to have a meeting!”

Oh no … I ain’t gettin’ you off the hook any more there, slacker!

“But it’s important!”

Too bad!

If it was that important, you should’ve gotten your stuff together earlier in the week.

Friday meeting. You ever notice too how they never give you a heads up either? They just come in on Friday … “Hey we need to have a meeting … right now. Meeting … Come on. Conference room.”

Oh awesome! As if I’m just sitting here … doing nothing … thinking to myself “Boy I hope we have a meeting right now so I can have something to do, cuz I was just sitting here doing nothing.”

No more. And I’m drawing a hard line. No slap on the wrist. Cuz then you’ll never learn. So it’s very simple … You call a Friday meeting … Life in prison. Next!

OK … moving on Diary … Like it or not … the holiday season is here. I for one … like it. That said, let me go ahead and just give everybody out there on Facebook a warning … Nobody wants to see pictures of where your Elf on a Shelf ended up last night.

“Oh look at that naughty Elf … he ate all the marshmallows!”

Don’t care!!!

Hey … if that creepy little Elf makes your kids behave at Christmas time. That’s great. That what Cherry Sparkles … yes that’s our Elf … Cherry Sparkles (I know … I didn’t pick the name) … but that’s what she does. So I like her for that, but I don’t need to be punishing the rest of the world with a running newsfeed of all the silly Pinterest-inspired mischief that my Elf was up to last night.

Keep you Elf to yourself! Oooh … that’s catchy! Zack Jackson, you stayed up late comin’ up with THAT piece of comedic gold!

No but seriously … we don’t wanna see your dumb Elf. Stop it.

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Fast Talking and TV Watching

Dear Diary …

Times change. We evolve. Stuff we used to need at one point in our lives … we don’t need any more. Take the land line for example. You got a cell phone? You don’t need it any more. Sure … there’s exceptions if you live in a bad cell signal area, or you’re just a weirdo that likes being called by telemarketers, but the point is … most of us have evolved beyond it. Typewriter. Gone! No need.

So here’s one I’d like to suggest … It is high time we get rid of these ridiculous disclaimers we force people to put in commercials. Especially car commercials, where I’m of course referring to the part where they start talkingreallyfastandlayingdownabunchofrandomfactsanddetailsthatyoucan’tevenhearorunderstandbecausetheyarebeingsaidsoquickly.

Alright … c’mon … let’s be honest … We have no idea what they’re saying in those things, so why even bother making them say it in the first place? We all know there’s stuff and rules and add-ons for everything in this world. Making them spew it all out as fast as they can isn’t accomplishing anything. We have no idea what they’re saying anyway. So who’s this protecting?

Or even just simpler things. Like can’t we all agree … that we ALL know that “price and participation may vary?” I’m well aware that a cheeseburger at the airport McDonald’s is gonna cost more than the McDonald’s down the street from my house.

I mean, have you ever met someone in your life who’s dense enough to think … “For a limited time only? But I thought this deal would last FOREVER!”

Ugh … what a waste. Get rid of it.

OK … moving on Diary …

First of all … I love television. It’s got everything you want … drama, comedy, reality … pornography. Point is … it’s fun entertainment for whatever you’re into. So what I don’t need, is some sort of holier than thou guilt trip from people who don’t watch TV. Man … they think they’re the smartest people in the room, don’t they?

Oh .. we don’t watch television in our house. Our children have never seen an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Well aren’t you special? Funny … I don’t see any trophies on your mantle for winning the “Not Watching Television” Award.

You don’t wanna watch? Fine. But don’t act like it makes you any smarter because you read a book. Cuz you know what’s a book? 50 Shades of Grey. You and I both know you’re reading that, and you’re not reading Kafka over there smarty pants. And yes … I Googled that guy’s name to sound smart! Kafka! Sounds like a fancy Greek yogurt.

Point is … I should not feel guilty that I like TV. And parents .. we’re all terrible at this.

We totally lie to other parents all the time. “Oh we don’t watch THAT much TV in our house. Maybe just an hour.”

Oh whatever … we are all LYING!

You know what? It was a rainy on Sunday … and you know what my kids did? Watched TV. ALL. DAY. LONG. Didn’t even bother to get ‘em dressed either. How ya like me now, you Super Parents?

Furthermore … let me let you in on a little secret when it comes to kids. You know what they want more than anything? The stuff you deprive them of.

Think about THAT next time you try to run your little perfect household of no sins and vices. Your kids are the ones that go buck wild, and then end up in viral videos when they break their arm trying to jump off a roof and into a pool at a Frat party. Great parenting, Mom and Dad!

Just let ’em watch TV. And even if you don’t, just be quiet while I let mine do it.

Till next time Diary … I say .. Goodbye

This State Is Broken

Dear Diary …

Let me start by saying … I like it here. I’ve lived in a bunch of different places, and Virginia is actually my favorite. Funny irony of that, is that when I was in college, I had a roommate with Virginia plates on his car. And I very distinctly remember thinking, “Virginia? Who the heck lives in Virginia? I’ve never met anybody in my whole life from that place. What a weirdo” And poof … here I am … Virginia! (And happy to be on.e)

That said … this state is messed. Oh wait, I’m sorry. This COMMONWEALTH is messed up.

I mean, all last week, everywhere I went, I say police officers just sittin’ there waitin’ … for YOU to speed and for them to write you a ticket. Heck, not even speeding, my wife got stopped one day for a “license check,” which is something I didn’t even know they did. But Meanwhile, you know what was going on around here at the same time? Crime! Have you seen the numbers for the city of Roanoke? Let’s just say … we’re number one, and this is not an award that we want to be winning.

Now I don’t fault the po-po … they’re just doing what their told. But why are they being told to babysit the general public when they should be spending their time stopping actual crime?

Or how about this compromise … you wanna have the police sit in random parking lots waiting for speeders? Then have them do it in bank parking lots, since we seem to love to rob those around here. Ta-DA! Two birds with one stone. You’re welcome.

And it doesn’t stop there … they tried to propose a law last week to legally limit the amount of people you can have at your house for a cookout. Your house … your burgers and dogs … but they’re in charge of the guest list. Oh yeah, that makes total sense. So that graduation party you throw at your house this month for your kid? Probably illegal.

And while we’re talkin’ grads … the state … I mean the COMMONWEALTH … Is actually spending money on a campaign to remind you that “it’s illegal to give scratch tickets to somebody under the age of 18, so we’re gonna bust you if you give one to a kid at a graduation party.” This is what we’re wasting our time on? And again … while we’re doing this, what else is happening? Crime!

It’s a Nanny State … Nanny COMMONWEALTH … whatever. Point is, I don’t want a nanny. At least not this kind of nanny. You wanna be a nanny state? Fine. Then you do what actual nannies do and you show up at my house tonight at seven o’clock and handle bath time with my two little rugrats while Mommy and Daddy can enjoy a cocktail together. That’s your job as a nanny. You ain’t even doin’ the nanny part right.

OK … moving on Diary … I just need to ask … because pretty much everybody is familiar with a camera, right? I think it’s safe to say we’ve all used one. Heck … most of us now carry one 24-7 on our phones, so I would say we all have a pretty good idea of the concept of the camera and how it works. And yet, when you’re out with a group of people, and you decide you want a picture of the whole group, why is it that the person you ask to take the picture … no matter what they are … young, old, man, woman … that person acts like this is the first picture they’ve ever taken in their entire lives?

Wait … what do I do? Point it over here? And then I push a button? Did I get it? Did I take the picture?

My son knows how to use a camera. He’s two. What is your deal?

And the picture quality? Forget it. Fuzzy … too far away … nine miles of headroom above everybody in the picture. Terrible!

Now I know you people can take pictures. You flood my social media feeds with all the pictures of your little booger eaters and every single thing they do in their lives. So why can’t you take one picture for somebody else when called upon?

Till next time Diary … I say, goodbye.