So here we are Ghosties, it’s a rainy Tuesday in Atlanta and I’m sick AGAIN. See, when you have two small children in the house life essentially turns into a never-ending game of “Shitty Jeopardy” where the question is always “Who is everyone?” and the answer is “These people are always sick”.


I had the shit through the holidays. Then, Ruby got it. Then, Oli got it. After that, Oli got my wife sick. Then, Oli got it back. My wife got better and then I IMMEDIATELY got it again. Shit is BANANAS. I mean, aren’t we supposed to be fucking upstanding adults here, able to take care of the progeny we’ve unleashed upon the world? Yes we are, but somehow these little hellspawn keep trying to kill us from the inside out, which is contradictory to the mission at hand.

Wanna know how many times I’ve said “please don’t cough directly into my mouth” to a kid? A LOT. That’s how many.

Whatever. Here we are, it’s a shitty day outside, I feel shitty inside, and I have plenty of shit that I NEED to be writing about but for today- we’re just gonna have some fun. Big articles and interviews are coming up but I feel like doing a good old-fashioned brain dump today. No, YOU’RE procrastinating.

You may or may not have gathered this next fact from my writing, but I can be a TAD on the neurotic side. When my wife reads that sentence she is going to laugh out loud and potentially spit Diet Coke all over her phone. Yeah, OK- I’m fucking weird, riddled with hangups, and completely left of whatever “normal” even means anyway. But you know what? I bet you fuckers are too! So, since I feel like shit today, I am once again going to share some of my fucked-uppedness with you (yes I know that’s not a word, calm your shit grammar police) so we can all laugh our way through this shitty fuckin’ Tuesday.

Send in the clowns.

  • I despise reality TV and every single thing its wretched existence stands for, but somehow back in 2011 I got obsessively hooked on Teen Mom. I’m not proud, I’m just stating a fact. Side note- FUCK their parents for letting them be exploited like that, and fuck me too for fucking watching it. Dick.
  • Can we really be sure that there ain’t no party like a West Coast party? I’ve been to some ragers in my day, and nearly all of them were in some poor schmucks house that was out of town and all were in my hometown or here in Atlanta. It might be time to reassess this stance.
  • I’ll eat god damn near anything, but if you put pickled beets anywhere NEAR my field of vision shit’s going DOWN.
  • I fucking LOVE disaster movies. Like, fucking LOVE THEM. The OG War of the Worlds blew my mind when I was a kid, and then it was The Swarm. The Swarm was a disaster movie from the 70’s (I think) and it was about a swarm of “killer bees” tearing ass all over the place and it was awesome. Deep Impact, Armageddon, Twister- ALL DAY.
  • While widely regarded as one of the greatest video games of all time, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild made me want to stab out my eyeballs with toothpicks and place them near the couch cushion I sit on like a nerd Vlad the Impaler, so that it would serve as a warning if I ever got the fucking brainy idea to try playing The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild again. No, YOU have unpopular opinions.
  • I don’t like jazz. FUCK that feels good! Being in your 30’s means you can fucking stop pretending that you like shit just cause other people do. Yeah, those people talking about jazz always seem like they’re in on some cosmic wavelength that the rest of us just can’t quite understand, however- that “cosmic wavelength” is a bunch of random garbage notes, dissonant trumpets, and stabby piano that makes me wish every note was a knife hurtling towards my heart so it could end my suffering post haste. Fuck jazz, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it. FREEDOM!
If only Mel Gibson JUST hated jazz.
  • I have misophonia, which means certain sounds make me uncontrollably want to slam my head into a table full-speed. One of the worst offenders is chewing, so you can imagine the symphony of destruction happening in my brain with two gobbling toddlers at the dinner table- I’m trying dammit. Grown-ass adults though? My kids will grow out of this shit but YOU? Yes YOU- loud-breathing, lip-smacking CRETIN AND STAIN UPON YOUR HOUSE AND BRETHREN?! You’re gonna chew like that forever, and we’re just not going to be friends.
  • Dear Overly Cheerful People In The Morning: STOP IT. Upon dropping the minions off at daycare I am assaulted by staff saying “Good Morning!” or trying to talk to my children when I’M trying to hustle them to their destination so I can go hate the next 8 hours across town. All this takes place before I’ve had more than a passing sip of my Rockstar Energy Zero Carb (yeah, I want them to fucking sponsor our shit- I drink a frankly unacceptable amount of the stuff and it would be wicked rad to get it for free, fight me.) and while I USED to be a morning person the tides have shifted in my approach towards FUCK YOU years old.
  • Before we started The Ghost Generation we hadn’t been on social media for almost five years. Five glorious, garbage-free years of non-swiping and scrolling bliss. Promotion is the nature of the beast though, and you can’t build a community or a brand without it so I’m playing along. That being said, when my wife and I came off Facebook back in 2014 we were blissfully unaware that nearly every conversation with a person we didn’t see daily would inevitably involve hearing the statement “Oh, I forgot you weren’t on Facebook!” when someone asked if we’d seen something or another. No, we’re fucking NOT on Facebook, Stephanie- but have you forgotten how to interact with REAL MOTHERFUCKING HUMANS? Do WE not deserve to be sent pictures of your dinner via text or email so we can vicariously hate you like everyone on Facebook does? For shame.
  • Also, The Ghost Generation is NOT on Facebook either. I know, you’re supposed to be “everywhere” and shitloads of people are there waiting to consume our offerings over in ZuckerbergLand but here’s the thing- they wouldn’t let me the fuck back on. Nope, I tried to make a new personal page cause you have to have one to also make a business page- and I didn’t want to reactivate my OLD personal page cause I don’t want a lot of those people to know SHIT about my current life- so Facebook thought I was a fake and they disabled my shit forever apparently. So, fuck Facebook. We’re on Twitter and Instagram and if that’s not enough I super don’t care.
  • Cliche suburban-Dad small talk makes me want to fucking find the nearest tall thing to jump headfirst from. “How’s that golf swing, Bill?”, “Get that VP position yet, Tim?”, “I think I’m gonna watch the game in my man cave”- fucking PUKE PUKE PUKE EAT SHIT. “Hey Ted? Wanna go ritualistically smash our faces in with Bud Light cans?”, “Honey, can we just go to Home Depot and kill each other with our bare hands there since we’re gonna live and fucking die in that place anyway?”, or “Hey Darren, how about you MOW YOUR FACE instead of the fucking grass for once?”- I can get on board with any and all of those.
  • True story: I’ve swallowed more gum in my lifetime than I’ve spit out. Something just HAPPENS to me when I chew gum. Once it loses its flavor, and gets a little more firm to the chew, it makes me all nervous and tense and then I just swallow it to make it stop.
No, YOU have problems.
  • I haven’t worn underwear since 2013. It’s fucking uncomfortable, it shifts and fucking binds, and I’ve never found any configuration that doesn’t get on my fucking nerves to no end. So, I don’t fucking wear them. And you know what? I wash my ass, I keep an impeccably clean penis, and your argument is invalid.
  • Bono: The world loves him and I fuckin’ hate his rotten guts. “Hello everyone, I’m here! I’m here to save you in my sunglasses and leather pants! You’re welcome! MEEEEEEEEEEEE!”.
  • Hating Bono and enjoying U2 are NOT mutually exclusive. Thank you and goodnight.

Who SAID tantrums were only for toddlers?

How the fuck do you even close out an article like thi……


A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together!

The Ghost Generation

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