Armbone's Guide to Life, Parenting, and Living as a Functioning Dengenerate

It's been 4 days now since the wife and kid left to visit family in North Dakota. I'm realizing that being alone, not having a woman around, and not having a child in the house that I'm supposed to make sure is alive at all times, gets really fucking boring and can almost start to make yourself feel a little crazy. I've had to work everyday, so at least I've gotten out the house and hit the gym, so I don't feel like a total piece of shit. I've also visited the parents, gone out to eat with them, went to a my nephews football game (lost to a bunch of cheating, pussy-ass Ledyard kids), and met up for a couple of cocktails with a buddy of mine (in a bar full of douche bags). So I haven't been cooped up the whole time. But when I'm home, in an empty house, with absolutely no responsibilities, some weird shit has happened. The other night I sitting home, catching up on the dvr, and I decide to have a cocktail. I'm a responsible adult, I can have a c...

The day started off extremely productive. My father in-law came over to check out the spray-in mold/moisture resistant insulation in the basement, which lead us straight to Hanley Williams to order sheet rock. After dropping $500+ on the rock, we grabbed some grinders for lunch and ate them out back at my house. Apparently eating outside got the father in-law's head wandering, because in the blink of an eye he had a tape measure in his hand and he was getting a measurement for lumber to finish my fence. Next thing I know, I'm dropping another $500+ for the wood. I get back to the house just in time to meet the sheet rock delivery guy at my house, and lug 30 sheets of rock down into my basement. So at this point in the day, I'm a G lighter in the pockets and my back is fucking killing me. But my wife is home from work, she was feeling kinda funny, and the nephew wants to hit some baseballs at the school down the street, so the next place I found myself was shaggi...

I thought my birthing class days were over a couple weeks ago, when I blogged about the man tits, penis pumps, and what not. Apparently I had forgotten about a three hour course we signed up for the same time we signed up for the birthing class. Well that class was tonight. It was called "Caring For Your Newborn", and it's a class that touched on all the real important shit that you didn't learn in the birthing class. For example: changing diapers, how to swaddle a baby, how to save a choking baby, and breast feeding. It was a little toned down when compared to the birthing classes, but I did manage to learn a few tidbits of information that I think all you armboners might be find interesting. First the teacher told us all the in's and out's of breast feeding. The baby drops out the vag automatically knowing that it needs to find the tit and suck, in order to survive. Just like a dog, or a cat would. Amazing how nature w...

There's regulars that stick in the memory of Armbone Stallone, and then there's people that think they're important enough to be consider regulars. People need to understand that the rib palace is located in one of the busiest places in the world, and we see thousands of people a week. If you want to be remembered, you have to have certain attributes. You either have to be a good tipper, a total dickhead, surrounded by hot women, or you have to be a fucking nutjob like the Fry-Nubs. You can't just be an everyday Joe Shmo and expect us to remember you. We got one older couple that comes in every week. I'd say they classify as weirdos. The man looks like Charlie Manson, has fake teeth, and reeks like cigarettes. Imagine the most average looking, heavy set, trailer park queen ever, and that's the wife. They order the same thing every time. They order two hot dogs, with chili, cheddar cheese, sauerkraut, onions, and bacon. The wife drinks ...

When my wife first told me we were gonna be taking a birthing class, my first thoughts were, "Fuck that, I heard those classes were bullshit". Well I'm not gonna lie, I learned a lot and I'm glad we did it. Overall I had a good time, and meet some good people. Also gained a few armboners in the process. Well tonight was the last class. It was a little more tame then I would've liked, but there were a few good laughs. The class started off with the teacher showing us a few more things we might encounter during labor, if there are any complications. The first thing was the vacuum, used in vacuum extration deliveries. It's not like a shop-vac, although that would be pretty funny. It was a hand held, pump vac. It had a cup at the end of a tube, the tube ran to a hand pump, and you grip the handle of it in and out to create suction. As she was holding it up, one of the other guys in the class started laughing to himself. The teacher turn to him and asked what he ...

One place that I go to, to get away from the world and clear my head, is the gym. It's a place where I can go blow off stream, burn off extra energy, and basically make myself feel good about existing. The problem is, there's quite a few assholes out there that have no clue about gym etiquette. I swear these fucks are there with no idea what they're doing, and they always come close to ruining one of my favorite forms of therapy. So with all that said, let me run down a little list of unwritten rules that you need to know if you're one of these dickheads. Form - Listen, nobody gives a fuck how much weight you have on the bar. If you have 225 on the bench, and your reps consist of a 3 or 4 inch range of motion, then you're pretty much wasting your time. Do yourself a favor, drop down to 185, and do a full rep. And ask for a spot if you need it. You'll be working your muscles better, and you won't look like an as...

Anybody that knows me, has most likely at some point meet "Hank". Hank is my drunken alter ego. An unstoppable force, that makes an appearance everytime I do shots. The stories of Hank are legendary. Fights, headbutt contests, snorting salt, arrests. You name it, he's done. One of these days I'll share the epic tales of "Hank the Tank", but tonight I will tell you about how my alter ego, has an alter ego of his own. And that guy is known to the world as "The Night-Pisser". I know what you might be thinking, and the answer is no. I'm not a schizo! I'm just a fun fucking guy, with a couple of fun fucking personalities, that like to have a fun fucking time! So back off! Sorry. The first time the Night-Pisser was ever discovered, was back when I was still living in my parents basement. At the time, my girlfriend and I had finished the basement and turned it into an apartment, and we were living down there together. It was just another typical...