DANDRINGLE.com

Dan Dringle Live!

Fri, 18 May 2012 11:41:04 -0700

Tonight. The Also-Ran Comedy Hour presents “Dringle Comes Alive” at The Lab at the Hollywood Improv. DanDringle.com is brought to life by comedians Jim Hegarty, Jared Moskowitz, Josh Androsky, Brandon Vaughn and Sofiya Alexandra. My sick is inside them and tonight it becomes yours. Live.

You do the same thing every Sunday. You grab your wallet and...

Mon, 14 May 2012 11:41:00 -0700

You do the same thing every Sunday.

You grab your wallet and your keys and kiss your wife and tell her you’re going to Staples for office supplies.

You aren’t lying.

You have every intention of going.

You need to buy a bulletin board, one of those fancy ones that are half natural cork surface and half dry-erase board.

You think this will fix everything. If only you could just keep your thoughts organized. Write them down. See them laid out. Be able to take a step back and take a look at your goals to see them as a series of small, manageable tasks. Right now it all seems too much.

You feel more uncomfortable in your own skin than a Puerto Rican does at a job interview.

You drive past Staples without even realizing it, but when you do, you keep going.

You drive and drive measuring time by the sips you take of that Templeton Rye whiskey-filled stoneware coffee mug your son David got at the Renaissance Fair.

You love your son, David, no matter how many family dinners he’s ruined by talking about dragons.

You pull over and park your Pontiac by the reservoir where all the women go to jog.

You leave the engine running and tune the stereo to a local AM sports talk radio station and set the volume just soft enough that you can’t make out the words yet just loud enough that you can’t hear your own thoughts.

You unbuckle your pants and pull out your old gross goblin dick and time your strokes to the beat of the runner’s footsteps. Just as the freckle faced mulatto girl with the dad calves makes her second lap and you come like the mail.

You clean up the oily dick sick you just disrespected your steering collumn with using a napkin found in a discarded Wendy’s bag from under your passenger seat.

You treated yourself once tonight. Why not treat yourself again?

Treat yourself to Wendy’s new hand-cut and panko breaded North Pacific Cod Premium Fish Fillet Sandwich.

You come home. Your wife asks you why you didn’t get the bulletin board.

You tell her the one you wanted was out of stock.

You tell her you’ll try again next week.

You do the same thing every Sunday.

Today is Valentine’s Day! Do you know what that means?...

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 10:05:07 -0800

Today is Valentine’s Day!

Do you know what that means?

It means that today is your chance to prove to the woman you love how much she means to you and how sorry you are to to prove to her that she can trust you regardless of how much you’ve hurt her in the past. Valentine’s Day is your last chance and it had better be perfect.

Is it going to be enough? It isn’t.

A diamond tennis bracelet won’t make her move forward and act like nothing happened. It did happen. It will have always happened. You don’t get to rewind. You don’t get to erase. You did what you did and she knows.

Is the finest dinner at the fanciest restaurant going to mean much after the maitre ‘d calls her by your whore’s name? Is the foie gras as rich as those lies you’ve forced down her throat? Buttery enough to make her forget how bitter shame tastes? It isn’t.

Is the most expensive wine enough to make up for wasting the time that’s been your life together? Is that expensive Pinot Noir going to give her back the youth you stole? It won’t.

Her humiliation will always be there, like the scar from a skinned knee or the carpet wine stain that won’t come up. Not even with OxiClean.

All the gourmet artisan chocolates in the world won’t fill the whole you’ve left in her heart. No amount of Belgian genache will smooth away all those lines carved in her forehead waiting up for you while you were out all night snorting OxyContin and depositing squirting your disrespect inside the stink trough of one of many anonymous day time Cracker Barrel waitresses.

Or perhaps those chocolates were just meant to fatten her up so you don’t feel guilty admitting she hasn’t made your greasy little pig prick hard since before “Ally McBeal” went off the air.

This Valentine’s Day just sign the divorce papers and move out already. If you ever loved her you would let her move on.

This year, give the most unforgettable woman in your life the most unforgettable Valentine’s Day gift she’ll ever receive and the one thing she wants most of all.

And put a bullet right in your fucking mouth.

This rose is for you.

- Dan Dringle

Taco Bell unleashes the new Triple Steak Stack, a soft warm...

Fri, 11 Nov 2011 09:11:31 -0800

Taco Bell unleashes the new Triple Steak Stack, a soft warm flatbread with their patented Three-Cheese Blend over a Triple Portion of 100% USDA Select Marinaded Grilled Steak and…

…Is this some kind of joke?

Is it?

Is this some kind of joke, Theresa?

Was covering my passport in cocaine residue just before I left for my business trip in Mexico supposed to be funny? Was it? I bet you’re laughing so hard you’re soaking your soggy swamp bog cunt in gin piss right now.

I’m glad you think it’s funny. Border patrol sure thought it was funny. I’m being held at a patrol station right across the border. I can’t see because there are no windows, but I know Mexico is right outside my window because the air smells like black bean ass beefs and laziness.

You should see the bathroom here. Fucking disgusting. Let me ask you a question, which of the following has a higher probability of actually happening: me building my own time machine to go back and fuck Madeline Stowe in the asshole on the set of Twelve Monkeys, or a single one of these Mexican inbred pickled pepper dick retards using a toilet without pissing on the seat?

I’ve been in and out of consciousness for the better part of the last twelve hours. Have you ever been kicked so hard in the mouth by a Tejano border patrol officer that you swallowed a fused three-unit porcelain metal dental bridge. It felt like I was shitting out a crumbled Mountain Dew can.

If Texas is the asshole of the United States, Mexico is the anal fissure of America itself. A violent tear in Lady Liberty’s already battered and bruised brown eye.

I can hear them chattering outside. They’re talking about having me prosecuted in Mexico, Theresa. IN MEXICO! They are going to lock me away in some dark Mexican dungeon and force me to eat their semen for breakfast and other meals!

THAT IS UNLESS SOMEONE CAN GET THEIR FAT ASS OVER HERE TO SHOW THEM FURTHER LEGAL DOCUMENTATION THAT I AM WHO I SAY I AM SO YOU HAD BETTER GET THAT SWEAT PANT COVERED GARBAGE BAG OF BABY FOOD YOU CALL AN ASS ON THE FIRST PLANE TO THIS BACKWARDS TEXAS BORDERTOWN TO GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BECAUSE IF I HAVE TO SPEND ONE MINUTE MORE THAN I HAVE TO SMELLING THE CURDLED SOUR CREAM BREATHE OF THESE PEOPLE I WILL FINALLY FUCKING KILL YOU, THERESA!

DO YOU HEAR ME!?!

I will kill you.

I will kill you.

- Don Diego de la Dringle

Taco Bell da rienda suelta a la nueva pila triple filete, un pan...

Thu, 10 Nov 2011 10:14:22 -0800

Taco Bell da rienda suelta a la nueva pila triple filete, un pan plano suave y cálida con su sistema patentado de tres quesos de mezcla sobre una porción triple de USDA 100% Marinado Seleccione Steak a la parrilla y …

… ¿Es esto una broma?

¿Lo es?

¿Es esto una especie de broma, Teresa?

Cubría mi pasaporte en residuos de cocaína justo antes de irme a mi viaje de negocios en México supone que es gracioso? ¿Verdad? Apuesto a que estás riendo tan fuerte que está absorbiendo su coño empapado en ginebra pantano pantano de orines en estos momentos.

Me alegro de que piensan que es divertido. La patrulla fronteriza que pensó que era divertido. Estoy detenido en una estación de patrulla al otro lado de la frontera. No puedo ver porque no hay ventanas, pero sé que México está justo frente a mi ventana porque el aire huele a culo negro refuerza frijol y la pereza.

Usted debe ver el cuarto de baño aquí. Puto asco. Déjame hacerte una pregunta, ¿cuál de los siguientes tiene una mayor probabilidad de que sucede realmente: me la construcción de mi propia máquina del tiempo para volver y coger Madeline Stowe en el culo en el conjunto de los Doce Monos, o uno solo de estos mexicanos puras vinagre pimienta retrasa la polla con un baño sin orinar en el asiento?

He estado dentro y fuera de la conciencia durante la mayor parte de las últimas doce horas. ¿Alguna vez ha sido expulsado con tanta fuerza en la boca por un oficial de patrulla de frontera tejano que se tragó una fusión de tres unidades puente de metal porcelana dental. Se sentía como si estuviera cagando un rocío de la montaña se derrumbó puede.

Si Texas es el culo de los Estados Unidos, México es la fisura anal de la propia América. Un desgarro violento en Estatua de la Libertad ya maltratadas y golpeadas ojos marrones.

Puedo oír a charlar fuera. Están hablando de haberme juzgado en México, Teresa. EN MEXICO! Ellos me van a encerrar en una mazmorra oscura mexicana y me obligan a comer su semen para el desayuno y otras comidas!

A no ser que alguien puede conseguir el culo de grasa en aquí para mostrar más documentación legal que yo soy el que digo que soy así que mejor GET QUE CUBRE SWEAT PANT bolsa de basura de comida para bebés se llama a un asno en el primer avión A ESTA AL REVES TEXAS BORDERTOWN para sacarme la mierda de aquí porque si tengo que pasar UN MINUTO MÁS QUE TENGO QUE HUELE LA CREMA AGRIA CUAJADAS aliento de esta gente que FINALMENTE FOLLANDO KILL YOU, Teresa!

¿Me oyes?!

Te voy a matar.

Te voy a matar.

Te voy a matar.

- Don Diego de la Dringle

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Domino’s Pizza® unveils it’s mouthwatering new...

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 11:20:06 -0700

Domino’s Pizza® unveils it’s mouthwatering new Artisan Pizzas and tastebuds all over America could not be happier. New robust sauces, earthy fresh vegetables and premium meats top a hand stretched artisan-style crust and are cooked to perfection and delivered right to your door even if your door isn’t your door anymore.

Even if your door is now the door is now your estranged wife’s door in the house you paid for that she now shares with her new boyfriend, Trevis. (It’s like “Travis” but with an “e.”)

You want to hate him. But you don’t.

Sure, you could hate him for his stupid fucking name. The name Travis is already gayer than ironing your blue jeans.

Sure, you could hate him for fucking your wife but you haven’t been able to do that for years. Not in the way she wanted. Not in the ways that she deserved.

Sure, you could hate him because he’s black, and we all know how you feel about that, but then you found out that he’s from England and you have to give him a break. You’d take three British blacks for every one of our American blacks.

Sure, you could hate him for all the time he spends with your son, David, but you don’t. Trevis is good to him. He listens to him and teaches him things and makes him feel strong and confident. Makes him feel like the world isn’t such a scary place.

In the last six months Trevis has already raised David into being a better man that you are.

You don’t hate Trevis because you know that even if he hadn’t replaced you in your home you would have left by now anyway.

You never finish what you start. You can’t even finish this Artisan Pizza you ordered from Dominos.

It’s crust is 13 X 9 inches. Just like Trevis’ fat dick.

Go fuck yourself.

-Dan Dringle.

Apple® releases the greatest iPhone® yet, with the new iPhone...

Tue, 11 Oct 2011 09:53:03 -0700

Apple® releases the greatest iPhone® yet, with the new iPhone 4S, featuring Apple’s new Dual-Core A5 chip, iOS 5 and the revolutionary Siri™ Voice Recognition Interface.

I miss you, Theresa.

Losing you is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and I saw a man die once. I could say that I’d rather be dead than live without you, but I already am. Dead in every way that matters. I may be alive but I’m certainly not living. Not anymore. Not without you.

You’re all I think about, even in my dreams but they’re not just dreams, they’re memories.

Some nights I lay down in my hotel room and suddenly it’s fifteen years ago and you’re picking me up from the airport after my first long business trip. We are so excited to see each other. We both have tears in our eyes and we make love right there in the airport parking garage in the backseat of our 1987 Plymouth Colt Vista.

Some nights I lay down and I’m in the kitchen of our first apartment on Spruce St. It’s 7:30am and I’m tiptoeing through our kitchen. I want to surprise you with breakfast in bed. I keep burning the pancakes until you wake to the sound of the smoke alarm. I’m so frustrated I punch a dent into the freezer door. You laugh as your kiss my red knuckles and tell me to turn off the stove. You touch my face. You sit at our thrift store kitchen table and you eat every single one of those burnt pancakes and with every bite you tell me you love me. You tell me I’m all you ever wanted. You tell me that I’m your whole heart and that you’ll never hurt me and that you’ll never go away. You say all these things, and I believe every one of them.

Then I wake up it’s gone. That moment is gone the dream is gone my youth is gone and you are gone, Theresa. I’m alone is some bed bug shit shack motel with nothing keeping me company but a liver that hurts to the touch and ever painful palpation reminding me of how much I have lost. Of how I’ve lost you.

It’s too painful to dream so I try to outrun it. If I don’t sleep I can’t dream. I don’t sleep but’s not the cocaine that keeps me awake at night. It’s the dread.

The iPhone 4S is available at authorized Apple retailers and will be gone someday just like the only women you’ve ever loved.

I miss you, Theresa.

I miss you.

-Dan Dringle

New DANDRINGLE.COM stickers now available. Slap ‘em all...

Thu, 29 Sep 2011 11:51:05 -0700

New DANDRINGLE.COM stickers now available.

Slap ‘em all over your town and help make Dan harder to get rid of than the bed bugs you picked up at that hotel near the airport in Memphis.

Email your address to DanDringle@gmail.com for your free “Dick Turkey” stickers, but just remember: Now Dan knows where you live.

FUNNY OR DIE CONTEST Dan Dringle is now on FunnyOrDie.com....

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 11:25:06 -0700

FUNNY OR DIE CONTEST

Dan Dringle is now on FunnyOrDie.com.

Be one of the first to “LIKE” and comment on Dan’s page and win a $10 Gift Certificate to TGIFriday’s so you can go take your girl out to a nice restaurant.

Treat her right. Buy her a Friday’s Pink Punk Cosmo and make her feel special. Even though she’s not.

Make her feel loved even though she’s not.

Make her feel like romance is something that really exists and not something she just dreamed of as a little girl and that she’s more than just battered gaping holes of pig meat meant to be used up and filled with the evil that all men make and do.

Even though she’s not.

Winner picked tomorrow so “like” and reblog away.

Good luck.

My son, David, just drew me a picture of his favorite animal,...

Tue, 13 Sep 2011 11:20:05 -0700

My son, David, just drew me a picture of his favorite animal, the Dick Turkey! What a talented little artist!

Daddy loves you, David.

Frequent fliers need all the carry on space they can get, so why...

Thu, 08 Sep 2011 11:20:06 -0700

Frequent fliers need all the carry on space they can get, so why not leave the laptop at home and make the MOTOROLA XOOM Android Tablet your new travel companion?

Cutting edge next-generation technology with the latest in Google Mobile innovations provides with you with everything you would need from a home computer but with the 1.6 pound lightweight portability of a tablet. It’s awesome in the truest sense of the word.

It has a front-facing 2-megapixel camera so you can video chat with your son David and explain to him why he has to eat dinner every night of the week at the condo of Trevis, the SPIN instructor at mommy and daddy’s gym.

His name is Trevis. That’s right. Trevis. With an “e.”

I saw his dick once. In the gym locker room. It was awesome in the truest sense of the word.

It was like seeing a whale surface. It was like seeing the Aurora Borealis.

It was smooth like an Asian’s forearm and non-porous as if it was made of blown glass.

There was not a single shadow on it as if his dick was it’s own light source and no matter which direction he moved his dick always seemed to point west.

His is the dick of a man. Mine looks like the gnarled finger of gypsy fortune teller.

Tell your son you miss him on the 10.1 Inch Widescreen HD display and not to let the black man in Capri pants make him forget about his father the way his mother has forgotten about her husband. Daddy will be home soon, David.

I love you, David.

Daddy loves you.

- Dan Dringle

Dear Dan,

Thu, 08 Sep 2011 09:37:14 -0700

Why do blind musicians always have to wave their head around all the time?
What does blindness have to do with your neck muscles? God, I hate them.

Thanks, Patricia Yu

Dear Patricia,
You’re racist. Can I take you out for dinner some time? I get 1/2 priced appetizers at most Chili’s due to my long standing AAA membership.

Dan “can I get some extra Chipotle Mayo with those Southwest Eggrolls, please?” Dringle

Upset that you never get invited to holiday barbecue? Me too!...

Mon, 04 Jul 2011 09:30:06 -0700

Upset that you never get invited to holiday barbecue? Me too!

Don’t worry, friend, because the WEBER GENESIS E-310 GAS GRILL is here to change all that! This is the new benchmark for luxury outdoor grilling technology so throw you own barbeque and have them come to you!

This optional liquid propane or natural gas grill can reach tempuratures of up to 38,000 BTU giving your backyard the cooking power of a restaurant kitchen, there’s no way anybody wouldn’t RSVP with a confident “Yes!” to a holiday barbeque at my house, especially after they see those handmade invitations I spent all night making written on the back of the court stenographers’ transcription of my most recent custody proceedings!

Daddy loves you, David.

I can’t wait until I see the look on my neighbors faces when they get a bite of those tasty burgers I’m going to be grilling up on those porcelain-enameled cast iron cooking grates.

If there’s two things I know how to do well, it’s grilling and fucking and trust me when I say that you’re going to need a Wet-Nap after both.

Maybe you sent a special invitation to a special woman. Maybe it’s someone you’ve had a secret crush on for many months now. Maybe it’s your son David’s piano teacher, Ms. Bebe Ann Dunbarr? Is it? Well, a gentleman never tells so it looks like I’m going to have to plead the fifth on that one.

Beethoven’s fifth that is!

I am totally having sex with my son David’s piano teacher. We recently made love on top of David’s practice baby grand. I fucked her from behind through a tear in her stockings until the sweat from my animal ramming made the eye make-up stream down her face and I pressed the back of her head into my 600 thread count sheets to reveal an inky fuck Rorschach blot painted with the warpaint of our sexuality.

I told her I thought it looked like a butterfly and then we came loud enough to make God remember we still exist.

I know she’ll never respect me but I’m going to fuck her until she loves me and I cannot wait to break her heart.

Happy Fourth of July, America. Keep your prick veins rigid with the red blood of FREEDOM.

- Dan Dringle

I'm on Twitter, David. Daddy loves you. Daddy will always love you.

Mon, 13 Jun 2011 13:28:01 -0700

I'm on Twitter, David. Daddy loves you. Daddy will always love you.

Microsoft brings video games in to the future with KINECT for...

Thu, 14 Apr 2011 12:00:06 -0700

Microsoft brings video games in to the future with KINECT for the Xbox 360. The new KINECT sensor means no controller required!. This game revolution works on groundbreaking body recognition technology letting you dive in to an immersive game play experience like never before.

I know you must have questions.

Dan, how does the KINECT sensor work?

Dan, how much does KINECT cost?

Dan, what is Hell like?

There is no God. There is no Devil. There is no afterlife and there is no Heaven. But as certain as I am that this cock sized line of cocaine and Vicodin isn’t going to snort itself, I am certain that there is a Hell.

Hell does exist and while it may not be a place you go to in the afterlife, it IS a place you go when you die. The thing is your heart doesn’t have to stop beating for you to be dead.

You can walk and talk and smile and nod. Walk your dog and chat with your mailman. That doesn’t mean you’re not dead. That doesn’t mean that on the inside you’re not as lifeless and full of toxic rot as any other body decomposing in an airtight box under overly manicured earth.

Hell is having 20/20 vision but the only thing you are able to see with any focus is your failures.

Hell is looking into the mirror and being surprised by the man staring back at you, not because you’re shocked at how gaunt and weathered your face has become, but at how far it still has to go to catch up with what’s inside your shit barnacled, idiot heart.

Hell is the sound of your impotent rage being swallowed by your cowardice.

Hell is knowing the flaws and weakness you abhor is the only thing you recognize about yourself anymore.

Hell is your regret.

Hell is your shame.

Hell is what you’ve earned with your life wasted and Hell is what you deserve.

I’ll see you in the fucking ground.

- Dan Dringle

Got tired aching feet from carrying around 228 lbs. of sin and...

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 12:30:06 -0700

Got tired aching feet from carrying around 228 lbs. of sin and shit for the last 53 years? Not anymore, thanks to Dr. Scholl’s Custom Fit Orthotic Inserts.

The patented new CradleFlex support system is expertly designed to support and stabilize the arch of your foot, minimizing the impact of every painful step as you pace from one airport terminal to the next throughout this never ending series of layovers that is your perdition.

No matter what city, what airport, what flight it’s always the same day to you.

You drink airport Bloody Mary’s until you can’t muster the blood flow to your sad pitiful prick to finally give yourself that first class lavatory jerk job you’ve been dreaming of every since your plane reached cruising altitude.

Cumming in turbulence is like fucking the mouth of God.

A momentary release so intense you forget the fact that you are no longer legally allowed to be a father to your son.

I love you, David.

You clean up the mess of you sour depravity with your Sky Mall catalogue and snort a line of the crushed Oxycontin you snuck through the security check point inside a travel sized bottle of Johnson’s Baby Powder in your toiletry bag and get back in your seat.

You lean your seat back to sleep.

You pray that the plane crashes before you wake.

You know that if the 117 other souls on this Delta flight knew what was really in that blood shit pump you call a heart they would gladly sacrifice their lives to know that a person like you was no longer in this world.

See you at baggage claim.

- Dan Dringle

Dear Dan,

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 11:48:28 -0800

I know a lot of James Bond themes, but there’s one that stumps me. Can you
tell me who sang the theme to “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” and what the
song is called?

Best wishes, Freddie Guerrero

Dear Freddie,

You have excellent taste in both music and film, my lazy brown friend. The song is “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (Main Title)” by John Barry. If you want to grab a drink some time and talk about “guy stuff” like sports and sexual violence, I’ll be staying at the Marriott Express by the airport. On this particular trip I’ve given a $150 a day cash allowance by my superiors for random incidental trip expenses. They refer to it as a “per diem.” I refer to it as “pussy money.” Nothing seals the bonds of friendship like double penetrating a diabetic runaway incest survivor in the back of a pick up truck, underneath a flickering strobe of a half broken street light in the back parking lot of a Shoney’s, all the while maintaining the unflinching, unblinlking gaze of your new soon to be blood brother.

-Dan Dringle

If you have a question or need advice contact Dan Dringle right away!

This is not simply a pen. This is hand written decadence. The...

Wed, 29 Dec 2010 13:32:00 -0800

This is not simply a pen. This is hand written decadence.

The MONTBLAC STARWALKER FOUNTAIN PEN is the gold standard of writing instruments.

Theresa’s father used to have this same pen.

He was senior partner at the advertising agency where I worked. He was a legend in the advertising business. Still to this day he’s the best salesman I’ve ever met in my life.

The man could talk a piece of shit back into an asshole.

He gave me my first job in advertising. He payed for the car we drove. He payed for the house we now lived in. He payed for the private school our son David attended. I didn’t make very much money. I was indebted to him in ways I could never ever repay at my salary and he made sure that I never forgot it.

Not for a second.

He used to make sure I could see the light gleaming on its 14 Karat Gold ruthenium-plated nib every time he would write us a check to help cover the rent. As if the shame of not being able to support my beautiful young wife, Theresa and my five year old son, David weren’t enough. Afterwards, he would tear the check from his check book and ask Theresa to take David and wait outside so he could talk to me in private.

He would then crumble the check into a ball and throw in on the floor and make me pick it up with my mouth like I was a whore.

Like a god damn whore.

He’d take the pen and poke me in the chest with it. Using it to punctuate every barb. Every insult.

He would poke me so hard with the transparent cap-top that sometimes I could see the Floating Montblanc Emblem imprinted as a bruise in my chest, branding me as the failure I truly was.

When he was done we would walk outside. I would say nothing of what happened and we would drive in silence to take David to get his favorite treat: a Wendy’s Frosty and some french fries. He liked to dip the fries in to the Frosty. He said he liked something about the sweet and salty tastes combining.

One night after everyone had gone to bed I used Theresa’s house keys and drove back to her father’s house.

I went into his study and took the offending Montblanc Starwalker from his desk. It’s Midnight Black Precious Resin barrel reflecting the darkness that shellacked my inkheart.

I walked up the stairs that went to his bedroom and I turned on the Tiffany lamp at his nightstand. I gripped that pen like I was gripping an ice pick and I pressed German craftsmanship into his stomach.

I told him I would take it out, but there where three conditions and for every condition he agreed to, I would remove one inch of the Montblanc Starwalker pen from his fatty liver.

You will continue to pay for our house, car and David’s private school AND you wipe my debt to you clean.
You will resign from your position at the firm and name me as your successor and thus, Senior Partner.
The firm will henceforth be known as Dringle Advertising Inc. and you may stay on as a consultant on salary provided that not a word of this is ever spoken of again.

“Yes” he cried like a little fat girl with a skinned knee.

“YES!”

I dropped him off a block away from the hospital. I knew he could come up with a story that wouldn’t alarm the police.

Like I said, the man could talk a piece of shit back into an asshole.

Within a month he had stepped down. The house and car were paid for in full. He even threw in a check that would cover David’s first year of college. I became Senior Partner and the firm became Dringle Advertising Inc.

Now once a month he comes to MY office where I write for him a check.

I’m the one writing checks with a Montblanc Starwalker pen and HE is the one who pick up MY scraps from the ground with HIS mouth like a whore.

LIKE A GOD DAMN WHORE!

So…who wants to go to Wendy’s?

My son David was born on Christmas Day. Theresa was two months...

Thu, 23 Dec 2010 18:12:00 -0800

My son David was born on Christmas Day.

Theresa was two months pregnant when we graduated Arizona State University. I was away on my first ever business trip when Theresa’s water broke while eating stuffed crust pizza at a Pizza Hut near our rented studio apartment. It was Christmas Eve and I was going to be a father.

I was three states away in Greenville, SC on business when I got the phone call saying that my wife, Theresa, had gone in to labor. I couldn’t get a flight home in time and I knew I had to drive straight through the night if I was going to make it in time. I was going to be a father.

I parked my rented ‘93 Pontiac Sunbird behind a homosexual nightclub called “The Thick Stick” and bought some crystal methamphetamine from a 6’8” Gothic youth who called himself “Lestat” in a stupid Southern accent. His breathe smelled like sweat and imitation crab meat. He told me he’d give me an extra gram for free if I watched him pleasure himself to completion. This didn’t make me uncomfortable; I went through a pretty big David Bowie phase when I was a younger man. I was going to be a father.

I did three lines in quick succession off the toilet paper dispenser. I had never been so high in my life. It was like I washed myself clean. Clean of every pain. Clean of every fear. Every doubt. All of it washed away in a cleansing fire of crystalized white powder. I did another bump at a gas station and raced down the highway. I was going to be a father and I couldn’t wait to meet my son.

I wanted to be the first face my son saw when he opened his eyes to the world. I wanted to hold his hand against my face as I told him his name: Daniel Dringle, Jr. It was like I could our life together right before my eyes. So vidid and real. His first steps. His first words. His first day of school. Teaching him how to throw a baseball. Teaching him how to drive. I wasn’t just going to be a father. I was going to be the best father a son could ever have. Daniel Jr. was going to be proud of me. Proud of his father. I did a bump at a rest stop and got back on the highway.

I kept seeing more and more Alabama license plates. I didn’t think much of it at first. But with the sunrise came the realization that I had just driven four hours in the wrong direction. I was so high I didn’t notice I had missed the I-75 interchange. When I called the hospital, Theresa wouldn’t speak to me but I was told by a nurse that Theresa had given birth. I was a father and I had missed the birth of my son.

When I finally got to the hospital I had a body temperature of 104 degrees and couldn’t stop shaking. I collapsed walking to the delivery room. They said I was having an overdose and that I needed immediate medical attention. I told them I didn’t care. I was a father and I wanted to meet my son.

When I woke up I was strapped down the hospital bed. The ER doctor told me it took three orderlies for them to put me down and in the process they found the meth in the front pocket of my chinos. I was going to be charged with felony drug possession as soon as I was medically discharged. Theresa was so angry she left the hospital without coming to see me. She didn’t even take the time introduce me to my son. I found out later that she had named our newborn son David, not Daniel Jr. as we had planned. (My roommate in college was named David. He was killed in a drunk driving accident on graduation night. On the night it happened Theresa said it should have been me. That was also the night she told me she was pregnant.)

Theresa refused to bail me out of jail and went to stay with her parents for three weeks. It was three weeks until she would see me. Three whole weeks until that cunt let me meet my son. Three whole weeks. Now I know why women have the babies instead of men. Because it hurts and they deserve it.

You’re the best Christmas present I could have ever received, David.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, David.

Daddy loves you.

Daddy loves you.

Mine is a world is without mirrors so that one may never be forced to face the ungovernable...

Sat, 11 Dec 2010 10:41:06 -0800

Mine is a world is without mirrors so that one may never be forced to face the ungovernable humiliation of their own existence. Now, WHO WANTS FREE STICKERS!?!

Send you address to DanDringle@gmail.com for your free Dan Dringle stickers.

I promise you will love them, David.