Of course, the jackass is me. This is a video clip I previously put on the YouTubes but I just put it up on the FunnyOrDie the other day, so I thought I’d re-whore it.

It’s a mostly true story recorded May 18, 2009, at Zanies in Nashville, TN during Mary Mack’s cd release show. I did a rambly 35 minute set of stories that I (mostly) had never told on stage before & this was probably my favorite clip from that:

[funnyordie 0d5cd01b6d]

In the video I said it happened in February, but it was actually January 13th, as evidenced by my twit (twat?) on Twitter.

The end of that story is the big writer’s embellishment – I didn’t string it up in the back yard and field dress it while the neighbors watched in horror. I wish I had. I thought I could find a guy to come cut it up that night, but no-can-do. I ended up going back out on the road for a few weeks.. salivating every time I thought about it’s sweet, FREE, organic goodness. Next thing you know, it’s been a month or two and the thing is still frozen solid.

My Lovely Wifera & her friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Any time I tried to tell them how to live their lives (and apparently I do that a lot), they’d say, “OH like I’m going to listen to you, YOU’VE GOT A DEER IN YOUR GARAGE.” Maddening. I had to put an end to the jibber-jabber. I was home for a while so I borrowed an electric saw from my dad & thought I’d go ahead and thaw Bambi out and see what I could do with him.

Turns out, a frozen buck is incredibly difficult to get out of a chest freezer – especially if you’re as weak and lazy as I am – plus it was too heavy for one person to lift as a fresh kill. My Lovely Wifera Laura was no help to me.. she absolutely refused to take part at all. I gets no support! No support, I tell ya! Even if I did have her help, there’s no way it would have come out of there.. I had to thaw it first.

I cut the power to the freezer the morning of May 30th and figured it would thaw over the course of the day & I’d cut it up that night. Guess what? It takes about five days for a frozen deer to thaw out. FIVE days. Five days of waiting and worrying. Five days of “I told you so”s. Five days of “hey Chad, I saw a squirrel on the side of the road yesterday.. want me to run by and see if it’s still there?” Five days of “WTF am I doing with my life? I’ve got a college degree, for shit’s sake.”

By June 4th, it was finally pliable. I tied a rope to its antlers, ran it thru a pulley hanging from the ceiling of our garage, and tied it to the bumper of My Lovely Wifera’s truck. I inched it forward and pulled the deer up out of the freezer and let it hang over a 55 gallon trash can. No, I’m not white trash at all.. I’m endearingly resourceful, despite my complete lack of funds, class and common sense.

I used a steak knife to slice it from its balls to its throat, hoping the guts would more or less neatly dump out. It looked easy in the YouTube video I watched.. but I guess rednecks are way better at this kinda thing than jackass comedians are. I had a few complications. The guts of MY deer were still solid ice. It was a pain in the ass to get ‘em.. but with frozen fingers, I was able to pull it all out. Unfortunately, the impact of the truck had broken the rib cage and ruptured the guts pretty badly.. so the surrounding meat wasn’t edible. Oh well, plenty of salvageable stuff left.

I used the saw to cut the forearms (or whatever you call deer legs – drumsticks?) off at the joints and started skinning it. The meat looked pretty good.. the thing just generally smelled game-y. If any deer happen to be reading this, you guys should think about showering every once in a while. Maybe if you took a dip in the creek you’d be able to score more does when you’re out strutting around the glen, waiting to dart out into traffic.

My brother Kirk assured me this entire process would take around 45 minutes, but I think he underestimated my gross incompetence. Somewhere around 3-ish a.m. I was getting sleepy, but visions of venison stew and jerky and burgers and steaks and sausage kept me going. As I pulled the hide off the nub of one of the elbows.. maggots shot out.

MAGGOTS!

“That’s it, I’m done.” I thought. I tried to make it work, but that was a quitting point if I’ve ever seen one. The hide had been ruptured at the elbow, the ribcage and on the head. I guess a fly found it’s way to lay some eggs in the elbow at some point? Realistically, I probably could have used 70% of the thing’s meat, but even I have limits. I started having doubts when I saw how the ribcage looked.. but when I saw mf’in maggots I was able to accept defeat and call it a wash. When it comes to cleaning out the fridge and eating questionable stuff, I’m a human garbage disposal.. but there’s no way I could have eaten any part of this thing without that image of little wiggly larvae shooting out of the elbow coming back to haunt me. I’m ready to vomit now, and it’s been months.

I lowered the deer into the trash can and loaded it up into the back of Laura’s truck. I washed up and hauled the corpse off to a wooded spot down the road where I could dump it. I came back home, and hosed off the trash can and felt like Dexter cleaning up the garage.. except my inner monologue wasn’t unnervingly adorable psychotic rationalization – it was my wife’s friends telling me how bison-shit crazy I am.

Lesson learned! Roadkill is ONLY acceptable if it’s fresh & you field dress it IMMEDIATELY. Just don’t leave it laying around too long. I’m sure you already knew that.. some of us watched Bear Grylls eat rotting Camel ass on Man vs. Wild and thought, “I could do that.” The rest of you have common sense. I’ll admit when I’m wrong, dammit. I guess I’m less of a Hunter.. more of a Gatherer.

Dr. Joel Bamford of Duluth, MN has a revolutionary break thru product that I just can’t stop talking about.

For years I suffered from dry, cracked skin. I’ve grown accustomed to molting my damaged epidermis annually, and along with it shedding any hope of one day not looking freakishly insane. Thanks to Dr. Bamford’s No Soap, I’ve changed my skin and changed my life! I still look crazy, but at least I have healthy skin.

From SoapAlternatives.com:

Over the years major breakthroughs have improved the mildness of soaps, so that in the year 2000 products like Dove, Lever 2000 and Syndet bar can claim to be the mildest of soaps.

Even the mildest soaps made earlier cause mild to severe rashes, particularly in the winter months anywhere north of Miami, Florida. Only the naturally pure, smooth, block of NO SOAP™, first produced by Thomas Edwin Bamford, Sr., MD for his suffering patients back in 1866, can protect you from real soap damage.

Tom had a general practice which he carried out in his home office at 418 North Delaware Street, Syracuse, New York, North America. An orphan himself, he could not afford much soap in England where he was born and, later, in Wales where is father worked in the mines. He continued growing up in the tenements of New York City. After his mother died, he and his brother had to go to Remsen, New York, as a farm hand. The supportive Welch community there must have recognized his potential and helped him complete his formal education.

Though the air could be rough, wet and cold there, it was not until he began practice in upstate New York that he saw patients who, every winter, developed painfully dry, cracking skin. Over time he recognized the importance of avoiding too much soap, then the harsh soaps (Ivory is still fine for those who live in Florida), then the milder soaps (Cashmere Bouquet). He then had the sudden insight, NO SOAP™ would be best way to promote healthy skin.

This novelty product was quick to clear the damaged skin of his General Practice patients in Syracuse, New York, where he had in home office at 418 North Delaware Street. He also served as the Medical Director of a large psychiatric hospital, where it is likely NO SOAP™ was also a blessing to patients.

Thus far four generations of North American Drs Bamford have promoted this skin saving alternative to traditional, lye based, defatting skin products (any soap, body wash or shampoo).

More information about this incredible product and instructions for obtaining your own bar of NO SOAP™ is available at SoapAlternatives.com. Honestly, no home should be without at least one bar of NO SOAP™, but I’d recommend getting three or four, just in case. Don’t forget, they make great stocking stuffers! My sincere gratitude goes out to Maria Bamford for the referral.

Everybody knows that the best way to stumble upon new, fresh, up-and-coming talent is by watching prime time network tv. It is the proving grounds. The trenches. The trial-by-fire, do-or-die, additional-hyphenated-cliche, one and only shot at the Big Time. The World tunes in together to watch these bold gladiators of the stage battle for our collective hearts.

Some foolish performers toil away at open mics and local showcases.. then go on the road, honing their skills for years.. gradually working their way up the ranks as they develop and mature and refine their acts.. but how stupid is all that noise? Developing material? Seasoning as a performer? Honing your craft? What a crock of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Margarine! Get you a wacky costume, find a hook and get your lazy rear out to the cattle call auditions, dippy!

That’s what happened to me. I took my wacky keister down to the America’s Last Talent Standing auditions and the fine folks at NBC immediately took to my “balding yet somehow extremely hairy, lazy, overweight, white, smart ass” character. It was unique. It was unprecedented. It was exactly what they were looking for. I did my thing and they made me A Star. Wham-bam, thank you ‘merica! BOOYAA! America’s Favorite Comedian Of All Time ^TM can has yr cheezburger!

I’ve been riding that glorious wave of support and love and free stuff for years. I gotta say, it’s been an incredible journey. Thanks to all my fans, you know? Without you, I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) do this. That is straight from the heart, bitches. You know that.

With all of this said, I have an announcement to make. I’m putting my clever “Chad Riden” character on hold for a while. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE playing that guy. He’s so cute and adorable and funny and relate-able.. such an “everyman” character. I think that’s what made him so universally loved – the fact that deep down, there’s a little “Chad Riden” in all of us, you know? (and hey, if there’s NOT, there CAN BE after the show! Youknowatimsayin ladies? This guy knows what I’m mocking about.)

I never thought I’d see the day, but the time has come to pack up the “Chad” costume and put that era of my career behind me for now. I’ve got something new I want to share with the world and I really need to devote all of my synergies into this full heartedly.

Introducing Granny McSassy-Pants! My new character is a sassy Southern granny who speaks her mind! She don’t take no junk from nobody! AND (this is the best part) she’s got herself something of a potty mouth! I’ve got the next quarter totally booked up, but please use the contact form to book Granny McSassy-Pants for your tv show or movie or county fair and we might be able to cancel something to make time for it.

Thanks again to all the Chad Riden Fans out there, I hope you continue to follow me as I break new ground in this exciting, revolutionary adventure.

The following is a long story about how Doug Stanhope indirectly kept me out of jail and/or a speeding ticket back in June 2005.

It’s about 2am-ish and I’m doing 85 or so on I-24 trying to get back to Nashville after a night at the Punchline in Atlanta. Fellow comics Billy Wayne Davis and Craig Smith had bought 40oz beers in the ATL, but they were fast asleep by now.. and I was coming up on Manchester, TN. I should have remembered that the damn Bonnaroo kids would bring out extra cops.. but I’ve had cruise control set and I’m just clickin’ along.

Blue lights. BW and Craig wake up as I pull over and they hide their empties. Cigarettes are fired up and BW scrambles for my registration as I fish out my license.

“Step out of the car please.”

I recognize the state trooper as one who pulled me over a few years ago in the same area. I had told him I was a comic who had just left Zanies and was on my way to Chattanooga.. and he let me go with a warning saying, “Mr. Riden, I don’t want to end up as one of your punchlines, so I’m goint to let you go.. just keep it under 80.. ok?”

This time, he asks me who’s been drinking.

“All of us. We’re stand-up comics.. we did a show at the Punchline in Atlanta tonight and we’re on our way home to Nashville. I had a couple beers before my set.. but that was like 8 o’clock. I haven’t drank since 9pm.”

He asked if we had any drugs.. that he’d been pulling people over all day confiscating all kinds of shit from Bonnaroo goofs. “No,” I said, “we’re just three professionals on our way home from a gig.”

He got BW out of the car and asked him pretty much the same thing.. also grilled him about what he was doing as he pulled us over. He had seen BW reach down and stuff.

“You’re not hiding a beer under the seat are you? If I look down there, what will I find?” He would have found a nearly empty 40oz and probably a few other empty cans and bottles and who knows what else. I don’t clean cars out.. I just walk away from the wreckage and find a new one when necessary. BW says he was putting his shoes on as we pulled over and as he says that he puts his hands in his pocket. The cop flips.

“Do you want me to shoot you? Get your hand out of that pocket!”

BW explains he never gets pulled over and he’s nervous.

“Well, don’t do that! Damn.”

While this is going on, I see that Craig is hiding something in the back of the Jeep. I move in between that image and the camera which I assume is mounted in the cop car. BW gets back in the car after a few minutes. The trooper comes back to me.

“Mr. Riden, do you want to give your money to the state of Tennessee?”

“No.”

“Cause I’ll take your money. If you don’t want to do that, I’d suggest slowing the hell down. I’m going to let you go with a friendly warning from the state highway patrol.. I’m not trying to be a dick..”

“You’re NOT being a dick, you’re being really cool.”

“Well, I’m letting you go because you guys are comics and I’ve been listening to Doug Stanhope on Raw Dog Radio.”

“Holy shit, you’re listening to Stanhope? We were just listening to his cd!”

So, now the trooper drops his puffed up chest stance and is loose.

“Yeah, he’s crackin’ me up. Have a good night and slow it down.”

“OK, thanks.”

I get in the car and fire it up. I pull the headlights knob and I pull it right out of the dashboard.. the headlights do not come on. I tried putting it back in and twisting it around… fiddled with it for three or four minutes. It’d been giving me trouble lately anyway.. but this hadn’t happened before. I can’t just drive off away from a State Trooper with no lights on.. I’m frantically trying to get it to work. I gave up and walked back to tell the cop what I’d done. I walked to the right side of his car and he had the window rolled down.

“Uh, I pulled the headlights switch out of the dashboard. I can’t get my lights on.”

He laughed his ass off. “Damn, boy! What else are you gonna do tonight?”

He got out and came up to look at it. He fiddled with it but no dice. He looked for a screwdriver but didn’t have one. He called his trooper buddies and the TDOT road-side assistance vehicles and asked if they had tools.

We all got out of the car and were standing around talking about comedy and stuff while we waited for the TDOT trucks.

“You would have been much better off if I hadn’t pulled you over.”

“Yeah, well.. I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”

We bullshitted with them for a while. Craig even tried to sell some of his artwork to the trooper. Craig made some joke about patchouli and the trooper was like, “yeah, I’ve been confiscating it all day.. I’ve got a whole trunk FULL of it!” He thought patchouli was slang for pot.. we all died. Then I’m thinking, “just how cool IS this cop? I want to dip into that trunk of his..”

The TDOT guy tried to take apart my dash and find the switch, but couldn’t get to it. We decide to wait for daylight before continuing.. but we were ass deep in the middle of Bonnarooistan.. and by daylight traffic would be fucked and we’d be stuck in the middle of it. The Trooper offers us an escort 10 miles down the road to a truck stop where we’ll be past the traffic.

We load up in the Jeep and follow a TDOT truck for 10 miles down I-24 without the headlights working. The trooper follows for a while, but turned off. We passed a long line of Bonnaroo goofs, already lined up. At the truck stop, we bought some shit and watched the hippie parade for a while. Craig tried to start an impromptu comedy show in the parking lot. We ended up crashing in the Jeep until 5:30ish when the sun was up.

So, indirectly, Doug Stanhope kept me out of jail for open containers (and whatever else they may or may not have been able to find) or at least got me out of a speeding ticket.

The Chadyterians who follow my career closely already know this, but people keep sending me messages asking when I was going to talk about it all, so I thought I might as well talk about it here: I did appear on Last Comic Standing this season and it was glorious. Critics have already hailed my appearance as groundbreaking comedic genius spiced with dramatic tension unparalleled in the world of entertainment. I have to say.. please, everybody, calm down.

This is all very flattering, but I think it’s important that we all remember that I’m just a man. A very funny, sexy man.. but remember: I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.. so the deification is really unnecessary and embarrassing. Let’s all try to keep things in perspective.

I forget.. many people outside of the Chadyterian faith come by occasionally to see what all the whoop dee doo (whoop-dee-doo!) is about, so maybe I should put the clip right here for the people who’ve had their heads under a rock and missed the non-stop media coverage about my recent NBC prime time debut. Enjoy.

YouTube: Chad Riden on Last Comic Standing

The emails I’ve been getting non-stop all week ARE right: the producers were very, very wise to just give audiences a small, potent glimpse of my comedic prowess and tangible, raw, sexual power. I think the great people behind Nashville’s Premier Authority On All Things Comedy, NashvilleStandUp.com (which, upon first glance seems like a wonderful website. I’ve bookmarked it, and will return there soon to stay abreast of the local scene that helped launch my career. I don’t blame you if you do the same.) said it best when they called the clip “the funniest second of video on YouTube.” Thank you, kind sirs.

While I appreciate all of this attention, I just want to point out that I’m really just a kid trying to have some fun.. and the real champions of the night were all of the Chad Riden Fans out there – you guys are the reason I do what I do.. and without you, it just wouldn’t be the same. I hope to see all of you out at all the live shows and public appearances. Thanks again for all of your support. May Megatheos bless us all, preferably via the rocket-like continued success of my comedy career.

I was just searching the InterWebbie Brand Information Network for.. well, I was ego-searching to be honest.. and I stumbled upon this site and thought, "WOW! Somebody’s set up a whole website with a bunch of funny stuff I’ve done! Cool, I can read a bunch of my old columns.. and watch some videos.. and.. WAIT A MINUTE! This hasn’t been updated in years! HEY, I’m responsible for that site. Oh, carp!" So, yeah.. sorry?

So much has happened since my last column. My cute little baby has grown into a cute little girl. She’s about six or seven months into what we have to assume is the "Terrible Two’s." She’s started getting all defiant.. testing boundaries.. going out at night, drinking and smoking with her friends. Unacceptable! Where does she learn this behavior? Not Daddy!

It’s really not that terrible.. Callia is a joy which further reinforces my Parents Are Full Of Carp And Always Have Been Theory.

Remember when your parents exaggerated everything they told you and you saw right thru it and thought they were full of it? Then, sometime in your twenties you realize that your parents had the best intentions.. and maybe YOU were the assjack. Having redeemed yourself and finally become an adult, you shake your head at how immature you were.. as you continue to eat all of their food and bring your laundry every time you visit.

Then your friends start having kids and you think, "They’ve lost their damn minds! Why? How nuts is that?! Not me!" But they tell you how great it is and you secretly think, "No, they’re full of it. I’ve seen what their day to day life is like and that sucks." If you take it at face value.. yeah, you’re right.

At some point, though.. the Pop Rocks and Coke mixtures you ingested decades ago finally gestates and you have kids of your own. (yes, that IS how it happens.. babies come from crappy, over-done pop culture references.) Then you realize that yes, wiping some kid’s butt and nose for him is an irritating chore.. but taking care of your own kid is.. well, it’s an irritating chore.. but you don’t mind doing it ’cause you love ‘em and it brings you joy to be able to do something to help them out. (Hopefully that’s the case. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, and those parents are now either in jail or on their way to H – E – double – "time-out".)

Being a parent means you are around other parents, like it or not. You soon realize that most of these parents are overly concerned with making sure everybody thinks their kids aren’t the dumbest, ugliest ones ever to live (especially when, clearly, they are). They do this by comparing their spawn to yours and by exaggerating everything their kid does.

Little Billy pounds on the keyboard mindlessly? Computer genius!

Pookie cocks an eyebrow at an odd time? Comic genius!

Katie eats something she found in the yard? What a resourceful young naturalist wilderness survival expert!

"We call him Monkey ’cause he climbs all over everything!" Really? You mean just like every other kid that has ever lived? How unique! "Monkey?!" That’s wild! How’d you think of that?

"I’m not going to be that way," I remember saying. "I’ll never lie to my kid, either.. I’ll tell her the truth about everything and she’ll appreciate it." Then Christmas comes and Santa arrives with his bag full of lies. Eventually, the Easter Bunny hops into town just to make sure you don’t go six months without confusing a religious event with the contrived commercialism that requires the same card-candy-gift and dinner reservation combo that every other "holiday tradition" consists of. Guess what? Now you’re a parent who’s full of crap, too. (No, next Easter we’re not getting chocolate eggs from a bunny.. it’s going to be Lincoln Logs in the sock drawer delivered by a goldfish, just to honor the memory of Bill Hicks.)

That was a long winded way of saying I think other parents have either exaggerated how "terrible" the Twos are.. or their kids were clearly inferior to mine in every single way, especially genetically, intellectually, cosmetically, socially.. oh, wait.. I’m full of crap, too (or carp.. whatever, same thing). Especially when I say I’m going to sit down and write more often.

Let me start off by saying: “First time parents.. you’re never ready to have your baby! There’s no such thing. Oh, you think you’re ready.. but then it happens and you freak the hell out.” See, I had to say that. I’ve found that having a child means you have to act like a damn know-it-all “been there, done that” prick. Having kids turns you into a blithering idiot. The sad thing is even if you realize that, you can’t stop it.

That’s the other thing first-timers have to look forward to.. every jackass who has ever had kids wants to yap your ear off with their crappy advice. Then they welcome you to the “club” and smile knowingly as they tell you about their shit-head kids and the wild parenting experiences they’ve had. As if having a baby changed the fact that you don’t give a crap about other people’s kids. Or is it just me? I don’t know. I’ve digressed.

We went in for a regularly scheduled checkup a couple weeks before the babys due date and were told, “Wow, you need to get over to the hospital now. We’re having this baby today!” My first reaction was “No, no, no. We can’t do it today.. if we do it two weeks from now, I can work from home for a couple extra weeks. We should do it then.” The doctor looked at me like this was unreasonable. Apparently babies are very defiant and can’t follow directions even from the very start.

So we go over to the hospital, check in and get ready for the action. I don’t want to get into the details of the birthing process (because the footage is available in the “soopa-secret hidden bonus material” section of my critically-acclaimed standup dvd).. but I think I can sum it all up by saying there’s both a time to be ive, and a time to shut the hell up and get out of the way. Walking that fine line is the tricky part. Here’s a tip: bring your own booze. The hospital doesn’t keep any in the fridge.

When you’re having a baby everybody asks what you’d prefer, a boy or a girl. It really didn’t matter to me as long as the child was healthy and black, yaknowatimsayin’? (See, ’cause my wife and I are both whiter than Vanilla Ice.. ha! ha! woo! White and Black jokes! Guess what else? I DANCE LIKE A DORK! ha! ha!)

First time parents are already scared out of their minds – add the chance of retardation, deformity and the baby coming out looking like your lady’s “close, but completely platonic friend” and the stress level is high enough to justify pulling out that six-foot bong you’ve had in storage since college. One thing to keep in mind is that all babies are really ugly when they’re born. Incredibly ugly. I’d been told this, but I wasn’t prepared for the first time I saw my baby. Her skin was blue, she was covered in a white film plus blood and goo.. and her head was shaped like a gourd. She looked like an unfortunately misshapen inbred Gremlin.

My heart sunk. “Oh God. Oh, no! She’s.. special. She’s going to be one of Jerry’s kids! Dammit!” My thoughts were erratic and crazed as I ran thru our options. Finally I came to my senses. “It’s ok. I love her no matter what. I won’t run screaming out of here right now, never to return. We’re NOT leaving her in a dumpster and fleeing the country. We’ll take care of her.” By this time, I just felt silly because she had started looking human. The point is.. don’t make rash decisions those first few minutes. Give it about 5 or 10 minutes before doing something you’ll regret. ‘Cause she’s turned out to be beautiful.

Unfortunately, she looks a lot like me. Not unfortunate for me.. but oh, that poor kid. Imagine me about five days old in a diaper. Except with yellow skin. She did have jaundice, but we loved our little Simpsons baby. I’d hold her and say, “doh!” and my wife would say “mmmmmmmmmm!” and some kid we didn’t even know would ride by on a bike and go “ha-ha!” Never has my shame been so cartoonish.

Once we took the baby home, it amazed me how attentive she was. She pays such close attention to everything we say and do.. it really puts the pressure on. You start running out of original things to say to a baby and end up repeating little things over and over. Eventually we were reduced to blabbering about how pretty she is.. how perfect she is. I started getting scared that it would all go to her head and we’d end up with a prissy sorority girl princess who thinks she’s better than everybody else. To prevent this, I’ve started balancing out these compliments by saying things like “you’re so intelligent! Such a great mathematician! How’s daddy’s little astronaut?”

Another thing I found myself saying was “Daddy will fix it.” Weather it was a bottle, diaper or some other baby catastrophe, I’d reassure my child by repeating the “Daddy will fix it” mantra. I’ve decided I need to stop doing that, too. I don’t want an 18-year old daughter to be running over pedestrians in her new BMW without giving it a second thought because she knows “Daddy will fix it.” It’s easy to stop saying it now, but when that phrase starts to mean “I’ll just put it on Daddy’s credit card” – then I’m screwed. Better nip it in the bud.

My wife is so over-protective of the baby.. it cracks me up. The other day the baby and I were down in the basement laying on the couch, just minding our own business watching porn.. not doing anything wrong.. and my wife comes running into the room like the baby’s on fire asking me “is she still breathing? check her.. is she still breathing?” Ridiculous. I’m not the best Daddy ever, but I’m not that bad.. but I am a smart ass. So I reply, “No, sweetie, she died four hours ago.. I’m just cuddling her corpse.”

Of course she was alive. We were the ones walking around like the living dead.. all sleep deprived, undernourished and unbathed like really lame zombies. Even Michael Jackson’s zombie buddies in Thriller were disfigured with tattered clothes.. cool gang members who just happened to use the art of dance to express their unholy rage. What about us? Do we get to bust thru walls and scare teens with our crotch-grabbing spins and twists? No, we had to stay up all night crying.. hoping we didn’t flip and throw the baby against the wall.

We did figure out how to get the baby to sleep thru the night. Many people will tell you to put baby cereal in their formula.. but that’s just a lie. The secret is: fill their little bottles or sippy-cups or whatever up with black coffee at 9 a.m. and at 9 p.m. slip ‘em some sleeping pills. That pretty much keeps her on schedule. And when that doesn’t work, violent beatings do! Ahh, restful slumber.

The other big lie people tell is that they never get a chance to go out after the birth. What a crock. You don’t even need a babysitter. If your child can’t walk or talk, you can just set her in a closet and go about your business. She can’t get out.. who’s she gonna tell?

She is developing and growing so fast, though. You’d be amazed at how quickly they learn. She does this little trick now where she ties a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue! So cute.

All jokes aside, baby farming is the most rewarding thing you could ever do. It’s absolutely amazing. Pound for pound, babies are worth more on the black market than most all other commodities. The tough part is fattening them up enough to sell. You can’t just pack up a newborn in styrofoam peanuts and ship ‘em UPS.. you’ve gotta make sure they have enough body fat to survive the trip. Otherwise, you’ll end up with bad feedback on ebay. That sticks with you your entire life!

For as long as I can remember, my parents had been asking when I was going to get married. Whenever the family would get together the conversation would always turn to marriage and the production of grandkids. I’d always reply, “well, before we start worrying about grandkids maybe I should, I don’t know, meet a woman? Preferably one that’s not completely insane, slowly draining me of my very will to live..”

Well, I lucked out and to my parents delight I did get married to the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. My parents kicked the grandkids chatter up into overdrive. It got to be so annoying that whenever they would get started I would turn to my wife and shrug saying, “You guys want grandkids? ok. We’ll go make some. See ya later!” I’d grab her hand and we’d go upstairs for a while. Then we’d take showers and come back down all rejuvenated and perky. They stopped asking for grandkids.

I had my doubts that I was even ready to take care of a child. It’s a lot of responsibility.. and I’m a guy who couldn’t keep up with his wallet until I chained it to my ass. Am I ready to be in charge of every aspect of somebody’s existence? Well, I did babysit Jesse Perry for ten grueling months.. maybe I can handle it after all.

So, we conceived a child. If you’re interested, the video of the event is up in the “members-only” area of this site.

The first big milestone of the pregnancy was the twentieth week ultrasound. We went in to the doctor’s office and the very first image we see of our child.. she was throwing up gang signs. Where did she get that from? Not me.. maybe the Mtv? Damn those punks with their ringy-blingy-bling and wacky piercings!

Then we’re trying to determine the sex of the child and the angle of the shot on the monitor is a view of my baby laying spread eagle. Very disturbing. It was an uncomfortable moment, and to break the tension in the air I said, “I hope that’s the last time Daddy sees THAT on video.” The tech did not laugh. Much like you people, she did not find that amusing.

What the tech did do was take her mouse and use the pointer to show me the outline of my daughter’s.. stuff. “Here’s your daughter’s vagina,” she says. She continues to go over the outline of the organ with her pointer.. as if we missed it the first few times. She just wouldn’t move on. Here’s a tip: anytime you hear talk about somebody’s daughter’s vagina, there’s an uncomfortable, increasingly angry father somewhere. I didn’t know this, but it turns out talking about vaginas is offensive! Who would have known? So don’t do it. Don’t talk about vaginas in a public setting.

Now that we knew she would be a girl, naming the child was easier. My wife had her picks, but my suggestions were: Marilyn, Aria, Gemini.. nice names. The wife was all, “we are NOT naming our daughter after your favorite porn stars!” Isn’t that rich? I could barely reply, “Ohhh, look who rode in on her Morality High Horse to pass judgment on all! I’m glad somebody was ready to step up and be better than everybody else. Where did this even come from? What happened to the girl I love? I don’t even know you anymore! Who are you?!”

When I finished crying, somebody explained to me that we needed a birth plan. It’s basically a rundown of how you want events to go once you’re in the hospital. I suggested that once the umbilical cord was cut and tied off, I could grab the baby and run out of the hospital like Michael Jackson did. Nobody liked that idea.

“What do you want to do with the placenta?” they asked. Apparently some people keep it in a jar or plant it in the yard or even eat it! Yes, eat it. Some weirdos make stew out of it, but we were leaning toward burgers or omelets, maybe even tacos. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but if you get a chance to get your hands on a good placenta.. indulge yourself a little. Mmmm, that’s spicy afterbirth!

With our birth plan in place, we had to get the house ready for babies. We started stockpiling as many guns as possible to place throughout the house.. ’cause kids don’t know how to share. You don’t want them fighting over the firearms, that could get dangerous. Make sure you have enough for everybody.

You also have to have a nursery theme. Instead of Disney or WB junk, I decided our theme would be Jack Daniels. That way, we have a place for our empties and we don’t have to buy overpriced plush toys or any crap like that. Once we set up our baby cage, the nursery was done and we were ready to have our baby.

A little background..

On Tuesday, March 10th, “The Satirical Newspaper Of Vanderbilt University,” The Slant, published and distributed an issue of their paper made to look like the general student newspaper, The Vanderbilt Hustler. The headline: "GEE DEAD." The cover story proclaimed that the “Death of beloved Chancellor rocks VU.”

The paper was obviously a joke.. but it fooled a lot of people. The Hustler normally publishes on Tuesdays and Fridays.. but didn’t plan an issue for that day since the previous week was Spring Break. The Slant printed up their copies of “The Vanderbilt Huslter” and dropped them on the Hustler’s racks. Wackiness ensued.

Some tight asses on campus whined that it was “sick” and not funny at all. I thought it was fantastic.

Chancellor Gee sent out an email to the Vanderbilt community:

Dear Colleagues,

Imagine my surprise when
I picked up what was purported to be the Hustler, our excellent
student newspaper, and saw the headline “Gee Dead.” After checking
my pulse, and making sure that I did, indeed, fog up the mirror,
I am relieved to tell you that the headline, the newspaper, and
in fact, the entire issue, was untrue and not produced by the
real journalists at the Hustler. As in false. As in, “Gee Lives.”
To paraphrase the great Mark Twain, reports of my demise are greatly
exaggerated.

But, if you are the skeptical, conspiracy-minded type, I suggest
you check out: http://www.vanderbilt.edu/chancellor/

With all best wishes for many more years at Vanderbilt,

Gordon Gee

The image of the photo of the Chancellor holding the “GEE DEAD” newspaper as if it said “Dewey Defeats Truman” just wasn’t enough irony for me, so I went over to the Chancellor’s office during my lunch break.. and I killed him! (Ha ha! See, that’s a joke too. Not a very good one, but what did you expect? I’m not witty enough to smash watermellons.)

Today, a message on The Slant’s website says, “The Vanderbilt Student Communications Board is considering on Friday afternoon an application by an editor of the Hustler for the position of Editor in Chief of The Slant…. With full knowledge of how deeply sorry we are for the harm we caused, and the recognition that we have learned from this mistake, I am asking each of you to email the Board members and let them know that the student body of this University and the world abroad accepts our apology, wants The Slant to keep going as it was before this happened, and s the current leadership.”

This is a tragedy. Regular issues of The Hustler are humorless (and therefore worthless). While The Slant isn’t the most honorable, prestigious publication ever.. it IS funny.. and they have plugged www.ChadMRiden.com for free.. so I like them.

I sent The Vanderbilt Student Communications Board the following message:

Dear Vanderbilt Student Communications Board:

I’m writing to ask that you decide to keep Brad Ploeger as Editor in Chief of The Slant, and the current staff in place just as it has been. They’re just some kids trying to have some fun.. and they publish a great paper. They have apologized saying they are “deeply sorry.. for the harm we caused” and that they “have learned from this mistake.”

I realize that a lot of people are upset about the fake Hustler
edition.. but try to put emotion aside for a moment and think
about what really happened here: it was a joke. The bottom line
is that this was a masterfully planned, well executed, already
classic college prank. Was it in poor taste? Sure. Was it a risky
move? Yes. Should they be punished for this? I don’t know.. but
should they lose their paper? No.

That paper was glorious. It made me wish I had the imagination
and resources to do such a thing when I was in school. It made
me wish I was a part of their team.. It made me wish I had bought
ad space.

Chancellor Gee himself had a good sense of humor about it. The
picture of him holding the paper that he put on his web page was
not done in anger. Look at the man, he’s grinning like he can’t
control his excitement. His page generally gets about 50 or 60
hits a day, but that day there were 38,385 accesses to the Chancellor
home page. Even the Drudge Report linked to it.. why? Because
it is a great story.

It should have been obvious to everyone that it was a farce.
They spelled it “Huslter” in big bold type right there on the
front page and everywhere else it appeared. The by-line said it
was “the student crossword of Vanderbilt University..” Anybody
with the perception of a blind fish should have noticed that right
off the bat. The people mad about this are mad because they were
gullible enough to fall for it.

Vanderbilt’s image was probably improved by this event. The widespread
perception of stodgy snootiness was shaken up a bit. You may not
be able to keep the students from showing up at your football
games late, wearing shirts and ties like dorks.. you may never
live down the ties with the “Confederacy” or Commodore’s railroad
baron ways.. but at least don’t tell the world that the freedoms
of speech and of the press don’t exist at your institution.

–
Thanks for putting up with my crap,

Chad M. Riden,

Lame, Nashville-based jackass comedian and regular Vanderbilt
Slant reader

http://www.ChadMRiden.com/
http://www.MangyDog.com/
http://www.NashvilleStandup.com/

If you’d like to send a message of for The Slant, here.

I figure us smart asses have to stick together.. otherwise the
serious, responsible citizens will prevail.

It snowed seven inches in Nashville the other day. In many parts of the world this isn’t a big deal. In Tennessee, forecasts of light flurries are like air-raid sirens foretelling our unavoidable total annihilation.

Law abiding, civil citizens are reduced to chaotic maniacs without logic or the driving skills of a sixteen-year-old girl. Store shelves are emptied of all bread and milk as if this would be the last chance to go to a store until the tribulation is over. Schools close (Not the day before.. or early enough in the morning for parents to make plans.. no, no. That would make sense.) once the kids are all on campus. Therefore, business offices empty as mom and dad scramble to make arrangements. This means the roads are full of frantic parents terrified that their offspring will freeze to death if they don’t spin their tires in the snow as they fishtail their way thru the red light.

I’ve never seen driving quite like that which you find in the South when it has snowed. The majority of my youth was spent a few minutes west of Chicago in DuPage county. I wasn’t anywhere near old enough to drive when we moved, but I knew to shift into low gear; to drive slow and steady without spinning my tires; to turn the wheel and gun it when I want to turn; to counter-steer my way out of a skid; to park the car somewhere other than in the middle of the road facing the wrong direction.

While waiting about an hour for my chance to drive up an off ramp, a man actually walked down the line of cars telling people, “the Department Of Transportation guy says to try it one at a time.” Really? ‘Cause I thought maybe the best thing to do would be to pass these people waiting so I can floor it about a third of the way up the hill until I meet the car ahead. That way, I have to stop on an ice covered incline, slide to the bottom and start all over. Either that, or just sit there spinning my tires so people who know what they’re doing can’t make a run for it.

To me, the funniest sights on a snow day are the guys driving the classic big ass trucks. I’m not sure what it’s like in your town, but in Nashville we have many “cowboys” (most of whom have never, ever touched a cow) who drive monster pickups with giant lifts and enormous mud tires. Much like their SUV-driving soccer mom counterparts, their off-road vehicles never leave the pavement. I’ve seen trucks big enough to crush a hatchback spinning in circles and on their sides in ditches. How embarrassing it must be to walk home after such a disgraceful display of ineptitude. How do they face their friends and families? “Uh, you know that super-sized truck I overextended our budget for? Yeah. It snowed a few inches, and.. ehh.. I got it stuck.”

At least the kids here know what to do – sled.. make snowmen.. throw snowballs at cars. While they’re out having fun, where are their parents? Boarding up the windows.. cracking open the Y2K stockpiles.. loading up in their rear-wheel-drive piece of crap so they can slide around the road, blocking my way.

Some things never cease to amaze me.. most all of them involve stupid people. OK, I understand that it doesn’t snow here often. I realize that everybody doesn’t have much experience driving in the snow.. but common sense would tell you to either: A) practice driving in the snow in a safe parking lot, or B) stay the hell off the road. Every time it snows here it’s like it’s the first time ever.

Maybe I’m too harsh. Maybe I’m an impatient jerk. Or maybe it’s just that I’m just not a complete moron.