Archive for the ‘Home Improvement’ Category


There’s this old fable. You probably remember it. It’s about an ant that spends its summer and fall storing food for the winter. While its fun loving neighbor, the grasshopper, spends his days dancing and having an all-around groovy time. Soon enough, winter arrives, and we find the ant fat and cozy in his hill. Meanwhile, the unprepared grasshopper starves.

The moral of this fable depends greatly on the reader’s philosophical make-up. But I’m not here to contemplate the moral of any story. That sort of thinking is for nerds and the elderly. I’m here because Costco has finally forced my hand.

And this is where I abruptly transition to a topic that draws on some parallels to the old fable from the beginning of this blog: Buying a month’s worth of goods at Costco vs. shopping a couple of times a week at the local grocery store.

My wife falls into the former camp, while I land squarely in the latter. But, before I begin my completely rational argument for why my way of grocery shopping is undoubtedly the correct method. I must preface my know-it-allness in this matter, with the fact that I get where she’s coming from.

You see, I often do my shopping after work, and without kids in tow. She usually doesn’t have this luxury. And anyone that’s dragged a couple of bickering kids through a grocery store, is probably not too keen on doing it all over again in a couple of days.

End of preface. Now, onto me being right.

If this blog were a movie, this is where we’d cut to me rolling through the store solo, sauntering down a random aisle like I just took some really good drugs. Earbuds in my skull, and a skip to my step.

There’s an undeniable charm to popping into your local grocery store every couple of days. No long lists, just a few small things that you forgot to pick up last time. And it’s always like that. You’re rewarded for forgetting things. What’s the reward you ask? Another trip to the store a couple of days later.

It goes a little something like this: “What’s that? We’re out of toilet paper and one of the kid’s is stuck on the can? Okay, I’ll be right back!”

Cut to me casually assessing the local produce, and then walking home, perhaps with a loaf of bread under my arm. “Oh! Did I forget that pesky toilet paper again? Oops!” 

Back to a kid-free play date with myself (One that doesn’t involve showering and masturbating).

Anyhow, another nice thing about multi-weekly shopping is that your bill is deceptively small. You’re going twice a week after all. Unfortunately, at least for my argument, this is also wherein lies the problem (According to my wife).

My style of shopping often leads to a dangerously low supply of various detergents, vegetables, toilet paper (as previously mentioned), and even cold cuts. Whereas my wife can get a month’s worth at Costco. A store so vast and overwhelming that NASA has begun studying its endless corridors.

A store where everyone is lost, and nothing is as it seems, and your exhausted plea for directions are answered like so: “You’re looking for our seafood aisle? Just go past the socks and underwear, and take a left at our home furnishings… wait, wrong way. You’re headed towards electronics, jewelry, and hot dog buns.” 

Who the hell wants to buy their groceries at the same place where they might purchase their home theater system, or even their damn underwear. There are supposed to be different stores for different things. This is the way of a civilized world.

Alternatively, there’s Costco. The one-stop abomination. And because they sell so many things, there are so many people. And let’s not forget their parking lot, which is hard to forget, considering it can be seen from space.

True Story: The last time I was at Costco, I watched as a shanty town sprang up, in-between the cottage cheese and designer shoe aisles. Marauders with curd covered faces, bashing the weak with discount heels. The stuff of nightmares.

**Side note: The popular tagline from the film Alien was: In space no one can you hear you scream.

If Costco had a tagline it would be: In Costco all you hear are screams. And then you’re screaming. Because you’re in hell, and hell like everything else is also in Costco.

Sure, it’s nice to have a seemingly unlimited supply of cold cuts in the fridge. Heck, that’s our God given right as a Americans… but at what cost?

Well, if you’re shopping at Costco, at least five hundred dollars. No one has ever made it out of there for less. That’s why those weirdos check your receipts at the exits. If your receipt is less than five hundred dollars, you’re forced back in.

But I get it. Prepping for the apocalypse is expensive. That’s why most doomsday preppers live deep in the woods. Property’s cheap deep in the woods, and that means more money for all those Costco purchases.

All that said, I do know one product that Costco won’t sell, and that’s a bidet. Because, lets face it, like the pharmaceutical companies, Costco knows the real money is in the treatment and not the cure. A bidet’s cheaper than a garage filled with toilet paper. And they don’t want that. They want you drowning in toilet paper.

You might say: “Aww Nik, you’re a helluva smart fella, and easy on the eyes I might add, but I think you’re being a little melodramatic about the Costco situation.”

And I might respond as follows: “First off, I appreciate the compliments. You’re more observant than I initially gave you credit for. But don’t mistake my truth bomb for melodramatics. Given, I am usually a sarcastic shit-heel. So I understand that my sudden shift to Truth Sage might be jarring. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that.

And you, with your constantly pooping body should know better than anyone, that no one needs fifty rolls of toilet paper in their home. And if that’s what it takes to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, then I’ll just have to die with an itchy ass, and my stubborn refusal to go to Costco, intact.”

It’s at this point that you realize I’m right. That I’ve always been right. Perhaps you shed a few tears. Or maybe just a single one. And finally, you bend the knee and pledge loyalty to my cause. After that we go to Jewel, and play with the bruised produce. And maybe we even buy a six-pack of toilet paper, like civilized adults.



Water is vital to life on Earth. This is an undeniable fact. Even creationist-nazi-cyborgs can agree that water is kind of a big deal. Another fact: Water is a murderous motherfucker.

Our bodies are made up of like 98 percent of the stuff (google it, nerd). That being said, it has also killed more of us than dinosaurs and bears COMBINED. Hell, if there was a Bear-o-saurus species (and there most definitely was), water probably killed the shit out of them as well. Because water loves to make things extinct. If you or I were cocaine, water would be an Andy Dick of C’thulu-like proportions.

And this is where I tell you about how water snuck out of my pipes, partially due to a drunken plumber (more on that later), and murdered the shit out of my bathroom.

My bathroom was a nice bathroom. I liked to read the paper in it, and I liked to poop in it. I also enjoyed peeing in it. And occasionally, I even washed my hands in it.

Unfortunately for us, a moist monstrosity lurked inside of our walls. It was subdued and held in place by copper pipes, much like Zod and his cohorts were in the phantom zone. But soon enough, like Zod before it, water found an opening and made its escape.

This little jailbreak resulted in water damage, mold, and worse still, yours truly having to use tools… IN MY OWN HOME. We’re talking saws, big ass hammers, even a fucking nail gun. Water is a heartless bastard.

This is where I show some dick pics:

Mold is herpes on a home. And my home is into some kinky shit.

Mold is herpes on a home. And my home is into some kinky shit.

Prepare yourself for the twist: During demolition, I found nine old style cans from the 1970s. It turns out water had an accomplice all along, a drunken plumber.

During the construction of my home this beer-chugging plumber decided to take his lunch break, and see if he could knock down a twelve pack, with water screaming “Chug! Chug! Chug!” all the while.

I was surprised to be honest. I had assumed water would have cleaned up after itself. Hide the evidence and all that. Although, at this point I wouldn’t be shocked if water stuffed that drunken plumber’s corpse into my water heater, just for shits and giggles… Because water don’t give a fuck.

"He's right, bitch. I don't."

“He’s right, bitch. I don’t.”

So, yeah, we’re remodeling. I’m hiring contractors, and doing some of the work myself, and it all sucks very much. The good news is the pipes are fixed, and water is back where it belongs… under the thumb of its human overlords.