Worst Christmas Present of All Time

Today I returned the worst Christmas present I ever received. It was given to me by Finbar, who obviously is not only stupid but also apparently color blind. As you may have guessed by now Finbar gave me what the kids call, "a Cosby sweater". I am not sure why he felt comfortable enough about buying me any clothing in the first place, but this sweater was the most ridiculous gift he could have found. In order to head off future bad gifts for any man I have decided to write a short guide to buying a man (whether he be husband, friend or father) gifts.

Tip 1: Tools are always good.
A man can never get enough tools, and he can never have enough of the same tool. This makes tools the obvious choice for last minute gifts because you truly cant go wrong. It is also important to note that ANY tool is better than almost any article of clothing. I wont delve further into the appeal of power tools, as that should just be intuitive.

Tip 2: Don't try to change our fashions.
Men are very attached to their style. We go through a long process in early adulthood to pin down exactly what we want to wear and what we think we look good in. Once we find that style we hold on to it like life itself. DO NOT try to impose your style on us. While I may wear flannel, there is no way in hell i will ever wear a damn sweater with the entire spectrum of color somehow woven into it. Even if you are repulsed by the style of your friend or husband or father, resist the temptation to try to change them- your throwing your money away.

Tip 3: When in doubt aim for the gut.
Its been said that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I could not agree with this more, and at no time is there a greater array of treats then during the holidays. The selection is endless with things like boxes of candy and buckets of popcorn. But my personal favorite are treats from the store that appears for only a brief time during the holidays and sells baskets of meat and cheese, thats right it's Hickory Farms. This place is a godsend, all men should receive a gift from these people, never before have such delicious combinations of foods been thrust together in affordable gift packages, and never is my smile as great as it is when I open up a package that is bursting with all kinds of meats and cheeses.

I hope that all those who read these tips will take them to heart to avoid the pitfalls of holiday giving which can, in a word, be tragic. Instead of getting a gift that must be returned, exchanged, or burnt for the sake of humanity, get a gifts that men in your life are sure to enjoy!

Hope you had a wonderful holiday.
-Johnny

Emmit, what the hell happened?

Mrs. McBarney is a big fan of the (and I can't believe I am saying this) runaway hit, Dancing with the Stars. Normally I am not home to watch this trash with her, but recently I caught the "stunning conclusion" of this "competition".

Most of the time I would have been unaffected by the asinine nature of this program, however I noticed that the "competition" included one Emmit Smith. Suddenly my world was shattered, I am not a Smith fan but I am a football fan and I had always thought of Smith as a man's man, not some sort of pussy galloping around a stage for attention because he cant run the football anymore.

In the old days when I football player lost his touch he did one of two things, retired only to emerge for the Hall of Fame induction; or become a color commentator. Apparently none of these manly, yet respectful channels enticed twinkle toes. Instead of becoming an elder statesman of football, he became a laughing stock to men all over the country.

As I expressed my anger and dismay to the Mrs. I could tell that she did not understand, she pointed out other "manly men" that had been on the program, which only enraged me more. If these men are so starved for attention couldn't they keep themselves in the spotlight through some semi manly endevour? Survivor perhaps? Celebrity boxing? Maybe they could pitch some sort of Death Match program?

In any case the experience has tainted me on how I feel towards "athletes" like Jerry Rice, Emmit Smith, and Evander Holyfield (although I think in Evander's case it could be a function of taking some shots to the head) it is time for men everywhere to turn their backs on these washed up attention starved bastards, and at the very least deny them entry into their respective halls of fame.

I love politics!

For most, election season is a time that brings out disgust at those running for office and the trash they inundate the airwaves with. I on the other hand, love this time of year, especially when things get nasty, it is actually quite funny to see what these idiots will do and say to hold office. Today as I was watching the television I saw an add that essentially said that the incumbent Mayor was a wimp... another ad informed me if I voted for the democrats that my penis would probably shrivel up and fall off... voting republican on the other hand means subjecting myself to 1000 years of slavery at the hands of our corporate masters... and if I wanted to vote for my incumbent house member I might as well kiss my social security good-bye because this guy hates me and doesn't want to see me live because I am old.

Personally I think its time to take these campaigns the next level... No-Holds-Barred Battle Royals. Here's the plan... we will lock up two candidates in some sort of room or sets of rooms with tools to build weapons from. We will then see first hand which politician is the smartest, and most cut-throat, and thus more fit to represent us. As an aside, I was discussing this with Finbar this morning, and he thinks it mirrors an episode of the old Star Trek program, apparently aliens chose to judge cultures on how they fought with each other.... needless to say (according to Finbar) Shatner did us all right and kicked the aliens ass.

In any case, it is time for us to do the same to our scumbag politicians, if they are going to act like brutish kids, that actually have the power to affect lives, I say we treat them that way... it might be a good way to settle political disputes as well- I would love to see Denny Hastert and Nancy Pelosi fight it out for supremacy.... and who knows maybe in the process will will winnow down the ranks of these assholes.

Now for a brief Public Service Announcement:
Take some time tomorrow to vote, if you don't I don't want to hear a damn word about how you don't like how something is going. If you really cared you would take the 15 fucking minutes to let your voice be heard, and then if the bastards don't do what you want, you can bitch all you want.

Is Peg Leg's Haunted?

For many years I have camped out at the pub Halloween weekend for fear that some sort of looting and or vandalism would occur. People called me crazy, but the fact of the matter is that kids get loaded and then want to bad things. Hell so do adults... last Halloween we had to call Finbar's wife down to the pub to get him to release his hostages (a very old bottle of scotch and a frightened dog) before he threw them off the roof of the bar (Truth be told we were more concerned about the 50 year old bottle of scotch which was worth a pretty penny).

In any matter, last night the boys and I continued our Halloween tradition, camped out, and armed with clubs, we ensured that no damage would be done to the property. That's when things started to get wired. First odd noises began emanating from the back of the bar. It sounded like strangle howl, sort of like a wind tunnel. At first we thought that Finbar was in the bathroom but upon closer examination it was not him. Then we heard odd crashing and smashing noises, needless to say this really started to freak us out. But the thing that drove us out of the bar was when we heard what sounded like a small explosion in the ducts. Now I am not afraid of ghosts but I do believe in their existence, there is too much wired shit in the world not to. I also believe if they are around we should get the fuck out of the way and try to let them find their peace, in this spirit (no pun intended) we decided that because nothing had every happened on Halloween that we would let this ghost or ghosts have free roam of the bar, and we departed for the night.

This morning as I was running some errands I drove past the bar and was stunned at what I saw. Toilet paper had been thrown all over the place, eggs and silly sting covered the windows, and lying on the steps leading into the bar was a large piece of sheet metal and an exploded m80 and a note that was addressed to McScaredy.

It would seem that the spirits that drove us from the bar were really a bunch of fucking punks. Let be clear in how I feel about this... I will track these fucking bastards down, and I will show them what pain is. Luckily for me I have already obtained a lead as to who these punks might be. My good friend, and sheriff, Dave McGee, pulled some prints off the sheet metal and interviewed neighbors about what they may have seen.

I have news for the fuckers who committed this act of atrocity: I am coming for you. I will find you. And when I am through with you're going to wish you've never heard the name Johnny McBarney.

Drunken Canadians: here to remind you hockey season has started.

What has become a yearly occurrence at the pub is underway once again. It all started a little over 10 years ago when a group of Canadians who live in Kennebunkport discovered that Ol’ McBarney had cable. These bastards, desperate for something called “Hockey Night in Canada” ascended to the pub to take advantage of a channel previously unknown to me- the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corp). What they were so desperate for was a sport I could have cared less about… ice hockey. Ice Hockey can best be described as barbaric… a bunch of men with sticks run at each other, beat the hell out of each other, sometimes to the point where they bleed, and try to put a little piece of fucking plastic into a goal. All the men that play this game are hairy and toothless; some of them were described by the Canadians as “Newfies”, apparently some sort of slang for a country bumpkin.

In any case, as you might have guessed, I am in love with this sport- it is a man’s game in a sporting world that is now dominated by pussy pre-Madonnas like fucking Terrell fucking Owens. These men don’t whine and complain they fight and bleed.

The only bad part about Hockey? Don Cherry. This guy, who is the host of Hockey Night in Canada, is a fucking nut job. First of all, the man dresses like you might imagine Rod Roddy would if he were going to a formal event. Perhaps he is wearing this horrid clothing to take attention away from his fake-tanned-wrinkly-assed face. And for some stupid reason this guy is always giving a thumbs up, I’ll tell you where I’d like to stick that thumb.

Otherwise the sport is exciting and fast paced, and it is made even more fun by the Canadians who watch it, these guys know how to drink! While they generally are insulting my beer, (they are always clamoring for something called Blue) they will drink what ever they are given, and they will have a good time drinking it.

Yes the drunken Canadians are back and that means hockey season is on, and I have a feeling this season will be (in the words of the announcer of my favorite team) top shelf (where momma hides the cookies).

Reali-T... ITS FOR ME!

Tonight television history was made, with the premier of the new reali-T television show, I Pity the Fool. The show stars one of the greatest actors, preachers, humanitarians, and all-around-good-guys of all time, yes Mr. T.

I have liked Mr. T ever since he was on my favorite television show of the 80's... the A-Team (to this day I walk around the pub letting people know that I love it when a plan comes together). The premise of Mr. T's new show is that he finds people (fools) with problems and he goes and he yells at them until they straighten up. The T, has obviously gone to the Gene Hackman school of problem solving... yell at the problem and it will go away. Essentially he looks at the problem and beats the hell out of it, just like he did with the scum of the earth of the A-Team. Last night he beat the hell out of everyone in a car dealership until they were a well oiled machine.

Its clear that Mr. T isn't as young as he is used to be, but he hasn't lost his edge- I am thinking about bringing him into my bar in an attempt to get fat ass Finbar a life, preferably a money making life so he can pay his damn tab! Maybe The T should work with other celebrities... what if Mr. T went to help Paris Hilton with her life... she could become one of the most productive members of our society... who knows, she might even cure Cancer!

In any case, I highly suggest you cut the Jibba Jabba and watch Mr. T's show on TV land.... and remember you "cant spell success without T."

Male Wedding Traditions

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. These of course are the dumb ass things that women bring with them to a marriage ceremony for the sake of good luck . Now I have been married for nearly 40 years, and I can tell you flat out, it is not women who need the luck- it is men. My youngest son is about to get married, and I have decided to come up with a few items that he, and the rest of the world's men should bring into wedding ceremonies for the same reason.... and no they aren't going to fucking rhyme- real men don't talk in rhyme.

Item number one: A flask... this one is pretty self explanatory, even with all the luck in the world there is going to be a time when you need your best friend Mr. Jameson.

Item number two: Something Copper. Copper is the manliest of metals, it has brought men good luck since the Roman times. I would also suggest that you don't try to cover this one with a penny- go all out.

Item number three: A compass. For those times in your life when you are lost and need direction.... or for those times in your life when you are trying to escape the vengeance of the one you married and need direction.

Finally item number four: Think back to the time of the greatest challenge you've had to overcome in life and bring something that relates to that time. For instance, I might bring the eye patch from the pirate I killed in Africa, or perhaps a small piece of my old boat the Morning Star. For me, my peg leg would probably suffice- but I am trying to give you some ideas.

It's important that you get all the luck you can, because lord knows you'll need it. Sailors don't set sail unprepared into uncharted territory- why would you do the same with women, who are even more unpredictable than the sea.