Back in 2011 my sister and I gave the folks tickets to a Packer game as a Christmas gift.  Despite being an avid Packer fan, Mom had never been to Lambeau.  She was overjoyed when she opened the envelope and saw the green and gold tickets.

Fast forward to New Years Day - where I was helping my mom pick out warm Packer clothing for her trip to Lambeau. Soon they were ready to leave and very excited to get going.

The last detail was to hand over their ancient, perverted, incontinent and blind miniature poodle for me to watch while they were gone.  Max was a disgusting animal, with several bad habits.  Including, but not limited to; peeing on every surface he stumbled upon and relentlessly sniffing other dogs butts.

Because of his peeing habit Max wore a tiny diaper, which he soaked  thru in moments after my parents left.   He then proceeded to shove his nose up my dogs butt - while she looked at me with an expression that said, “please get this disgusting thing away from me”.  I was not a huge fan of Max nor was anyone else.

I had to change the little bastards diaper after each quarter of the game and I was running out of swaddlers.  He was basically a furry bladder that barked.

My sister showed up after shortly after the Packers beat the Lions and she brought her dogs and family.  Max was overjoyed to have more butts to sniff, the other dogs were not as happy and less willing to be sniffed.  Her large Lab mix, named Lambeau, was visibly  upset when Max stuck his nose into his butt.

My sister and I started setting up snacks, when we heard a fracas from the other room.  I ran into the dining room to see Lambeau violently shaking Max in his mouth.

I yelled at Lambeau who dropped Max and gave me a look that said “he had it coming”.  I ran over to the urine soaked ball of fur, but it was too late.  Max had sniffed his last butt.

Moments later the phone rang and it was my parents.  My sister thrusted the phone into my hands as she gathered her dogs and family in order to flee the scene.  I answered and my Pops said, “the Packers won!  What a great game!  We are on the way home, did the little peebag cause any troubles?”…

I said, “Hell yes that was a great game!!  Such a high score!  Matt Flynn played great!! (mumbling) Lambeau killed Max.  I have snacks ready for you guys!”

The rest of the story isn’t as funny and Lambeau is still banned from my parents house.  Plus my Mom has refused to go to another Packer game.

Welcome to another exciting episode of “I Heard It Thru The Privacy Fence” Today we find out hero Odd in his back yard picking up dog poop and placing it into a bag that is held by his son and side kick Q. Let's tune in and see what is happening.

Q - "dad dude, this stinks"

Odd - "buddy, you are holding a bag of dog poop, it's supposed to stink"

Q - "well, I know. But can't we just leave it hear until it rains and washes it away?"

Odd - "I wish man, But it rained for days straight and it just made things worse. So we have to pick it up before it's too gross".

<Little Hicks voice from other side of fence>

Little Hick - "Hey Quinn, ya wanna take the dogs for a walk?"

Q - <dropping bag of poop> "Dad, can I go?!"

Odd - <perturbed> "DUDE, there are like two more scoops of poops. Pick up the bag".

Q - <picks up bag, rolling eyes> - "fine, but can I go after poop patrol?

Odd - <scooping poop into bag> "sure you can go. But you have to take along a bag in case one of the dogs poops.

Q - <disgusted> "What? I have to carry all of this poop on a walk??"

Odd - <laughing> “no dude, you have to take along an empty plastic bag in case the dog drops a deuce”

Little Hick - <appearing over the fence as she stands on a broken cement mixer> "yeh, my dad says we gotta take a bag too."

Odd - <smiling at the Q> "see dude? The Hicks bring along a bag when they walk their dog. So we should do the same."

Little Hick - <proudly interrupting> "my dad said the trick is to act like you are picking it up, but you don't really pick it up"

Odd - <scooping into bag> "Um, what did ya say honey? What do you mean by 'don't really pick it up?"

Little Hick - <rolling eyes> "well, you act like you are picking it up, but your actually right next to it. So if anyone sees you they think you were picking it up".

Q - <laughing> "And then you leave the turd there? <little hick nodding> COOL idea!"

Odd - <shaking head> "What?! NO! Not a cool idea, not cool. You have to pick up the shit!

Q - <laughing> “he said shit”

Odd - <holding large bag of poop> “Yes, you have to pick up the poop! What do you think I am doing?"

Little Hick - <shrugging> "who wants to walk around with a bag of shit in their hand?”

Odd - <getting perturbed> “No one WANTS to walk around with a bag of shit and stop saying shit!”.

Q - <giggling> “so is it called a shitbag??”.

Little Hick - <giggling> “I have a bag of shit!'.

Odd - <Perturbed> “knock it off you little shits!”

<giggles all around>

Odd - <setting down bag of poop> “ok, you guys can go, but you must pick up the turds. You have seen me do it, it is gross and I do not care for it. But you have to pick up the turds.”.

Little Hick - <matter of factual> - “my Dad said if I can find a stick and flick it into bushes or the road instead”

Q - <horrified and interested> - “You FLICK the poo? What kind of a stick? Why?”

Odd - <horrified and laughing> - “Oooh god no, you cant flick the turds with a stick! The home owner will get kind of mad if he see you playing turd hockey in their yard. No Flicking, just picking”

Little Hick - “so then we pick it up and toss it right into their garbage can?”

Odd - <perplexed> “whose garbage can”

Little Hick - <rolling eyes> “whoevers yard the dogs poop in!”.

Odd - <exacerbated> “NO, you do not walk up peoples driveways with a bag of shit and throw it in their garbage can! You carry it home with you and throw it away here”.

Q - <giggling> - “He said shit again.”

Little Hick - <hand on hip> “my Dad said if you gotta pick up the shit, cause someone sees you, then you can walk away and just toss the bag in the street”

Q - <giggling> “she said shit”

Odd - <dumbfounded> “WHAT THE HELL?!”

Little Hick - <frightened and confused> “What? So the poop is gone! “

Odd - <collective> “Honey, the poop is not gone when you toss it in the road. It is then a plastic bag with poop in the middle of the road.

Little Hick <smiling> “Yeah, my dad said then it's some one elses problem”

Odd - <arms outstretched with a WTF expression> “WHAT THE HELL?! NO!! Look, you can go on the walk only if you take a bag to pick up dog poop. If the dog poops, you use the bag to pick up the poop and then you bring it back here. You don't pretend or flick it, or toss it in a strangers can or in the street. You walk with a bag of shit until you get back here!

Little Hick <shrugging> “I don't wanna take the dogs for a walk any more”

Q <shrugging> “ok, wanna go play video games?”

Little Hick <laughing> “ok, the one where you shoot people?”

Odd - <frustrated> “god damnit, no! No violence!!”

Our scene ends with Odd lumbering a bag filled with dog shit towards his own garbage can. Our hero tosses a bag of dog shit into the can as he shakes his head in bewilderment....

Tune in next time for another exciting episode of “I Heard It Thru The Privacy Fence”

As was often the case in my early 20's, I split up with a chick named Gina (4 in total) and went camping alone (in a different state) in order to clear my mind .

I decided I would travel from the desert basin to the peak of Mt Lemmon in the Santa Catalina National Forest of Arizona (just outside of Tucson).

The first day almost killed me. A fat guy from Wisconsin should NOT walk thru the freaking desert, ever! Then I reached the damn foothills and it was uphill from there.

Having grown up in Wisconsin it's hard to appreciate mountains. The look pretty in pictures and all, plus it seemed like a great idea when I made the plains.

However I never really realized that mountains are a pain in the ass to climb! Add 115 degrees to the first 20 miles of the journey and I was making a mental will.

I was rewarded for my journey with a perfect camp spot aside a seasonal waterfall. It was an idyllic setting where Cacti transitioned from Pinon and Pine. The waterfall fell about 15 feet into a deep cool pool of cool water.

I set up my little backpacker tent on a small out cropping overlooking the waterfall and made a wonderful meal of bagels and tequila.

After eating I went for an exhilarating swim in the mountain run-off water. It was fantastic!

I retired to my tent exhausted after a long day of hiking and the tequila helped me sleep until the sun warmed my tent to the temperature of a toaster oven.

After stepping out of my tent I realized something had gotten into my backpack. Upon closer inspection I found out whatever it was had taken a bite out of every remaining bagel and pooped on my shoulder strap

Undeterred, I decided to go for another swim before I left the beautiful site.

My first step into the water sent searing pain and a rush a red to the fast rushing stream.

I had stepped onto a large chunk of glass and cut my foot wide open. I was cursing the idiot who had decimated such a lovely site by dropping a bottle when I realized it was my bottle of tequila from the night before. Seems it fell from my perch and into the pool I was swimming in.

After cleaning up the glass I realized I had a 4 inch gash in my foot and was bleeding pretty well. My emergency kit contained a few bandages, dental floss and a sewing needle.

After numbing my foot in the cold water and controlling the blood loss I stitched my own foot and wrapped it in gauze and a shirt I cut up.

The next 15 miles (the easy part of the hike) were agonizing at best.

When I got the the emergency room they commented that I was “one of the few idiots who stitched himself well.”      

Plumbing at the folks

During our last cold spell my Mom called in a panic because a pipe had burst in their basement.

I suggested that she should call a plumber instead of her unemployed landscaper son who knows nothing about plumbing.

She asked if I could come and look at it before she called a plumber, “because they are so expensive”. She sweetened the deal by offering me a lasagna and some cabbage rolls. It's almost impossible to so no to my mom and it is impossible once she offers cabbage rolls.

When I got there I found the problem was not a burst pipe, but simply a broken valve that was slowly leaking water into a bucket she had set below it. They had not tuned off their outdoor hose bib and it froze, thus breaking the valve.

I assumed it was a simple fix and got to work by turned off the water and cutting the copper pipe in order to remove the valve. Once out I took the whole thing to the hardware store and bought the correct parts. They informed me that I would have to “sweat the pipes” in order to finish the project. Then they sold me a torch and some soldering stuff.

I had no clue what I was doing, but that never stopped me before.

I connected the puzzle of pipes into place and proceeded to Google “sweating copper pipes”... It seemed simple enough that an idiot like me could do it.

I prepared the pipes by sanding the connection points and I applied the flux stuff as the YouTube video had shown me. Then I started the torch.

I quickly learned that you should not hold it directly above you as the hot solder drips onto your face and burns like hell. So I stood on a flimsy chair and tried it from a different angle. I held the flame in place and waited for the solder to melt into place.

When I smelled smoke I didn't think much of it, there was a torch in my hand after all. But it smelled more of wood burning. So I looked from another angle and realized I had set the floor joist on fire. I adjusted my position to get a better look and the chair collapsed.

I put out the flames and stood on a paint can in order to give it another shot. I was able to get it done and I was rather proud of myself. Until I turned on the water and watched as it simply poured from the joints.

Defeated, I called a plumber. Who was able to sweat the pipes into place within a moment or two, like it was no big deal... Then he charged me $75 for the service call.

Basically, I paid $75 on cabbage rolls and lasagna...   

When I was growing up it was a family tradition to drive to Illinois to see my Aunt and her family for Christmas.  This was in a time (way) before iphones, or ipads...

Which forced the family to communicate for the two hour drive, which we refused to do.

My parents would talk for a couple of miles.  Then we would all sit in silence, aside from a partially tuned in radio station and stare at cars driving next to us wishing we were in them, as opposed to ours.

After hearing my Dad say, “third damn toll, damn Illinois!” as he roughly tossed coins in the basket, I knew we were nearing the exit.

I was usually drowsy with anger at this point having sat between my older sisters whom had been carrying on an unspoken war since they were 10 years old or so.

When we would reach our destination my Aunt would run out and yell “why the hell are you so late!?” and then storm back inside.

We would then open the trunk of the car to realize the crock pot or whatever other poorly packed food item my Mom had had tossed back there had tipped and spilled on all of the gifts.

So we would trudge the gifts, dripping with cabbage rolls or whatever, into her house as she would shout “what the hell! not again?!”

Then we would “relax” on her vinyl couch and snack on a cheese log with soggy crackers while we watched whatever was on one of three channels.

Dinner consisted of whatever had spilled on the gifts and an overcooked turkey.

Then we would open up cabbage soaked socks and sweaters while my Aunt complained about cleaning up.

Moments after all of the wrapping paper and leftovers were tossed into the trash someone would mention “where is that card with the money?” and we would have to dig through the gravy and cabbage covered wrapping paper to find nothing.

Soon after someone would announce “here it is” and find it on the counter in the kitchen.

Then we would pile into the car for a two hour drive back to Milwaukee with our heads hanging out of the window as my Dad ripped turkey farts and complained about the tolls...

It was Thanksgiving 1995 and I was living in Menasha WI (Neenah's ugly little sister) a hillbilly triplex hovel on the northern tip of lake Winnebago.

First, a word about my “house” I was dating a girl named Kimberly (who ironically was from Kimberly WI.) when I received a contract from Kimberly Clark (ironically, not located in Kimberly) paper company, to work in their lab. I asked Kimberly (the girl, not the company) to find me an apartment, as I was living in Tucon AZ at the time.

She got back to me a week later and said, “I found a quaint little 2 bedroom place on an island! It's on the tip of lake Winnebago in Menasha!” I was dumbfounded! An island?! A Lake?? After all I was living in a Mexi-duplex in the middle of a desert!

A “quaint, two bedroom, on an island” sounded great!! Well, it sounded like paradise!!

So I packed everything I owned into a mint condition 1976 Dodge Interceptor (which I intended to sell whence I got it to the rust belt) and headed to my Menasha paradise! I was knocked off the road by a dipshit in a storm while in Joplin MO. And the car was pretty much totaled. But that is another funny story.

I eventually made it to Menasha with everything I owned and was searching for my “paradise”. I drove past a shit hole with the correct address three times before I realized it was my “paradise”.

So, as far as the adage “sounds too good to be true” goes. Yes, yes it's true... My “quaint, two bedroom, on an island place” was actually a tiny triplex hillbilly hovel located on a man made isthmus.

True, it was on the northern tip of lake Winnebago. But my door and patio (deck comprised of pallets and 2x4's) faced a narrow, smelly, man made creek that fed lake water to the Menasha Water Filtration Pond. The pond was green and smelled of poop. Plus it had flies and rats.

Not paradise.

However, I had already rented the place because Kimberly made it sound SO nice. So I moved all of my stuff in. It's hard to believe that items smashed into a partially totaled '76 Dodge Interceptor could fill an 2 bedroom hovel... But it happened.

The place had 6 ½ foot ceilings with a rough textured ceiling paint that would remove the skin from my knuckles each and every time I put on a shirt.

My portion of the hovel was placed upon a concrete slab, which had been hastily added by what appeared to be partially trained monkeys. It was obviously not up to code, yet by Menasha standards suitable for living.

To make matters worse, I found out Kimberly (again, the girl – not the company) was already dating someone else when I moved into the hillbilly triplex hovel.

To make maters worse, I was much better looking back then and it was quite the blow to my ego. Even worse than that, she was dating a chick... Not a good looking chick... anyway...

Depression set in... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, back to Thanksgiving!!

Mom and Pops had asked if they could come up for Thanksgiving. It had been a tradition to have Thanksgiving at my house, since it is basically a “food and football” related holiday. Plus I am a pretty good cook.

Besides, the prior years toufurkey had not been great (or edible) at my sisters place. So having the meal at my house seemed like a great idea!

I had not seen my folks since I moved back to Wisconsin and as far as they knew I was living in a “quaint 2 bedroom place on a god damn island”!

I had explained to them that is was triplex hillbilly hovel, but they thought I was “being dramatic”. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to see them and show off the hovel.

So, I bought the turkey and all the fixings!
14 pound bird
green bean casserole stuff
bottle of wine
case of PBR 
gin 
vodka 
whiskey
4 potatoes
tonic water 
apple pie 

I started to prepare everything a few days before they arrived and everything was going smoothly. Everything was prepped and ready to cook. 

The trouble aroused whence I attempted to place the bird in the oven. 

Seems I had not measured the bird and it was too big for my oven... I should explain the kitchen was the size of a small closet and the oven looked like an EZ Bake oven my sisters had when we were little (that I melted a GI Joe in) I tried like hell to get the turkey in the oven, I lowered the grates and moved the bird around.

None of it helped. Mind you, this was 7 am and I was hungover. (As was the style of the time). 

So in an act of frustration, I beat that turkey within an inch of its already passed life - I squeezed it and sat on it, I pushed it and punched it. Eventually, it fit! 

Once the bird was in, I decided it was safe to shower and such. I was wrong. While I was showering I heard a shrieking smoke alarm going off blaring, which I totally ignored. After a few minutes, I came out of the shower to find the hovel thick with smoke. 

I walked into the kitchen to see black smoke bellowing out of the “oven”. Seems I had dislodged the heating element of the oven and it had fallen on the damn bird. Thus searing and setting it ablaze. 

I pried it out of the oven with the towel I had been wearing and then it landed with a thud on the floor. From behind me I heard a female voice asking “is everything ok?”, seems my vigilant nosy neighbor let herself in when she saw the smoke. I calmly shouted, “sure, everything is fine!”... even though I was standing naked above a flaming , blackened turkey. 

Oddly enough, she never came over again... 

Once I was able to put out the flames and clear some of the smoke I checked the condition the the bird. It was not good... The outer portion was black and the center of the bird was raw as raw could be. I attempted to put the oven back together, but that was a shot in the dark after 6 beers. 

So I sliced the raw turkey up and decided to pan fry it! Seemed logical... 

I turned up “heating surface” of my EZ Bake oven and it would NOT work! I panicked and looked to start up the grill, but realized I had no charcoal... plus I had no way to cook the rest of the crap, which was sitting on my counter.... 

I knocked on the neighbors doors but no one was home. I jumped in the car and drove to the Piggly Wiggly, only to find it closed. Basically, I was screwed... 

When my folks arrived I explained the whole experience in great detail... 

Then my Pops asked “what the hell are we going to eat?” 

So I treated them to a Chinese dinner in a strip mall – Which was pretty damn good.

Weirdest interview ever

I moved to Chicago when I was about 20. I worked for a moving company for a while, but I quickly tired of it.

So I got the Chicago Reader and looked for a job. I found a simple ad that said “DO you like to talk to people? Earn big money and call today!” 

I have always been a talker so I figured I would give it a shot.

I called and spoke to a very enthusiastic person on the phone named Steven. 

 He asked me to come in for an interview without really telling me what the job entailed. I asked a few times and he simply responded “you get to talk to people on the phone and by the sound of your voice I am sure you will be good at it!!”

I was sure of one thing, I was tired of lifting heavy things for $7.00 and hour so I agreed to go in for an interview.

The next morning I arrived at a rather drab office. There were cubicles and several men talking on phones.

After a few moments a man, who introduced himself as Steven, walked up and asked “are you Todd??! Oh, I hope you are!!”

Which seemed a little weird... But I said “yes” as I shook his hand.

While we spoke he kept commenting “your voice is perfect for this!”

While I kept asking, “what are you selling??”

Steven never really did come out with a straight answer other than “you are selling yourself!! Men will call and you just talk to them.”

I was really confused and asked, “men? Talk to them about what?”.

Steven replied, “about anything that pops into your pretty little head, silly!”

I was totally confused and asked, “what is the product, what are we selling? This makes no sense”...

Steven said, “let's patch into Anthony's call so you can see what I am talking about”

So I sat listening for a few seconds, until I realized that Anthony was speaking to another man in an explicit sexual manner.

The blood drained from my face as I set the phone down on the desk and said, “I'm interviewing for a gay sex line?!?”

To which Steven replied “when can you start!?!”

I stammered and stuttered, “but... this!... Is, what um... gay. I'm not and no and...” as I stood backed out of the door as Steven was yelling “you'd be good at it!!!”

It was weirdest interview I ever had, not that there is anything wrong with that.