
Well, folks, Markie Claus has got a few things that have really been chewing on his ass over the last few months and I feel, from the bottom of my heart, it's time to share...way past time to share.
In fact, I NEED to share. This stuff has really been building for quite some time (I know! I know! I need to do Grab Bags more often)
So there's quite a bit here...please take your time and as always, post your rants in comments below this post.

I think that I am going to have a card lamented, which I will carry with me at all times in my wallet. This card will be handed to women (unknown to me personally) I have talked to, I am talking with, or could possibly talk to at some point throughout the course of my visits to various places. It will say the following:
Hello. My name is Mark. When I come to (insert name of bar/club/restaurant/shop/etc where we currently are), I enjoy a friendly conversation. This should NEVER be misconstrued for me hitting on you. Therefore, you do not have to mention that you have a boyfriend in the first few minutes or so of me being friendly to you. I assure that you I am not interested in you "that way" at all because of the following:
1. I have filthy, ball draining sex on a regular basis.
2. Many of the orgasms I do have leave me completely drained and in no mood whatsoever for sex.
3. I have no need to hit on women who work at (insert name of bar/club/restaurant/shop/etc where we currently are) as I can (and have since I was seventeen) have sex with pretty much any woman (or man for that matter) I desire with a minimal amount of effort.
4. I have a large group of female friends, all of whom I love and cherish very much, have known for many years, are very, very hot (I assure you) and would be very interested in sticking their sweet asses up in the air at me (in the way that all women should greet a man) if I were not married. Rest assured, the line is quite long in front of you, so don't flatter yourself.
5. If, at some time throughout the course of the evening, I do flirt with you, I will be extremely obvious about it saying things like..."Hey, you have a nice mouth" or "I wonder what your ass would look like in the reverse cowgirl position. Would you let me spread it so I could really get a nice, open view of you?" Then, AND ONLY THEN, can you mention that you have a boyfriend and tell me some stupid ass story about something incredibly fucking lame you did together recently.
6. Please kindly remove the giant pole you have in your ass and take the time to be friendly to me in return as I can pretty much guarantee you that the simple act of getting to know me will make a positive difference in your life.

People in this country are fucking fat asses. And it's getting worse everyday. It's just that simple. The other day I was walking into Target and I said to myself, "I wonder how long it will take before I see a fat person?" Before I got to the word "wonder" in my head, I saw two porkers walking out of the exit doors. I took another step and I saw someone so incredibly large that they could barely move. In fact, I don't think "walking" would be a word I would use to describe what he was doing...it was more of a waddle combined with pained look on his face due to the fact that his enormous weight was preventing him from doing even the most basic of tasks....PUTTING ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER!!!
At a recent holiday meal, I observed members of my extended family stuffing their faces full of food only to curl up in a ball a half hour later and fall asleep.....at 12:30pm during the middle of the day!!! Is this what we have become? A nation of babies that need their num nums and nappys? What a bunch of weak and pathetic simpletons!!
But the real problem is really the snacking. This is where the pork begins. You might be surprised to learn this but the PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) at my daughter's school has an item in its budget for snacks....for themselves!! What the...?? My wife, a member of the PTO's board, questioned the need for this and was pummelled with questions/comments such as:
"WHAT? Don't you like snacks? Who doesn't like snacks?
"They make these meetings more enjoyable."
"Why would YOU want to take them away...huh...huh...HUH?"
"Hey! We need our snacks."
Actually, no you don't fucking need your snacks, fat ass. Take a look in the mirror. What you need is to push yourself away from the shit food you shovel into your mouth, join a gym, and you might live to see your grandchildren. And while you're at it, stop giving your children so many snacks...and bad ones at that. I was recently observing a sixth grade class, for my continuing education, and was stunned to find the instructor, since the children were not allowed to go to music for bad behavior that day, declare that it would be snack time instead. Huh? Great way to reward bad behavior. Oh, and by the way, it was 9:45am for crying out loud!!!
I am not kidding.
LET'S NOT
Can we please permanently retire the phrase "Let's Do This" from all films and television programs? I know there is a writer's strike on, folks, but if I hear this phrase one more time, especially if it is at a tense moment when the protagonists are about to propel themselves into a dangerous situation, I will drive a tank to Hollywood, seeking out every writer who has written this line, and introduce them to artillery. And don't try to get cute with me by saying, "Let's Do This Thing" instead. It's the same fucking thing and it is really, really played.
TRENDATHONS
I thought we were done with the whole triathlon thing, like eight years ago and stuff, but apparently not. Over the course of this past summer and fall, I had several guys boast of their triathlon training and competitions. You know what, guys? You are completely full of shit and the only reason why you compete in these things (if you actually do and aren't just saying it to sound cool in front of chicks at bars) is that you want to be like everyone else. You are following a trend. A trend that is way past its time and, quite frankly, way out of your physical capability. Go play a girl's sport..like volleyball or tennis.
Those of you who know me personally know that I think cabins are complete waste of time. Apparently so does Patrick Reusse who wrote this hilarious column last June about the anal fisting that is owning and (endlessly) going to a cabin. For me, I would rather be gang raped in prison than take a trip to a cabin. The word "lame" in relation to the word "cabin" is perhaps the largest understatement in the history of understatements. What Reusse accurately describes in his column above barely scratches the surface of the insane bullshit that people go through with cabins.
Why they put up with this is beyond me. Perhaps they are sadists. Or perhaps they are stupid cows who have to do what everyone else does. The very idea of maintaining two homes, spending weekend hours in traffic, and hanging out in a largely rural area with guys named Mel and Willis, discussing their fiendish, weekend plot of overhauling their Camaro makes me want refund my collective meals for the day.
Stunning me even further was the recent statement made by someone I met at a party. We were making the usual small talk when the subject of cabins came up. She asked me if I had one and I said no, with my friends next to me snickering. When she asked why they were laughing, they told her that I hate cabins.
"WHAT?!!!?"
was the loud blast from her mouth. "How can you be a Minnesotan and not like cabins?" I didn't say anything. "You know, Mark, if it wasn't for our cabin, my marriage would be over."
A million flies could have flown into my mouth. She then went on to tell me a long tale of her husband, his laziness, her diligence, and how working on the cabin brought them together. I stopped drinking after that point because alcohol is a depressant and I knew any more liquor would send me into a downward spiral. At least, though, I got to hear one more bit of insanity to add to the mountainous pile of crap that falls under the category "The Cabin and Why We Must Love It (Seig Heil!!)
COOL DUDES
Add up all the irritation detailed above, multiply it by....oh.....a million and you still wouldn't come close to the level of outright anger I feel when I see this...and I seem to multiple times a week....


For the most part, it is men between the ages of 19-28, an age group that already brings new depth and meaning to the word "moron."Man oh man, do they look like gigantic assholes when they sit like this in their cars. I know that y'all think you look cool, all mack daddy and pimped out, when you lean your body to the middle of the front seat in your 1993 Ford Escort but you are, in fact, NOT. You look like a fucking douche bag so do yourself a favor: sit up and drive like a fucking man!!
And if you want to be cool, go contribute something to your community or help out at an old folks home, instead of being another walking (oops! driving) example of how truly mindless, asinine, and imbecilic our country has become.