My mother's incredibly stupid ex-husband

"Oh yes I can," he said. "Twenty bucks says I can."

That night, Chris paid Mom $20.

CHRIS: I was up with the sun today, at four o'clock.
MOM: Chris, that's impossible! The sun doesn't come up until between five and six even in summer.
CHRIS: I fucking know when the sun comes up, because when I woke up today it was up.
MOM: So you were up at 5:30?
CHRIS: Fuck you!

Etc. The argument was settle when she produced a newspaper that had the sunrise time on it. The argument then became personal and all hell broke loose.

This in itself isn't anything like a big deal--we all have stupid work in-jokes. But we don't all bring them home. And we don't all say those phrases in mixed company whenever anything happens--say, a bad hand in a bridge game--at every available opportunity. Chris, however, is not like the rest of us.

Another rule is that when you bid your hand, you and your partner attempt to come to a contract you can reach: Book, which is six tricks out of a possible 13 (there are four players, each dealt 13 cards) plus whatever number you bid, with the suit you bid holding rank, or "trump." It's a frugal game most of the time--it's rare to get an extraordinary hand unless you're playing competitively; usually, the cards go out fairly evenly.

So what was Chris's rallying cry during bridge? "Bid 'em up!"--which is a little like hollering for more distortion at an acoustic folk show.

Was this the only kid born to Chris? (I apologize for forgetting the time line of your siblings and their respective fathers)

Pillsbury Doughboy story was pretty amazing as well.

we were 15-year-old smartasses! I like 'em pretty well now (can't speak for Eric)

I'm sorry, but this is genius.

It reminds me of the Family Guy episode:

"You're drunk!"
"No I'm not, I'm just tired because I've been up all night drinking."

I had an Uncle named Rick. He wrote a song about me when I was born called, "Sweet Eric with a Jewish Middle Name." (It's Benjamin). He was a Lutheran Minister who played Madonna and "We Are the World" on a small-town Minnesota radio station. He tried telling me about the facts of life when I was 10 (I guess he didn't trust my parents or public schools to do it). All I remember was, "Eric, you're gettin' to the age where you're startin' to like girls...most people call them balls, but they're really called testicles...now, your penis..." I must've had enormous will to restrain from laughter! When his FOURTH son was born, his SECOND son WATCHED THE DELIVERY, prompting Rick to tell everyone and their plumber, "now that's BONDING!" One time his 4-year-old son threw my 6-year-old sister against the wall, to which Rick proudly responds, "that's my boy." Rick was obsessed with the role testosterone had in making him a man (I wonder if he was also obsessed with the role Jack Daniels and mouthwash had in making him an alcoholic...yup, this in addition to his 2 careers as Disc Jockey and Lutheran Pastor). The story's pretty damn funny if you try real hard to disregard his steady decline into a drunken, homeless, family-less, penniless haze for the better part of the last decade; culminating in his death last July, 2 weeks after his 50th birthday.

(Try with sardines packed in spring water without the cheese cloth!)

I've actually repeated this story several times to various people.

Don't tell the K-I-D-S there's no Santa Claus.

1. She's been playing the lottery a lot more recently, because she's "been getting really good at it."
2. She supports republicans solely because of their support of getting rid of the capital gains tax (she's a trust funder who's never had a job).
3. When my wife told her that she found Michael Jordan to be a great looking guy, elegant in his athleticism, she equated having sex with a black guy with "f*cking a monkey."

Bonus by association: After a recent cross-country drive, her brother informed me that there's no environmental problem in the US since he "saw plenty of trees out there."

you want some of that Chris action, cod, don't you.