East 99 is where you find me slangin me yayo....

And by the way, this song makes me want to pistol whip my Grandma.

Haven't wrote in a while. Been focusing on some projects and networking with people etc. The funnest part of being me is writing or saying shit for no apparent reason and people seem to accept it. My whole life I've always gotten away with saying what I want to and people will go “Oh, that's just Mike!” It's a gift and not a curse. At all. I love having that ability. It almost feels like I'm one of those vampires on True Blood and I just glamor people. Except I'm not hypnotizing them for secks, I'm just saying ridiculous shit and they are ok with it. So I guess this ridiculous piece of story writing will be a little bit about our Cleveland trip and whatever else randomly pops into my head as I freestyle this blog.   


 

The reason for the trip was to attend the most beautiful wedding I've ever been to, mostly because I loved the 2 people getting married more than anything. I was so happy to see them unite and I have to tell you, there is no better party than a bunch of Puerto Rican's and Filipinos making a union. People that come from Islands, no matter what Island, generally have the most fun in life. See Hawaii, Samoa, Ireland etc. All people that come from islands know how to either drink, dance, fight, or all of the above which makes for an awesome time. 

 

DAY 1 IN CLEVELAND: lolz our hotel had a map of the greater Cleveland metro area in the lobby, so I wrote on the map where East 99^th street was “This is where you might find me slangin some yayo.” I'm sure someone will see that later and get the joke. Good times. 

 

DAY 2: Wedding. It was fun. Good times. Can not elaborate. Too many shots. With Puerto Rican's and Filipinos. But I do vaguely remember a speech telling me that the Caraballo's are the best. And I totally agree. FACT! (inside joke for the Infante/Caraballo fam) the rest of you will not get it and that's ok.   

 

DAY 3: Recovery. By recovery I mean we went to our cousins house, had another party and played this game called “Corn-hole” and drank some more. I felt like a legit retard because not only was I the only person in the house that never heard of this game, but usually when I hear the word “Corn-hole” I think “Protect your anus!” but this game was much funner than getting ass raped. It's a game where you stand like 30 feet from a wooden platform and throw beanbags. You have to hit the hole or you lose. We played for shots and push-ups. I did a shit ton of shots and push-ups. My cuzzin Tam takes this game as seriously as I do fantasy football so you have to show up. Good times.   
 

DAY 4: The Zoo. Anytime you get to watch animals do funny shit it's a lot of fun. I saw this one moneky doing sign language to a weirdo that kept staring at him and if my sign language is correct, he was calling him a complete fucking idiot in Monkey. Good times.   
 

DAY 5: Mall day. We spent like 7 hours at my old favorite mall. While all the women and children were shopping, I went and got a massage from this Korean dude named Kim. I think all Korean dudes are named Kim though. Anyway, he was spectacular. I don't even care how gay I sound for saying this. I wanted to marry him, take him home with me and boycott Chick Filet. 
  

DAY 6: Recovery Day 2. All we did was sit around and I played that UFC game on the PS3 with my cousin for like 8 hours straight. I also realized that I am getting really fat on this trip. The Filipinos have a fiesta like every day. It turned me Manorexic. Since I've been home for the past 2 weeks, all I've eaten was 2 grapes and an almond. 

 

DAY 7: Well I'm already fat, so why not go to the 2 best restaurants in the world in the same day. Our cousins Dal and Kim took us to eat at this Japanese buffet that had all the sushi you could possibly create. Pretty much if we had gone to Fuji's here in Fort Smith and ordered the same stuff that I ate at this place, my bill would have been 874 million dollars and 12 cents without the tip. It is pretty much what I imagine heaven being when I get there. We later hit up Siam cafe, but on the way we stopped at my cousin Glen Infante's ILTHY Shop. I know some of you have heard me talk about ILTHY(I Love The Hype)....but it's really blowing up. I'm so proud of Glen. He started this fashion company on the intrawebz and now he has his own shop on Detroit Ave and he has superstars stopping by on the reg just hanging out and kicking it(cough cough Joe Haden and Alonzo Gee). He's only gonna get bigger and to me, he's already made it. Y'all be sure to google “ILTHY” and check out some of his designs. His pre-fall collection is about to bust open, so get on it. It's spreading all up and down the East Coast, and even Lebron James has plugged it. 
 

DAY 8: Water Park day. When I got to the water park with approximately 15 of my family members, including Melissa and Mariah of course, I totally forgot I had a family. I was like a little kid when he sees an ice cream truck. I just bailed ass and hit up the wave pool and played that washing machine game where you just go limp and let the waves kick your ass all over the wave pool. It ruled. Also I got a 7^th degree sunburn. I looked like Hellboy when we left that bitch. 

 

DAY 9: Oh, not enough sun on Day 8 eh? So we go to a very nice beach on Lake Erie and have another family day. It's our last day of celebrations, so we made the most of it. I don't remember a whole lot because I'm pretty sure I had sun poisoning and received even more umm sun poisoning, but I do remember that the kids were playing with a beach ball and the wind caught it, so I swam after it. That beach ball was such a shit head. It just kept blowing with the wind. Before I knew it, I was like 7 miles out in the middle of Lake Erie and I was cramping. I've always taken pride in being a strong swimmer and the only other time I felt like I might drown, was when we crashed our raft in Costa Rica in level 5 rapids. Lucky for me, I'm so good at being lazy, I just floated on my back all the way back in. I'm still alive at this point. But I scared the fuck out of little kids by the time that day was over. 
 

So that was pretty much it. We had a great trip. I basically just let my mind wonder for the last month....got rid of the kidney stones. Enjoyed my favorite cousins wedding and tried not to think about anything too important because shit's about to get real again on Monday. School is back and so is my stress. 
 

Be sure to google my cousin Glen's Ilthy page. Again, Congratulations to my favorite people in the world on their sacred union, Nate and Yessenia Caraballo Infante. The only marriage that would make me happier is if George Clooney and Denzel Washington got married and named their kid George Washington. 

Don't forget to check out Jeff Ross's new show on Comedy Central, “The Burn”....it premiered Tuesday night and I thought it was a nice little lolz fest personally. And it will only get better. He's gonna push the envelope like a retarded mail man. And please believe Sons of Dads is still moving fwd. Progress is made in the trenches, and that's where we're at. 

 

Keeping it realer than a gay dude that still couldn't resist those delicious chicken nuggets at chick filet on No Gays at Chick filet day!

Because your recipes are very soft like chicken broth...

Home girl.

I know some of you probably remember me talking about my friend Apple on here as recently as April. Anyway, in case you don't know Apple, he's either 70 or 90 (he's told me both pretty much) and he dates this 33 year old chick with a big Pee Pee. I know this because he mentions it on the reg while I'm kicking it with him in the sauna after I work out real hard and do everything except my abdominal muscles at the gymnasium. Today Apple was telling me a story about how he flew out to Warshington State (and no, Warshington is not a typo, that is in fact how Apple says it) to meet his 33 year old fiance with the big Pee Pee's parents, and on the way he got searched and harassed by the TSA really hard. So he told me while they were frisking him, he'd just fart on them and say rude things. This is why I kick it so hard with Apple, because he keeps it realer than any of your Grandpa's do. And then he was telling me he loves his girl, but she can't cook because all she does is watch cooking shows and I really felt that.....

Don't mistake what I'm saying because my wife is an excellent cook, but I know a lot of chicks watch these cooking shows (including her) and think they magically become Paula fuckin “hey y'all” Deen. Melissa does in fact watch all these cooking shows. Always. Paula Deen, Paula's best dishes, Giada De Laurentiss and all 85 of her shows including Giada at home, Giada on vacation, Giada in Italy, Giada goes to jail, etc.. all that shit! She watches Dinners, Drive In's and Dives (Oh, true story about that) that dude Guy Fieri, I used to get him mixed up with that other man, Anne Burrell. It took me like 3 years before I could tell them apart. But the trick is that Anne Burrell doesn't have as full of a goatee.

I think my biggest problem with the cooking shows are that they are so sketchy and shady. It's the way they prepare meals, they pretty much just half ass everything. There's really zero proof that they are making a dish that is so exquisite because not only can I not smell it or taste it, it's how they just run through it. They mix it up and then throw something in the oven, but then they'll tell you due to time constraints, I'm just gonna cheat and pull out a dish that was already prepared hours, maybe even days in advance of this taping. It's almost like if you went to see a magician in Vegas, and they asked for a volunteer to cut in 2, but then bring out a midget and tell you, “Well, sorry but we didn't have time to make this one work, so here ya go! But please believe we are still really cutting this other bitch in half, you just won't ever see it.” Then, after they burn you with the already cooked dish, the credits roll and they'll bring out half of their family or friends to share in this glorious set up, while we sit at home wondering if this is really legit. What I mean by “we” is men. Because women fall for this shit hook, line and mother fucking sinker. Not me though.

It's almost the equivalent of me having over like 10-12 neighbors and have them sit down and watch me rush a chocolate pie recipe that I got from Gran, but since I only have 22 minutes after commercials, I'll spend the first 18 minutes cracking eggs, getting dirty and mixing everything. Then I'll put it in the oven, tell them “Oh shit y'all, we done ran out of time, so here's the real chocolate pie I cooked 4 days ago, while that other one cooks.” Then I'll thank them for coming over and get Melissa, Mariah and probably have Red come in and smash the hell out of my chocolate pie, roll some credits and tell the neighbors kick rocks! And with that, here is a picture of a big fucking Frog!

Keeping it realer than your fat uncle Steve who is so ugly, he makes blind kids cry on the reg, but he still don't give a shit and will tell you stories of how he bangs girls err day, err day. 

You Think You Know, But You Have No Idea.....

This is the Diary of R. Michael Hicks the 1^st (Or just Mike, if you want to be a dick about it)

FRIDAY, JUNE 22 6:45am:

I watched game 5 last night between OKC and Miami. OKC Lost. That happened. Lebron finally got his ring. That also happened. It still hasn't completely sunk in how incredibly pissed off I am about something that shouldn't matter so much to a 32 year old man with an awesome sex drive and better than average testosterone levels for a guy my age, not to mention all the other huge blessings I have in my life. But still, it boils my blood and this anger/pain reaches down to the deepest depths of my soul. It makes me want to go Jose Canseco on a random Miami Stripper. On top of this unexplainable anger, I have to deal with Tommy and Mickey's punk asses rubbing it in. This may very well be the end of “Sons of Dads” because I'm now deleting both of them off of my Facebook, Twitter, Speed Dial, E-mail contact list and just for good measure and in case they try to get a hold of me using such primitive methods, I'm deleting them off of Myspace as well. So badly I want to grab a megaphone and climb to the top of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai and make an incredibly hate driven speech that would make Mel Gibson look like Jesus(Ironically), that ends with me saying “I hate you, I hate you, I don't even know you but I hate your guts. I hope all the bad things in life happen to you and only you!” 

FRIDAY, JUNE 22 Later that afternoon:

OK, I forgive Tommy and Mickey for being Punk Ass, Pecker Headed, LBJ Penis Riders. Sons of Dads will now have a reunion and we're back together stronger than ever. I have now sent both of them friend requests and put them back in my phone contact lists. It's probably gonna be a while before I can let them back on my twitter though. I mean I can forgive people for rooting against the team I'm rooting for, but I'm only human and it's hard to just totally forget. That will eventually come with time. Also, of special note, Mariah just took one of those gooey, nasty shits that you can't justify by any description I could possibly give you, but I will say it's gonna take 345 baby wipes to get rid of this mess. Melissa is at Zumba shaking her beautiful ass to Puerto Rican music so congratulations Miguel Hicks, you get to wipe your daughters ass.

SATURDAY, JUNE 23 6:55am:

Woke up feeling very good physically this morning. I mean, my legs feel like rubber, I have no back or neck pains and I have this feeling of youthful exuberance that I probably haven't felt in weeks, maybe years. I walk outside to breathe in the warm summer air and decide to run across the street to see if I can dunk on my neighbors basketball goal. I mean, perhaps there is some magic coursing through my veins since I'm feeling so great at this moment. Surely I can still dunk. 

This pretty much ruins the rest of my day, but I do decide to download the song 1979 by the Smashing Pumpkins because 1.) I was born that year and 2.) This song kicks more ass than Josh Quayhagen. My Saturday is a wash because I'm not as young and strong as I think I am, but I do love that song at least.

SUNDAY, JUNE 24 1:53pm:

I'm at work. This is perhaps the 1^st Sunday I've worked in a very long time, so it feels weird. The day actually goes by pretty smoothly and as far as work goes, it was a very decent day....especially considering how much I hate work, of any kind. So that was a good thing.

5:20pm: On my way home and I stop by the Wal Marks to buy some scrimps. As I'm walking down the aisle that has all the ketchup's and mustard's etc. I overhear 2 gentlemen discussing their respective trucks. I hear the fat one tell the fatter one and I quote, “I've discussed this issue with my wife AB Nausea!”.....I let out a huge LOL and didn't tell either one of them why. But I was thinking “Ad Nauseam, shit-head!” It's Latin. Less focusing on the condition of your mud flaps and more reading of the education books, homes. And you're good!

MONDAY, JUNE 25:

Fuck Mondays! After realizing “Fuck Monday!” I proceed to go out and find my dad so that I can blow the shit out of him 64 times with the coolest iPhone Application ever invented. Boobies were a well built, very innovative and genius invention created by God, and historically I think as a society we've all agreed that titties are the best invention ever. They still are, but God also came through HARD with the Action Movie Ap for the iPhone that allows me to blow up Red on the reg. 

TUESDAY, JUNE 26 7:33am:

While again calling in a fire mission on Red and thinking to myself how awesome this is, it occurs to me that people sometimes say “This is the greatest invention since sliced bread.” ….Well what a stupid fucking expression! Here are just a few random things that I can think of off the top of my head that easily trump the invention of sliced bread.

BOOBIES > Sliced Bread

BLOWING UP RED > Sliced Bread

FOOTBALL > Sliced Bread

BEER > Sliced Bread

MONEY > Sliced Bread

ALVIN AND THE CHIPMUNKS > Sliced Bread

HELADOS MEXICAN POPSICLE(in any flavor from Strawberry, Coconut, Mango, Peach etc.) > Sliced Bread

Pretty much an ass ton of inventions kick the shit out of sliced bread. You better ask somebody!

WEDNESDAY JUNE 27:

Argued with Blake Morrison like a couple of fuckin Guido douchetards on facebook over who works out the hardest. I think I probably do because I update my status everyday and let all of y'all know that I'm at the gym and quite frankly, he doesn't. So obviously I win. Anyway, we can discuss this issue Ab Nausea and I'm always gonna win, because that's what I do. I win. And I act brand new with my iPhizzle for shizzle. 

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON:

While leaving work, I just barely dodge an attack by the Soviets after they dropped a few bombs danger close at my location as I was pulling out of my work parking lot. 

After barely scraping by that terrible situation, as I'm driving on the interstate on my way home, a fucking Dodge Caravan comes rolling out of nowhere and I drove underneath it like Will Smith and Martin did in Bad Boys II when they were trying to save Martins sister (played by Gabrielle Union) from that crazy Hatian gang the Zoe Pound. 

If not for my legendary quick reflexes and my awesome Jordan XII Retros, I wouldn't be here writing this blog today. Thank God for you guys, I'm still alive.

THURSDAY JUNE 28...TODAY:

The day is still young, so instead of documenting what already happened, I will tell you what will happen on the reg, probably for the rest of my life.

I will blow up my dad.

I will check in at Mercy Fitness Center on facebook and continue to brag about how hard I go and how Blake is 8 words – very very very soft, terry terry terry cloth. 

I will continue to blow up Instagram with pics of my gorgeous baby daughter Mariah. 

Pretty much, anything you people have been doing with your iPhone's and Androids for the past 5+ years, that's what I'm gonna do now until the wheels fall off. I'm Brand New Beiotch!

Now for a moment of silence as I remember my old phone. We've been through a lot of battles together buddy and I'll always love you. We've stuck it out through many states and even Continents. Many good times, bad times and scary times...and I will never forget any of that. But the bottom line (besides not being able to even see the screen anymore because you're as old as Saturday Night Live) is that you can't blow up Red. You can't tell the world how hard I work out and wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle yeah, at the Gymnasium. And you damn sure can't play draw something with my wife or my niece Lyndsie on the reg. Ultimately you just aren't a “Smart” Phone. I don't want to say you were a dumb phone, but I guess I'll just say my iPhone scored a 36 on his ACT's and you only got like a 15. 

                                   RIP Old Friend! 

Keeping it realer than your big cousin Craig that doesn't draw pictures while he's playing “Draw Something”....he just spells out the actual phrase, even though you've told him Ab Nausea not to cheat and to be legit!

DISCLAIMER: Sons of Dads really didn't break up for 3 hours just because punk ass Lebron James won a ring. And Red is still alive. Those aren't real explosions I'm using to blow him up countless times everyday. Although someone on youtube will think differently, and comment on it.

My Grandma was probably way harder than yours.

"Melissa, this iPhone is the God Damn devil, and I'm afraid it's gonna ruin my life." -- Raymond Hicks

GRAN (AKA Inez Patterson....The best Grandma Ever!)

She spanked me with switches. To make it worse, she made me pick out the switch for psychological torture. She taught me how to eat caterpillars for survival, even when we weren't starving to death. She once threatened my cousins boyfriend by telling him if he didn't leave the house and I quote, “She would blow his head off with her 62.” What made that even more Gangster than anything is that a 62 doesn't exist, yet the cousins boy friend didn't question the madness. He knew if he didn't leave, his brains would be hanging out from the entrance of a 62 round going into his skull. Gran had arms that made me jealous in Jr. high. She was swoll and cut up from working in the fields for a majority of her life. But what made her more Gangster than anyone.....she didn't have an iPhone. 

I've had an iPhone for approximately 38 hours and it's turned me into 6 words. Very Very Soft, and Terry Terry Cloth. I did go to the gym today for like an hour, but for the other 8 hours I was downloading free Aps, getting up and walking 2 feet to my laptop to see if my facebook and twitter Aps were working accordingly and then I have like 7 games going on with random people playing “Draw Something”...

THIS WAS MY SUPERB DRAWING OF RICK ROSS!

Melissa guessed C-Lo Green lolz....no 9 coins for her.

Gran would kill the shit out of me if she saw how weak her grandson has become. I remember when I thought an E-mail was short for a “She-Mail”, I just thought people were being lazy and leaving off the “Sh” part. Then I heard that you could send it via the intranetz and that scared the living horsefuck out of me. Because I knew not the first thing about intranetz. Shit, I'd rather kill a bald eagle than to have to figure out how to turn on a computer, much less actually operate it. But here I am, addicted to the iPhone. I'm a slave. Literally. I even named my iPhone “Massta” because he controls me now and I have to ask him permission to even go to the bathroom. Because what if I get a facebook update, a twitter reply or someone draws a picture while I'm in there taking a piss. That. Can't. Happen.

Probably what makes this worse is like if you have a heroin addiction, you can go to a methadone clinic. If you drink too much, you have AA. But what the fuck do I do about my 2 day old iPhone addiction. And truthfully, I don't want to seek any help. I want to ride this addiction on out. I love sitting in my bedroom and looking for places within a 10 mile radius to check myself in. I can even check myself into cool places where only rich people go and I'm not allowed. I thought about checking myself into an exclusive Golf Course at 6:45 am this morning, but I realized Golf is a stupid fucking game so I was like Nawwww. I'll just check myself into the Eastside OBGYN clinic. That's probably way more clever and not immature or 3^rd grade type shit at all. Legit! 

Well I guess I should probably get back on the topic at hand and let you know some more reasons why my Grandma was so hard.

1. One time she put me in a head lock and had a fucking death grip around my neck way worse than any UFC fighter could uphold while I was trying to beat up my little cousin Shawn. I did go to sleep. I had never heard the term sleeper hold before that, but once I did hear it, I knew exactly what they meant.
2. Experation dates on milk might say “best used by November 22”, well Gran thought it was still good for at least 4 months after that, as long as it was in the fridge. Oh, it didn't taste real good, but at least it made my stomach strong enough to where I could drink straight out of the water faucet in Iraq and parts of Mexico.
3. One Easter when I was like 9 or 10, we found this fishing hole somewhere on the Arkansas river. We started at like 5am that morning and caught something like 77 crappie, 45 perch and another 5-7 bass that just barely made the limit. If my math is correct that's aproximately a shit ton of fish. Gran caught 94% of them and made fun of me for not catching shit. But a sunburn.
4. My mom and Gran took me and my cousins to Tulsa to a water park when I was in 2^nd grade, going into the 3^rd grade. I got a 7^th degree sunburn. On the way home my cousins Billy and Amy kept slapping the shit out of my sunburn. It hurt. Gran told them to stop. They didn't stop. I cried. She said “Stop crying like a little bitch!” This is why I have no sympathy for people that cry over sunburns.
5. When I was in 1^st grade my mom had to go to a school for her job in Huntsville, AL. My Gran came along to help babysit me and homeschool me. We went to the space center and she was daring me to do crazy things the whole time, of course I was way too big of a pussy to do them. BUT she did take me to the first Toys R Us I'd ever seen and bought me “Snake Eyes” the best GI Joe ever. I know this wasn't sadistic or anything, but she ruled for that one. 
   
   
   THIS WAS ME STILL LOOKING LIKE A LITTLE BITCH. BUT I WAS IN TRAINING. GRAN WAS MAKING ME GO HARD RIGHT ABOUT THIS TIME!
   
   
   
   
   
   As Gran got older, like up in her hundreds, she calmed down and our relationship changed. She became a lot sweeter once I turned more into a man. A lot of my crazy stunts I pulled in my adolescence was because between my dad and my Gran, I grew fearless. I was only afraid of them. Not anyone else. I once fought Andrew Maggio when I was in 9^th grade and he was a graduating Senior with a full ride to McNeese. He was like 6 inches taller and 140 lbs heavier than me. The reason I didn't back down: Because his name wasn't Inez “Gran” Patterson or Red Hicks.

This blog is one of those things where I'm trying to brag about how tough I am because my Grandma could kick a lot of ass. But also because I got an iPhone and I feel just like Will Smith in Independence Day when they tried to make him fly that space shuttle. 

That's about all I wanted to tell you. My Grandma was Hard like a concrete Junk Yard. The iPhone will make me very soft like chicken broth. My world may end as I know it. But I'm learning fast. I'm only 6 years late, but like my Gran would say, “Stop being a little bitch and learn how to use that techmoconology.”

Oh, one more thing, the funniest shit Gran used to say to me or any of my cousins when we'd either say or do something ridiculously stupid....she'd say “retardation gone to sea!” I still don't know what it means, but please believe I use it on the reg. Any chance I get.

Keeping it realer than your grandma that used a track phone and don't know shit about the iPhizzle. Like me!

Bitch!

Oh, this is me and Gran after I became a stud. She made me hard and not soft like the terry cloth some of you are accustomed to. 

THE SONS of DADS CREED/MISSION STATEMENT

This is to assure that we keep shit the perfect amount of real and continue to climb the ladder of success. Some of us will be tempted to keep it WAY too real, so we have to make sure the perfect amount of 8.0 real will be kept at all times.

OUR HISTORY & BACKGROUND

Sons of Dads (SoD) is a comedy troupe consisting of one ex member of the actual SEAL Team 6 that killed Bin Laden, and by SEAL Team 6 member I actually mean 32 year old, father of 1 that married a chick way hotter than me and I'm a full time student in a BSN program trying to become a male nurse or "Murse" if you will. I also work, so I have less time than Hey Mon from "In Living Color"...

to make this shit happen. Other members include a legit ex Army Sniper who could blow off a mosquito's ball sack in Minnesota from a tree stand in Georgia. He is also a father of a little boy that's his mini-me and expecting another one with his lovely wife Lacey. We also have a black guy which is awesome. Oh, he isn't just any black man, he's a Black Militant, Pistol Packin, Kill Whitey type of black man who only likes me because I told him my great grandpa was black. Other members include Aaron "asscrack" Woods who used to wake up every morning and sit on his couch in his skin tight boxers and scratch his nuts while eating Lays potato chips on the reg. I'd be watching Sportscenter and he'd offer me some chips. I always declined for obvious reasons. Robbie Garrison is quite the character. He hates everything and everybody but for some reason he loves to laugh. So normally his laughs come at others expense. He's mean spirited and I love him for it. Like if you were in the cafeteria and dropped your tray in High School, Garrison would be the one to stand up and give you a standing ovation while saying "You can just sit that anywhere!"....then we have J-Scoggs. A High School football coach who has matured with age but is still funnier than shit. He's been known to act up at 2 AM while we're all sauced up (and he's totally sober) and he'd race his lawn mower up and down his long ass driveway, also popping wheelies which was more amazing than watching a polar bear ride a tricycle, forcing us to laugh for hours. One time I legitimately pissed my pants. I mean not a lot of piss, but a few drops came out. That did happen . He's also very brilliant as in giving drunk chicks rides home (Being a gentleman because he was always the DD), except he'd use their cars to drive them home, (forgetting we didn't have our own vehicle)  leaving us to walk 17 miles home at like 4 in the morning. He rules. He'd also put on a football helmet without a facemask and do a very uncanny Ace Ventura impression. Justin is one of the most legitimately funny people I have ever met. Sometimes I just look at him and start laughing because I know he's about to do something so hilarious, that it can't be explained. You just have to see it to appreciate it.

RULES and REGULATIONS 

Every group has rules. These are ours. If they are broken, probably zero fucks will be given.

RULE 1: Bro's before Hoes. Unless of course it's damn near 2 AM and Garrison has a chance of getting a blowie from some skank at Las Margaritas. Then he can do Hoes before Bro's. Me and Tommy don't count. We have balls and chains to answer to.

Garrison can break any rule he wants because he's Robert fuckin Garrison.

RULE 2: Tommy. That's the rule. It's just “Tommy”! You know why? Because he'll fucking kill you. Dude is like Jason Bourne except with a sense of humor. So Rule 2 is just  "TOMMY!"

Here is a picture of Tommy and his lovely family so that you guys understand he's a very lovable/likable guy. He clearly married up, so you know he's a good dude or he'd have an ugly wife. Keep that in mind as you read our shit, if Tommy can sell her on marrying him, he can sell you on laughing at us. 

RULE 3: My name is Mike. My professional name is R. Michael Hicks the 1st in case I blow up and make it big time. BUT until then, just call me Mike. My first name is Raymond. I don't go by that. And when a mother fucker calls me Raymond, I blow it off and I understand they can't help it, because it's on the paperwork/ whatever....but it's when they call me "RAY" when I just want to start kicking them in their left ear with my right fucking foot until their ear drums stop working. It brings out a rage in me that I can't explain. "Oh, you don't even know me enough to call me mike, but all the sudden you're cool enough with me to call me Ray?" FUCK YOU!

And here is a picture of me and my beautiful wife. Same as Tommy, I married up and this has to tell you that I'm not a complete dick. The only reason  hot chicks marry guys like us, is because we are funny. Here is proof of that.

 RULE 4: Marquis Johnson aka "Mickey Slayer"...that's his stage name which suits us better for our comedic goals. Lets face it "Marquis Johnson" sounds like a black baseball player in the major leagues. BUT Mickey Slayer sounds like some guy that will do whatever it takes to you know, get it done. Like stab people with spoons and shit. I realize his name isn't really a rule. But I'm running out of rules. So Rule 4 is just gonna be Mickey Slayer. Oh and one time Mick snuck in some dark liquor on Karaoke night in Iraq and did one of the best renditions of "Purple Rain" I've ever heard. My Man!

This is a picture of Mick pretending to be the black Tom on Myspace so we could start our own Myspace for black people. Turns out they already had one of those and our venture failed miserably. 

RULE 5: Aaron Woods has to stop pulling his fucking shenanigans. The next time he says the word "Shenanigans" I'm taking his ass out back and pistol whipping him. 

RULE 6(I think): No being mean to people that think our shit is whack. We are way classier. You tell them "Thank you for your opinion" and then cough a quick "go fuck urself" it should sound like "ahhuhgofukurself ahut ahut" Something like that. SoD will have class and manners at all times. So please be an example to others. 

RULE 7: As far as comedy goes, we have no boundaries and we're not even sure how far we'll take it. We will definitely do these blogs on the reg. From this, we gain material for future projects. Me and Tommy have already planned a sketch that's in the works. We have guys like Justin Scoggin.........

Who has worked in comedy clubs and has that experience, and he can play the guitar. So we're gonna write a song together. BET. So basically we want to set up our website to allow us to do our sketches, jokes(and I'll youtube my first stand-up performance of course) and hopefully we'll continue not only freelancing for other comedic agencies, but one day we'll be the agency that people bring their shit to, to put on the platform. We have a great mix of personalities that all get along and I think we make a great team. Our dreams may come true sooner than expected the way things are going, but stick with us. Be there from the beginning and please believe we will remember who our fans and supporters were. I'm no longer selling SONS of DADS to you, it's up to you not to miss out on what we're about to do. 

OH, FEW MORE THINGS.....

This is one of my best friends, Zane...choking the shit out of another good friend, Filipino Jay. I can't remember why I have this picture in my photobucket account, but I thought it was awesome. I think Jay might have smoked Zanes last cigarette or something. 

and of course...my pops and one of the true inspirations for SONS of DADS. Because of him, I have 32 years of comedy to share with the world. Like the rest of our members.

ONE LAST THING/ BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST: SONS of DADS is a work in progress and in infant stages although we're starting to walk a lot faster than the crawling I expected. We all have a shit-ton of friends who will make guest appearances. Sigi Milerski for one will join in for example. My Iraqi friend Jonathan who now happens to be fulfilling his commitment to the US Army will be a huge asset. He's a genius with animation and anything concerning film and graphic design. Once he's aboard, we can go to the moon for real for real. WAP 100 will do an intro song for us once our website is ready. It should be ironic and pretty hilarious. Big Thangs! 

But most importantly, the one guy in this world that truly inspired me to try to take this comedy thing and make a living out of it, I have to not only mention him, but give due credit. We spent many nights arguing (in a good nature of course) by him saying I'm funny enough to make money doing this and with me countering by telling him he's crazy. He dared me to get on a stage and find out. I told him that would never happen. Well it's gonna happen now Bro. My Road Dog, Best Friend and now Angel in heaven, helping to keep an eye on me and opening doors faster than I can walk through them. You always asked me how I did some of the craziest things you'd ever seen, but didn't have enough guts to go up on a stage and tell a few jokes? Well the more I think about your spirit, the less reasons I can find to not face that fear.


Trent Vinson: Thank you my dude. You are the legend that brings all of us SONS of DADS together. Thanks for being my best friend while you walked this earth and thank you for speaking to me through my dreams. Because every time someone laughs or smiles, it's an action that makes me think of you. For as many things as you are remembered for, I remember you most for laughing at my jokes and encouraging me to do something I love to do. And that's jokes and jokes and jokes and jokes........

IT'S FIGHT NIGHT: The River Valley Rumble is what they call it.........here we go!

“Terry, listen to me: do this for the white race. You may be Irish, but they're almost white.” --Johnny Windsor 

(I'd say lets get ready to rumble but I'm broke as Rhianna's left orbital bone after Chris Brown went Bobby Brown on her. I can't afford to pay Michael Buffer 10 G's just to say some shit like "Lets get ready to rumble!")....shit, guess I'll find out how famous my blog really is when I get subpoenaed by Michael Buffer for his 10K. That would suck!

So I've never been to a boxing bout match sports contest competition. Oh I've seen a shit ton of fights and even been in a few, unfortunately they were not sanctioned though. Well last night, the 1^st fight was between a white gentleman by the name of Brad Sustad from Rogers, AR. He weighed in at like 143 or 145. Pretty much what I weighed in Junior High when I would get in unsanctioned fights on the reg. His opponent: A black fella by the name of Andrew Hartley. I think he weighed in at like 138 maybe 140. I figured these guys being Welterweight or Super Light Weights, this bout would go the distance.

They both came out swinging which was nice, but the black gentleman, “Hartley” caught Whitey with like 3 straight rabbit punches to the grill. The fight was over in 14 seconds. I don't believe I've ever seen such light weight fighters get KO'd so easily. Maybe in UFC, but not boxing. So this was the indicator of what our night was gonna look like. It was gonna suck. I've seen a shit ton of better bouts at McDonald's in Leesville where at least they'd fight for 45 seconds to a minute before either being KO'd or the police would come and ruin everything. BUT I was wrong. It got much better

All the Pre- Intermission fights besides that one I just talked about delivered. These dudes went hard. The best part about all of this was that me and my brother Matt had our first beer together. Ever. I now officially feel like we're brothers because you can't be related to someone until you drink beer with them. FACT! Matt has never been a drinker and quite frankly hates alcohol which is weird considering how much I hate alcohol too, but I like the way it taste. So I taste it. A lot. But props to him for sharing one with me and bonding. The bond we never had. I feel closer to my brother now!

During Intermission I went to get some cocktails and I ran into Tyler King, who is an up and comer and I loved his spirit. I took a pic with him like a fag. “I'm all hey, saw your fight broseph, mind if I get a snapshot of me hugging on your nuts?”...I hate being that guy, but he seemed cool. He lost a very close split decision, where both guys were absolute warriors. So I had respect for him. Hope to see him come up and do big Thangs.

I then went to the bar where they of course were being Jewish with the alcohol. I ordered a double screwdriver and got a quarter screwdriver instead. Then some douche bag asked me if I want a Jager Bomb and I was like, 'Dude, I have an ID. Do I look like I'm in fucking High School?” Stupid fucking bartenders. I want to go back and fight each and every one of them. In fact next week when I'm working out, I'm using those fucking butt holes as my motivation instead of old men that I don't like.

OK, So this is getting pretty long and I want to skip through to the main event. We have a black guy (which is always the safe bet, duh) named Emmanuel “Bull” Wright vs the white Irish Man, Tommy “Concrete” Connelly. My brother made the bet here, I had my choice to pick my fighter and if my guy lost, I have to do the stand-up comedic routine. Well I wanted to pick the black guy, but it just seemed too easy. So I went with my gut. This Irish guy had a name like “Concrete”, that and look at all the beast Irish fighters throughout our history.....

                                                          Irish Micky Ward

     
                                                          Irish Terry Conklin                                               

Anyway, I figured I'd go Irish and that way I'll never have to make a fool of myself on a stage. 

SO HERE WE GO! 
(now of course the actual fighters in this "River Valley Rumble" were so irrelevant, I had to use James "The Grim Reaper" Roper vs Irish Terry Conklin. From the "Great White Hype" Movie, because I could not find the first pic of any of these shit fighters we watched last night. Sorry!)

I actually tried hard to find pics of the real fighters, but I guess they are pretty irrelevant. Oh Well I tried. But as a bonus I have some youtube vids of Bull Wright vs  Tommy"Concrete" Connelly.....

This was like Round 2 or towards the end. I could feel my heart stopping at this moment. I once lost a thousand Euros on a roulette table in Amsterdam and I wasn't feeling this sick to my stomach. 

Here goes Video 2. 

So I apologize, but our battery went dead. Anyway, my dude lost. Of course he did. You never bet on the white guy. Only in fictional movies like Rocky and even in Rocky III if you'd bet against Clubber in the first fight, you would have lost your ass. Well now I have to do a stand-up routine somewhere at my brothers choosing. I have to face this inner battle that's been eating at me for years, but now I guess I'm 32, not getting younger and if I'm successful, it will be good for Sons of Dads. 

Oh and since I couldn't show you the Knock Out of the guy that totally fucked me last night, I found the best picture on the intrwawebz of a Black guy knocking the absolute horse fuck out of a white guy to make up for it. Here it goes....And that's pretty much how it ended.

 
Now for some tid-bits about the fight. We did have VIP seats. That was cool, but I mean this is Fort Smith Arkansas, not Las Vegas. So here are the chicken wings they ordered from hooters that the VIP crowd were privileged enough to get for free. All Class!

 

This was the last one left after like being there for 5 minutes in the VIP section. Those fat fucks ate that shit like a caveman eating a caribou. "Nobody goes to Hooters for the wings!"--Chris Rock

Oh, and no offense, because I've had friends that worked/work at Hooters. BUT Fuck Hooters! The Chicken Wangs sucked. I wish they just had a place where you could go buy wings and watch football and not get harassed and expected to pay large tips to chicks that half the time don't even look all that great. Oh I know, We'll call it Buffalo Wild Wings. 


TRUE STORY: My brother Matt took his 1st drink ever last night. A beer. At 7 PM. He later got pulled over at a check point and got breathalyzed. He blew 0.00000 BUT WOW, the IRONY? The guy takes one freaking drink in his entire life and gets pulled over the same night. Perhaps it's good he doesn't drink like his little brother. 


OH, and before I forget.....Pic 1st, then the story.

Matt wanted me to do one of those pictures where you act like you're posing but he's actually trying to capture someone else. Well this guy was the epitome of Dick Bag. Not only do we NOT know who he is, apparently he's a big deal in this sports arena. I think they said he was a former wrassler that didn't even make it to the WWE. So after this, I straight up walked up to him and said, "Hey sir, I'm a huge fan! is it ok if I get a handshake or an autograph, or you know what, my wife would love to take a picture."......Well this dude big leagued the FUCK out of me. He was like "Do you know who I am?" and I was like "Hell Yeah, you're that dude. I've always loved you." and then he told me "Well I'd rather not take a picture, I'm sorry!" and as I walked away I was like "Good, because I'm more famous than you bitch!"......that didn't really happen, but I wanted to say it. 


Thanks to my Brother and Sis n Law Lisa for a great night. 


"Keeping it realer than a white guy who gets his gums busted before I could sip my Coors light!"

Oh and LOL one more thing, remember my last blog about how I dress like a shit head...busted out the same outfit last night. I keeps it the perfect amount of real. Notice the black button up, some jeans that are like 27 years old and some black shoes. Obama hates me, because I hate Change!

SONS of DADS Production.  

I have the style of a shit head that made sex with a snapping turtle.

 Kenny: (To Tracy) What did I tell you? I said put something nice on. You look like a busted Daytona stripper in that shit. 

Tracy: This is my eveningwear! What the fuck do you know about style? 

Kenny: I know one of us has had his own personal stylist, and the other shoplifts their shit from Fashion Bug, that's what I know. Alright, what else you got? 

Kenny: Honey, I love you...I think you're a terrific girl — but you got clothes like a fuckin' dickhead. 

Well that's pretty much me. I dress like a complete shithead. I'm well aware of it. I even spend a lot of money on clothes, but they just don't seem to fit my style. I have to buy baggie shirts because I have the bulging chest, shoulders and biceps of Arnold umm Schwartszneasgeseggear(sp) Which is a good thing. Also my thighs are bigger than my waist and hips.    

See I wanted to dress just like that. My whole life! I'd even find random black dudes and be like "Dillon, you son of a bitch! what's tha matta, the CIA got you pushing too many pencils?"

And of course I'd do this hand shake with them......    

A kid in elementary school that used to ride my nuts once told me I'd look just like Arnold. 

So I used to could wear Levi's Silver Tabs (they were the only jeans that fit me properly) but I don't think they made those since before 9/11. Now I shop at Old Navy to buy my jeans. They fit me perfectly and the best part is I give them 5 dollars for the jeans and they give me 7 dollars in change. Cheapest fucking store ever, which is a WIN! I always use those other 2 dollars to buy a ball that lights up when it bounces and I play with that fucker for hours. Mariah likes playing with it too, but I'm like “eff you, get your own, dead beat. You aren't earning any money for this family.”

So here goes a brief rundown in chronological order and some pictures of how I dressed at different ages and what a depressing little fucking butt hole I must have looked like.         

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL (6^th Grade, but pretty much all grades)

For a lot of my elementary school years I was a latch key kid. My folks would both leave the house before 7am and my mom wouldn't be home til like 4:30 and Red wouldn't make it home til like after dark. Dude was a workaholic, the exact opposite of me. I'm an alcoholic though, so I was pretty close. Anyway, my mom would lay clothes out for me to wear but I wouldn't wear them shits. Instead I put on some gray Nike Shorts, a blue practice football jersey and some cleets. I wore that shit everyday. One day the principal called my dad and told him to come pick me up because I was dressed inappropriately. My dad was so pissed. What they all failed to understand was that I only went to school for recess, I gave like zero fucks about school. So that was my first experience of dressing like a dumb red neck, hillbilly fuck stick. (SORRY NO PICS) I'm sure I have one somewhere, but you should be able to vision a 12 year old wearing a practice football jersey with some baseball cleats.  

    

JUNIOR HIGH: I always bought the old Jordans. When the new ones came out, I'd talk my mom into buying me the ones that came out 3 years ago. One time my dad went to footlocker with me and I tried on the new J's and I thought he was gonna buy them for me and he was like “Ok mother fucker, Dunk!” If you can dunk that 9 foot goal over in that corner I'll buy them for you. Shit, I barely touched the rim with my middle finger. But I did give him props for that trick though, because I'm using that shit on Mike Jr one day.       

HIGH SCHOOL: If I find a pair of jeans I like or that fit me decent, I wear them everyday. I mean 5 days a week, wash them on Saturday and wear them again on Monday. It wasn't like I had a lack of clothes. Aaron Woods and Smitty used to raid the eff out of my closet and take all my good shit. Woods stole at least 8 of my favorite Tommy Hilfiger shirts and that's when Tommy Hill was still cool. Now they are no better than Nautica. That one hurt because Tommy fit me perfectly. Anyway, one day me and Chad Adams stole all of Aaron Woods football jerseys when they were still fashionable and I wore his Deion Sanders jersey he just got for Christmas (and double bonus because it was just after Deion had signed with Dallas) and then Chad had on his Dan Marino Jersey. I think Woods was mad about Deion, but he was livid about his Dan Marino jersey. Me and Chad both showed up Monday wearing his shit. He gave me a mean mug, but with a head shake or in internet speak :smdh: but he let that go, but he looked at Chad like chad was that coach for the minor league hockey team in “Happy Gilmore” and he was gonna bum rush the fuck out of him and kill him. Woods loved his Dan Marino jersey. Also he sported that Jr Seau jersey on the reg which was awesome and I would have copped that, but it was skin tight. I would have looked like a fucking hob knobb had I tried to wear it since I was way more muscular and handsome than Woods was back then. But just for giggles, here's me looking like a complete moron at the expense of the First Baptist Church of Leesville...

COLLEGE: Same with the Tommy's. Only now I was wearing Jorts with the Tommy's. I think it may have been in style in Monroe because lots of New Orleans dudes were there and they dressed kind of like me, so we all looked like shit heads together. The difference though: They wore footie socks with super white shoes. I wore knee high Nike socks with dirty ass old Jordans. This was 98/99. Those J's came out in 95. So I started wearing the K-Swiss with footies. In fact, my everyday uniform became Cargo Khakis with white t-shirts. Me and Cito aka Adam Martin kind of brought this style to Monroe and it actually took off. We had like 200 fresh white T's, the khaki shorts(sometimes jorts) and white shoes. As long as you wore a gold chain and had diamond or fake diamond earrings, you were on point. I still hate myself for that trend though. At least I had my padna Keith Lawton to share clothes with, so it's like we never had to go to the mall, we just traded clothes on the reg and I don't think anyone noticed.        

AFTER COLLEGE: Still dressed like a dickhead. Now it's a year later and I have basically the same style, except now when it's not the khaki shorts with white t's, it's Adidas pants with white T's. And a fucking Seattle Mariner hat turned backwards to top it off. I didn't even like the Mariners. I liked Ken Griffey Jr, and I think he played for the Reds then. I was such a fucking O-tard. BUT.......

GOT THAT JOB AT FORT POLK: and we all had to wear uniforms. So it felt good looking like a dickhead with everyone else. From then on I only interview for jobs where we had to wear uniforms because I hate style. It's a lot easier having someone else make you look like a moron than making yourself look like one.     

SOME PICTURES OF ME LOOKING LIKE A FIG!.......

Uhh, HERE I AM LOOKING LIKE A DICKHEAD IN IRAQ

(again with the football jerseys, but at least it was a Bo Jackson Throwback)

FUCK STICK ALERT! FUCK STICK ALERT!

(lolol Tommy mother effin Bahama in Costa Rica)

"What.. no, I mean, I do love that shirt you got me, I admire Sir Tommy Bahama an awful lot, he's a talented man, but tonight I feel this is inappropriate."--Aldous Snow 

 Oh look, here I am again in Dubai looking like Johnny Bravo wearing the same ole oversized Polo with some Khaki cargo shorts. Fucking loser!

 OH, Australia right? New Style, it's 2007. WRONG! 

(Baggy Polo with the guess what? Khaki Cargos. Mike, you dumb shit!)

Oh, guess what, we're going to Cali in 2009. New Style right. WRONG!

(SAME EXACT SHIT! Oversized Polo and some Khaki cargos)

So in conclusion, I dress like a mongoloid from the late 80's. But I'll never change. I'll be wearing over-sized polo's and non frat khaki shorts til the day that I die. That's just how I roll and zero fucks are given. It just sucks when we have to go to a club and I wear like the same pair of jeans and a black button up shirt EVERY FUCKING TIME. If you go through our pictures on FB, you'll notice the pattern that covers like 5 years of me wearing just that. My going out outfit. But no matter, I'm always just Mike. If I become a billionaire, I ain't changing shit. I like dressing like a shithead! FACT          

Keeping it realer than that dude that wears wife beaters with man titties.           

R. Michael Hicks the 1st.