You guys… I’m a huge coconut fan. I get it from my dad. But my dad is not a fan of chocolate. Unfortunately, most of the recipes that I’ve come across on Pinterest for coconut treats also include mass quantities of chocolate. But I’m always on the lookout for coconut-related stuff to make for my dad. It’s nearly impossible to buy gifts for this man. Enter this here reci-ma-pe.

The Ingredients

• 1½ cups flour
• 2 cups packed brown sugar
• ½ cup butter or margarine
• 3 eggs
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 1½ cups coconut flakes

The Cookin’ Part

Combine flour, ½ cup brown sugar, and butter until particles are fine; use low speed on mixer. Press into bottom of ungreased 13” x 9” pan. Bake at 350° for 15 minutes. Beat 1½ cups brown sugar with eggs until just blended. Mix in remaining ingredients (baking powder, vanilla, salt, coconut flakes). Spread over partially baked crust. Bake 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown.

The original recipe that I found for this indicated that you are supposed to allow these to cool before eating. Good luck with that shit. Enjoy!

This, my friends, is Narcissus. If he were a real person and alive today, he’d send me a Facebook friend request. Because I’m awesome.

But now, thanks to this handy guide, you can be awesome too. You see, a lot of you spend your time on Facebook posting ecards, pictures of kittens in outlandish poses with witty captions, and inspirational stories. This is wrong. The “face” in Facebook is your face. It’s your book. You’re just letting other people read it. To maximize this platform’s narcissistic potential, it’s necessary to focus on what’s important: you. The following four practices are by no means a magic bullet. I cannot promise that your results will be as favorable as mine. But really, how could they be? Proceed with caution. Things can backfire if you’re not meticulous in your execution. But if you’re ready to become a certified Facebook narcissist, dive right in.

1. Post an unquestionably witty and funny comment. If you don’t have at least five likes and three comments within an hour, threaten to leave Facebook. Ideally, this should be done in a separate post for maximum visibility. The post should look something like this:
   
   "I am so done with Facebook! Nobody understands me and I’m tired of having to explain myself. If anybody wants to stay in touch with me, please message me your email address within the next 24 hours. I’m closing my account tomorrow! =’(
   
   Don’t forget the frowny face. And for God’s sake, do not omit the tear. It conveys that you are sad. Really sad. Now, sit back and wait. As long as at least one person jumps in and says something like, “Don’t go!!! I’ll miss your witty posts!” you can safely maintain your Facebook presence. If not, you’re probably not good enough to even have a Facebook account. Close it. It’s also worth mentioning that it doesn’t matter if 85 other people comment with, “Have a nice life, asshat.” You only need that one supporter to legitimately justify gracing these people with your presence.
   
   
2. A couple times a year, take a selfie or two where you’re looking just off-camera and it’s impossible to tell that you’re the one taking it. Make it your new profile pic. Caption this photo with:
   
   "OMG! Kudos to [insert name of person who doesn’t have a Facebook account] for this pic. I didn’t even notice him/her taking it!!!"
   
   Again, it’s essential that you do not name someone with a Facebook account. At the very least, do not tag them. You don’t need some thunder-stealing underling messing up your game with a comment like, “I didn’t take this picture, asshole. You did.” It’s also important that you get at least a half dozen likes. If you’re not getting appropriate traction, you can sponsor the post that references the change to your profile pic for $6.99. People will have no choice but to see it for three days. If you’re still not getting likes, quit Facebook. Or at least threaten to.
   
   
3. Always, always, ALWAYS respond to Facebook invitations with “Maybe.” But keep reading, because that’s only the first step. People might not notice that you were noncommittal. They need to notice this because without your presence, the event might as well not even happen. On the event page, copy and paste this status:
   
   "I’m really going to TRY to make it. But I think I have something else going on that night. Oh well. I’m sure nobody would notice if I wasn’t there anyway."
   
   They would. At least they should. The goal here is to get as many fellow invitees to comment about how much they’d miss you if you didn’t make it and how it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t there. As long as you can get at least three friends to take the bait, it’s now time to screenshot the exchange and post it to your own timeline with the caption:
   
   "I have the best friends!!!! <3"
   
   Again, the emoticon is not optional. This gives the illusion that the subject matter of the image is your love for your companions. This makes you even more lovable, despite the ruse. The image illustrates just how much more important you are than any of the other guests. Once again, if zero people comment on your tragic declaration of uncertainty, quit Facebook.
   
   
4. Vaguebook like it’s your job. Because it fucking is. This lesson ties in everything else we’ve learned today, so pay close attention. Start with a status update like this:
   
   "I am so done with today! Sometimes I don’t even know why I try! What’s the point?!?"
   
   The objective is to get as many people as possible to ask you what’s wrong. You can’t disclose this information at first. Mostly because nothing is wrong. But you can slowly filter in even vaguer snippets of false information into subsequent comments. Things like:
   
   "Love is hard."
   "Hate my job."
   "Why can’t people just be nice?"
   
   These are all stellar. Once your fans have given you an impressive wall of supportive text, screenshot that shit. Post it to your wall with the caption:
   
   "I have the best friends!!!!! Thank you guys so much!!!!! <3"
   
   About an hour later, take an incognito selfie with a slight, satisfied grin. Here’s your caption:
   
   "Looks like somebody got a pic of me in a better mood. Feeling much better now. So thankful for your support, you guyz!!!!"
   
   Make that your profile pic. Pay the seven bucks to promote the post for 72 hours. Watch the likes pile in. Wait for the, “Love you grrrrl/homie” comments. If you get none after three days, quit Facebook. Or… never mind. You know what to do.

I hope this post helps you reach your full potential as a Facebook narcissist. If not, you probably did something wrong. What I wrote here is infallible.

Here’s a picture of a monkey riding a dog. Right?!?

It’s once again that day of the year when everyone comes out of the woodwork and celebrates the fact that I haven’t died in the previous twelve months since the last anniversary of my birth. And while I truly appreciate the numerous well-wishing posts on my Facebook timeline, allow me to present you with four alternatives that are better uses of your time:

1. Visit To Write Love On Her Arms. Read the Vision section. If you’re compelled by what you’ve read, consider donating as little as $1 here. This is a cause that is very near and dear to me. A little over ten years ago, I lost my good friend Chenoa to a depression-related suicide. Whenever I think of her, it hurts to think what the world is missing out on. If you choose to donate, please let me know so I can thank you personally.
2. Check out Search The City. If you like what you hear, go preorder their new album Flight. I was first introduced to these guys a year or so before the release of their label debut, A Fire So Big, The Heavens Can See It. Since then, they went on a long hiatus, made some lineup changes, then reemerged with that same addictive energy that I fell in love with years ago. I couldn’t be more proud of these cats. This album is going to win the award for “Best Independently-Produced Album By A Bunch Of Awesome Michigan Dudes… Ever.” True story. Google it. Hell, you could even Alta Vista that shit. Oh! Don’t waste your money preordering it for me as a birthday gift. I’m a step ahead of you. Buy it for yourself.
3. Go read The Jess Elaine. This post is a great starting point. This is my friend Jess. She’s the host of the Hangouts on Air show that I’ll be part of starting sometime this month, appropriately titled Jess’s Speakeasy. Stop trying to click that, mom. It’s not a link. If you want to punch a grizzly bear right in the ovaries every time you see a mommy blogger schlepping some random product, Jess will be a refreshing change of pace. She’s like a machine that churns out the roffles. And she’s susceptible to rage if you make her choose between bacon and coffee, which… you kind of have to admire.
4. Pick someone you care about and send them a card. You know… a card. A greeting card, yo. Write what’s on your mind, in your own hand, with a pen. Then send it to them. Like… in the mail. Last week, I got a Thank You card from my friend Dasa in the mail. It had been so long since I’d received one that I got kind of giddy about it. She’d taken the time to write a heartfelt note of thanks, put it in an envelope, paid the postage, and mailed it to me. Do you have any idea how much more that means than an email or Facebook message? I know it sounds simple. But it just might have an overwhelming effect on someone who really needs it. You see, a card or handwritten letter doesn’t disappear into a timeline or get filed away in a digital archive. If the recipient loves it, they can keep it wherever they want… forever. And once they’ve received it, it’s all about them. There’s no reply button; no comment box. You don’t get to know how it affected them unless they choose to reach out to you. It’s the most selfless way I can think of to brighten someone’s day. Seriously. Try it. I’m mailing out three cards today.

So, that’s it. I hope my birthday is a happy day for you too. And if you actually do any of the things on this list, let me know. Send me an email, message me on Facebook, or you know… mail me a letter. TTFN.

You want to find out if your family is ready for the zombie apocalypse? Take the AA batteries out of everything that uses them. I understand that battery-powered things won’t last long after the ZA, but it’s a good litmus test. My family is fucked.

Speaking of batteries, sometimes I have a hard time transitioning to a different topic. So, tomorrow is Father’s Day. This afternoon, Katy and I decided that the housework could wait until… whenevs. We packed up the kid and some snacks and headed to Pokagon. About halfway there, it started to sprinkle. By the time we got to Indiana, it was full-on “screw you and your family’s plans” raining. But when life hands you lemons, make a confused face and say, “What the Hell am I gonna do with lemons?”

Undeterred, we pushed forward and walked the two mile trail around the park. It was a little wet and messy, but we were alone out there about 95% of the time. It was a change of scenery and we were doing it together. I couldn’t have asked for a better Father’s Day outing. But I got one. Also, here’s a picture of bacon. I would die for bacon because bacon died for me.

When we were getting close to Pokagon, I noticed a billboard for Gay’s Hops-N-Schnapps. I linked it there for you cuz Google is hard. Anydamnway, I’ve been following Gay’s (grow up) on Facebook for quite some time now. I always keep an eye out for some crazy-good deal on bourbon that makes it worth the hour drive to Angola. Oh, and you guys… Angola isn’t rabbit fur. Turns out that’s a whole different word. But we were less than five miles from a Gay’s location, so without even a hint of disapproval, Katy green-lighted a visit. She waited in the car with the kiddo, so I concealed my giddiness until I was inside.

I marched back to the bourbon wall and scoured for releases unavailable in Ohio. Before we left for Indiana, I was informed that we couldn’t spend much money. But I’m the man, dammit, so I bought myself a bottle! Plus, I texted Katy to ask her permission and she totally said it was OK. I got an inexpensive bottle of bourbon that I’d been wanting to try (Early Times 354 if you’re interested) and I didn’t even get in trouble. Booyah, bitches!

When we got home, I asked Katy if she wanted to watch a movie. She did not. Instead, she wanted to watch a couple episodes of Mad Men. Yeah, she’s kinda perfect like that. Two episodes in, it was 11:00 pm… well past Katy’s bedtime. Not ready for sleepytime yet, I decided to see what those crazy kids were up to on Bookface and the Twitters. When I opened Tweetbot (best iOS Twitter app… evah), I was greeted with new @ replies. This is kind of like the geek equivalent of crack. We tell everyone we don’t need them, but they are our very lifeforce. That and coffee.

New paragraph. Too longsies on that one. So, before we left for Indiana, I had a fun little iMessage back and forth with one W. Gene Powell about how Lucifer was the first entrepreneur, referencing super-angel Dave McClure as a potential investor. Of course, I had to screenshot that shit and tweet it. So, I was pleasantly surprised when Mr. McClure found humor in our playful little jab by favoriting, retweeting, and responding. Perfect end to a perfect day.

So what will Father’s Day proper bring? I don’t want to push my luck because I’ve already had the best weekend with the best wife and the funniest kid this side of a juvenile detention center. But I’d love to convince Katy to watch Mean Girls with me. You guys… that’s one of the funniest movies ever made. And as long as my beautiful wife is by my side while I’m watching it, it’s OK. But if I’m watching it by myself, well… I should probably think about opening a Hops-N-Schnapps joint, amirite?

For those of you who haven’t seen Season 3, Episode 9 of Game of Thrones or read the books, here’s a picture of a goat to break up the page so you don’t accidentally see any spoilers:

Pretty lame, right? Now, for those of you who have seen the episode, here’s your goat picture:

Membership has its privileges. So, I wasn’t totally in the dark about what was going to happen on Sunday. I knew that the Red Wedding was going to happen, I just had no idea when it occurred in the timeline. My wife has read all of the books and will occasionally give me spoilers if I bother her enough. But I didn’t expect the Starks to be knocked out of the big leagues so quickly. I mean, they pretty much got sent down to triple-A ball on the blades of a hobo. Maybe the under-16 league… if you don’t count Jon Snow.

Speaking of Jon, we all knew that he was still a crow, but I was not expecting him to just hop on a horse and be all, “Fare thee well, bitches!” Pretty sure Ygritte wasn’t either. She looked at him like, “You bastard!” Which, ironically, is wicked-accurate.

But back to the Red Wedding. Just like the headless Ned incident before it, the internets is calling this a “plot twist.” You guys… this isn’t a plot twist. This is a massive reduction in the average number of fucks I give about the remaining living characters. And it’s also, in my opinion, bad plot development. There’s only so many characters that we can care about. Let’s be honest, I don’t think HBO is selling a lot of “Team Rickon” t-shirts. So, if you kill off three of them in the first two books/three seasons, the story starts to suffer.

Think about it. Let’s say you went to a dinner party. And at this dinner party, the hosts bring out more and more of your favorite foods. They present a fork tender pot roast, cooked carrots in a savory brown sugar butter glaze, loaded baked potatoes, French onion soup with swiss cheese so thick, you have to cut it with a knife, and a New York-Style cheesecake with fresh strawberries oozing their deliciousness down the side of each slice. Next, your hosts bring out a few dishes that you kind of like, but you’re kind of like “whatevs” about. As you gaze upon the table, salivating in preparation for this wonderful feast, your host suddenly removes the pot roast. What?!? Next, the carrots and cheesecake are whisked away. You’re stunned, but before you know it, the baked potatoes are snatched away too. No matter. That French onion soup looks like it could be a meal all in itself. False!

So, now you’re left with a bunch of stuff on the table that’s not terrible, but all of your favorites have just been taken away from you. How many of you would say, “Wow! I love this dinner party. It’s so awesome and interesting. I can’t wait to see what happens next!” None of you. No, you’d say, “This dinner party is fucking bullshit.”

And do you know why George Railroad Martin’s dinner party is bullshit? Because the meal never gets any better! Admittedly, I haven’t read the books. But as previously mentioned, my wife has and she’s given me a fully synopsis of where things stand at the end of A Dance with Dragons. I know you guys are gonna be all, “You haven’t even read the books! You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Look, I’d love to spend hours on end reading the entire saga. But I have a totally not made up medical condition that doesn’t allow me to finish books that don’t have pictures.

This is a spoiler alert those of you who haven’t read the books, but you need to read this. Daenerys never crosses the Narrow Sea. OK, maybe not never never, but not by the end of what’s already written and published. You guys… we’re only in the second book. We’ve got at least three more books of Daenerys stuck on Gilligan’s Island. And based on what the author has said about what’s coming in The Winds of Winter, she won’t even be a viewpoint character in that novel! 

You know what I think? I think George R. R. R. R. Martin is like the Pearl Jam of authors. He kicks out one masterpiece, then follows it up with a lifetime of painfully mediocre installments. And to camouflage the absolute lack of a compelling storyline, he just kills lovable characters all willy-nilly. That’s what I think.

So Mr. Martin, if by some miracle, you happen to be reading this, I just have one thing to say to you. I love Game of Thrones. It’s so awesome and interesting. I can’t wait to see what happens next!

Plot twist, bitches. What? French onion soup gives me heartburn any-damn-way. Screw you guys.