The humble beginnings of a short but rich tradition of pure and complete tom foolery.

Years ago I told my friend Trent, "hey fuck face, we need to make a commitment to talk to each other at least once a week. I vote Fridays." He's a Yes Man to begin with, and since I'd bought the last round he couldn't argue.

"Fucky Fridays" became the pinnacle of our bromance. Whether it was for twenty seconds or twenty minutes (usually the latter while technically on the clock) the laughter would flow and the taste buds would salivate for suds.

This went on for a few months as phone calls only. Then one day, I wrote a three paragraph short story on my phone and texted it to him. It was literally an attempt to make Trent laugh while simultaneously scratching my itch to write. (It beats having itches in other places.) I had a readership of one, even though I had my suspicions that he was incapable of reading.

Months of Fucky Friday stories went by like this until one fateful day our dear mutual friend Bradley walked into the pub as I was "writing" (aka-looking like an 8th grade girl texting on my phone for half an hour straight without looking up). After explaining the concept, he said, "send the stories to me too, fucker!"

I began to write him into the story lines as well. My audience had grown to two, my beer intake doubled and my liver hated me.

Fast forward a year. My readership had grown to twenty people and all of them had somehow, someway been incorporated into the increasingly complicated stories. I churned them out like clockwork, every Friday.

Then something happened. I knocked a girl up. Twice. (It's way more fun to say that as opposed to the truth which would be more like, "my wife and I responsibly got off of birth control and started a family when we were emotionally and financially ready.") Our children murdered my sleep, ate up all of my energy, and my drinking as well as my writing halted to a complete standstill.

So here I am dear reader, six years later, back in all of my glory or lack thereof to entertain my twisted friends.

Like all amateur writers with limited English skills, I have visions of grandeur. Nay, I have delusions of grandeur. I plan to write a stand alone trilogy of books based on these characters that start with, "I always thought I would die on the moon in a nuclear explosion," and then the last sentence of book three will be, "the moon nuke detonated and they all died."

Even though I'm past the diaper phase of fatherhood, I'm still busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. So the books WILL happen, even if it takes several years. In the meantime, Fucky Fridays have returned. The Misadventures of Team Whiskey will hopefully help satiate your appetite for destruction.