Anthony Del Broccolo

Will you be going faster miles an hour?

I Believe

Thank you!

That was a ride. Nice to see the top of the order firing on every cylinder.

Very excited for everyone to see this!

my car has a ska emergency button

I used to post this every year on the other site and I'm angry that the issue is still so dire. My wife, Courtney, should’ve turned 44 today, but she died giving birth to our 2nd child. The U.S. has the highest maternal mortality rate among high-income nations. We must do better tinyurl.com/mtt7ttd6

We Italians usually make a bigger holiday out of ShitYourPantsation Eve.

The 1st grader sweetly asked me to buy a book because he doesn’t want to keep checking it out of the library. I did. He checked it out again. When asked why he said, “Eric wanted it and I didn’t want him to have it.” Nice to see I’m raising a mini Genghis Khan. Or Louis B. Mayer.

Kids had a “time traveller” today (Elizabeth Blackwell) and my 6-yo son is furious that she was played by a teenager. He’s stomping around the house, “HOW CAN SHE KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE A DOCTOR?! SHE WAS CLEARLY A TEENAGER!” Which, to me, is an odd place to draw the line.

I haven’t lived there for 25+ years, but man does mine come on strawng when I am drunk and/or tired.

Look, I don’t know much about CFB but I would probably double-cover Jeremiah Smith, sneak weights in his pockets and possibly slap an Air Tag on him.

My 6-yo definitely still believes in Santa, but the fact that the 10-yo pointedly left out Lactaid with the cookies & milk felt like her way of saying, “I know it’s you, old man.”

I reprimanded my son for playing with his food and he muttered under his breath, “I’m going to threaten you.” It was the most Italian, little boy thing he’s ever done, but I’m sure it won’t be the last.

“Let him know it was a me, Luigi.”

Morrissey’s lyrics are getting much shittier.

Starting to get genuinely concerned with how much my 6-yo son identifies with Buzz in Home Alone. Pretty sure he’s the only character he roots for.

I admire the Auburn coaching staff’s commitment to tight polo shirts despite their ample paunches.

Poor Schank. He just wanted to keep his scratchers winnings to himself.

The balls on Sugarfish to email me “Happy Thanksgiving.” Crap, now I want Sugarfish.

I did not know that Sarah McBride is a widow. What a heartbreaking story.

She better have mentioned Ken Berry.

Football in the snow is my Wicked. Wicked in the snow? Now you’ve got something.

I’m Anthony, and I should probably stop walking around with that patina of self doubt.

Tom Thibodeau is the rare gentleman who can pull off a combover. He works those last few strands of hair even harder than his starting five.

“The Roaring Twenties to the Rise of Manilow”

California and specifically Los Angeles people: read this, then read it again. Then read it again

This is a pro-Jesse Winker post.

For sale: gout pillow, often used.

An infinite number of monkeys from Long Island with an infinite number of typewriters and an infinite amount of time would eventually write the entire works of William Joel.