I’ve gotten a lot of feedback through my life from people telling me that I appear full of myself, arrogant, cocky, condescending, prideful, and I talk as if I know everything. I’m not sure but there is something about the first time people meet me that gives them this impression.  Or the second time.  The third.  Hell, even the twentieth time I come across like a horse’s ass.  At least that’s what my wife gleefully tells me.

To be honest, this was basically my modus operandi (MO) in high school.  Standard operating procedure.  My motto was the same as George W. Bush – preemptive strike, take no prisoners, target the fat chicks.  I think I backed off of my wanton meanness in college a little bit for more of a sense of bitingly sarcastic.

I felt and still feel that I was misunderstood.  Hey, no one knows Lucky Rob like I do and take it from me, I’m a helluva nice guy.  I’m Mr. Rogers with a better haircut.  Maybe its the natural look on my face, a sorta half-smirk, half-disgust.  Or maybe its my way of using long-winded explanations on every topic, even on ones that I have no knowledge about.  Whatever it is that causes this misconception … I’ll tell you one thing:

It’d be a helluva lot easier to be humble … if I weren’t so Awesome! [Read Column]

David Beckham.  Becks.  Piss Drinker.

Yep, the USA has officially turned on Beckham and Posh.  He is arguably the most recognizable person on the planet.  Japanese teenagers are throwing their Hello Kitty panties at him just as Jamaican witch doctors are asking for his holy blessing on their Santeria altars.  But here in the United States, the country that adopted Bend It Like Beckham as its ambiguously lesbian coming of age movie, the same country that eagerly embraced him as the savior of American soccer … we hates him.

We’re not drinking the Becks Kool Aid no more.  And here’s why … [Read Column]

Graduating from college and finding a job is a lot like hooking up in a bar while being hammered.  Rumor has it that there is at least one hot chick in there, though there seem to be a lot of average to rogue-ish looking girls that can play the bitch card because there is such a bad ratio of girls to guys.  These are the kind of girls that a dude celebrates when he’s in the mug down by the pinball machine only to relive his night in ghastly horror the next day as his friends show him pictures off of their camera phones while they are lying their asses off about their own failures and roadside hags.

That’s the best analogy for getting a job straight out of college.  That’s what it was like for me.  That was Centex Home Equity. [Read Column]

Not sure if you heard, but Michael Jackson died this month.  A lot of news has surfaced since his passing about the King of Pop.  For instance, apparently he was whiter than Lily Tomlin.  And apparently other than little tufts of peach fuzz, he had less hair than Dolly Pardon.  And apparently his arms and legs were covered in more track marks than Amy Winehouse.  And apparently he had the lung capacity of the Marlboro Man.  And he used to dress as a woman sneak out of Neverland Ranch to have gay sex with men.

Hey, I’m not saying that any of this is true, but its all stuff I’ve seen on morning TV in Australia.

Regardless of MJ’s public foibles and dalliances with criminal charges and civil suits, one fact remains.  He was the greatest performer of my generation.  The only others than can compare (Bing Crosby, the Beatles, and Elvis) were so far before me that I can only appreciate as an historical onlooker whereas I actively participated in Jackson’s meteoric rise to fame.

One thing that I’ve heard was that in the Michael Jackson’s private vault, next to the Necronomicon and the Illuminati weekly newsletter, are hundreds of unfinished, unreleased songs.  And that got me thinking … if done correctly, the posthumous King of Pop album could be the best ever made.  And here’s how I’d do it. [Read Column]

Everyone has heard the statistic – over 50% of marriages end in divorce.  Fifty percent.  But as with all statistics, that number is easy to manipulate, to misconstrue.  Here’s the truth about that 50% – most divorces are like a Lays potato chip, you never just have one.  If four couples get married, and one gets divorced three times should that really mean 50% of all marriages fail?  Or should the more accurate statistic be that 25% of people are narcissistic, self-loathing bastards?

I’m married and I’m Catholic.  Which means that for better or worse, the Lucky Girl is my only girl until one of us dies.  This despite that fact that she ‘accidentally’ locked me in our garage for three hours. We are quickly approaching our 4-year anniversary this year.  With the last one of my high school buddies to recently get engaged, I’ve been thinking on how best to give advice that will give them the best opportunity to succeed.

Ladies and gentlemen, brides and grooms, I present you with the Marriage Contract. [Read Column]