I Don’t Trust You

This post was a brainstorming idea that I stole from Heath Phillips. It took on a life of its own, so I thought I’d share.

I don’t trust you if you


Listen to “Good Vibrations” by Marky Mark and you don’t immediately start working out.

Hear “din, din, din, din, din, din, din” and your first thought is of Queen, instead of Vanilla Ice.

Don’t like Christmas music. All Christmas music. Crooner Christmas music preferred.

Can’t sing at least one verse to Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

Don’t like at least one Journey song.


Can’t quote “Seinfeld”.

Didn’t see the last three Batman films in the theatre. I went on a “Man-Date” for The Dark Knight and endured teenagers to ensure that I completed the trifecta.

Think “Breaking Bad” is just okay. Seriously, punch yourself in the head in the hopes of jarring some awesome loose.

Are a male, that watches “House Hunters” and states publicly that you like it. We are required by law to endure this show because our significant other likes it. You can like it, but keep it a secret like I do. Wait, what did I just–.

Don’t know if the Dolorean is nuclear or electrical. If you happen to guess right, then I will ask what jigawatt level is needed. Wrong answer=not trustworthy.

Didn’t use the flying crane as your go to move in elementary school fights. You definitely would not be considered “The Best Around”.

Didn’t start jumping rope during a Rocky training sequence. Also, if you think Rocky IV didn’t play a role in ending the Cold War, then you are not trustworthy.

Aren’t inspired by something Kenny Powers said.


Are an able bodied male and cannot bench press 135 lbs.

Think running is fun. Running is not fun and if you think it is, please run somewhere far away from me.

Think Olympic lifting is crossfit. Olympians cannot forge elite fitness like you, crossfit bros. Crossfit bros, send your hate mail to idontgiveaneff@peleoisthewaytogo.com.

Use the phrase, “I’m not trying get big, I just wanna get toned”. If that’s your goal, then go grab the pink and purple weights pansy.


Have never stuck your hand in poo. Bonus trust points if you went about what you were doing and forgot about your pooey hand.

Never uttered “No donuts until you finish your Lucky Charms.” Breakfast is super important in the Crutchfield house.

Are unable to name all of the Imagination Movers. This is canceled out if you can sing a Wiggles tune.

Can’t use your shirt as a Kleenex during cold and flu season.

See dinner out as a good time and not the eternal struggle of wills that it truly is.


Never eaten the hottest wing at wing establishment.

Don’t understand the awesomeness of a Guinness. Although an Irish brew, you probably hate America if you don’t like it. It’s swell.

Wear jorts in a non-ironic way.

Describe a Zune as “just like an iPod only better”.

As you can see, there are many of you that cannot be trusted. I would advise you to print this out and let it serve as a guide for all of your New Year’s resolutions.


A Question About Cats

Not sure what the question is, but the answer is yes. The answer is always yes. Yes, cats are the spawn of satan. They are the worst. Despite many cat lovers trying to justify their love for what I’m sure will be the pet of choice in hell, the discussion is over. They are awful. And don’t respond with all the positives of cats. The only positive is that they eventually die.

I believe cats were actually the animal that satan inhabited when he tempted Eve. Look at how a cat moves around. Does it not resemble a snake with legs? Adam was too distracted to get a good look at what it was, and retold his story wrong. I don’t blame him. He had a naked woman just walking around. You know she had a rockin’ bod. Her diet consisted of fresh everything. She was Paleo before it was cool. Crossfitters should have a shrine to her.

Back to the cats (see how easy it is to be distracted by a naked woman), I just don’t understand them. They serve no purpose. They’re not a loving animal. Humans are a huge inconvenience to them. They excrete waste inside your house. Despite the CIA’s best effort to find an actual use for these aloof felines, they failed miserably. And if our government thinks it’s a waste of money, well, there is no redeeming quality, because they will waste money on anything.

Where does this hatred come from you ask? This morning, I emptied a sandbox that stray cats had been using as a lavatory. This opened a portal to rage that I can rarely recall feeling. All my memories of cats flooded back to me. They obviously weren’t pleasant.

Childhood Sandbox

My neighbors growing up were cat people. I would say cat owners, but that implies some responsibility on their part. The cats were allowed to roam free and the world was their oyster. My sandbox was their toilet. Many a sandcastle was ruined by discovering what surprises these awful animals left me. This could’ve been me, if my sandcastle sculpturing growth hadn’t been stunted by cat poo and urine.

Father’s Boat

My Pops has a few inanimate objects that he loves. His 1964 Chris Craft is one of those things. Many hours were spent working on it. Many times being stranded out on the lake with the engine cover up while he worked on it. A beam in our barn fell on it and he definitely shed some tears. He loved that boat.

Remember those cat people neighbors? Again, they allowed their awful animals to freely inhabit whatever environment they chose and that included my dad’s classic boat. Upholstery that had survived three children, didn’t stand a chance against a half dozen cats. Over a thousand dollars of damage. My dad was found weeks later huddled in a corner, rocking, and mumbling something about Garfield being the only good cat. I assume it was his love of lasagna that made him okay to my dad.

These memories are just a snippet my completely irrational, yet undeniably justifiable disdain for cats. As I easily and effortlessly flipped a sandbox filled with over 400 lbs of sand (no big deal), my son protested. I said,”Grant, I’m not going to let you play in poo.” His response,”I love to play in poo. It’s my favorite thing to do.” That quickly became a song, thus furthering my point that cats are bad. They affect children’s brains and make them want to play in poo.

I’m not saying they can’t serve any purpose, but we need to explore options more thoroughly, because they aren’t cutting it as domesticated animals. Testing of makeup and experimental drugs gets my vote. Let them serve mankind the only way they know how: by being one step above a cadaver.

Nail in the coffin: They are the mascot for the athletic team loosely affiliated with the university that resides in Lexington.

Cats are the worst.