Blog
This is where I take to rambling.
‘Twas a Wonderful World (or Potty Training in Hell)
(Sung to the tune of What a Wonderful World) I saw trees of green, red roses too I saw them bloom for me and you And I thought to myself, what a wonderful world Now I see stool of brown and yellow pee The bright blessed smell, that overtakes me And I think to myself, ’twas a wonderful world The colors in the toilet, I shake my head and sigh Are also in your trousers, like splattered chocolate pie I see friends shakin’ hands, sayin’ “How do you do?” They’re really saying “I smell poo.” I hear babies cryin’, insane I go I’m sorry pampers, I didn’t know And I think to myself, you’re still my little girl Yes, I think to myself, ’twas a wonderful world. Oh yeah (Original un-bastardized lyrics by George Weiss and Bob Thiele. My apologies...
read moreIt’s good to be a dad
Though it feels that every day is a test and that she would appreciate my failure much more than a second graham cracker, it’s good to be a dad. There are times that she sits in her high chair, staring at me while I explain to her in gentle tones “Drink your god damned milk!” – tones so gentle they scrape my windpipe. And she smiles and tilts the cup and spills the cow juice all over the table. This upsets me. Though I know nothing makes her happier than to watch me mop up, it’s good to be a dad. She kicks me in the balls and laughs. This I tell you sincerely: There are moments in life – moments when you are grabbing your nuts, sobbing, rolled in the fetal position, balls retracted – that it’s NOT good to be a dad. She giggles and climbs on top of you and says “Daddy fall down” while you are willing your balls to get back into position. Left nut….I beg you…I know we’ve had our differences. if you’ll just get out of my stomach and go back where you belong I swear I’ll be better to you. Maybe we can catch a movie on Cinemax after everyone falls asleep. Just please go back where you belong… And then it does. And then it’s good to be a dad. The girl chases the dog around the house. Tries to step on dog’s head. I have to separate human from dog. Human throws tantrum. Not good to be a dad. BUT… Dog barks during football game. Daughter grabs squirt bottle and sprays dog. Dog shuts up. It’s good to be a dad. She forces me to read Fox in Sox until my tongue falls out. She makes me listen to “My Wish” by Rascal Flats every time we get in the car. She takes off her soaking wet diaper during naptime and drapes it over her face. Not good to be a dad. BUT She laughs at all my jokes. She asks about me when I’m gone. She loves me. And someday – hopefully many years from now – I can tell her boyfriend all these details and embarrass her with old photos. “Want to see what she looked like with a diaper draped over her face, Jimmy?” Yes, even when I’m taking her boyfriend aside and threatening castration – promising to rip it off with my bare hands and shove it down his throat if he gets it anywhere NEAR my daughter, I’ll remember: It’s good to be a...
read moreDaddy Broke Chair
I can’t decide which is more annoying – a swift kick to the balls or constantly being reminded of your exceptional girth. A few days ago, I was trying to murder the dog when… Oh, I should probably explain why I was trying to murder the dog. The nine pound dachshund was leaping high in the air – a well-calculated attempt to steal my daughter’s breakfast. Like a domesticated predator, she sat poised on the dining room floor, a black stripe rising up her back, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. As the girl’s hand moved down to her lap holding the exquisite morsel of buttered bread, the dog quickly went into action. Pure instinct took over and she leaped high, grabbed the hunk of bread in her teeth and finished with a perfect dismount. While attempting to inhale the large boon all at once, I attempted to murder her. However, sensing that her life was in danger, she dashed off just as I leaned over to do the deed. The arm of my chair cracked and the wood splintered. The arm swung down to the floor – broken. I’m certain I yelled a profanity. Not sure which one, but it couldn’t have been very original. “Daddy broke chair.” My observant daughter announced. “Daddy broke chair.” “Yes.” I replied. And soon I’ll break your little dog, too. Since that fateful morning, she has informed every adult that we’ve come in contact with that “Daddy broke chair.” She tells the librarian, she tells the cashier at Starbucks, she tells her Grandmother on the telephone. “Daddy broke chair.” But truly, as bad as the constant reminder of my dynamic waist line is, it can’t hold a candle to the beatings my balls have received recently. The worst incident happened a few days ago. I was holding her in my arms while we crossed the street on the way to the library. She was so excited. I was paying attention to the cars and the traffic light, not her feet. And WHAM. She kicked me square in the nuts. I doubled over in the middle of the crosswalk, still holding her tightly. She laughed. Ha Ha. Funny daddy. I finished the monumental task of getting her across the street, slowly. The light probably turned yellow, red and green a few times before we finally made it. My head spun, my insides were on fire – and yet I kept moving, holding the girl in my arms. I felt like King Kong trying to hold onto Fay Wray while getting riddled with bullets; like Michael Douglas carrying Melanie Griffith over the border in Shining Through while the Germans turned him into swiss cheese with their machine guns. It was heroic, yet I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt like…sucky. Then, last night at bedtime… “Goodnight, honey.” I said sweetly, holding her in my arms. “Goodnight, daddy.” WHAM. Fine. Daddy break chair. Baby break balls....
read more“Is she your only child?”
Some of the best moments in life happen when you aren’t around. My wife had one of those “Insensitive Stranger” moments. I have these often. I’m a big white dude toting around an adopted Chinese baby, so I either get the confused stares with no comments or the ballsy folks that just come right up and start in with “Is she yours?” or something equally uncalled for. My wife has had less exposure to the dredge of society because she is also asian. I’m the only white person in this family and have become a Dredge Magnet. She still gets people coming up to her in public, but because of her ethnicity they don’t usually start with “Is she yours?” Occasionally, they begin like this: “Is she your only child?” Last week my wife went to the Allergist’s office for her weekly shots. My wife is allergic to everything – pollen, cigarettes, dust, sex – and the shots help keep those allergies in check. On this particular day, she brought our two-year old daughter with her. “We’ll be right with you. Please take a seat.” said the receptionist in the waiting room. My wife sat down. Ellie, our daughter, climbed onto the chair next to her and they waited for their names to be called. A woman in her mid-40s, who happened to be sitting next to them, asked “Is she your only child?” Note – I asked for a better description of the woman so that I could relay that info to you, the reader. The fact that my wife only told me “she was white and in her mid-40s” probably means she was hot. But I guess that’s not relevant to the story. Unless you’re cooped up in your house all day and never get to see any other women besides your wife – THEN you may have gotten something out of it. “Yes.” My wife replied to her question.“Are you planning to have another one?” The woman asked.“Not at this point.” “Have you passed 30 yet?” “Yes.” Wife still being polite. Smile on face. Murder on mind.“Have you passed 35 yet?”“Yes.” Wife’s politeness waning. Approaching the “Get-off-the-Couch-Lazy-Husband-and-Take-out-the-Friggin’-Garbage” mark that I’ve spent our marriage trying to avoid. The woman could have ended it right there. But she continued:“Well, I had my last child when I was 38. And let me tell you, I worry about not being around for his high school graduation and his wedding. But you know what?” Uh-oh. Here comes some of that sage advice that we are continually seeking from people that don’t know us: “You can always adopt next...
read moreKick in the Pants
When you’re watching a preview for a new comedy film, do you still laugh at the “Man getting hit in balls” joke? Do you chuckle when the Director adds the obligatory shot of onlookers grimacing? Are you that one guy in the packed theater that yells “OOOH!! That had to hurt!” and gives your buddy a high-five? If so, then you might want to stop reading this. I’m only going to further insult your intelligence. “Man getting hit in balls” has become the Gold Standard. Every Comedy that Hollywood craps out must have a preview that shows a man getting injured in the crotch region. Hollywood is constantly hard at work creating unique contributions to the art of ball slamming. Here are just a few examples from previews of recent releases. 1) The Hot Chick – Man kicked in nuts by Rob Schneider. 2) Just Friends – Snow ball hits man in groin. 3) Bad News Bears – Baseball hits boy in family jewels. 4) Cheaper by the Dozen 2 – Steve Martin falls on log and injures groin. Makes funny face. 5) Big Mamma’s House 2 – Big Momma kicks man in crotch. 6) She’s the man – Girl pretending to be boy gets hit in groin with soccer ball. 7) Benchwarmers – Ball shot out of lawnmower hits David Spade in the crotch. 8) The Wild – Koala Bear (yes, Koala Bear) lands on fence and injures groin 9) Larry the Cable Guy – Man throws soccer ball at wall, it bounces back and hits his nuts. 10) Munich – Man kicked in nuts by Rob Schneider. Okay, so I made the last one up. But you get my point. It would be easier for me to list the comedy previews that DON’T have someone getting clocked in the balls. It only took me a few minutes to find these nine examples. If you can add to the list, please...
read moreOpen Compartment Surgery
My daughter has a red Teletubby that stands about a foot tall. It sings and dances and lights up. I’ve wanted to kill it for months now. I can’t tell you how often I’ve planned its demise. One such method involved duct tape, a linen sack and the San Francisco bay.So last night I heard it singing like it was possessed. Very deep, slow voice. Either the batteries were low or the Devil was telling my daughter to puke in my shoes again. It stopped mid-song. My daughter began sobbing quietly. She picked it up and brought it to me. Kids think Daddies can fix anything. She’ll figure out what horse crap that is by the time she’s two.This one was easy. Just a battery replacement. The compartment was located on the doll’s back, and I used a screwdriver to pry the 3 AA batteries from inside. I pried too hard and sent the batteries flying all over the floor.Three batteries out, three batteries in. But wait! Isn’t this the opportunity I’d been waiting for? Why put them in? Kill it. Tell her you can’t fix it. Tell her you’ll buy her a new toy that sings better songs and doesn’t fill your heart with bloodlust every time you see it.But then I looked down at my daughter and saw the sadness in her face. How could I kill her favorite toy? Such sorrow in those eyes…until I realized she was sad because she was having trouble chewing one of the batteries I’d dropped on the floor. Sigh.Bottom line, I did the right thing for once. I put in the new batteries. The Teletubby showed its gratitude by singing my least favorite song. If it had a human hand it would have flipped me off. If it was anatomically correct, it would have pissed in my face. Someday, you son of a bitch. Someday. The kid isn’t going to want you forever. You’ll get yours. My mind immediately went back to planning the toy’s untimely death.I gave the doll back to my anxious daughter and said, “Here you are Elena. What do you think of that?”I didn’t need her to tell me what she thought of that. I could smell it. She’d taken a giant crap in her diaper. Hmm, maybe I could get even with that little bastard after...
read moreThe dog in my crock pot
I have a 7 pound mini-dachshund. She would fit nicely in a hot dog bun with relish, mustard and several diced onions. When I put my daughter down for a nap each day, she feels the urge to bark. I shall boil her with potatoes and carrots. In the evening, the dog informs me that her dinner is late by puking. The food must be served at 5pm sharp. Most days, the vomit commences at 4:55 in protest. I will bake her in a nice lemon sauce and serve her with mandarin orange slices. During the night, she barks and wakes up my child. Perhaps I can sprinkle her with Shake n Bake. If I leave the front door open, she runs into the street. Time to prepare a stew with moist corn bread. Alas, not worth more than an appetizer really. I do love her, and it would be a shame to eat her all at once. In the winter she keeps me warm by sleeping on my lap. Perhaps I will remove her innards and replace them with a hot water...
read moreEggs on the bottom, please
My weekly jaunt to the Grocery store occurs on Friday mornings. Kiss the wife goodbye as she leaves for work, drink a cup of coffee, and I’m ready to go. I grab the kid, throw her in the car seat, jam a few Cheerios in her mouth and hit the road. When I get to the supermarket, I grab the most functional cart I can find. This is no easy task. Most off them look like they were parked in front of a house during a drive by shooting. Eventually, I find a cart, throw the kid in and head inside. Okay. time to pull out my Grocery List. One dozen eggs. No problem. Pick up the first carton and get yolk on my hand. Set that one aside. Pick up the next carton – hmm, six broken eggs. Okay, grab the next one…date on the carton is last Tuesday. Another – 6 broken eggs. 6+6 = a Dozen, right? Okay. I Frankenstein together a carton with 12 good eggs that didn’t expire last Tuesday. Perfect. Onto the milk…first one I grab expires three days from now. So all of a sudden I’m that schmuck on the floor in the middle of the aisle – the guy pulling carton after carton of milk out trying to find one container that doesn’t turn sour in 3 days. I find it all the way in the back where I can see into the Storage Room. Some douchebag is sitting on the other side of the fridge smoking a cigarette. He gives me a nod. Thanks for the help, dude. Next, I stroll up the Baking aisle to get some flour, corn meal and sugar. Make sure I flirt with the hot mom buying seasoning. Say something cool: “That tastes great in a Burgundy sauce.” Oh yeah. Still got it. Grab some beer. Same hot mom that was giving me the “Eye” back in the baking section just shook her head and walked away. Hmm. Guess she saw me put the Hamms 24-pack in the cart next to the kid. Finally I’ve filled the cart with a week’s worth of groceries and it’s time to check out. This is where the fun begins. I get all the individual items onto the conveyer belt. Above the cashier is a sign that reads: “If I fail to 1) Greet you, 2) Offer you today’s special or 3) Offer you help getting the groceries to your car, then please inform the manager and you will receive a free loaf of Garlic Bread.” It might was well have the words “Please excuse our cashiers. They are mentally challenged.” written on it. Okay, every week I test them on these 3 simple courtesies. They are running at about a 75% success rate. 1) Greet me – “(Mumble mumble) or plastic (incoherent sound)?” In the middle of the greeting, one of the pimples on his face bursts. I guess that’s a greeting. Strike One. Two more strikes and no garlic bread. 2) Offer me today’s Special – (Mumbling under breath) “Today we are offering these celery flavored toothpicks for $2.99 a box.” Honestly, it was such an uninspired delivery that I don’t remember what the product was. Before I can open my mouth to respond, he gives me...
read moreIf life worked like Warcraft…
I’m addicted to the World of Warcraft, one of those massive-multiplayer-online PC games like Everquest. I often wonder how different the real world would be if it ran on a Warcraft Server – if our world operated the same way as it does in the video game. There are no prisons. Anyone caught breaking the law will be dealt with quickly and efficiently. They won’t be allowed to drain the taxpayer’s money with lengthy appeals. They won’t spend their life getting three hot meals a day, exercise and a healthy sexual lifestyle. in the World of Warcraft they will simply be “Deleted: for violating the Terms of Use.” All races get along. They have banded together against a common enemy known as the Horde. The Horde is like Al Qaida, only rational. All natural resources replenish themselves every five minutes. For example: If I mine for silver and completely tap out the vein, I only need to wait five minutes to start mining it again. Bye bye foreign oil dependency! There is no need to poop, pee, eat or drink unless you want to. There are no bathrooms anywhere. Watch your step. I am rewarded for killing others. If I get killed, my spirit regenerates at the nearest cemetery where I simply need to find my corpse in order to come back to life. If somebody hides my corpse while I’m trying to locate it, I’m pretty much screwed. There is always someone within earshot yelling “LEROY JENKINS!”. As a response to this, you will hear one person laughing and one person saying “That’s not funny anymore.” If you are not familiar with the “Leroy Jenkins” reference, you will not function well in society. This two-word phrase has replaced the words “Hello” and “How are you?” in everyday life. You can’t walk anywhere without someone asking for spare silver. 90% of the hot chicks you meet are not actually female. No, the hot chick you had cyber-sex with was not one of the 10%. Sorry dude. There are a LOT of lazy people. Most townfolk will give you a “Quest” to perform for them. This might include, go to the liquor store and buy me some beer, cigarettes and a nudy magazine. If you accept then you’ll be pissed off when you get to the liquor store and find that there’s already a line 200 people deep waiting to do the exact same “Quest.” The “Socially Awkward” shall rule the world. Darwin’s Theory has been discredited by the world’s top scientist – SpockKirkScotty13. If you’re twelve years old and a Priest asks you to join him for some “adventures in a cave”, it’s usually safe. However, if he wants to take you camping, respectfully decline and run like hell. Every Tuesday morning, the world is shut down for maintenance. This is the time to do your bills, bathe, come out of your mother’s basement, or just relax and remind yourself what the sun looks like. Sexual activity is complicated. The best-selling book “Joy of Warcraft Sex” offers these helpful tips: The male should equip himself with the Cape of Stamina and the Cod-piece of the Horse prior to any sexual activity. He should also have the Potion of Invisibility handy in case a quick exit becomes necessary. Most importantly,...
read moreOde to Velcro Tabs (a poop haiku)
Oh, stinky diaper.Velcro tabs, not safety pins.How I love Pampers.
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