Tag Archives: funny

Au Revoir Apartments…Smell Ya Later

My lease is up at my apartments, and I’m planning a more economic friendly move to another apartment with a roomate. It’s tough for single gals and I for one would sure like financial stability as well as the company. This move is bittersweet, while I often complain on Facebook about my apartments, I’m still going to miss what I’ve called home for a few years. I’m also going to miss my neighbors, no, not in the way you think. I don’t think I’ve talked extensively to any of them but I’ve observed them from afar on a level of certain creepiness. So, who will I miss?

The Denim Clad Bludgeoner

Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions here, but the guy who lives across from me is in the business of death, sudden violent death to transients and hookers. He leaves early in the morning while the dew is still on the grass, because he travels to commit his heinous acts. Dressed in a demin shirt, demin shorts (jorts) and brown boots topped off with a khaki hat he leaves, taking a long wooden walking staff (ready for spontaneous murder). He gets into his inconspicuous white jeep and gives me a friendly nod as he drives away. He’s gone for several days. I know this because when our apartment management leaves memos stuffed in our doors his will remain in place for 3 to 4 days. Meaning, it would have to be removed if he came into his apartment. However he’s home when they do inspection and he leaves notes for them not to spray his apartment with insecticide. I don’t believe this is a worry about chemicals, no sir, it’s because he has clippings about the place celebrating his crimes. Duh. All killers do this. Which is really outdated and not very green. One could easily just save a zip file on their PC labeled “My Insatiable Lust for Blood”. I also believe this because he left his blinds open and I peeked through, there were newspapers everywhere (no I’m not weird!). He doesn’t want pest control to walk around spraying that watered down Mello Yello they call insecticide and discover the missing teens from Branson MS met their fate at the hands of a blue jean loving assassin. He’s nice enough but his eyes sing a song of murder to me, “I want to dismember you, fa la la la la la”.

Tankerbell’s Mommy

I don’t know this lady’s name either but I know her godforsaken dog’s name; Tinkerbell but pronounced “Tankerbell”. This lady is at the very least 400 hundred pounds and she  yells at her chihuahua while walking around barefoot all day. Seriously it’s like president Taft walking around in a house dress. She’s always saying, “Tankerbell, hush up quit barkin’ git in tha house!” These apartments are pretty small and she lives with her significant other, another woman, and some kids but there’s a like several and I can’t discern which one’s actually live there or just like show up. Nonetheless that’s a lot of people for one place and at night their shades are open…yes I look in and there are sheets the partition the living room. It’s like a Hooverville in there. There’s another dog too but it never gets yelled at because Tankerbell is the one that never shuts up. This dog has like a hernia or hemorrhoids because it’s butthole looks like it was pulled out, kind of like a Sonic straw. I can say right now I don’t envy that dog.


Tankerbell! where are you?

The Office Depot Adonis

This guy I often see getting into his yellow Mustang going to do whatever beautiful people go do all day. I’ll assume float on clouds. He works at Office Depot which I discovered by happenstance and not by being a stalker (this time). I went to make prints of my artwork and he was there, we talked about apartments and how much they suck, and well what do you know! He’s int he building next to me. I figured out that he was actually the well muscled hulk of lustful thoughts that jumps rope and jogs around the complex. He drips sweat that could bring flowers back to life.  He’s the guy I for serious, almost wrecked into a dumpster watching warm-up with some high knees. Did you know movies do not edit beautiful people in slow motion? Beautiful people effect the time space continuum and their movements actually slow down so the world has some semblance of order while they are around. I fumbled over words like an idiot, and forgot what I was talking about mid-sentence. Yeah, THAT beautiful. Now I can’t just walk into Office Depot without feeling like an awkward school girl or stalker-like. I would like to look into his window.

Gandalf the Grey

There’s an elderly lady who leaves her apartment several times a day to go to the mailbox or kind of stand on the sidewalk and stare contemplatively into the horizon. Firstly, I want to know what kind of US Postal Service does she think she has to go to the mailbox more than once? Secondly, I think she goes outside to steal the joyful noise of the nearby songbirds. She has her name because she wears a grey sweat suit ALWAYS and has matching grey hair. Thus, Gandalf the Grey, plus when you get that old you have magic powers. Maybe her mobility has far exceeded her cognitive ability and she is slipping slowly into the world of dementia. A small part of me fills with fantastical terror when I wave and say “Hi” but she only glares at me with contempt. I can’t say what her apartment looks like because it’s on the second floor and that presents a challenge of sorts. I’m going to say full of razors and Halloween candy. Her plan only foiled by the fact that old people hand out that caramel candy kids hate and never eat.


I'm going back upstairs to wait for the third mail delivery today.

Facking Cool Guy

The northern guy who has several bad tattoes including the black panther of shame and the tribal arm band. He “DJ’s” um, nowhere. He cuts the sleeves of his shirts because all fellas know this creates an optical illusion of muscle. He hits on EVERY woman at the pool maybe even some dudes with bitch tits. He wears sandals and has gross feet.

Hot For Teacher

This woman is the 80’s and honestly I love her. She has the leathery brown tan skin, bleach blonde hair, neon clothes made of mesh net, sunglasses ALWAYS, and a convertible. She can always be found at the pool when its open baking herself in the sun slathered in baby oil, seriously, listening to Poison on her boombox.

I however will not be missed by anyone because I’m that weird fucking girl who looks through windows, stares at everyone, and can’t drive very well in the parking lot. Changes…


Shut Your Pie Hole: Part Three

I’ve written before about conversational faux pas, not once, but twice before. Well, it’s always fun to revisit my favorite subject; people being assholes all day everyday.

Well I’ve gathered some more violations that coincidentally render me full of overwhelming desire to whirl my arms in a windmill action and run straight forward into the person talking.

3. Being a condescending arrogant fuckface about uncommon knowledge.

Everyone has a hobby or interest and with that carries a superior knowledge pertaining to that particular subject. Perhaps they are a “specialist” in the area.

For example you have someone who’s really into a specific music genre. They are absolute snobs about specific varieties because just enjoying music that you like is absurd. This can relate to the inability to acknowledge legitimate talent to a “sell-out” music group. No one is less discriminating in taste because they don’t know about the all transsexual (and one bear) jazz fusion group from Iceland you post You Tube videos about on Facebook all fucking day. Furthermore, no one purposefully clicks those links and when they do they say “Uh! Damn you touch screen! Go back!” However this is the same type of person who is an absolute snob about you saying, “Oh hey, so I downloaded The Black Key’s new album and it’s so good.” They in turn have to dramatically roll their eyes and make face just to say, “They became SO commercial, I can’t believe you listen to that.” They manage to alienate themselves as much as their music alienates itself because you, know, most people don’t like it. Ha.

My senior year English teacher was arrogant prick about all things grammar. It was like he was flabbergasted he had to teach us anything. How dare we students need to be educated? He, by the way, must have had heinous Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia. His nickname was “donkey balls”, also his wife looked like a man. One time, a student realized that his wife happened to be another teacher there and exclaimed, “That’s your wife? I swore I thought she was a les…um…oh…crap.” My teacher’s balls were pulsating with anger. Ha.


it's like I had my high school yearbook on google images

I’m not certain where the overconfidence comes from but I think it relates to how much someone identifies themself as a person with that activity or knowledge.

2. Insistent People Who Will Not Take NO for an Answer

It’s awkward enough to be polite as possible when you say “No” to an engagement you don’t want to commit to. It’s torture to say no a thousand freaking times. However, the other party is not getting the hint and is providing a million alternatives to enable you to attend. Maybe even murder…

Small example, say you hate pumpkin flavored anything in life. I do, if all forms of contraception was pumpkin flavored I would choose abstinence. More realistically, I would have an abundance of unplanned pregnancies.


Drink I tell you, you have to watch your brother and sister tonight

Incidentally, someone insists you would just love THEIR version of pumpkin pie and abandon your prejudice, giving redemption to all pumpkins the world over. Making the Great Pumpkin and Linus really happy. Well, lets say you relent just to stop the not shutting up that’s going on. You realize suddenly, this is what Ke$ha’s mouth tastes like when she wakes up in the morning. You want to gargle with sulfuric acid. Yep, you still hate pumpkins.


With one exception

This may or may not have happened to me personally, so that was all hypothetical. For whatever reason, these kind of people don’t interpret the words that are coming out of your mouth as a decline to their invite so they just keep asking over and over.

1. Healthy Advice Givers When Advice is Not Asked For.

I actually, care a whole bunch about health. I work out, I eat healthy, I work in the healthcare profession. It’s my passion. I don’t say anything about to anyone, as if it were Fight Club. I eat my vegetables and humus and STFU about it while I do it. Now, my coworkers know that I live this way but only because they ask and I in turn will tell them. They cheered aloud when I joined them in a cupcake celebration. I mean, I am human, and…cupcakes.

However, no matter the GMO filled, hydrogenated fat packed, chemically treated foods they eat, I’m going to be silent. Everybody knows vegetables good, candy bad. Everybody. They have internet access, a library card and a physician just like me.


This it's way better than having a life!

Well meaning health fanatics can sometimestake it to level ridiculous. They think they are privy to occult knowledge. I don’t mind being told about the dangers of a product’s chemical, I really don’t, but don’t be a hypervigilant nag about it. People tend to shut down when they experience constant correction. Also, people are going to live the way they want to and will not seek help until they are ready…if ever they are ready. So while a persistently critical health fanatic might live a long, healthy life it will probably be a lonely one too. This whole organic moment is growing in popularity (which, don’t get me wrong is really awesome), it’s ushered in a whole new kind of asshole behavior.

Well…that’s all for now. Comment, share…criticize (this may be shocking but not everyone it’s a fan of my blog).

Celebrations and Secret Fetishes

Life is many things, and worth celebrating. I suppose that’s why we have birthday parties, surely it’s not to ensure magicians have jobs. They dress like effeminate pirates and who likes that? Birthday clowns are weird too. There was a guy in my neighborhood growing up that was a birthday clown. He called himself Bubbles. My mother would threaten to hire him for my birthday. Not funny, not ever, mom. Okay a little.


mind = mystified

Now where was I? Oh yes, life and fetishes. This is not a secret admission here, it’s more like a FYI. I have some shame, probably a little more than Dina Lohan. I’m going to say right here, that was the only episode of Dr. Phil I wanted to watch and actually did watch. If you don’t know what I’m talking about take a minute to “click this link fool” on your magic wizard box or computer as they have been called since 1977. Then come back and thank me in the comment section.

What exactly is this fetish business? Active Senior Citizen Men. Yep.


wave your hand in the air, wave them like you just don't care

I was driving down the road and saw a geriatric man riding a bicycle, his calve muscles were ripped. His jogging shorts perhaps dangerously short and in danger of a more than generous ball shot, but he was rocking them the fuck out. You could feel his zest for life emanating from his person. He was living the golden years and winning at it.

I can’t help but admit that I find active old men attractive. I don’t necessarily want to give them my phone number for them to program into their Jitterbug phone, because lets face it that would take like ten minutes. I do however, admire them and want this when I myself am older. There is just something so amazing about a man in his sixties living a less sedentary life than most men my age. Plus they have AARP benefits and more than likely a Mercury Sable convertible.


you should see the north pole, uh huh huh, shazaam

When I see an older man jogging, I imagine he woke that morning before dawn. He did some push-ups and laced up his favorite pair of New Balance shoes. He came downstairs to eat three eggs, a piece of toast and coffee, black. Cream and sugar is for men who can’t change a tire, weak men, men who didn’t vote for Reagan. Men who don’t eat meat. These men do not own power tools. Disgusting. He heads down to his favorite greenway mindful that he remembered his waist pack with water bottle holder. After some stretches and a disapproving glance at the young man in his sagging pants, he begins.  He goes along, nodding politely at all the ladies (because he knows they’re impressed), until he’s completed his routine.


prefers fat free half and half

He gets home to enjoy a delightful cold cut and brown mustard sandwhich with the wife. Then they bang, because he’s an active senior full of vigor. He showers and then goes to his wood shed for the day to make birdhouses and whatever the hell old men do those things. Really, what do they do beside shellac EVERYTHING? I don’t know either but I’m willing to be arrested for trespassing to spy on one.

He comes in for dinner; pot roast, potatoes, green beans and homemade yeast rolls because his wife Alice either cooks or looks through JC Penny catalogues all day. They watch Dateline and go to bed. This is what I’m pretty sure active senior men do, everyday.


that's right bitch

I personally think this is awesome, or that I’m awesome for thinking this. Whichever, have a sexy day.

My Most Hated Show

Hi folks, I’m BAAACK. I have missed you, give me some sugar!

I firmly believe television is making us, as a nation collectively dumber. I’ll go ahead and mention the obvious offenders; Maury Povich, Jerry Springer, Teen Mom, Jersey Shore, and the list could go on forever.

However, reality TV has been a time filler for better programming for a long time. You know like that freckled face asshole kid who you don’t really want to play with but the kid you like in your neighborhood is on vacation. So you have to sit in his room and view his paint sample collection or listen to him talk about summer camp while every vocalized pause makes you concurrently want to punch his face into oblivion. I mean it, punch his face so hard it becomes a black hole and sucks all surrounding matter into it.  Also, his mom is a whore, no that’s not innapropriate.

So what’s trending on television that I dislike the most? MORE than reality television?


CSI Miami….boom.

Alright, I’ve mentioned before that Law and Order is the eternal flame of television, and is on all hours, all days, most channels all the fucking time. However CSI Miami is following close behind.

What could be wrong with this show besides everything? Well, let’s get specific.

1.The forensic pathologist is either being held captive in the autopsy room or she has a mental disorder.

This lady is always available to perform an autopsy, actually, she’s always alone. I mean, you never see “Butch” fill in for her while she’s on vacation. If you think one can remain in a basement full of dead folks and not be a little touched you might be wrong. I’ve witnesses several episodes where she speaks to the victim asking, “What story do you have to tell me?” Why do you think she asks? Because in her mind they answer. I’ve also witnessed a creepy degree of affection, such as hair stroking or face petting. Unfortunately the camera changes to an highly color saturated shot of sexy people partying in a boat before you witness her kissing, fondling, and possible attemps at ressurection.

2. This is an inaccurate portrayal of Miami citizens.


We all know, thanks to the news reminding us like every day, that America is full of fatty-fat-fats. They take candid shots of overweight people from behind as proof. Now, let me say right here if News 5 in Nashville ever shows a picture of a fat ass that makes me say, “Oh I have those pants, I was downtown today, I spilled ice cream into my crotch when I sat on a bench….oh boy.” That will be a reckoning day, and day one of my newest new diet. I can’t get really fat, or I’ll find Cathey comics funny…no body wants that to happen to them. No, no, according to this show, everyone in Miami is sexy, rich, and parties on boats. Everybody owns a boat or a Hummer. Maybe they party in a Hummer on a boat, who cares they’re beautiful (and rich). Nothing has to make sense when you’re beautiful (and rich).

3. The staff is overqualified to be mere detectives for Dade County.

For starters, you have to be attractive to work CSI. No fuddy duddy uglies on this crew. These agents shoot better than the SWAT team and often go ahead of amored officers in their power suits only to fire all fatal shots. Every time they shoot the bullets they even hit their target while they go in slow motion, that’s pretty amazing. They are trained on all forensic equipment; microscopes, DNA analysis, fancy sound equipment (They also produced an album for Rick Ross).


and he's still hustlin

They know how to do it all (becasue detectives often do serum blood typing or fiber analysis). Although I’m sure why they need it being they catch EVERY detail in all video, audio, and physical evidence. Meaning they should just say, “I already saw that juxtaposed image at .00032 seconds, but I want to show off by having you pause and rewind…and now for my witty remark.” Which also leads me to say, they are witty, one liners that hit with more impact than face on asphault after a poorly devised stunt goes terribly wrong. Which ends up on Rob’s Ridiculousness, another show I hate. It should be called Rob says unfunny things while that white bitch laughs at everything, fucking everything.

4. The CSI equipment and computer programs


testing for semen AGAIN

While that handy computer searches for finger print matches, I feel more like I am selecting a player to fight with on X Box than I am watching the retrival of suspects. Perhaps fighting with a sexy player though, because even the criminals are sexy, only in Miami. The staff has a high tech laboratory capable of any kind of analysis, ever. I’m not sure why Miami payed for a laboratory that looks like the newest credit union they just built down the road from me. It has like modern glass and shit everwhere, the future needs a lot of glass everywhere. Furthermore, I don’t know what the laboratory workers actually do there. You see them, briefly, but the CSI detectives pretty much have to do their job for them, clearly, they’re incompetent. No one really needs safety equipment. Beautful people don’t wear goggles, chemicals know not to spill in their captivating, dreamy eyes.

5. The agents themselves.

The self satisfyed smirk they get on their beautiful faces everytime they find evidence, everytime they out wit a super smart criminal, every time they fucking speak. I always say they won’t get me to confess to shit, ever. I’d say, “Where’s my lawyer, an ugly one, go suck a bag of dicks.” I’d rather be found guilty in that courtroom than look at their smug faces when I stumble into confessing. I’d also put my fingers in my ears when they tried to talk, yes like a child, because I refuse to listen to their smarty smart remarks.

5. Horatio Caine (this Asshole)


He actually found that in a butt without the aide of metal detectors

I only have room for one bad ass ginger in my heart, it belongs to Chuck Norris, aka, Walker Texas Ranger. I watched Mr. Norris defeat a bunch of bad guys in a nursing home, not a yaht, that’s real. This dude responds faster than the police (who let’s face it are worthless too) and the ambulance (also not needed because the agents know a bunch of medical shit too). He gets like babes, I mean it, total babes to date. They always happen to be a victim’s relative, which means he’s a preditor. I know your playing the “friend game” dude, I know. He’s a police force unto himself. The whole show I mock him in an incredibly immature fashion.

You probably wonder why I would watch this show? Well simple, it’s that or a show about wedding dresses, housewives, or people bidding on storage facilities. I mean what else is on before King of the Hill?

Worst Day of School

I spent a great majority of my school years in the Tennessee school system. No, it wasn’t one room, no it wasn’t on a tobacco farm, yes there was a pair of cousins that were caught kissing in the bathroom. For reals, it happened.

I’ll have you know TN schools are 21st century.

Due to a recent virus outbreak at my job, this post was prompted by conversation about it. What was going around? That I do not know, it could have been introduced by anyone or anything. It’s a proven fact according to TLC’s show Hoarders: Buried Alive that anyone can live in deplorable conditions and not even the closest of friends know. Anyone, that lady with the hand sanitzer on her desk, a cover up. She has jars of urine and feces decorating her house because her bathroom is full of magazines, because that’s where they should go, duh. I will accept this as long as it’s not Woman’s Day, which we all know, it is.

 Me wuv cupcakes!

Which brings me back to 2nd grade. My teacher, Mrs. White, bless her kind heart wherever she may be.

I must have gotten a stomach virus, possibly from contaminated Kid’s Cuisine, who knows. I made it half way through the school day when I began throwing up, and didn’t stop. I became a Garbage Pail Kid. The school tried to call my mom, who wasn’t home. No cell phones…so they tried the emergency contact list, whoever the hell that was. I was stuck at school, vomiting relentlessly. Because I’ll assume before caller I.D. people just didn’t answer the freaking phone.

Sorry I missed the call hon, I made this cool hat with our phone.

During a game of “heads up seven up” which is a “quiet game” and should be called “heads up shut the fuck up”, I increased my gross sick kid factor to the tenth power. It was like this:

My teacher grabbed a trash can and put it beneath me but a little too late because it was all over the floor. When I looked up this kid named Matthew was pulling the scotch tape off her desk and taping his nose going, “Oh God! It stinks!” Which made me laugh and then puke more. Sensing the possibility of me grossing out other eight year old kids, igniting a puke chain reaction, she ushered me to the bathroom.

Right now, as and adult, I know what this lady was thinking, “Where the fuck is your mother kid? So help me, if I get sick, I am taking a week off. If she gets anything on my denim jumper with apples on it, I’m gonna be sick.” Well, she helped me wash up and splashed cold water on my face, like a saint that she is.

But this is my FAVORITE denim jumper.

I get back to see the janitor with the dust cleaning up my mess. I know what he was thinking too, “All this from one fucking kid? Did she have a massive head trauma? Six Flags doesn’t clean this much puke up!”

Well that Matthew kid had used the entire roll of tape on his face which became a mask or sorts. Only, he couldn’t get it off. My teacher then had to pull this hastily devised respirator off while he screamed, “It’s pulling my face!” I laughed and of course puked more, this time in the trash can. I’m sure she went home and drank a bottle of whine before zoning out to  Family Matters.

He’ll never give up on Laura even when she files a restraining order.

Well, the fiasco wasn’t over, I had to ride the bus home. I had not quite emptied my gastric contents however, ohhh ho ho no, not quite. I couldn’t get close enough to the front of the bus and I guess being like eight, I didn’t think to tell the bus driver, Ms. Ruby, she had those super high bangs. I know she rocked out to Poison all day, every day. Well, I almost made it home but not quite. I ran to the front of the bus but threw up on a kid right before the trash can. He was this red-headed little asshole so I feel karma was at work this day.

If he had this on it would be huge SPLAT yes!

He screams and Ms. Ruby slams on the breaks. I almost go flying into the windshield. At this moment, I would have welcomed the embrace of dead relatives as they guide me to a bright light. Heaven is very well lit, you never strain your eyes reading there.

“This escalator takes you to Dillards”

Well, I throw up at the bus stop too and the children disperse but not before screaming “Ewww! Don’t touch her!” Now I know how a leper felt in the days of yore. It was rather isolating. I make it home and my dad is in his usual television after work attire, a white t-shirt and shorts, with slippers. He has no idea I’m sick but he suggests I lay on the couch and watch Cheers, which I think made me sicker.

Everything this guy says still makes me nauseous

My mom finally came home and rendered aide. She got the ginger ale out and a cold rag for my forehead. I swear this magic combination is sheer alchemy only mother’s know, because I was fine soon after. I still don’t know where she was, M.I.A. during that fateful phone call, but I’m going to assume drugs. Yep, drugs. She hid it well, I always assumed the track marks were because she said she had a “diabetes habit”. I hope you all know I jest.

Well, drugs or Thigh Master 

I didn’t go to school the next day, much to Mrs. White’s relief I’m sure. I got to play Barbies and listen to my Paula Abdul tape all day, weak, but much better. I got back to school and I was made fun of for about a week straight. That red-headed fuck on the bus never spoke to me, nor made eye contact. I mean, I did  throw up on his Starter jacket. Sorry asshole, I’ll have you know my puke looked better than your freckled face! I hope you also know I jest. He was an asshole though. Worst school day ever.

Hey Ipecac! Toss your cookies lately?! Ha ha, we’re funny, let’s go play with slap bracelets.

Google Search Users Don’t Understand Kids

Yesterday, I wrote about kids, specifically my kid and the children of the Industrial Revolution. My spawn, as I like to call him. I tell him all the time I am so happy I hatched him. He looks at me with wonder, love and trepidation mostly trepidation. I’m sorry I’m so weird son. I’m also sorry that I’m going to be embarrassing when you’re a teenager.  Please just know I love you, bear with me.

Well, I couldn’t fit this into my post yesterday as it didn’t fully fit the format. Today I will share with you some of the jacked up Google searches I found for children while researching child labor.

All of these began with: WHY DO CHILDREN…. 

1. Scream for no reason?  I tend to agree, have you taken a child to a birthday party? For fuck sake, it’s like a scream fest where they get together and scream, eat cake, only two bites, waste the rest and then scream more.

First a circle scream, then we’ll stand in a line and scream

2. Join the Taliban? Well given it’s optional, it’s probably like summer camp…that teaches suicide bombing and kickball.

3. Souls stay behind? Not all of them, just the souls of poor kids.


4. Overgeneralize words? All children always do this all the time, times infinity.

5. Always stare at me? I like to believe their giving the “evil eye” trying to evoke misfortune in the form of The Black Death to my family and famine to my crops, killing my goats. To counteract this I recommend a vial of lizard blood and skullcap.

6. Play with their poop? It’s organic play-doh

7. Fail in school? Because learning is dumb, duh.

8. Have to suffer? I hope this person shook an angry fist at Google when they typed this rhetorical question. WHYYYYYY????!!!! Damn you!

It’s not fair! Answer me!

9. Vomit at night? Ugh, what the hell is wrong with that kid? I bet because he played with his poop all day and didn’t wash his hands.

10. Use private speech? So adults have no idea that they are plotting when and where they will start screaming, that way it appears unprovoked and spontaneous.

“Why does this happen?”

11. Need vitamins? Those too? I got to feed and water this thing as well? Gah! Can I trade it for a Chia Pet? I’m glad a parent felt the need to research this…

12. Take Xanex? Because lacking responsibilities is stressful.

13. Cry in their sleep? They’re whimpering, probably dreaming about chasing rabbits and squirrels, right? I mean they’re legs are moving like they’re running.

Or because monsters know kids are delicious.

14. Feel the need to access guns? You can’t join the NRA without a gun. You can’t be American without a gun. I’m as proud as a bald eagle.

15. Hate you? Don’t take it personal, they hate all adults, hence the real reason they are constantly screaming.

Lastly a search that did not fit in with the searches above:

Why do Tom Cruise’s kids live with him? 


Back In Someone Else’s Day…

I believe children are the future, why? Well, because chronologically speaking they are, duh. I have a kid of my own. I try my best to provide a happy childhood all the while preparing him for a productive, industrious adulthood. I surely don’t want him living in my den, eating Cheetos, and wiping his orange powdery hands on my furniture as he watches Walker Texas Ranger all day. Cringe.

OF course you have to lick your fingers, who wants this crap on their fleshlight?

I for one do not let him have his way all the time, often times it’s not even a democracy in my house. As he gets older I plan on negotiating more but at five, let’s face it kids that age have terrible ideas. For example drawing all over their legs before pictures are taken.

Because tattoos are way cooler than marker, what are you a frat boy? Bro!

One weapon I have in my arsenal goes beyond the starving kids in China bit. For one thing, they can only have one kid…is it really that hard to feed one mouth? I wonder if their dinnerware is as toxic as the materials used for the goods they export to us. Always using lead paint and shit…’Merican made that’s the way to go. I love guns and the ten commandments, U.S.A.!

“How many stars?” “I don’t know, like 15, get to work or they put us in the pit of many shames!”

I want my kid aware of how shitty his predecessors had it, not so much me or my parents, not really even my grandparents (poor, but not destitute). Nope, I had it pretty cake and they didn’t necessarily suffer. Plus, my dad got to be a cool ass greaser. His hair was truly awesome.

My dad still breaks into choreographed song and dance , gets into knife fights, and drag races like, every day.

I think maybe Industrial Revolution Era children had just cause for insolence , dying their hair black and refusing to turn Depeche Mode off repeat long enough to eat family dinner.

“Leave me alone mom! I gonna sit in my room and draw pictures of fairy girls that are  prettier than me!”

In 19th century London, children as young as three years old were put to work. I am going to say right here: I better have made more wages than a toddler. The exploitation of child labor was regulated by four inspectors for all of  England . At least in 1831 the Whig party reduced the average child’s work day from 16 hours to 12 hours maximum, what a relief.

“I don’t care if you don’t know how to read I need you to edit 12,000 reports by Friday, and I don’t care that it’s Thursday! Yo Gabba Gabba? Forget it!

Without OSHA and an over enthusiastic dork of a general manager, there weren’t many safety regulations (My first manager would double thumbs up a job well done and actually say “Thumbs up, guys thumbs waaaay up!” Cringe.) It was not unusual for children to lose appendages, inhale toxic fumes, and die from injury and related illness. Yeah, school doesn’t look so bad. Doing a report on Hernando De Soto beats being crushed to death by a four ton mining cart full of coal.

“Yeah…If you could not maim yourself in our faulty, unsafe machinery…that would be great.”

I can’t wait to drop this tidbit of knowledge the next time my kid complains that I am taking to long deciding on bow-tie or elbow noodles. I mean, these kids were probably pretty miserable.

Yep. Except for far left, he’s the company cheerleader.

This kind of makes my dad’s tales of having to help build a stone wall and early life without television seem well, lame. I believe these kids walked barefoot in the snow, to punch that clock. So the next time my son whines, I may just drive by a local factory and tell him to wait in the car while I get him an application. I think he’ll change his tune.

Don’t call child services on me, I know child labor is no longer legal. That’s why he’ll make me money as a pageant kid, they have boy competitions too.

No one will EVER pick on this kid in school