Sunday, September 18, 2011

I tried to think of the most harmless thing...something that could never, ever possibly destroy us...

What the fuck, fucking Hasbro?! Why do you show all those Play-Doh commercials where the hamburgers come out looking all perfect, separated into each individual vibrantly colored piece, and the noodles look just like real noodles, and kids are constructing multi-hued fairy-scented skyscrapers of the stuff, all the while dancing around and singing "Tra-la-la, Play-Doh is happy good fun times, tra-la-la!"
That is some grade-A bull pucky. First of all, there is only ONE inevitable color of Play-Doh - gall bladder grey. Somewhere in the time frame of 2 seconds between being neatly separated into each pristine sunshine yellow container and internal organdom, the Play-Doh becomes this whirly psychedelic amalgamation, something that bears resemblance to what would result from giving a pot brownie laced with LSD to a caffeinated, sleep deprived nicced-out rhesus monkey, and then telling it to write the sonnets of the Bard. 
Shortly after unleashing my children on a pack of Play-Doh with so many colors some were outside the visible spectrum of light, I was assaulted by one such heaving gelatinous mass that was eerily reminiscent of Ken Kesey’s Magic School Bus. Eerily, because I have no idea why I know who the hell or WHAT the hell that is. 
“Look Daddy - it’s a horsey!” 
"GEEEEEAHHH! GAHHHH! GET IT AWAYYY!!!- oh, hey Boogie. A horsey. Horrrrseeeyyy…yeah, okayyy... go bug your mother.” 2 seconds later, it was an amorphous blob of pinkish gray goo. I’m almost POSITIVE it winked at me. This makes me pretty sure that Play-Doh is sentient. I mean, aside from the bits the kids eat, where does it go? I’ve never thrown away any Play-Doh, but no matter how much is bought or gifted to us, it never seems to accumulate. If it did, we’d have a futon-sized stomach-lining colored blob that WASN’T me hanging around our house somewhere. That would make a cool Doctor Who episode… Hasbro takes this creature, this happy little skooshy thing -called a pladoh, I’m sure - and RIPS it apart in a prismic extractor, separating it into all the colors of the rainbow and sells it. The loving hands of children knead it back together into its singular gooey form, at which point it makes its escape, where it is hunted by special pladoh hunters in the employ of Hasbro, who capture it and start the vicious cycle all over again.
Once again, it goes to show you - you can never trust a man in dark sunglasses and a Hasbro jumpsuit sporting a gaily-colored tranquilizer gun.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Okay, so I wish I had a story, like how it turned out my appendix was what was left of my evil twin, or they messed up and performed a routine liposuction, leaving me a svelte - albeit bruised - 200 lb love machine, but I got nuttin'. I am recovering well from an emergency appendectomy. That's about it. In other news, my girl Jessie is recovering from an evisceration and as such, has the cooler drugs. Speedy recovery, girl! I, on the other hand, have three tinyyy holes that will heal and no one will be the wiser, other than my missing organ. I imagine him - Herbert is his name - I imagine Herbert in a rain soaked fedora, sitting on a lonely street corner, sad jazz playing in the background. "Chin up, kid. The world is yours now." Herbert just looks at me in that sad, appendix-ey way, ruptured spirit washing down the gutter with the dirty gray rain.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Never feed them after midnight...

Sooo...Cocoa Puffs? Yeah - sweet balls of Satan. That is what they are. As a treat, I thought, "Hey - I bet the kids would love those!" And so I gave them a bowl as a pre-bedtime snack. Biggest. Fucking. Mistake. Ofmylife. They fucking LOST it. Batshit, off the walls, insane monkey brain CRAZY. I have NEVER seen my children behave like this. They were completely fucking wired. Jumping off shit, throwing things, deaf as a goddamn post, screaming their baboon heads off... It was HORRIFIC. Seriously. W.T.F?!?! Never again.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Also, I can kill you with my brain

Roman: (watching me mix a few spices into a pot on the stove)"Whatcha maaakin'?"
Boogie:(Without looking up from playing, in a gravelly voice)"He's makin' chicken bross..."
Me:" do you know that, Boogs?"
Boogie:"I can see into your brain."
Me:"You shut the hell up."