After learning about "Punch Buggy" Roman invented a NEW game - Punch Boogie.

R- "Kay, anytime I see Boogie I get to punch her."

B- "NOOOO!!! ...Wait - okay. That's fine."

R - (laugh nervously) "that's okay?"

B - "Sure. Just, if I see you whenever, I get to kick you. In the junks."

R-"No, I'm not gonna play Punch Boogie I decided."

Issue resolved.

B: "Is it delicious?"

R: "Delicious as CANDY!"

Me: "Candy is NOT delicious. It's flavorful for awhile, but then it starts to taste like poop. Because that's what it is. It's made of bug poop. Like makeup."

R:"No it's not."

Me:"Yes it is."

R: "Fine then - let's watch how candy is made on How It's Made on Netflix and I'll shows you."

Curses!

Smite me, O Mighty Smiter...

So, had a random text conversation with a complete stranger. Here is the transcript -

“Hey ya there”

Identify yourself, heathen!

“You got it. I’m heathen is gale there?”

No, but Wendy just blew through…

“Who.s wendy”

You are, after taco night…

“I don’t get it? I am wendy after taco night? Oh shit never mind I blow hurricanes off anything.”

Yeah, you do! I remember this one time,  we were over at Pike’s, and you were LOADED, and you ate like 5 lbs of fries and a sammmich the size of your FACE, and like an hour later, we rolled up on these shorties, and you were all, “Daaamn, you fiiine,” and then you farted so hard you shit yourself.

“When was that at pikes”

Like you’d remember. Ask K.

“You think i’m someone different. Plus who’s k”

Who texted whom?

“Touch.”

No thanks. I have someone for that.

“Is it k?”

Who’s “k”?

“Who’s this?”

God.

“If your god whats my middle name?”

It's *you're, *what's, and your middle name is whatever the fuck I want it to be.

“God doesn’t say swearss.”

I invented swearing, bitch. Check this shit out - I’m the goddamned motherfucking cocksucking kick-ass king of the whole cunttastic universe, you twatwaddling smegsucker. Also - bollocks. And penis. 

“You win.”

Damn straight. Now stop texting me. I’ve got stuff to do. Creating life and smiting and shit.

Leaf Soup Muffins

Okay. Boogie named these “Leaf Soup Muffins.” I have no idea why. Neither leaves nor soup come into play in the making of these muffins. Anyone having insight into the mind of that child, you let me know.

Sift together about 3C of Gluten-free flour substitute and 1t Xanthum gum (This is simply 3C flour for those not going gluten-free)in the biggest fucking bowl you have, because you’re going to need it. If you don’t have a big bowl…use a roasting pan. A bucket. I don't care. Have your 2 year old add and whisk everywhere (because there is not a snowballs chance on Vesuvius that he will be able to keep it all in the bowl, hence the biggest bowl you have being implemented in an effort to reduce spillage) -

2T baking powder

1T salt

1T cinnamon

1/2t Ground Fennel seeds, because, hey- why the hell not. He’s already added a dash of curry powder.

Fight with same 2-year old that "pepper is not necessarily a good ingredient for these muffins!"

Add 1 grind pepper to stop the screaming.

Sift that all together.

In a wet bowl - help your 2-year old whisk -

4 eggs

2C milk

1T vanilla

1C packed brown sugar

and about 1 and a half to 2 sticks melted butter, whilst your 5-year old twins put the muffin cups in the muffin tins, and argue loudly about who is the fastest.

Have the twins THEN fight about who is going to pour the wet ingredients onto dry ingredients, then do it yourself, spilling about a cup on the countertop in the process when the 2-year old bumps your arm in his attempt to get up on a chair and “HEP!”

Stir a bit, just enough to moisten dry ingredients evenly.

Right about now, kick everyone out of the kitchen because they are in your way, and you stubbed your toe on the bottom of one of their chairs.

Then, to the giant bowl, add about 3C leftover cooled Bobs Mighty Tasty Gluten-Free Cereal to which there has been added a shit-ton of cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg, and 2 whole chopped apples during the cooking process. Mix briefly until mostly not lumpy.

Call the crying kids back into the kitchen and watch their faces light up when you tell them they can put the muffin batter in the muffin cups. Stand back. Expect that ½ of the batter will end up either on the counter or on the muffin tin and the other half mostly in the cups. Have the 2-year old top with brown sugar and whatever spices he happens to add last second. Cook for 15 minutes in a 400 degree oven. May take a little more or less time, depending on your oven and whether or not you (or your sneaky, sneaky children) subbed in some stuff.

NOBODY puts Baby in the corner!

You know what's cool? Just Dance 3: Electric Boogaloo. The songs are awesome, but the REALLY cool part is the fat guy. I think he's from one of the first games, but he makes a guest appearance in JD3:EB and I'm like - "Sweet! A fat guy that dances! If he can do it, so can I!"

So I do my warm up stretches (I attempt - in vain - to touch my toes. Once.), crank it up, and begin. This feels good. I feel good. I'm EXERCISING!
I start breathing like a hippo with asthma about a quarter of the way through. Halfway into the song, my legs have suddenly lost rigidity in the bone, and my vision is starting to blur as I flail about the living room like Gumby with a seizure. 3/4 of the way in I'm gasping and clawing in the general direction of the television "MAKE IT...-*huh...huh...HUHHHHHH*-...STAAAAP!!!" By the end I'm trying to stab myself in the ear with the Wii remote but the fucking rubber sheath mocks me. "Heh heh heh, fatty - you're not getting off that easily." About that time I realize my decision to choose Infinite Shuffle may have been a bit of a lofty aspiration, only my fingers are too weak to turn the damn thing off. CURSE YOU,ELECTRIC BOOGALOO!!!

We were riding the bus, and a well-dressed African-American gentleman got on the bus. Boogie looked at him and said - loudly - "HEY! He looks like President Obama!" Several people on the bus visibly cringed, and the gentleman scowled first at me, then at her, and exclaimed "Excuse me?!" I looked at Boogie and said "Sweetheart, tell him why you think that." She looked at him and said "You look like President Obama because you have on a blue tie."

I think we as adults project our own insecurities, prejudice, bias, and fears far too much into the words of our children. Stop perpetuating. Start progressing. Much love.

2 to beam up, Mr. Scott.

Anyone else have that math/physics/logic nipple problem where you look down at your shirt and see that, because of the cold, your erect nipples create a crease directly between those 2 points and so, understanding Euclidean distance, you know that this crease is the shortest distance, but then, your REAL science brain (Star Trek) kicks in, and you remember spatial warp physics which state that the shortest distance between 2 points is to bring those points together, and so you have to explain to your wife why you are trying to get your nipples to touch each other, and she walks away muttering something about what our poor children have to deal with? Yeah, hate that.

Go ahead - make my day.

If anybody asks why I don't take my girl on shows like "Toddlers and Tiaras", I like to think I have a pretty good reason. Other than common sense, I mean. Boogie would elbow check every one of those painted tarts right in the juicebox. Then she would go to work on their kids. Pa-DOW! She is sweet, and loveable, and intelligent, and absofuckinglutely ruthless. This one time, when she was a little over 2, she and her brother were playing in the play area in the mall, and this 5ish big ol' bully came along and pushed Roman down. When he got up, he pushed him down again. Little jerk was prancing around the play area, so proud of himself. Boogie, in all her innocence, was sitting at the top of the slide, and, calculating speed and trajectory, and factoring in the kids inflated ego, pushed off at the right time to take him out at the knees. He buckled, then pitched forward, slamming into one of the foam cars and split his lip. Boogie got up, dusted her knees, then STEPPED ON HIM, and went on playing. The child's mother was livid. "Aren't you going to do anything?!" 

"You're right - BOOGIE! Come here please." Boogie walked over. 

"Want to go get some ice cream?" 

And we walked out.

Found on Fridge

This is part of a new installment I am calling "Found on Fridge". I'm pretty sure my fridge, Ethel, is coming on to me. I figure it's cause I'm always up in that.

I know you're hungry, girl, but seriously - no. No matter how much they get on my nerves.

I know, Ethel. But you're just so cold on the inside...

I'm not ready for that step in our relationship.

I would, but I'm AD/HD, and YOU SPELLED MY NAME WRONG, Ethel.

I'm not sure what this has to do with anything, but try giving THAT a Brazilian...

Now you're speaking my language, you big cold box you.

Does Greybeard have to choke a Fridge?!

Because live is the only way I take my fur bowl, thank you very much.

Why thank you, Ethel! Meow get me a cold beer.

I - what? Look, Ethel, I love you and all, but - your indecisiveness on verbiage is a major turn-off. 

What?!

Just like an icepick.

Ethel, you just so DIRTY!

As can be evidenced by your previous messages...

Yeah, Grace. Jesus. The poor thing looks dehydrated and mangy... 

Run, run, as fast as you can...

I can't eat gingerbread men. Or women. Gingerbread people. It's because they're looking at me. Looking at me, and smiling. What the hell, man? At least be... I don't know... disconcerted about your fate. Don't just willingly accept that someone is going to eat you. Maybe I anthropomorphize too much. But I can't eat anything with a face. I got a latte the other day, and the wonderful barista had done this fantastic foam artsy thing that was a guy sitting and reading with a thought bubble. And I couldn't drink it. I just sat there, staring at my cup, and eventually the barista came over and asked "Is something wrong with your drink?" and I looked at him, and I whispered "It's lovely, but I can't drink it. Because I just know Foam Guy's last thought will be "AAAGGGHHHH!!! HE'S SUCKING OUT MY BRAIIIINS!!!" And if I just stirred him in, his last thought would be "BOOBLE GLUDLE SPORP MACHIG!!!" " Once the barista had recovered from what I can only guess was a seizure, he remade my drink. Without a person in it.

There is one exception to the "No Faces" rule. Gummi bears. I will nosh the shit out of a gummi bear. But not because they're delicious and chewy. No,the little fuckers deserve it. If for nothing more than they are the effigy of a creature that has scared the shit out of me since the beginning of my existence. Bears are scary as fuck. And most people I know (okay - a few girls I dated way back when) talk about how they bite the heads off gummi bears and giggle about how "twisted" they are because they do this. FOOLS! Have you not heard of the Hydra?! Cut it's head off, 2 more grow back? That's some disturbing shit! I'm not taking any chances. That's why I bite the fuckers in half. Right down the middle. Rent asunder. Gummi guts and brains spilling everywhere, carnage incarnate, eviscerated and masticated to nothingness. It's a gruesome image, but it's gotta be done. Not chancing a fucking hydra-bear invasion of the gummi persuasion. 

I also think of them as little voodoo dolls, each one representing a member of the coming bear apocalypse. Oh, it's happening, people. You may not want to believe it, but bears are smart as shit. They must be STOPPED. If I have to eat a million gummi bears, then so be it. I'm doing this for my country!
And my wifey-wife does it too. I'm not sure of the specifics for her reasons, but in one of our first snuggle conversations - you know the ones, where you whisper, and caress, and get punched in the boner for ruining snuggle time with your prodding advances -  she revealed this secret to me, and I to her, and we knew it was love.  Gummi bears must DIE! And gingerbread persons must live. Nothing that happy should ever be eaten. I want to start a gingerbread reservation, where the gingers can roam free, in a land of colored frosting and cinnamon candies and gumdrops and candy canes, free from the fear of being devoured by some slobbery 2-year old. We'll have gummi bear hunting excursions, and it will be grand. Fucking gummi bears.