A Seven Year Old Writes My Blog Today

Me: What should I write about?

Seven Year Old: NOTHING!…The Night Before Christmas!….Duffy!…I DON’T KNOW! I’m out! Wait! Watch me jump rope!

*grabs jump rope and jumps for three seconds*

Daddy, I want a phone for Christmas! Can I go play with Whitney? I’m hungry. Can I have some Oreos? Do you know what? I liked Frozen. Do you know what my favorite part of the movie was? When she was knocking, and the snowman said, ‘Is she going to knock? She probably doesn’t know how too.’ That was funny. Here is a fake lemon. Don’t eat it, it’s fake. Can I watch TV? Is Dog with a Blog on? When’s Christmas? Do I have to go to school tomorrow? Fa la la la la LA LA LA! I like spaghetti. Can we have spaghetti for dinner. Where is Mommy? MOMMY! Oh, there’s Mommy. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. Mommy, can we have spaghetti for dinner? Let’s play restaurant. What do you want to order? We have Fruit Salad and Fruit Cocktail. The Fruit Salad has a lot of strawberries in it and the Fruit Cocktail only has a little bit of strawberries in it. I like Fruit Salad. Can I play on the Playstation? Whitney has the new XBox. XBox is a funny word. When’s dinner? Can we have Fruit Salad for dinner? Watch me jump rope!

*grabs jump rope and jumps for two seconds*

I want some yellow pants. Will you buy me some yellow pants? Whitney has yellow pants. Do you know what’s funny? Chocolate mousse! How can a moose be chocolate? I like Skittles. Mommy likes Sour Patch Kids and you like Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups. Why do you like zombies? I hate zombies! I hate math. Do you know what would be a yummy? Chocolate moose cupcake! But don’t get the antlers suck in your mouth! HAHAHAHA! What do you think Grandma is doing right now? Watch me jump rope!

*grabs jump rope and throws it across the room*

HAHAHAHA! Daddy! The screen on your computer is still blank! Why aren’t you writing anything? You could write about my Furby! He is funny! He has no batteries. I need batteries. Daddy, why are you holding your head in your hands? Do you have a headache? I once had a headache. Hey, my tooth is loose! Look, Daddy! Look at my loose tooth!

*wiggles tooth*

Daddy, are you going to write anything? The screen is still blank. That line thing keeps blinking. Daddy, why did you put your head on the keyboard? HAHAHAHA! You wrote a bunch of D’s with your head! DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD! I can write the word Dog and Cat and Toe….

Daddy?

Are you going to write something?

The Seven Year Old Learns To Text

The seven year loves to text. She texts from her ipod. She is still learning to read and write. (Like her Daddy.) Her best texts always come when she is upstairs and supposed to be sleeping.

Yes, I allow her to fall asleep to the TV. The frowny face is like the Bat Signal to something drastically wrong. In this case the TV was merely on the wrong channel, thus not allowing the ever present Disney Channel to lullaby her to sleep.

She got in trouble and was sent to her room. The modern parent texts her child when the punishment is over. I’m not sure what the double J is suppose to represent, and I’m not sure why I got a frowny face after I said she could come out. I should have gotten multiple happy faces. If this kid is going to make it in this modern age, she better step it up!

My daughter has invented a new emoticon the winky frown.It cracks me up every time I see it. At the end she is asking for her stuffed bear, Duffy. ;(

The master of the winky frown strikes again. ;(

She is very inventive with her emoticons. I like the second to the last one. I call it the Fu Man Chu. :(-

Awwww! What a good kid! No J, thacker you!

Dear…Sincerely

Dear Candy Crush,

Playing Level 65 a thousand times without beating it is not fun!

Sincerely,

Not Spending Any Money On Charms You Bastard!

—–

Dear 6 Year Old,

I’m changing my name so you can’t call it a million times an hour.

Sincerely,

Mxyzptlk-ya-gowkza (Formally Known As Dad)

—–

Dear Game Of Thrones,

All you have done is talk for 9 episodes, and now we are going to make it exciting?!

Sincerely,

Smells Like Boardwalk Empire

—–

Dear Fart,

Your timing sucks!

Sincerely,

She Is Not Impressed With My Lovemaking Skills

—–

Dear Lazy People,

TV Remotes, Dishwashers, Car Clickers, ATMs, Cell Phones, Sporks

Sincerely,

The Spork Is Underrated

—–

Dear Iphone 6,

We have already released our phone so you could copy the features and make everyone buy new phones again. You’re welcome.

Sincerely,

Galaxy 4s

—–

Dear TV Executives,

Sleepy Hollow, Hannibal, Bates Mates…recycling at it’s best.

Sincerely,

That Does Nothing To Save The Planet

—–

Dear Three Blind Mice,

Sorry to hear your tails got cut off.

Sincerely,

1-800-Find-A-Lawyer

—–

Dear Eminem,

It would be cool if you were a TV advertising spokesperson. Just saying.

Sincerely,

M&M’s

—–

Dear Every Light On In The House,

Kids…Why? Is This Necessary?

Sincerely,

Thanks For Making Me Sound Like My Dad

Age and Gender Appropriate

On Thursdays we reblog here. Every Thursday…well most Thursdays. Some Thursdays we forget because…well…we are stupid. Today’s reblog is also about some stupid stuff. But it’s funny stupid stuff…which is what we like.

I don’t know why I used ‘we’ like Gollum when it’s just ‘I”.

Precious.

Enjoy.

Spongebob To Golf And Back

Sick. Sick. Sick.

I’ve been sick.

It was much more worse two weeks ago.

On Sunday I sat in a chair and just let the kids do whatever they want. My plan was to either:

A) Sleep and not move until I felt better

or

B) Die.

The 6 year old’s plan was to watch endless hours of Spongebob Squarepants on the DVR.

She did.

I did too.

Eventually she moved on to her karaoke machine to sing One Direction’s What Makes You Beautiful. (Her own special version.)

I watched the rest of Spongebob with the One Direction song blaring in the other room. The episode ended and clicked off of the DVR, leaving me with Golf…and the TV remote across the room on the couch.

In my sick state, it might as well have been in Iceland.

Or Greenland.

Or Mordor.

Or Mordorland.

Even though I live in Florida, I’m not a golfer. I tried a couple of times. I had a lot of fun too, until the greenskeeper yelled at me to stop racing the other golfers in the golf carts, and that I needed to actually play the game of golf. I got kicked out when they found out I didn’t even have a set of golf clubs with me.

I have never watched golf on TV before…

I found it boring to play, so I doubt I would find it much more stimulating to watch.

I was wrong! It was quite actually entertaining to watch. Now it could have just been the fever boiling my brain that made it so fun to watch, but regardless I was hooked for the afternoon.

First question that popped into my head…who decided it was a good idea to take the smallest ball possible and try to shoot it into a hole four miles away? This is where mini golf is better, because the hole is only 4 feet away and you get to travel through a windmill.

I think orginally the Scottish invented golf as a joke on everyone else.

“Ah, laddies! Here is a new sport…(hee hee). Try to take this itty bitty ball and put it in the hole way yonder there! You can’t see the hole, but trust me…it’s there. Swing this metal stick against the ball. Oh, and you can only do it in three tries or less. If not, you have to throw that tree stump around!”

Second question: How close are the golf announcers to the actual golf players in order that they have to talk like yoga instructors? I watched the golfers move from hole to hole…without golf carts mind you, no racing for these guys…but when they cut back to the anouncers, they didn’t seem to move at all…yet still talked like they were trying to put me in a trance.

For some reason after watching this telecast, on certain key words I will take off all my clothes and cluck like a chicken…but I don’t want to talk about it.

Shhhhhh!

(Asparagus)

The most impressive thing about watching golf on TV….the cameramen! They can follow that teeny tiny golf ball from swing to water hole. I wonder if you have to go to special golf cameraman school for that?

Golf cameramen get to race golf carts.

At the very end Tiger Woods won, which I guess doesn’t happen very often anymore…. ?

I don’t know.

People seemed excited about it. The strange thing was, was that Tiger Woods’ caddie slapped him on the butt like a football player! That’s dangerous man! Give Tiger the right opening and he will have sex with you.

It’s in the game.

My ApologizesTo Black History Month

The 6 year old, a very cute white 6 year old mind you, brings home her school work.

All smiles.

Proud Daddy leafs through it…some math…did pretty good…come on….6-2….easy! You shouldn’t have missed this! Your writing is getting better…got to work on those e’s…still making them backwards honey…this isn’t Ancient  Greece…hey, what’s this?

Nice pink cover to celebrate Black History Month. Plus we added a flower and a butterfly…good touch.

I realize it’s March, but we are just getting ths home.

Side Note: In the era that my Mother grew up in, she caught the tail end of segregation. She was a history teacher and I remember one of the stories she would tell her class was about the day she used the black drinking foutain because the line was shorter and it shocked all the park goers that day. My Mom always mentioned it was just one water pipe that came from the ground and split into two, so it made no sense to wait forever for the white side when the black side was the same exact water. But to everyone else at that time, it was a big no no.

Cut to my generation: It was drilled into our heads that all men are created equal. Funny thing was, I never experienced any segregation so as a child I’m thinking: “Ok, gotcha! So what if someone has different colored skin. I”ll be Han Solo and you be Lando Calrissian and let’s save the galaxy!” Segregation was still going on, just not as blatant, in your face, as my Mom experienced. We all drank from the same water fountain, but pay, jobs, and schooling were the hidden elephants in the room.

For my children: There is still the KKK, and there is still racism. But for the most part, I believe that is still old school thinking past from generations of families that just don’t know any better. My kids never say, “This is my black friend John.” It’s just, “This is my friend, John.”

I get that I’m a white guy saying this, and I have no experience being black. I can’t talk about childbirth or driving a race car as first hand experiences either, only as observations.

So with all of that randomly being said, when I looked at my youngest daughter’s Black History coloring sheets and saw this:

Joseph Winters here invented the fire escape ladder apparently. And thanks to my child’s interpretation, Joseph was the whitest black man, next to Michael Jackson that I have ever seen.

Sarah Breedlove Walker, whom I don’t think is a natural blond, invented the straightening comb.

George Washington Carver, who kind of looks like Sam the Butcher from Brady Bunch, invented the peanut or something like that.

I thought they got rid of the Flesh colored crayon….

Me: Why did you color them white?

The Child: I didn’t know they were supposed to be black

Me: But it says Black History on the cover.

The Child: I didn’t know that

Me: So why did you color this guy brown?

The hair matches the suit!

The Child: Because he invented a brown machine that makes shoes.

Me: Makes perfect sense.

A Lazy Day Looking At The Toilet Paper Holder

Went into the half-bath to…you know…read a  book…when looking down at the toilet paper holder, I see this:

I understand it’s hard to throw away the toilet paper tubes in the trash can less than a foot away.

So verrrry hard!

While “reading my book” I  pondered the toilet paper holder and imagined shapes in it, sort of like looking at the clouds in a dreamy, lazy summer day…if that dreamy, lazy summer day included a toilet.

What do I see? A toilet paper factory looking back at me!

El Diablo! The Devil! Mad that you used all the toilet paper!

Change the tube, Beavis! Mahaaa Mahaaa (that’s supposed to be Butthead’s laugh)

And of course…like you couldn’t see that coming…ready for it…the boobtube! Hahahaha!

The Boy And The Fireflies – A Children’s Story

Even though it was night, the young boy had an urge to get out of bed.

A strong urge.

A pull from the cosmos.

He snuck out from under his covers and pitter-padded down the hallway dimly lit by the moon coming in from the skylight.

His little one piece footy pajamas made him stealthy on the hard wood floors.

The boy made it to the back door. He could see the meadow not far from behind his house. The overgrown grass and dandelions made it a perfect home for the hundreds of lights twinkling between the blades of foliage.

The boy’s nose was pressed against the screen door as he watched in fascination of the firefly’s light show, up and down, back and forth, here and there.

The boy looked back over his shoulder. The house remained quiet. He could barely hear his father’s snores behind the big oak bedroom door somewhere far to the left of him.

Unable to resist, he slowly unlatched the back door, ever so quietly, and slipped out into the backyard.

The night air smelled of flowers. The full moon shone brightly on the field, but not too brightly, just enough to  make it easy for the boy to see the path that lead to the fireflies.

He carefully made his way there, taking extra caution to make sure the padded feet of his pajamas didn’t cause him to slip and fall.

When he reached the edge of the meadow, he grabbed the tallest blade of grass before him, and looked back at his house one more time. All was quiet and still. No one had woken yet, to catch  him on this midnight adventure.

The boy raised his arms above his head and ran into the field without a care. The fireflies were at first disturbed by this new presence. They went shooting into the air…hundreds of them…no millions of them! But then they soon settle back on their regular flight paths, glowing and dancing.

It was like the universe and all it’s stars fell to Earth and landed in this meadow…and boy held his arms up and twirled in circles.

As the boy was dancing, and as the fireflies were twinkling, an accident happened.

The boy didn’t mean to do it.

He really didn’t.

It was an accident after all.

One of the fireflies got smashed between the boy’s fingers. The boy stared at the twitching body of the firefly. A single tear formed in his eye and he cried out into the field,

“I’m sorry…it was an accident! I’m so sorry!”

And the fireflies continued to dance, and fly, and shine their light as if to say,

“It’s alright, little boy. Dance your dance. Just be careful.”

And the boy felt better.

And the boy laughed a little.

A happy, gleeful laugh.

A happy, gleeful, joyous laugh.

He looked at his fingers again where the dead firefly lay. His fingers glowed in the night from the firefly’s luminescence.

The boy thought,

“I could be a firefly too. I can be dancing and flying and shine in the night!”

Then the boy started mashing fireflies between his hands. He grabbed and smashed all that he could. His fingers glowed with the fireflies glow.

The fireflies were scared, and tried to scatter. It was a firefly genocide.

That didn’t stop the boy. He killed hundreds of them. He  spread their light all over his hands and arms. He ripped off his pajamas and spread the glow over his chest, legs, face, and pee-pee.

The boy glowed like a firefly.

“I’m a firefly! I’m free to dance and glow!” the boy screamed.

And he did. He danced and smashed even more fireflies..until the King of the Fireflies suddenly emerged from the brush.

The King  stood over nine feet tall, and wore a bandoleer. The King’s glow shone brighter than a thousand suns. The boy had to hold his hands to his eyes and could barely make out the King in front of him.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY FIREFLIES, BITCH!” boomed the King. “NEVER MIND, I CAN SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING FOR MYSELF!”

And the King of the Fireflies ate the boy and spit out his bones, and made soup out of them. The fireflies then had little stupid boy soup which was their favorite.

The End

Randoms Pt 15

I’m doing the laundry, a chore I hate immensely. While my head was in the dryer I hear the Toddler call from the other room:

“Daddy!”

Me: “What?”

Toddler: “Grandma gave me a surprise yesterday…”

Me: “Oh really. What?”

Toddler: “Jesus!”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Wait, what did you say?”

Toddler: “I said Mommy gave me a surprise yesterday. Chuck-E-Cheese’s!”

Me: “Oh, okay. I’ve got to get my hearing checked.”

—–

Words of Wisdom From The Teenage Boy:

I’m going to get a tattoo of a shirt, so it looks like I’m wearing a shirt even when I’m not. You can’t go wrong with a shirt tattoo.

Me:

Except when you want to wear a different shirt…

—–

The Teenage girl is obsessed with a boy band called One Direction. She has been obsessed with them for a long time.

A really long time.

A really, really, really, long time.

So she was looking at her Twitter the other day and says this out loud,

“(One of the boys in the band) He has perfect collarbones and he is ruining them with tattoos. And he has perfect arms and he is ruining those with tattoos of random objects that are important.”

Wife: Like refrigerators and toasters?

Then she shows us a picture of his perfect collar bones.

And his arms.

Me: What the hell are perfect collarbones?

—–

I like to send random texts to my friends because I think it’s funny.

They…not so much.

Here are some recent messages:

—–

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—–

—–

—–

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The Gumshoe

That’s right, I’m what you call a dick, a gumshoe, a hawkshaw. You can also call me a private eye, or a private investigator. Maybe you prefer the terms; shamus, sherlock, operative, or PI. Whatever you call me, it doesn’t matter…I’m here to do a job.

A dirty, gritty, thankless job.

Some days, I’m called to the crime.

Some days, the crime finds me.

This was one of those days.

I entered my bedroom…I forget why…maybe to fold laundry…maybe to watch TV…

I can’t recall.

I walked around to the other side of my bed, a nice queen size thing. Wife wants a king size…I forget why…maybe for more room…maybe to add another person…

I can’t recall.

And then I saw it.

It was the most horrific crime scene I had ever witness in my 14 plus years on the force.

I do not know who committed this atrocity in what was suppose to be my sanctuary, my fortress of solitude, my humble abode with the vintage collection of Playboys and one Big Jugs magazine tucked between the mattresses…

If you have a weak stomach, you may not want to proceed. These crime scene photos can be rough to civilians.

The scene of the crime

That’s right, someone had viciously killed Doodle Bop Teddy Bear and his long time girl friend Topless Mermaid.

But why? That was the question. That was a statement. This is a noun: Bear.

Stop it! Focus!

Sorry, my brilliant detective mind sometimes wonders.

I had to break this crime scene down.

Look at the clues.

Luckily I have seen murder before, but that didn’t stop my stomach from doing flip flops. I had never seen murder like this…this…brutal before. Could it be because this was actually done in my house…or the fact that I had seen these toys many times before…

First step, to examine the scene in great detail. The answer to the crime is in the details.

The first thing I notice is that Topless Mermaid is…well…topless.

No, you don’t need glasses. This photo is slightly blurry for your protection.

Actually, it was no big deal to see Topless Mermaid topless. She often was…ok…always was. I remember when I first met her she had some sort of flimsy bikini top on, but it wasn’t long until she earned her nickname. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, most of the dolls in this town go topless. I guess you get use to it after awhile.

This is a close up of Doodle Bop Teddy Bear.

Doodle Bop Teddy Bear I hadn’t seen in awhile. He once ruled the streets, but people got tried of his crime boss ways and that stupid blue banner he always carried. This could have been done by anyone. I did notice a very important clue underneath Doodle Bop Teddy Bear:

A Hello Kitty Skin magazine.

That’s right. Hello Kitty, a once family friendly little girl’s icon with no mouth, now turned porn starlet…just to put food on the table for her family. Just goes to show you how fickle the general public really is…one day you’re a star…the next your displaying your nipple-less boobs for all the world to see. Not that I have ever looked at her publications, I’m just guessing she has no nipples based on the whole no mouth thing.

It really didn’t add up though. Why would Doodle Bop Teddy Bear even need with a cheap rag like Hello Kitty puts out when he has Topless Mermaid as a girlfriend…think about it…she is always topless!

I don’t get it. Back to the clues.

A pair of pink plastic sunglasses. Not much to go on here, unless you have a plastic prescription for death. (That sounded a lot more noir in my head.)

A designer plastic Tinkerbell flashlight. Only the richest gangsters used Tinkerbell flashlights. It showed the power Doodle Bop Teddy Bear wielded in the underground world. Why didn’t the murder take this?

A plastic cupcake!

The plastic cupcake, the root of all of Doodle Bop Teddy Bear’s power. Doodle bought, sold, and bartered these religiously, and was the head of the whole plastic cupcake empire. You could not buy or sell a plastic cupcake without going through Doodle Bop Teddy Bear’s goons first. Now we were getting somewhere.

Now we have motive.

All of the sudden, I heard laughing behind me. I realized the murder was still in the room. I was so busy looking at the clues, that I forgot to sweep the room first, make sure it was clear of evil doers.

A rookie’s mistake.

I also realized I didn’t have my gun.

I did have a gun app on my phone that simulated gun noises. I slowly pulled out my phone, and quickly…well slowly…typed in the unlock code, then I opened the menu, scrolled down to the app, waited for it to load, scrolled through the gun choices, and settled on a P38 Walter.

“What are you doing?” came a matter-of-factly inquisitive voice behind me.

The mastermind’s behind the crime!

It was The Toddler and her trusty side kick Kansas The-Dog-Whom-My-Wife-Says-Doesn’t-Pee-On-Carpet-But-It-Does-Pee-On-The-Carpet.

It-Does!

I should have know! The new head of the plastic cupcake syndicate was standing…well sitting and cuddling that damn dog…right before me!

“Daddy, what are you doing?” she asked again. “I want a Popsicle.”

“Um, sure. Just don’t take me out like you did Doodle Bop Teddy Bear, and I will give you anything you want!” I replied.

Toddler laughs and squeals, “Daddy, your silly! Popsicle! Yellow one!”

And I got her a Popsicle for fear of my life.

The case?

I buried to protect everyone in the house and to keep myself from sleeping with the fishes. (The filter is broken on the fish tank and is really loud, but on another note the couch is pretty comfortable.)

The End?

*Epilogue*

Kansas peed on the carpet.