Sometimes Writer's Block Requires Stitches.

I thought writer's block was more of a metaphorical thing. 

Worst Excuse Ever. Don't Try This At Home.

If caught staring at a woman's chestal region, I'm pretty sure this response wouldn't work. 

The Right To A Fairly Improbable Trial.

I pieced the following events together from a dyslexic court reporter's transcripts. I am sure that the fact that I had a cocktail (a bottle of codeine enriched cough syrup) before I commenced the translation makes the events I am about to describe no less believable. Well, a little less believable, but I am almost certain these events might've possibly happened.

Judge: I hereby sentence you to 30 days of probation and a boot to the head. Next.

Bailiff: The defendant, George Zip, is accused with performing a "California stop" at the intersection of 5th and Main, on December 1, 2011.

Judge: How does the defendant plead?

Defendant: Innocent.

Judge: Let's proceed. Bailiff, please show in the jury.

Bailiff: Yessir.

Defendant: Um, pardon me your honor.

Judge: That's for presidents and governors. And you haven't even been found guilty yet.

Defendant: No, your honor, I mean, that's not a jury of my peers. That's a crazy cat lady, her cats (which goes without saying), two hipsters, a Nigerian Elvis impersonator, what appears to be a ball of belly button lint, and a stick of gum.

Judge: Toe jam.

Defendant: Excuse me?

Judge: From what?

Defendant: What what?

Judge: Recuse you from what?

Defendant: Not recuse. Excuse.

Judge: We really have to hear the case first.

Defendant: What? No. You said toe jam.

Judge: Oh. That ball of stuff is toe jam, not belly button lint.

Defendant: Hmm. Maybe if I was close enough to smell it... Regardless; that hardly seems like a jury made up of my peers.

Judge: Yeah, we're kinda moving away from that. We are suffering a budget shortfall, and paying juries was eating into our cocktail party budget.

Defendant: Isn't that one of my Constitutional rights?

Judge: Whatever. Those aren't actually written in stone.

Defendant: They are. Right in front of your bench, on the floor there.

Judge: Oh. Is that what that says? I've been wondering what that said for years. I've just never been that good at reading things upside down. I mean when the words are upside down and I'm not. I suppose if I was upside down and I was holding a book, the fact that I was upside down wouldn't preclude me from being able to read, the letters would still be in the proper alignment as far as my eye was concerned. I mean this is all speculation because I haven't actually tried to read while hanging upside down. Well, I did try once. I hung upside down, but my robes fell down over my face and I couldn't see anything, much less attempt to read. Oh, I know what you're going to say. Why didn't I just take off my robe? Because I wasn't wearing clothes under my robes, and if somebody walked into my chambers and I was hanging upside down and naked they would surely get the wrong idea. Probably. I suppose some people might have guessed that I was trying to read upside down, but I think that it is fairly unlikely. So... hey. Wake up, everybody! That's better. Now, where were we?

Defendant: My constitutional rights?

Judge: Oh yes. So I was saying, just because your "constitutional rights" are apparently "written in stone", is no guarantee. Why, do you know that once upon a time it was illegal to consume alcohol. But that "constitutional law" is no longer on the books. And I don't mind telling you, that I could barely get through my day if I wasn't allowed by law to take massive amounts of psychotropic drugs whenever I feel like it.

Defendant: I don't think that law got repealed.

Judge: Is that true Bailiff?

Bailiff: Yessir, that's a big ixnay on the ugsdray.

Judge: Roger that. And by psychotropic drugs, I of course meant pot.

Bailiff: Nope.

Judge: Heroin?

Bailiff: Still illegal.

Judge: Surely, Oxycontin is allowed.

Bailiff: With a prescription.

Judge: Dammit! Moonshine?

Bailiff: If by moonshine you mean aspirin and tequila.

Judge: What he said. Thank you, bailiff. Now; you have questions about the jury?

Defendant: Yes sir, your honor sir. How is this a fair court? Two of my jurors are actually inanimate objects, I'm pretty sure cats don't understand English, their caretaker is currently involved in a heated debate about the latest in tin-foil macrame fashion and it's effect on alien mind control... with the toe jam, Nigerian Elvis just ate the gum while gyrating wildly and fingering his TCB belt buckle, and the hipsters are discussing if complete anarchy would affect their ability to score sardonic t-shirts and Pabst Blue Ribbon. I just don't think I'm gonna receive a fair trial.

Judge: Nonsense.

Defendant: Exactly! That's what I was trying to tell you.

Judge: No, I meant the fact that you are taking up the courtrooms valuable time, fighting a traffic citation. A rolling stop isn't exactly a capital offense.

Defendant: What's the charge?

Judge: Not coming to a full and complete stop before proceeding.

Defendant: Really?! That's it? Well, I probably did that. My car is a piece of crap. If I stop all the way, it usually dies. What's the maximum sentence if I plead guilty.

Judge: Maximum? Death.

Defendant: Death? I thought you said this wasn't a capital case.

Judge: Is that what that means? I always wondered what a capital case meant. I thought it was just a colloquialism, like "you must be an angel, 'cause you've been running through my mind all night".

Defendant: Objection! That's not a colloquialism. That's a pick-up line. And, I imagine you're still single if that's your best line. You can't give me death for not stopping at a stop sign. Unless I didn't stop and I ran over an entire Cubscout troop. Of blind and wheelchair bound Cubscouts. Intentionally. Multiple times.

Judge: You did that?! Bailiff you heard that confession. Please shoot that man.

Bailiff:  Not gonna do that sir.

Defendant: That wasn't a confession, mr. judge sir. I was saying, that's what it would take to make the rolling stop worthy of the death penalty. Are you sure the maximum punishment is death for this crime?

Judge: Let's see. assault, b&e, no, no, robbery, rolling stop, ritual suicide, oh there's our problem. I read the punishment for ritual suicide. The max sentence for your traffic violation is $35.

Defendant: That's it?

Judge: That's it. It's seems kinda silly to have gone to jury trial on this now, huh?

Defendant: Very silly. I guess I misunderstood what a "California Stop" was.

Judge: What did you think it was?

Defendant: I thought that maybe I was being charged with ruining California's economy. Which seemed a little odd, considering I've never even been to California. Anyway, I am sorry for taking up the court's time. I plead guilty, to not coming to a full and complete stop. Where can I pay my fine?

Judge: At the clerk on the first floor. We take cash, checks, credit cards or Oxycontin.

Just Because I Don't Do What You Want, Is No Reason To Fire Me.

This is BS! First of all my boss fires me for some stupid made-up reasons, and now the unemployment office won't give me benefits because they claim the firing was justified. They must be in cahoots. It's probably some vast multi-wing conspiracy to keep me down. I had a meeting with my case worker and they totally took my old bosses side.

   I told the lady that one of the reasons my boss gave for firing me was that my uniform didn't conform to standards. How ridiculous is that? But, she claims that not wearing pants is unacceptable. Whatever. It only happened a handful of times.
   My boss said that one of the reasons he let me go was my comment in the employee suggestion box. I thought that the box was sacrosanct. All I asked is if they had considered, in the most theoretical way possible, maybe, killing some of our more troublesome clients. I was just kind of brainstorming cost cutting ideas. And now I'm being punished for that? Geez.

   My boss was upset that I took a lunch break. Well, he claims that he is upset that I showed up drunk for my afternoon appointments. Oh really? What is beer made out of? Grain and water. I was just getting sustenance, and that's no reason to fire somebody.
   I was not aware of the companies policy on not taking on side work. Everybody does it, that's how people make a little extra money to make ends meet. But all the sudden it's a federal crime to run an after hours underground fight club / speakeasy out of our company office? That seems a little nit-picky.

  
   They had equally nebulous excuses for denying the rest of my claims of unlawful firing. They turned trying to keep warm, into arson. Discussing politics, became assault and battery. Artwork appreciation, is all of a sudden, felony theft. They twisted everything I did, into me failing to meet their unreasonable expectations for employment.
   That's why this country is in the state it's in; because an honest, hard-working, God fearing, white guy gets fired for no reason at all.

It Was Funnier When Monty Python Did It.

Come and see the violence inherent in the system. Help! Help! I'm being repressed!

World's Worst Inventor.

My inventions all suck.

My time machine failed. I mean it took me back in time, but I ignored myself and still looked ridiculous in my wedding pictures.

I was always worried that people would know when I was on vacation, so I built a robot that would turn on the lights and watch TV and whatnot. Instead, the damn thing got all introspective and spent it's time pondering the meaning of existence, writing poetry and theorizing if it had a soul or not. Worthless machine.

Lastly, I was tired of drinking warm beer while tailgating. So I built a portable cooler powered by cold fusion, that would never run out of energy. It worked, but my team sucks and I stopped going to the games. Now, I just use it to store my recycling in.

I am such a loser. I can't do anything right.

A Black Eye For Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays of the year. I love gathering together with family and friends, eating food and giving thanks, or whatever. And watching football, and sitting around with a full belly and my pants unbuttoned. (Or off.) And having a few beers. (Or a few more beers.) And then going out in the yard and having a friendly game of football. And getting into a fight because they think that it's not OK give my 13 year old niece the fore-arm shiver as she comes across the middle of the defense. (Hey, if you don't want to play with the big dogs, stay on the porch.) And then going back into the house and having some dessert and some wine and watching some more football. (Where did I put my pants?) And then getting into a fight with Cousin Lou, because he has the audacity to think that maybe we have watched enough football and that we could help the women clean up the kitchen. (Pansy.) And then later, standing on the front porch and lovingly bidding my family farewell until next year. (Or that's how I remember it. According to my wife I stumbled out, yelled some obscenities at Grandma, puked, and then pitched forward into the begonias.)

   For some odd reason my wife doesn't share my enthusiasm for Thanksgiving. I guess she doesn't care about family and giving thanks and stuff. Next year she says we're celebrating it in Cancun. Oh, correction. Next year SHE is celebrating it in Cancun.
   What?

Guest Post by Josh Meares

Josh is my friend. He has his own blog, but his is filled with big words and complex thought-provoking questions about spirituality and God such as; why do American Christians act like such jerks sometimes? He wrote a post about decidedly less spiritual things. It is kind of weird, so naturally he thought of me. Thanks. I think. Without further ado (hee hee, I said "a doo") I present, Josh Meares.

Some things seem obvious to me, but they are obviously not obvious to other people.
Perhaps because I am dumb.
Perhaps because they are dumb.
Perhaps because truth is relative and we are all right in our own way.
These things make me want to yell. Here are some examples. Please excuse my excessive use of all caps.

It seems obvious to me that if you are turning right AND YOU HAVE YOUR OWN LANE TO TURN INTO, you don't have to stop, you don't have to look at the light, you don't need to look around. JUST GO! There is a CONCRETE BARRIER BETWEEN YOU AND ONCOMING TRAFFIC! YOU HAVE YOUR OWN LANE!!!!

It seems obvious to me that everyone gets through a stoplight much faster if you stay as close as possible to the car in front of you. That means PAY ATTENTION PEOPLE! HIT THE GAS WHEN THE LIGHT TURNS GREEN! And yes, I feel like you should get a reward every time you RAM SOMEONE who is SITTING AT A GREEN LIGHT TEXTING!

GREAT JOB, truck driver! SMASH TEXTERS! Copyright BBC News

It seems obvious to me that everyone gets where they are going much SLOWER on the freeway when people follow too closely. It causes these things called PHANTOM JAMS that everyone HATES and they can cause the whole highway to slow to a crawl for NO REASON. LOOK IT UP PEOPLE! Leave some distance!

Phantom Jams are much scarier than the Phantom Menace. Though I do start glowing red when I get trapped in one.

It seems obvious to me that every traffic light should change either to flashing yellow (for the big street) or to flashing red (for little street) after 8:00 pm. There is NOTHING more frustrating than running a red light at an absolutely empty intersection at 11:45 pm because the tic developing in my right eye was growing more irritating the longer I sat at the dumb red light and the voices in my head were growing louder as they screamed "sacrifice! .. Sacrifice! ... SACRIFICE!"  

Oh, wait, I forgot. There is ONE THING that is more frustrating than that. 

TRYING TO CLEAN PIG'S BLOOD OFF MY FACE AND HANDS BEFORE I GET BACK IN THE CAR BECAUSE THE FREAKING RED LIGHT HAS A CAMERA!!!!!!!!!!

By Josh Meares at Musings of the Stupidest Smart Guy I Know.

Local Third Grader Kills Thirty, During Smart Car Fueled Temper Tantrum.

On Wednesday, Police in the quiet upscale town of Potemkin, California arrested 8 year old Jack Conners. Jack was booked into the Nebulous County Detention center. The DA plans on filing 30 counts of involuntary manslaughter charges against young Mr. Conners. In a statement to the local press, Capt. Drebin of the Potemkin Police Force, said that Jack Conners surrendered without a struggle. "We lured Jack out of the McDonalds playland with a four piece McNuggets Happy Meal. He had holed up in the ball pit after leaving the scene of the Massacre".
     As Jack was led away in cuffs, the scrawny 70lb. kid in the Spongebob T-Shirt and mullet, hardly looked like someone capable of singlehandedly killing 30 people. The fact that this small, some would say uppity, community is overly concerned with letting others know they have small carbon footprints, led in great part to the massive loss of life.

     The following account is pieced together from eyewitness accounts and what Jack told his court appointed counselor. The incident began shortly after 3pm, as Jack walked home from Steven Wright Elementary. Jack reports that after a bad day at school, he was just trying to get home and watch Phineas and Ferb, and eat some of his leftover Halloween candy, when events spiraled out of control.

     The Starbucks near Jack's house was having a Free, Free-Trade Venti Vanilla Chai Soy Latte Day with purchase of a dog sweater, made by blind lesbian hemp farmers, for an impoverished dog in Central America, and the parking lot was full... of Smart cars.

     It was a regular convention of socially conscious bumperstickers. "Obama" crowded "Free Tibet" and "Tolerance", "Random Acts of Kindness" rubbed shoulders with "eARTh", while "War Never Solves Anything" fought for space with "If You're Not Outraged". And all the Smart cars those bumperstickers were attached to, were lined up out into the street. And they were blocking Jack's path.
     Jack waved to catch the attention of a severe looking lady driver who was blocking the sidewalk and tried to squeeze between her car and smart car in front of her, but she gave him a dirty look and inched her front bumper until it touched the "My Pomeranian is smarter then your honor student" on the bumper in front of her. Jack tried to climb over, but she laid on the horn and called him "a mindless little piece of consumer white trash".

     It was all too much for Jack, he snapped. Jack stomped his feet and clenched his hands and then gave the offending car a good stout, eight-year-olds push. The driver's smug look gave way to surprise, as her car tumbled across the parking lot. It might have ended there, but the next car in line accelerated into the vacant spot, and the sidewalk in front of Jack was once more blocked.
     What came next, was a grisly ballet of fire and crumpled metal, as a frustrated eight year old took out his aggression on pretentious fifty-year-olds and their ridiculous deathtraps.

     When it was over, the green movement had 30 less patronizing, bitter followers. And a young man's life will never be the same.

Confessed Killer, Denies Trying To Destroy Evidence

Bunny doing what she loves best...
aside from the face stabbing.

Bunny "Facestabber" Esquivel-Lundqvist, who has been charged in the grisly murder of her lover, her other lover and the pizza guy (she was hungry), has apparently confessed to the killings. However Bunny has refused to accept a plea deal from the DA because the litany of charges include; "intent to destroy evidence and conceal the commission of a felony."
   Bunny readily admits to buying 2 gallons of industrial strength bleach, and spending approximately 9 hours cleaning up her apartment on the day after the murders. But according to sources close to the investigation, Bunny denies that this was in an effort to conceal the killings, and instead she contends that she just likes to keep a clean house. Co-workers who we contacted, who were initially surprised that Bunny was capable of such heinous crimes as she was quiet and mostly just kept to herself, described Bunny as being a fastidiously clean.

   The police report from the crime scene would tend to back up Bunny's account. According to police after the murders Bunny dragged the bodies out of her front door and simply left them stacked on the stairs, where they remained for several days. Asked why they didn't report three dead bodies lying in the street for almost 70 hours, the neighbors in this trendy college town, responded that they thought the three were "endurance planking", and several even joined in for a picture.

What you call meme, we call evidence of murder.

A List Of Things That Make Me Angry. Or At The Very Least, Mildly Perturb Me.

Anger is a staple of being a Blogist. Blogger. Blog-ite. Whatever. And since I don't have time to put together the blog post I really wanted to write; a charming little story about how I came to be the dictator of a Banana Republic, not the store, but a small Central American country; and since lists are popular, I wrote the following piece of dreck.

Winter: Being a plumber in winter sucks. I was gonna move to equatorial Africa where it's warm, but apparently there isn't much call for plumbers in a place where indoor plumbing is largely non-existent. On a side note; there also isn't much of a call for writers that aren't talented or clever, with terrible punctuation.

Harold Camping: He's the world is ending guy, and he says he's not going to make anymore predictions. Selfish jerk. That's bad for me, because the blog I wrote about him gets like 100 views every week he says the world is going to end. (It's called Man Correctly Predicts The End. Sort Of., if you were looking.)

Politics: Can't all you sheep, see THEY totally ruined this country? THEY made me so mad I took to the streets, I even held up a sign. THEY think they are like Jesus, but they aren't; THEY are more like Hitler. Argh. Mad. Yelling. Angry.

Time: There isn't enough. I have to choose between my family, working on my blog and drinking beer while watching sports. If I had a couple of more hours a day, I wouldn't have to listen to my kids whining about how I never read to them. Or attend their various events. Or tuck them in. Or learn their names.

Money: Why haven't any of you greedy bastards given me any of yours? You probably have more than you need, and here I am struggling to put lobster in my children's mouths, re-plate my gold plated Land Rover, or even pay the maid at the vacation house.

Reality TV: It makes me so mad. I just sit there hour after hour, watching and yelling at the TV for being so stupid. Who watches this crap?! If I could remember how to access the data in a paperback book, I would totally go read instead.

Anger: What a stupid invention! Anger just makes me so damn angry! My damn kids just walk around the house yelling at each  other, I have to scream at them to make them stop.


So go ahead, comment. Just don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry. 'Cause I whine a lot. Although, I kinda whine a lot, even when I'm not angry. And come to think of it, most people don't like me... ever. So, I guess never mind. Fire away.

Sycophants Wanted. Sucking-Up And Flattering Skills A Must.

Charlie Sheen, Mike Tyson, and Britney Spears have all been in the news as stars that had some amount of fame and then turned into train wrecks before our eyes. They came to ruin because they could not control their finances and had seemingly lost all contact with reality. They went over the edge, accompanied by a cadre of yes-men. Perhaps, if they had even one person in their corner who told them the truth, their ruin could have been avoided.
     I have long said, that when I get famous, I would have at least one friend to follow me around and keep me grounded. Somebody to let me know what was really going on around me. A voice of reason amongst all the boot lickers and hangers on. Now I say; Screw that!

(This is only a screenshot. Video won't play. Just sayin'.)

     Those stars that went crazy before our eyes? They didn't surround themselves with sycophants on accident. They systematically and intentionally got rid of anybody that didn't toe the line and tell them that they were the greatest thing ever. And do you know why?
     Because, it's frickin' great! People telling you how great and talented and funny you are, feels incredible! So I've completely changed my mind. From now on, if you aren't gonna tell me things I want to hear, I am not listening. If you are a delusional minion who would like to worship my awesomeness, apply now. The position doesn't really pay anything... yet. But when I do make it, I promise you will be able to accompany me on the downward trek to the poorhouse and then onto rehab.

And what a ride that will be. Good times.

That Is The Crappiest Costume Ever!

You stink.

I generally support my children's desire to be individuals. And I encourage them to express themselves creatively. Halloween is always an interesting time around my house, with my boys changing their minds about what costume they are going to wear, at least 15 or 20 times... a day.

     But this morning when the two and a half year old came down the stairs dressed as one of the kids from William Golding's Lord Of The Flies, I had to put my foot down.

     First of all those kids were murderous little examples of ignorance and hate. Secondly, being nude in public is not acceptable in this day and age. And third, using fecal matter as body paint is simply going to far. I mean, I admire his effort to get into character, but it's just not sanitary. He'll just have to pick another costume.
     After he showers.

Are you sure this is safe to wear on our faces?

A Black Eye For My Anniversary.

Today was my 16 year anniversary. There isn't a list of what to get someone when you've been married for 16 years. My wife has always told me I need to be more romantic, like she is. For instance on my 40th birthday she gave me 40 tickets to the local baseball team. Now my wife doesn't like sports, but she does like shopping. I know, I'll give her a $16 gift card to Wal-Mart. But that's not enough, what else can I get her?

     Beer. This Budweiser I'm drinking is in a 16oz. can. I'll save one for her. That's a good start. Oooh, and we could have dinner at McDonald's. If we both got a Double Quarter-Pounder that would add up to 16oz's of hot tasty beef. Genius. I'm on to something with this pound theme. Now what else comes in 1 lb. increments?
     Chocolate. Only, they don't have 1lb. boxes of chocolates except on Valentines Day. But chocolate chips come in 16oz. bags. That's awesome. I just need some flowers, to complete the whole romantic vibe. Wait, my wife doesn't really like flowers. Flower, flour. I could buy her a pound of flour and combine it with her chocolate chips and make her some cookies. I am great at this!

UPDATE: Well, things didn't go so well. Apparently McDonald's is not a good anniversary restaurant. To top it off, I accidentally drank the beer that I was going to give my wife, and remembered that I can't bake. In the end, I learned that giving your wife a $16 Gift card to Wal-Mart and asking her to make her own cookies will earn you a romantic night... for one, at the local emergency room.

Home Improvement, Sometimes, Involves Loss.

Lately my friends and family, (and friends of friends, come to think of it) have been clamoring for my services as a home remodeler/handy-man. I don't mind, I always help out if I am able. The odd thing is the timing of the requests. My home repairs have had some less than desirable outcomes lately.

     It started off in the spring, when I went to shut down the furnace at my Aunt Hazel's house. I'm not sure what happened, I mean it's an old rundown house and all, but the next thing I knew it was engulfed in flames. The house was totally destroyed. She was pretty mad, but when she got her check from the insurance company her mood improved considerably.
     The next mishap involved her daughter, my cousin Liza. She lives in a pretty new house that doesn't really need much work. Her and her ex-husband are underwater on their loan. She asked if I could come over and work on her furnace. It seemed weird seeing as how it was in the middle of summer and all, but she said something about getting it ready to be repossessed, so I said OK. Wouldn't you know it? Her house burned down also. Good news is she had just upped her coverage, so she got a pretty good check.
     I accidentally burned down four more houses (nobody really seemed that upset) before I swore off trying to work on any more furnaces. That did seem to upset some people, but they all said they needed water heaters installed, instead.
     There was a rash of house leveling water heater explosions.
     I don't let it get me down too much. My friends and family are very forgiving. Encouraging even. One of the things I don't understand is why they are even putting money into their houses. Most of the ones that I am working on are houses that they don't even want. They are ones that they can't sell, that they are upside down on the loans with, or sometimes it's somebody that is completely desperate for cash. It just doesn't make sense, but I always get paid.
     Last week I even had to turn down some work. Some guy named Fat Vinnie Vincenzo wanted me to look at the stoves in the kitchen of a restaurant a friend of his owns. I told him I couldn't because my Cousin Amy had already bought me a ticket to fly out to San Antonio and help her get her house ready to sell. The trip went OK, I couldn't take my torch with me so there weren't any explosions. I did learn however that there are things called "load bearing walls", and that if you cut out sections of "load bearing walls" to put in a door for instance, that the whole house could possibly fall down. Probably fall down. Definitely fall down.
     Again she seemed pretty OK with the whole experience. Surprisingly, she had already bought a new house and moved out her personal effects, except for several expensive flat screen TV's she said she had in the living room, (I must have missed those).
     I boarded my plane tired from a weekend of hard work, and learned one final thing on the flight home. According to the nice federal officer that was waiting for me when I got off the plane, the air sick bags are only for emergencies. And more importantly, he informs me, you can't use them just because the bathroom line was too long. After talking for awhile, he seemed touched by my plight and said he thinks he can help me out. Nice guy. In return, he has this rental house, and just he wants me to swing by and look at his furnace.

Dad Of The Year, Ten Years And Counting.

My wife occasionally reads my blog, and sometimes she will have constructive criticism, such as "I can't believe I married you", or "you're a complete moron", or the ever popular "put your beer down and put your pants back on, my scrapbooking group was here first", but last night she had a brilliant suggestion that I decided I really could use. She suggested that instead of making up some stupid crap, I could just write about the funny things that happen in my real life as a dad to three boys.

     My oldest son is ten years old. The next one is younger, I think. I'm almost positive. I mean it would be really weird if he was the same age, right? And the youngest one is... younger still. A baby really. Babies are the ones that wear diapers? I mean other people can wear diapers, but that's just creepy and perverse. And the fact that my son wears diapers isn't perverse. It's often gross, but never perverse. That must mean he is a baby. So to recap, I have a son and another son who isn't quite as old and then one who is relatively tiny-ish.
     My wife and I are glad we have boys. All the teenage girls we met before we had kids were emotionally schizophrenic, foul mouthed, wanna-be-hookers. Of course we overlooked the fact that eventually our boys will date those same girls. Never-the-less, we wanted boys, and we got 'em. Threefold. We also didn't give our boys any of those weak trendy names that are so in vogue, like Ayden or Jayce or Peace Berry. We gave them strong manly names: Hercules Steroid, Zeus Testosterone and little Samson Kung-Fu.
     And, I've said things to those boys that I never imagined I would say aloud. Things like, "Please don't punch each other in the face", and "Oh my God! You can't drink paint thinner!" But lately, there have been some especially blog worthy moments. For instance, recently my oldest went back in time and prevented the murder of the mankind's last hope. What? That was a movie? The Terminator, you say? Hmmm.

     OK, I tell you some almost certainly true things. Yesterday, the baby walked out of the restaurant we were eating at and walked into the mall where he wandered around for several minutes before we noticed he was missing. The hilariousness of that situation was compounded by the fact that only two weeks earlier we lost the middle boy amongst 10,000 people for about an hour, at the International Balloon Fiesta. We're thinking about stapling them together next time. Or maybe one of those chain gang, chain thingies.
     The same week we lost the the boy, we had to take the baby to the emergency room to extract his finger from the plastic cap of a liquid soap bottle. He stuck his finger through the dispensing hole and couldn't pull it out again. I suggested a pair of bolt cutters, but my wife is of the opinion that medical experts are more qualified than I am to operate digit removing devices. It all worked out in the end, he still has all nine of his fingers. Ten. Ten fingers.
      Whatever. I started off with three boys and I still have three. That makes me a winner in my book. Child Protective Services be damned. All their stupid rules about feeding the children, and not punching the children, and allowing the children to sleep inside. Jeez.