Monthly Archives: May 2010

My Challenge To Myself

I’m no Leo Tolstoy (he wrote War and Peace… I had to look that up) but I think I’m getting better at this writing stuff.  I’ve been blogging and writing for a little over a year and a half now (between Hands to War and Virtual Hugs) and like most things… the continual repetition of doing the “same ol’ thing” gets a little stale.  Just like your sex life… sometimes you gotta spice it up!

I’m also the competitive type and enjoy a good challenge.

So I’m going to do a little bit of both.

To break the repetition (or at least I feel like it’s repetitious) of my normal posts where I write whatever crap comes to my head that day… I’m going to plant a link at the end of each post guiding you to a blog that I frequent.  I’ve made a few friends in the blogosphere and a few acquaintances and perhaps a few people who have no idea who I am or care to know who I am but I still like their stuff anyway.  This month, it’s all about sharing the love of my (6) readers to my BB’s (otherwise known as “Bloggy Buddies”… I just made that up).

As far as quenching my need for competition I’m going to try to write a post for every single day of the month (that’s 30) so by the end of June I’ll have posted every day this month.  Hopefully, if I’m able to accomplish this “30 posts in 30 days” challenge, I’ll also reel in my 1000th comment on Hands To War.

There may be some days where the post may not be that long… but there will be something there dammit.

Being a writer is something that is fairly new to me but I think it’s in my blood.  If I can challenge myself to come up with new material every day for a month… then I think it’s something I can prove to myself I can do.

Wish me luck!

Oh… and comment… I feed off them.  Feel free to suggest something for me to write about… I’d be happy to consider anything!


Mother Goose Needs Therapy

Long before DLG was even a twinkle in my eye… I had bought children’s books for Bunny that I would read to her before we went to bed.  I saw it as kind of a romantic thing to do because with each passing book I bought, it always went in the bookshelf accompanied with the thought, “One day we’re going to read these to our kids!” 

With each book also came a quick passage of my undying love for Bunny as well as the date I presented it to her.  When our kids are old and then read these books to their kids… everyone will know how gross it was that Grandma and Grandpa used to read these books to each other and then DO IT

“EEEEWWWWW GROSS!!” I can hear them say.

The first children’s book I bought for Bunny was “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs” nearly seven years ago.

I had remembered what a cool book it was when I was a kid and she’d never read it… so to me… it offered her a glance into my childhood.

The passing years we were together brought more books like:



One of my personal favorites…

Each added book to our pile made having a kid that much more exciting… I even read to her while she was still in her mama’s belly.  Although it wasn’t as cool reading to her when she was a tiny fetus in her mama’s uterus as compared to now when she’s almost two YEARS old (and comfortably outside her mother’s uterus).

I really believe that reading to her from early on has paid off in her development as “The World’s Smartest Kid” (it’s in the Guinness Book of World Records… look it up wise guy).

Every night when I sit down to read to her though… there’s one book that I honestly can’t stand… and it’s been around forever: Mother Goose and Her Book Of Morbid and Sadistic Rhymes.

For example:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again!

Humpty Dumpty seconds before death…

You can’t tell by the rhyme itself… but Humpty Dumpty is a giant living egg.  Then he falls to his death while breaking into a million pieces.  While it makes about as much sense as a land where it rains meatballs or a dog whose farts help rob a bank… its central character dies!  These are supposed to be stories that parents read to their kids before they drift off into dreamland.  I don’t want my kid dreaming of some “Egg-man” falling off a wall and shattering his body into a million bloody pieces!

Another example:

Three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all ran after a farmer’s wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?

While the central characters in this rhyme didn’t die… they got their tails cut off!!!  With a carving knife no less!!!  Don’t get me wrong… I don’t want mice in my garage more than the next guy but I’m not sadistically cut off their tails!!!  I’m going to set out a mousetrap.

How about this one:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.
She gave them some broth,
Without any bread,
Whipped them all soundly, and sent them to bed.

Man… what a bitch.  Call social services!  Sorry about your luck having to live in a shoe (how’s that possible anyway) but it ain’t your kids faults!!  This lady just “didn’t know what to do” so she starved them and whipped them.  Ooooookaaay… where’s the good moral fiber in that story?


If all the world were paper,
And all the sea were ink,
If all the trees
Were bread and cheese,
What should we have to drink?

Okay… that’s not sadistic… it’s just stupid.

One final time:

Three men in a tub,
And how do you think they got there?
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker —
They all jumped out of a rotten potato!
‘Twas enough to make a fish stare.

W… T… F!  Okay, so I want my little daughter envisioning three men in a tub together.  No.  And how I ask you… HOW… did they jump out of a rotten potato?  What were they doing there in the first place?

I could go on forever… but I’ll stop.

What a sociopath!  I don’t know who “Mother Goose” was or why she felt the need to reveal the innermost workings of her twisted mind to CHILDREN!  All her stuff is a mix of randomness, death, torture, child abuse, etc. etc. etc.  I think she’s really more suited to write lyrics for Slipknot as opposed to writing books for kids!

Rumor has it that the dude in the lower left corner is actually Mother Goose!

I know I may seem a little extreme and I’m not seriously on the “blacklist Mother Goose” bus but seriously folks… seriously… if they made Mother Goose into a movie it would be rated X.

What do you think?


How To Become A Trophy Husband

Here at Hands To War… I’m all about helping my fellow man because let’s face it dudes… sometimes we’re pretty moronic.  Also, our attention span lasts about as long as it takes Liza Minnelli to suck a human face from whence it came.


Moments before she swallowed David Gest’s entire face…

Additionally, if you’re a guy, you’re not reading this right now because you’re busy looking at these:

Yes… it is a cartoon drawing of boobs… that’s besides the point.  Remember as a wise man once said, “Cleavage is likes the sun… you’re not supposed to stare directly into it.” 

So anyway… here are a few PRICELESS things you can do that will skyrocket you to “Trophy Husband” status.

WARNING: I’m not saying it WILL happen if you do (most of) these things… but will merely increases your chances. 


Don’t hate.  Bunny had to wear it when she cleaned the house… now I have to.  What’s that?  Yes… I have no shame.


Men… you will never know how expensive these are until you’re asked to buy them for your wife.  If she comes home with a pair… don’t ask!


Like “Nights In Rodanthe”… where you undoubtedly have to endure scenes like this:

Geez… get a room… oh wait…
Anything is game in regards to movies or TV if you wanna be a trophy husband… but you will be called to hand in your Man Card if you’re caught watching this movie:
There has to be some boundaries.


You could get some wristlets like Wonder Woman.  With enough practice… you just might not get shot in the testicles.


Oh man… this is so going to get me some action…





This is also a good way to get your ass kicked out.


Ah yes… just about ripe enough…. I mean… SICK!!!





You’re not going to impress anyone beating up a ladybug.  Pick on someone your own size if you want to impress your woman.  Something bigger like a mountain lion or Edward James Olmos…


Now that’s probably a little more fair…


Staring too long will eventually result in a face something similar to this… which will eventually lead to this:

No… that’s not me punching myself… that’s Bunny punching me.


Ew.  Freakin’ gross.


So… there you have it.  The prophet has spoken.  Abide to these simple rules and you will become “A Trophy Husband”. 

Godspeed gentlemen.


What To Do When Going To See Your Favorite Sports Team

Have Your Wife And Daughter Look Cute In The Hallway Of Your Hotel

I’m throughly convinced they don’t make either of them any prettier

Drink the “Magic Potion Drink” at Magic Time Machine

It bubbles like a real potion!  There’s also one “for adults” with “adult flavoring” if you “know what I mean”.

See The Cute Little Penguins At The Zoo

Yes… I reffered to them as “cute”.  I wonder if you soaked them in a good marinade they might be good on the grill?

Take Really “Gangsta” Pictures

This is my “Ch” gangsta hand sign.  If you’re wondering what that means it’s the first two letters of my name: “Chris”.  Now that you know my real name isn’t “Papa K” I’m going to have to break into your ribcage and tear out all your major organs.  Oh yeah… thats Rangers Ballpark in the background.

Adorn Your Daughter With A Pink Shirt Of Your Favorite Said Sports Team

Let the brainwashing begin…

Fulfill A Promise I Made To All Of You In My Previous Post

Yes… that is Bunny in a mother-effing T-SHIRT!!  I DID IT!! I GOT HER TO WEAR A T-SHIRT!!  You can all go home now.

Spend Time With Your Friends And Family

Very unflattering picture of myself yet very good of everyone else.  I tend to stick my gut out when I’m holding DLG to kind of serve as a “shelf” to make carrying her a little easier… at least that’s what I tell people.

Catch A Ball During Batting Practice

No lie.  It was a dream fulfilled.  One of the coolest things that’s ever happened to me…. other than seeing Bunny’s boobs for the first time.

Pass On Traditions To Your Children

Like the one Dustin and I have: taking pictures in front of very large man made structures

Ponder How Freakin’ Lucky You Are You Doofus

This would make a great statue.


Sit Behind This Guy:

With his back hair tearing out from under his Ian Kinsler t-shirt

Or This Girl:

With the worlds longest hair braid


“Why does he smell like that Daddy?”

Hold Some Statues Crotch While A Crowd Gathers

“Dustin… hurry up and take the picture already!”

Don’t Piss Off The Bicycle Cop Because You Can’t Outrun A Bike…

And in case you’re wondering, the answer is “yes”… all of those cups were full of beer at one time.

Try And Steal A Motorcycle

Seconds later I was crushed by some giant with a beard and a face tattoo

Take Pictures With People Who Don’t Want Their Picture Taken

That guys eyes follow you everywhere….

Steal An Old Stagecoach

I have no idea where we were or how we got there….

Make Phallic Symbols With The Hotel’s Gym Equipment

Yes.  I have elephantitus.

Wanna see more of these ridiculous pictures (there are plenty) become my friend on Facebook.  I’ve got a little icon there in my sidebar for it.  I’m too tired to complete a link right now.

I’m A T-Shirt Kinda Guy

It’s that time of year again: the annual trip to Arlington to watch the Texas Rangers play a couple of games.  Every year for the past three years I, along with several buddies, have taken this “guys trip” and enjoyed it immensely.

This year we’re playing the trip a little differently: we’re taking the wives and kids.

I, for one, am very excited to take DLG to her first big league baseball game.  I doubt she’ll remember any of it… but I’m determined to make her one of those “cool” chicks (at least cool to me) who really enjoys the classic game of baseball.

Bunny will not be going to either game… she’ll be watching DLG for one game and shopping with the girls during the second one.  That’s fine… I’ll win her over eventually… when Hell freezes over.

Anyway… we started the immensely fascinating job of packing this evening and I was once again blindsided by the ever-widening gap that transcends Bunny and I’s taste in clothes.

Don’t get me wrong… my wife is a spectacular dresser.  She up-to-date on what’s cool and fabulous and when it’s her turn to go out on the town while I stay home with DLG she doesn’t have to spend a dime for drinks, cover charges or parking.  Don’t believe what people tell you… having a trophy wife is really all it’s chalked up to be.

But herein lies a problem!  For all the times that Bunny looks fantastic in her glitzy top, designer jeans and Cleopatra-esque make-up… I crave to see her in a ball cap and pony-tail with no makeup, a t-shirt and workout pants!

My Photos | Mindy

Bunny dressed up.  Yes.  Nothin’ wrong with that.

I should let you know that I tried for a significant amount of time to try and find a picture of Bunny with a t-shirt on and WAS UNABLE TO FIND ONE!!! So I won’t have the “opposite” picture of the one posted above so you’ll have to use your imagination. 

She asked me to help her pick out some stuff for our trip and I came out of the closet with a couple t-shirts.  One of them was this yellow t-shirt that she “hated”… but when she tried it on I was seriously smitten.  She looked awesome.  Of course she doesn’t believe me but it’s fantastically true!  She doesn’t need all that glitz to tighten my pants.

On the flip side… what turns me on turns her off.  I’m a t-shirt dude.  I hate shopping for clothes at the Gap or Express for Men.  I enjoy buying those $10 Marvel t-shirts at Target.

Papa K dressed up?

Chi town (more to come!) | At the OKC airport on our way to Chicago | Mindy

… or dressed down in my fantastic Marvel t-shirt?

Case in point: for Christmas every year I buy Bunny a t-shirt and she buys me a dressy shirt or sweater.

So… men are from Mars and women are from Venus blah blah blah blah blah… what’s my point?

I don’t really have one… I really wanted to see if this phenomenon reached outside our household and to other married (or engaged, or dating or whatever) homes. 

So to recap, while I think my wife is sexy all the time… I wish I’d see her dressed down more often and vice versa in her thoughts regarding me.

How’s it work for you guys?

Let Go

If you’re a new reader of mine… you know I’m a ball of stress A-L-O-T.  I’ve even been officially diagnosed with a (sometimes) seemingly overwhelmingly crippling form of OCD.

Before I became a father… I had more humorous form of the OCD condition i.e. checking locks on the door incessantly before bed, checking and re-checking to make sure everything was off before leaving the house, having to drive back home to make sure the garage door was not left open, etc. etc. etc.

When a baby human… not just any baby human… MY BABY HUMAN was added to the mix my condition mutated into a much more horrifying thought process that dragged my mind to the pits of despair and back again… continually.

I never knew depression. 

I never knew anxiety. 

I know them very well now.

I want to protect my little girl and ensure the safety of her soul, mind and body.  I want a signed document delivered to me that DLG will leave this Earth as a 100-year-old woman destined for the biggest castle in heaven while leaving a legacy of love behind her affecting the lives of millions.

I know that document will never come.

And therein lies the problem with my OCD condition.

I’ll never know the answer to every question.  I’ll never know the end to every story.  I’ll never be able to figure out every problem.

And it drives me fucking nuts.

DLG doesn’t understand what I’m going through and when I’m going through it I don’t let her know.  I play and roll around with her, I tickle her and throw her in the air, I smash play-do and color with markers despite the fact I may have a sad look hidden behind my eyes.  She knows me as the same daddy regardless of what emotions I may be going through… and that’s the way it’s always going to be.

During a recent struggle of mine, I was snuggling with DLG during our night-time ritual of bedtime stories, prayers and singing songs.  While rocking her and worrying enlessly admidst some of her aimless blather she so commonly displays on her way to dreams of helium balloons and pools full of books she looked up at me and said this: “Let go. Let go.” 

There’s no way she knew that what she was saying might have tied into what I was feeling… but it did.

It’s not even that what she said wasn’t something that was especially new to my thought process.  But coming from her, the one of whom I worry about incessantly, was all the more real.

Her four words told me this: I need to realize there’s only certain things I can control and the rest I need to rest in the hands of God.  Worry and stress that lead to depression and anxiety does not prevent whatever your worried about from happening.

Can a meteor fall from space, smash through my house and reduce us all to smithereens?  Yes.  Does it help to worry about it?  No.

This was an example… I don’t worry about meteors smashing us to bits.  I’m sure there are probably those out there that do.

DLG’s demeanor, occupation, marriage partner and even her fate were written long before the Earth was much more than a glimmer in the eye of God.  I, unfortunately, have no control over this.

What I do have control of is this: LOVE.  There is not a day that goes by where I don’t hug and kiss her and tell her I love her at least 100 times.  I feel as though I’m especially called to do this.  Love evolves into many other thing i.e. a responsibility to take care of yourself, take care of others and treat your fellow man as you wish to be treated. 

Every day that goes by, she grows a little more independent.  One day, A LOOOOOOOOOONG time from now, she’ll be completely independent from me and her mother and the one thing I’ll be able to control at that point is just loving her unconditionally, trusting that I raised her well… and letting go.

Sounds a little like Someone else doesn’t it?

I never knew love until I knew them

Five Questions I Have At 12:45 In The Morning

1.  What does this mean?

2.  The next top 20 hit?

3. Why would you get a family photo like this?

4. The next time Bunny gets pregnant… do you think we should get a photo like this?

5.  Can you add a caption to this?  Cuz I can’t…

Ahhhhhhh… I feel better.

More awesome “Awkward Family Photos” here on this differently colored text.

Someone Out There Doesn’t Like Me: Part II

And this time his name is Matt.

Several posts ago… I wrote about how I’d upset a reader because she happened to know an artist who’d given me one of my tattoos and I didn’t talk about her in the most positive light i.e. I referred to her as a whale.

So… perhaps I deserved a little bit of what I got.  I’ll admit that.  I got a little bit of my own medicine.

But on the eve of my return to blogging, I logged into the home page of my blog and after wading through the mountains of spam I’d received from my month-long hiatus… I was faced with this comment awaiting my approval in regards to the third post I’d written regarding the history of my tattoos:

I actually have the same emma frost tattoo on my forearm and i must say mine is a shit load more detailed and alot closer to the actual picture i kept the bench and the rose and the stone path as it adds some depth and doesn’t look like she is just hovering your colors are off alot just plain white is not how she looks because of the setting sun there is alot of reflected colors that were not incorporated into it your outline is ridiculously thick black my ouline. All in all fuck you for taking my original idea and getting this shitty artist to butcher it brutes why is she looking down for fucks sake!! that’s not in the picture

This is the “original idea” that Mr. Raging PMS was crying about…

… and the original photo from whence it came

So… if you’re wondering if I approved it… I did.

I wanted everyone to see what an incredible douchebag this dude is.  Through his seemingly incapable ability to formulate any kind of telligible phrase he castrates my innate ability to get a quality tattoo.  Now… this isn’t my mothers (or my sisters, or my wifes) favorite tattoo and in all honesty isn’t really mine either.  There are aspects of it that don’t capture the entirety of the original… but I outlined Matt’s complete ineptitude in my response:

I did it just to piss you off Matt. Who says you have to stick with the way the original picture actually looks? The eventual end to the whole leg piece will involve a background where everything will tie in together. Didn’t you read what I wrote or did you just look at the picture? I took out the rose and the stone path because it wouldn’t go with how my leg will end up. The line work is difficult to do on a knee because the skin stretches and makes the line look bigger than it actually is. I wasn’t aware that you wrote a rulebook on the proper way to get tattooed. Take anyone aside who has a decent amount of work done and they’re guarenteed to have some work that doesn’t quite cut it. So, sorry it doesn’t look “a shit load” better than yours but I gotta say you either gotta be real tough, really drunk or high to leave an anonymous comment directed at how one of my tattoos look. A mark of a true douchebag. Way to go.

Sometimes it’s better to keep your ideas to yourself than making yourself look like a complete jackass. 

(1) If you’re going to try and make a point… write like an intelligent idiot instead writing like you’ve just graduated 2nd grade.

(2) I can see Matt wearing his confederate flag t-shirt, hunched over his sticky keyboard writing his comment after he’s drank an entire case of Keystone light by himself because no one wants to put up with his bullshit or mullet any more.  If you’re trying to make a point… illustrate what’s wrong without making yourself appear as though you’re trying to compensate for other shortcomings you may have.

and (3) Don’t try to have a war of written words with Papa K… because he’ll always win.

My Photos | WATCH OUT!!  I could seriously collapse your skull with one kick | Papa Koenig

And I can collapse your skull with a single kick to the cranium

If anyone wants to let Matt know what they think of his extreme inability to form a complete sentence, spell the word “outline”, pick up chicks or not look like a douchebag then please be my guest and email him at: because I did. 

Oh yeah… don’t leave me your email… because I’ll make sure you get spammed.

I Missed You

Does anyone believe that these stupid things work?

How much did they pay these people to wear these pieces of crap after they worked long and hard THE OLD FASHIONED WAY!  Here’s an idea: you can’t get a six-pack sitting on your ass!

Sorry.  I just sat down here to write the first post in over a month and that commercial was on the TV.  Makes me heated.

Anyway… I missed you.

Things have changed.

I alluded to in a post right before I took my hiatus that things were going to change even more than originally anticipated when Bunny took her job making more money than God (okay not God… maybe what a small fast food restaurant makes in a day… no where close to what God makes… anyway…).  I had an inkling of what was going to happen… but didn’t want to speak before all the chips fell where they were intended to go.

Once everything was said and done… we flipped our roles.  I am now the stay-at-home parent, stay-at-home dad or acronymed as “SAHD”.  I swallowed my own pride and accepted that it would be selfish of myself to only work a 40 hour work week to make myself feel better. 

We as a family decided, after several hopeless attempts at finding some form of child care, that there was no one better than one of her own parents to stay and watch after her.  Our attempts were as follows:

We hired a nanny… but we caught her at a fast food in a compromising situation.

We found an at-home day care… but the night before we were set to check it out they filled their last two spots.

We hired another nanny for more money… but she quit because she had to help her dad move a horse or something.

A nanny we interviewed smoked.

A nanny we interviewed wanted to do a nanny-share with another family where she took DLG over to the other parents house several days a week.  Oh… and this family had a Pitbull and a Great Dane!  “They’re really great dogs,” she said, “They’ve never harmed anyone!”

Another nanny we interviewed had left her two young kids back home in Texas to escape from her abusive husband and was trying to make ends meet by being a nanny.

Now… were some of these people good people capable of taking care of someones kid? Probably so.  But not my kid.

Being a SAHD was not what I pictured myself doing.  But I can tell you it’s the most rewarding job I’ve ever done.  I’m not just saying that to be cliché… it’s the truth.  I used to look at SAHD’s with a hint of sarcasm behind my eyes.  I did this because I grew up in a home where my father worked for 35 years while my mom was a stay at home mom!  I couldn’t picture it any other way!

I can’t take fully admit to being a SAHD though.  I was able to salvage a certain portion of my work, convince my job I could do the work from home and now have to orchestrate a 20 hour work week from home every week.  So… while I am at home instead of in an office… I’m putting in time on my computer doing work for my employer from home.  So… at least I feel as though I’m monetarily contributing to the family… even if it is only a fraction of the amount my wife now makes.

So… I now embark upon a new adventure!  A new lifestyle!  This blog will once again evolve.  With less available time to put in to my posts… my OCD tells me that my posts aren’t going to be up to the level I FEEL they should be. 

But I need this outlet.  I’ve missed writing.  I’ve missed my (5) readers.  I’ve missed writing about boobs.

I’ve missed…………. you.


No I’m not really crying.  But I do want you to know that I’m looking forward to fitting this in again among my daily routine.

I’m back.

Sometimes… some things are too precious to be left in the hands of others…

Oh… and I pierced my ears.  Sorry mom.



I understand that everyone’s situation is different regarding their kids and don’t hold myself to some higher standard just because I became a (work from home) SAHD.  That’s not it at all… our situation just made it possible for us to do this.  Just didn’t want to start a riot.