Monthly Archives: September 2010

Crazy Bands Are Exactly That


I’m pissed.

Why didn’t I think of these crazy bands pieces of crap?

They’re rubber bands in the shape of WHATEVER you can possibly imagine that you wear on your wrists!

You can get the crazy bands in baseball related shapes:

Crazy bands can come in rock band related shapes:

Or EVEN penis related shapes:

But all the internet crusing I could do did not bring up any shapes that looked like this:

 

Hmmmmmmmmmmm….. there’s an idea…

Seriously though… what’s up with these things!?  There’s got to be something that we haven’t thought of yet that will make us 800 million dollars.

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Alright… if you managed to read through this crappy post then you get to find out who is going to win this book:

You couldv’e entered by just making a comment on this blog post… but it’s too late so it sucks for you.  You’ll just have to wait until the next giveaway to try and win something.  So seriously stay tuned… cuz I’m planning on giving away some good stuff.

But anywayz the winner chosen from pickrandom.com is….

Have you ever seen this?  It’s hilarious:

His hair looks like ramen noodles… that’s hilarious…

Okay… so what am I doing?  Oh right, the winner is….

KRISTIEMAE!!!

Congratulations Kristi!!  Also… thanks to everyone for playing… sorry if you didn’t win! 😦

Send me an email including your address to papak4324@live.com and I’ll send it to you ASAP!

Stay tuned for more giveaways (and other interesting developments) at Hands To War in the future!  Thanks for reading.

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Fist Pump Dancing Wasn’t Founded On The Jersey Shore


Got small kids?  Then you’ll love the small giveaway I’m giving away on this post I did several days ago.  All you have to do is comment… it’s that easy.

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There’s the mambo, the salsa, the tango, line dancing, break dancing, square dancing, the jitterbug, the electric slide and the (HEY!) Macarena.  The problem with all these dances is they’re exclusive to one particular genre of music, i.e. square dancing goes with country music, the salsa goes with Latin music, etc.  They also require too much talent and too much practice to get good at them.

If only there was a dance that you wouldn’t have to practice too hard to get good at AND it could be done with every kind of music!

Hmmmmmmmm.

Well I’ve had a solution to that problem for many years now and I’m going to share it with you now.

I call it “Fist Pump Dancing”, and if you tell me those overly tanned douchebags from the MTV reality show “The Jersey Shore” came up with this… you’re sorely mistaken and I will have to siphon fire ants into your nether-regions because I’ve been dancing like this for years.

 IS EQUAL TO 

All you must have is some sense of rhythm.

Let’s explore what “Fist Pump Dancing” is shall we…

STEP ONE:

Pretend your arm is a hammer.  Hold it upright, vertical and straight.  You’re going to want to make a fist.  Keep your fist at eye-level.

CORRECT!

INCORRECT!!

Notice how the fist is WAY above eye level!  It’s even out of picture range!!  Don’t start out this way.

ALSO INCORRECT!!

Notice how my hand is open and not in the form of a fist?  This is completely wrong and entirely inexcusable.

  

STEP TWO:

When the music starts… you are going to start to dance.  This is the beginning of “The Fist Pump”.  Simultaneously rotate clockwise at the waist creating some torque and drag the elbow of your arm you’re pumping with in a backwards motion while bringing your fist forward where your arm will eventually become horizontal with the ground.

THIS IS THE CORRECT WAY:

That looks great…

THIS IS THE INCORRECT FINISHED POSITION!!

Notice how THE ELBOW has moved forward and THE FIST has moved backwards!! This is opposite of how it should happen and you should be stripped of your skin organ.

C’MON PEOPLE!!! THIS IS ALSO INCORRECT!!

In this image the elbow has raised to eye level and the fist is pointing straight towards the ground!  Completely inappropriate!

 

LET’S MOVE TO STEP THREE:

Once you’ve gotten into a position of somewhat reliable torque in your waist… you’re going to want to pretend your whole arm and fist are the handle and head of a hammer and you’ll want to hammer the nail.  Hammer the nail.  Hammer the nail. 

Frame by frame it should look something like this:

OH YEAH!!! Now… we’re almost done!  On to Step FOUR!!

 

STEP FOUR:

Right when the “head of your hammer” has hammered its nail… put a little extra juice or extra “flavor”, as I like to call it, at the end of this move.  This adds style, creativeness and character to your fist pump.  Make a face that’s characteristic of the music you’re listening to.

Like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Now… put all these steps together and add the music.  You can apply this dance move to any genre of music!  Let’s take a look:

Once you begin to get the hang of it… you can try these more advanced moves:

THE POINT AND PUMP

GRAB THE POTATO CHIPS, THEN CRUSH THEM

THE DOUBLE PUMP

THE SPIN AND PUMP

GRAB A DUDE… THEN PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE

Now that you’ve gotten all these more advanced moves down… you’re ready to try them out in “da club”, in your car or the comfort of your own home.

Happy Fist Pumping!

TEXAS RANGERS ARE GOING TO THE POSTSEASON!!!!


Forgive me for screaming… BUT I JUST CAN’T CONTAIN MYSELF!!!

I have been a Texas Rangers fan since I was 10 years old when Nolan Ryan was beating up Robin Ventura.

They don’t make ball players like Nolan Ryan anymore…

The problem, you see, with loving the Texas Rangers is that they’ve never loved me back.  For the entire length of my devotion to them… they have torn my still-beating heart from my ribcage too many times to count.  But I have remained a devoted fan, watching every game whether they were 20 games up in their division… or 20 games down.

“Why God?” I would ask the Almighty, “Why doest thou allow the Evil Empire (otherwise known as “The Yankees”) to continue to parade their cocky attitudes, millions of dollars and winning history?  Cannot You allow the wealth be spread?”

Perhaps this year… He is.

The Texas Rangers first step, for the first time in 11 years, is complete.  They clinched their division today: The American League West.

I… am… ecstatic.

I bought a bottle of champagne in preparation to celebrate.  Now I’m going to get to it.

Shortly before champangne went through my nose…

More than likely… they’ll have to beat the Evil Empire to make it past the first round in the playoffs.

I’ll be saying my prayers.

Papa K Giveaway Results!! And… ANOTHER GIVEAWAY!!


So I had the first, most amazing, most incredible, most unimaginable giveaway last week where I gave away not one but TWO movies!! Today… is the day… where I… announce… the mother-effing winner!!

I’ll give you a second to digest that.

Okay.  So, as to not play favorites, I plugged in all six-thousand contestants who participated into a website called http://pickrandom.com/ and it spit out……………….

Are you ready?

It spit out…

Have you seen this?  It’s hilarious:

What?  Oh right.  It spat out…

Have you seen this close up picture I took of our cat?

He’s all like, “Hey… what the hell man!” 

AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Anyway… what was I talking about?  Oh yeah.

So I plugged in all the names and it came back with…

Roger Lastnameprotectedtoconcealidentity!!!

Congratulations Roger!! You won “What Happens In Vegas” and “Daywalkers”!!  Email me your mailing info to papak4324@live.com and I’ll get those right to you.  I’ll also include (free of charge) this autographed, collectible picture of me:

Feel free to hang it in your man cave, guest room or pantry.

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Are you sad that you didn’t win the last Papa K giveaway?

Shut up Kanye….

Well… why don’t I do another one!!!

This time… all you have to do to get entered is LEAVE ME A COMMENT letting me know what you like about my blog and/or what I can improve on.

“What’s the prize?” You’re asking?  Well… it’s nothing enormously spectacular like TWO MOVIES… but I think it may pertain to a lot more of my readers with kids. 

Allow me to give a little back story.

When I was a kid living in Norway… I loved reading Mr. Men books.  They were these  little, square, paperback kid’s books about little men with names such as, “Mr. Bounce”, “Mr. Happy”, “Mr. Strong”, “Mr. Messy”, etc.  Each book told a story about each of these little men (all of them in a different, unique shape) as they lived lives eerily similar to their surname.  They were prevalent overseas back then but I’m not sure they’d made the trek across the Atlantic yet.  

Now it seems they have and they’re becoming fairly prevalent here in the States (or Oklahoma anyway). 

Perhaps they’ve always been around and I’ve just now started to notice them now that I have a two-year-old.

So, this time, I will send this Mr. Men book to the winner:

 

Remember, all you have to do is LEAVE ME A COMMENT letting me know what you like about my blog and/or what I can improve on.

Rock it out people… rock it out.

Macy’s Doesn’t Believe Men Can Change Diapers Apparently


You know what is one of my most favorite things to do?  It’s sitting in any dressing room with my wife as she tries on new clothes. 

Maybe it has something to do with having to take off clothes in order to try on new clothes!?  The only times I really get to sit and watch my wife take off her clothes is when (1)  we’re going to make a baby, (2) we’re going to practice making a baby or (3) she just spilled a mountain of spaghetti sauce all over herself.  So, two out of three times, I’m going to see some action once clothes are removed.  Watching her try on clothes in the dressing room is an opportunity to sit there and watch her undress, get dressed and then undress over and over again.  It screws with my instincts.  My brain knows that nothing’s going to happen… but my body starts gettin’ all excited! 

I imagine myself looking something like this… except not quite as hideously disgusting

This battle between my brain and my flesh usually results in me just staring, in a trance, as my wife as she asks me, “How’s this look?” or “Does this make my butt look weird?” or (my favorite) “Is this too tight?” 

“BA DOO BLORK BA DA DEE BA!” is my usual response to all these questions.  The blood being drained from my brain to supply elsewhere has rendered my mouth about as helpless as gnat in a sumo wrestling match.

I’m getting off course… that’s not what I really was trying to write about. 

Anyway… it just so happened that I was with Bunny in a Macy’s dressing room and currently in one of these trances when DLG’s little voice shattered all the enjoyment I was currently soaking in.

“I have to go poo-poo.” She said.

Bunny and I have really started working hard with DLG on her potty training and the fact that she was telling us that she had to go potty in a public place was a big step.

“Oh babe,” Bunny said as she was in the middle of undressing and while I was in the middle of soaking it all in, “She has to go poop… will you take her?”

Before she was even done asking me to take DLG to the bathroom I had snatched her up, felt her diaper (to see if she had gone already) and was out the door with all the necessities.  You see, I have probably more invested in getting DLG potty trained than Bunny does.  Since I’m the stay-at-home parent, the quicker she gets potty trained then the quicker I don’t have to change diapers all the time!

I ran to a Macy’s employee, “Where is the men’s bathroom?”

“Uh,” said the half-dead employee, “There’s a woman’s bathroom down here but the men’s bathroom is upstairs next to the ‘insert something I don’t remember here‘ through the ‘insert something else I don’t remember here‘”.

Not hearing where exactly she said the bathroom was other than it was “upstairs”… I charged up escalator and frantically ran around from department to department looking for THE MEN’S BATHROOM!  After finally locating it through a maze of kitchenware and creatively displayed mattress comforters… I blasted through the door while simultaneously digging through the diaper bag in an effort to find some wipes.  Upon opening the door to THE ONLY STALL in the bathroom I threw up in my mouth a little.  The toilet was covered in shit.  Not just on the inside… but on the outside.  Who craps on the outside of the toilet?

Needless to say, I wasn’t about to sit my little one on a shit-stained toilet.  It was too late anyway.  In the time it took me to find the bathroom DLG had pooped her pants.  I just wasn’t sure if she still had to go or not.

So I decided I would go ahead and change her diaper since I was already in the bathroom.  But, as it turned out, THERE WAS NO CHANGING TABLE!!!

 

There wasn’t even a “Turd Station”!

W… T… F!!!

What year is it?  1890?

Last time I checked dads have been a little more involved in the “changing diapers in public” scene than they were 110 years ago.  Macy’s must not be on to this movement yet.

I bet this is the first time this guy has even met his kids… never mind changing their diapers…

To make them aware of the fact that there was no changing table, I went out and changed DLG’s diaper full of poop on one of their beds they had so eloquently placed their designer pillows, 1000-thread count bedsheet and “Bordeaux” style comforter. 

That’s what they get. 

 

Sooooooooo…  you can afford a giant Spongebob Squarepants balloon but you can’t afford a changing table in the men’s bathroom? 

Go to Hell Macy’s.

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Have you ever been somewhere where they didn’t have a changing table for you and it was extremely inconvenient?

Cheating Death Pre-Papa K Style: Episode Two


Wanna  read hilarious episode one available for your reading pleasure about cheating death?  Click this.

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“Pre-Papa K” was a point in my life that I did a lot of stupid things… but none stupider than a night shortly after I graduated college.

I got invited to go downtown (called “Bricktown” here in Oklahoma City) to attend a “going away” party for a girl named Raw Meat Eater (not her real name) whom I shared several college classes with.  Attending this get-together with me was another buddy and classmate of mine: Nicholi.  Nicholi did not (and still doesn’t) partake in the ritualistic drinking habits of most Neanderthals like myself.

Alcohol makes you do weird things

How incredibly blessed I was to have him there that night!  I may not have even had the opportunity to cheat death! 

The night started at a restaurant/pub called Coaches where I decided to drink Long Island Ice Tea’s (LIT’s).  While we were there I drank three of them… and they were particularly strong!

After Raw Meat Eater had her fill of Coaches, she decided she wanted to go to City Walk i.e. “7 Clubs In One… 7 Times The Fun”. 

Nicholi, the ever diligent friend, went along with everyone despite not being inclined to drink himself stupid.

Still at Coach’s.  About two LIT’s in at the moment (girls identities hidden… I’m sure they have jobs and husbands they want to keep)

When we arrived at City Walk, if I could have drunk LIT’s any faster I would have absorbed them through my skin.  After several glasses… I couldn’t even begin to tell you what happened.  The only real evidence I have of what happened, are a few mental snapshots, some pictures I took with a small throwaway camera and what Nicholi could tell me.

By the time Nicholi and I were ready to leave it was still fairly early.  We started making our way for the exit at around 10:30 or so, which was amazing considering how many drinks I had consumed in such a short time.   Much of the trek to the exit consisted of me trying to shake a huge booger off my finger I had just freshly extracted from my nostril.  After trying unsuccessfully for a minute or two, I wiped it on my pants before walking into the crisp nighttime air.

Shortly before extracting a booger from my nose…

Nicholi sheepishly smiled and apologized to anyone I yelled at that I indeed was drunk and not to take me too seriously.

After talking up every one walking by me and screaming at the top of my lungs about how great a lover I was, a cop on a bike actually came by and asked Nicholi if I was driving home.

“Yes I’m driving him home.” Nicholi said.

Fortunately, the cop accepted Nicholi’s answer as truth and continued on and I yelled after him, “SCREW YOU COP-MAN!  I’M DRIVING!!”

Nicholi assured me that he was only going to drive me in his car to find my car… because I had conveniently forgotten where my car was about four or five LIT’s ago.

Using the power of his unfaded brain… Nicholi tricked me into getting into his car.  Once I was safely buckled in and the doors were locked, he began driving me home.  I only realized this about halfway to my apartment.  I let Nicholi have it with a multitude of slurred curse words scattered in amongst my assurance to him that I NEEDED my car in order to get to work tomorrow morning!

Nicholi was unwavering despite how many times I cussed him out, “I don’t care.  You’re not driving.  You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

After enduring the 16 mile trek back to my apartment, Nicholi dropped me off at my apartment.  I stumbled up the stairs to the front door of my apartment still angry that my friend didn’t believe I was okay to drive!  With that final thought, I placed my hand on the door handle to the apartment when a “brilliant” (and completely drunk and faded) idea came to my head:  “It doesn’t take me very long to drive to Bricktown… I’m just going to walk back there AND GET MY CAR!”

I don’t remember anything for a little while after that thought.

The next thing I clearly remember is waking up on a golf course putting green.   Where the hell was I and what was I doing on the putting green of a golf course?

Yes… yes… it looked exactly like that!

While I gathered my thoughts over a quickly approaching headache I suddenly heard dogs barking VERY CLOSE to me and the only thing I could think to do was run.  I ran and scaled a chain link fence in a matter of milliseconds only to swan dive into patch of bushes, crack my neck and somehow wind up on my back staring up at the moon.

I laid there for a moment.  I seem to remember actually being pretty comfortable.  I was about as comfortable as you could be after falling several feet off the top of a chain link fence into the middle of a bush.  I even considered giving up my quest to pass out in this comfy bramble.

Alas… I could not give up.

I picked myself out of the shrub, dusted myself off and found myself walking through a residential neighborhood and in the back of someone’s yard.  Dogs started barking again so I started to run again until I reached what appeared to be the access road leading to the highway which would ultimately take me back to my car… 16 miles away.

After trampling along the access road for a while and diving head first into the ditch several times to avoid oncoming cars who might think I was a transient serial killer… I could see the highway.  Determined to not lose the highway this time, I made my way through a barbed wire fence only to  fall once again and rip the crotch area of my shorts.  I laid there once again contemplating falling asleep… but my drunk ass had a mission and I had to complete it.

I made it to the side of the highway after jumping over the concrete median in the middle of the highway and continued walking.  Each and every time a car drove by I repeated my ditch dive.  In some cases the woods on the side of the highway made for good cover.  I attempted to hide behind a concrete barrier at one point only to realize after I’d jumped over it that the hillside below was no less that ten feet below me.  After doing my best “Wile E. Coyote” impression, gravity savagely slammed me into the hillside in a tangle of my own limbs.  Once I picked myself up, I saw that if I had attempted to jump over the barrier about 30 feet ahead of me… it would have been over the I-44 overpass and I would have landed directly into oncoming traffic.

Taking a picture of myself to remember the moment I cheated death… and because I was bored…

Shaken and still little cross-eyed, I crossed the median of I-44 and continued on to Bricktown.

Gradually, the combination of continual walking and the realization that I actually almost dropped my ass off the I-44 overpass and through someone’s sunroof… I started to sober up a little bit and I first began to realize that this was a really, really stupid idea.

I looked at my watch and realized it was now about 3AM… I’d been walking for almost four hours.  I got my cell phone and called several people to see if they could pick me up… but no one answered.  It was 3AM after all.  It was at this more sober moment that I realized I was at the point of no return.  It was the same distance if I walked to my car or if I walked back home.  So I decided to continue walking to my car.

After several phone calls to myself to leave myself a voicemail to myself to never do this again, a run-in with a homeless man and multiple trips to the woods and alleyways to relieve myself… I finally reached what I had been walking to get to: my car.

Once I finally turned the door handle to my apartment where I had been a mere SEVEN HOURS earlier and limped into my bathroom… I couldn’t help but chuckle at myself in the mirror.  It looked as though I’d been in a fist fight!  I had a huge scratch that started on my left temple, went across my eyelid and ending at my nose.  I had scratches all over my arms.  My shorts were ripped.  My hair was filled with dirt and grass and my jeans were soaked well above the knee from walking through all the tall weeds.  My eyes were bloodshot to Hell.  The arches of my feet ached after walking 15+ miles in my flat soled Adidas shoes that were effectively ruined after putting them through so much.

I threw away my shoes, showered myself and promptly landed between the sheets of my old, hard, crappy twin-bed and fell asleep instantaneously.

I cheated death… and I was feelin’ it.

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I should have died any number of times that night.  I knew it when I began to sober up on my trek to the car.  I knew it when I woke up after I’d fallen asleep in my old, hard, crappy twin-bed.  I know it today.

Somebody was looking after me.  I certainly wasn’t doing a good enough job of it.

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Moral of the story: Don’t be an dumbass idiot face.

Scaring Little Girls (Other Than Mine) Is Hilarious


Despite being vehemently “anti-fraternity” for my first several years in college… I finally drank the Kool-Aid and joined one.  I actually held several offices during my stint.  One of these was community service chairman. I was responsible for several fairly successful projects that helped generate positive feedback for our fraternity within the community.    

 

I hit the gold mine of opportunities when I somehow got our guys hooked up to help “scare the kids” at a haunted house for the Campfire Girls. Several of our members, including myself, got to dress up as various scary individuals and got placed at intermittently throughout this pretty well constructed building that the Campfire parents had put together.

    

Since I orchestrated this whole activity, I got to choose the coolest mask of the bunch: Pinhead from the Hellraiser movies. 

 

   

I peed my own pants I scared myself so bad  

   

Aside from having the best mask… the Camp Fire Dads placed me in a relatively hidden spot where I was the last dude to scare these poor kids along their route through the haunted house.  It was pitch black in the haunted house and I hid in a little inset area along the wall that wasn’t able to be seen if you were walking along the straight path.   It was impossible to see me.  

   

I actually managed to scare everyone.  Even the older kids.  In fact… in order to scare everyone I didn’t even have to scream some intelligible phrase like, “ARRRGHHH”!!!! Instead, when I would jump out, I would start screaming, “MILK DOES A BODY GOOD!” or “DO YOU LIKE HELLO KITTY!” or “DON’T SQUEZE YOUR PIMPLES… INSTEAD PUT YOUR FINGERS ON EITHER SIDE OF THE PIMPLE AND PULL AWAY FROM THE PIMPLE.  THIS WILL STILL POP THE PIMPLE BUT WILL NOT RESULT IN ANY UNDUE REDNESS OR IRRITATION” and they would get just as scared because I was Pinhead.  Pinhead is still scary giving you advice on how to squeeze your zits.  

   

I could also hear which groups of kids were getting really REALLY REALLY scared before me.  So I thought I would capture their fear with a disposable camera I just so happened to have in my possession.  What resulted were two truly incredible pictures of some kids who were convinced that I was going to eviscerate them while giving them advice on what is the most efficient way to prevent forest fires.  These are the pictures of some of my most hilarious moments… and it comes scaring little girls.

   

   

   

“ALWAYS CHECK AND MAKE SURE ALL CANDLES ARE BLOWN OUT BEFORE LEAVING YOUR HOUSE!!!!”  

   

   

   

“BEFORE GETTING A TATTOO ALWAYS MAKE SURE YOUR TATTOO ARTIST GETS A NEW NEEDLE!!! YOU DON’T WANT TO GET AIDS FROM A TATTOO DO YOU??!!!”  

   

I throughly enjoyed scaring those little girls.  I hope I didn’t cause any permanent damage.

 

Uh-oh.

 

Want A Couple Movies For Free?


I haven’t done many giveaways.  In fact… I haven’t done any!!  But I’d like to start because it makes me feel like I’m some big deal blog person or something… which, unfortunatly, I’m decidedly not.

Yet.

Ever seen this movie:

Or this movie:

Well… whether you have or haven’t you now have the opportunity to obtain the DVD versions of them FOR MOTHER EFFING FREE folks!

“Papa K how can you possibly afford to give away DVDs of these movies?” You may ask, “DVD’s are like… the newest, most high tech, most incredible piece of new technology out on the market today!!  It must have cost you a fortune!”

Well… it wasn’t easy… but I’m going to make it happen because I care about you: the lifeblood of Hands To War.

“How is Papa K going to decide who to give these futuristic pieces of technology to?” You may be thinking.

There’s two ways:

1. If you have a Twitter page then “Retweet” my most recent tweet.  I can track my retweets and you’ll be automatically entered to win the DVD.

Not a friend of mine on Twitter?  You can become one by clicking here:


2.  If you have a Facebook page, then recommend my Hands To War page to your friends.  You can do this by clicking “suggest to friends” under the profile picture on my Hands To War page.  I can view mutual friends if one of your friends then “likes” my page and you’ll be automatically entered to win the DVD.

You don’t “like” my Hands To War Facebook page?  “Like” it by clicking this:


If you don’t use either one of these social networking options then you can leave me a comment begging me for a submission and I’ll enter you… if I feel like it.

A winner will be picked randomly a week from today: Tuesday 9/21.

Phoenix Blade: Now Taking Calls


I have a small obsession with the superhero genre.  Superheroes are everything I’m not: smart, good-looking, strong, able to wear skin-tight outfits and still look good, full of themselves… wait, I’m all those things too.  I guess the only difference between me and superheroes are their super-freakin’-powers!!

Case in point:

Human Torch: 

Can fly and catch fire

Spiderman:

Can climb up the sides of buildings, make webs, spider strength, spider senses, extraordinary angst, etc.

The Hulk: 

Super strength, becomes green, pants expand without ripping off

Mystique: 

Shape-shifter yet chooses to remain a hot blue chick!!

Emma Frost:

Able to wear beverage napkins over her no-no spots without them falling off!!

Octomom: 

Able to have 8 babies AT ONE TIME!!  Also… giant lips.

Verne Troyer: 

Can stay short forever!  Stronger than a shoe!

 I’m tired of being nobody!  I want to change the world!  I want to leap tall buildings in a single bound!  I want to have super strength!  I want to rescue kidnapped babies from evil masterminds!  I want crush a piece of coal between my buttcheeks and make a diamond!  I want to pee so hard it knocks the urinal clean off the wall in the mall bathroom!

So how do you become a superhero?  Usually it’s with toxic waste, evolution, radiation or some complete robotic makeover because you’re rich and/or brilliant and/or the beneficiary of some random new medical procedure that hasn’t been approved to use on humans yet.

So do I have any:

–          Toxic waste?  Nope.

–          Evolutionary evolved mutant ability?  I just turned 30… they would have manifested before now I would think.  So… no.

–          Robotic makeover capabilities?  I am neither rich nor brilliant and don’t thing my chances are REAL good at getting picked for an illegal, robotic surgical procedure.  So that idea’s out the window.

–          Radiation?  Hmmmm… will micro waves work?

Holy balls… IT WORKED!!!

Uh oh… I feel a little queasy… yet… strangely… different!?  My stomach… it hurts!  It’s clenching up on me!!

Uh… wow.  Where did those come from?

Hmmmmmm… I should make a costume…

Ladies and gentlemen… I am no longer Papa K… but “THE PHOENIX BLADE”!

 

So all this time… all I had to do was stick my head in my microwave to harness all the powers of the universe?  What took me so long to microwave my head?  Well it doesn’t matter…  I guess after I’m done flexing my new muscles I’m going to go save someone.

Anyone need saving?  Anyone?

Alright… I know it’s Friday so all the bad guys are taking the evening off so if anyone needs me you can either yell, “HELP ME PHOENIX BLADE” and I’ll hear you with my new supersonic hearing or I’ll just sense it with my new heightened awareness or you can flash this in the sky:

I’m off to make diamonds by crushing coal between my ass-cheeks now.  If you need me… probably the best way to get my attention is to flash the sign.

Dammit. The Terrible Twos Are Real.


Parenthood is one hell of a humbling experience. 

I used to think that parents who couldn’t control their kids had issues.  I thought that a kid who was misbehaving was not very well-disciplined and that the parents simply didn’t try hard enough to keep their kid in check.

I’m here to tell you, as a parent who prides themself on being VERY proactive in trying to mold an incredibly well-behaved child… it’s simply impossible to score 100% all the time.

Like all kids, DLG has had her bouts with disobedience… but until recently nothing off the charts.  I diligently read “1-2-3 Magic!” (a book on disciplining your kids) before she reached the age of one.  When her behavior began to reach a point where I though she might be able to reasonably understand what was “right” and “wrong”, Bunny and I started issuing time-outs.  These have worked splendidly and with minor backlash.

But this Labor Day weekend… something short circuited. 

She pushed a kid over in church… twice

She bit and hit a friend of hers who came over to play. 

She threw crayons, spit out half chewed bread and threw pizza across an Italian restaurant.

She dumped her plate full of ravioli all over our kitchen floor.

She kicked off her shoes and demanded to walk around barefoot at the mall.

She would go “boneless” (completely limp) at the first mention of “time-out”.

She would grab fistfuls of her mother and I’s face in an effort to literally pull the skin clean off our skull.

“What happened to my sweet little girl?” I recently asked myself over an empty bottle of Malbec.

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The signs of parental abuse were there early on.  I should have seen this coming.

I’ve heard from various people and read on numberous blogs that the terrible twos are “a myth” and that the concern should happen when they turn three.  Well… I’m here to tell you those people are full of bullshit.  I don’t think you know when the “testing” will come.  Bunny and I have done everything… EVERYTHING… to ensure DLG has had nothing but love, affection and discipline from both of us.  I also think we give her faaaaaaaaaaaaar too much credit sometime and imagine her as being able to overcome two-year-old tendencies because she IS such a genius.

Although… with her genius tendencies she holds the power to become an incredible turd while maintaining her puppy dog eyes sweet demeanor.  Recently, after taking her blue magic marker to an expensive piece of furniture in her room, she looked up at her mother as smoke billowed from her ears and said, “I love you mommy!” 

“……….” was Bunny’s response.

She looked at me and said, “SO… WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW????!!!!!”  That comment did elicit a laugh from either of us at which point completely destroys the credibility of your argument with her altogether.

She’s testing her boundaries and she’s doing a damn good job of it. 

Doesn’t she know that I’m twenty times bigger than she is?  Isn’t she intimidated?

Hell no.  Something tells me she just might be getting started.

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I’d be interested in hearing any one elses horror stories.  It helps ease the pain knowing that other parent’s little angels can become little turds too.