more crazy shit...

i've decided that when i introduce myself and my kids to people, it will be like this: "hi, i'm darth, and these are my kids, Piss and Moan." maybe i used that one in this blog before, so sue me.

recently, we got some mail for someone who lived at this address before we did. their FIRST name, yes, i said first name, is "pepsi".

who names their kid pepsi?!?

"hi, these are my kids, pepsi, coke. that's dr pepper over there, we have high hopes for him."

and what kind of vessel exactly was cap'n crunch the captain of?

anyways,

darth sardonic

a bevvy of nonsequitors

why do babies and toddlers look like they're dead when they sleep? this is horribly disturbing, and i have woken both of my children up on numerous occasions to ascertain that they are still breathing.

i have being the less-than-helpful hubby down to a science. but i can't really help it, my wife asks questions to which i couldn't possibly know the answer: "baby, where are my keys?" to which i invariably reply, "i don't know, where are your keys?" eventually, we will get to "where'd you have them last?" which i hate, cause it's such a "parent" thing to say, but my wife would forget her head if it were not attached. there have been occasions where she asks me where something is, and i have happened to notice whatever she is looking for hiding under a pile of mail or whatever, and i remember!! and tell her. but mostly i ask her question back to her. i've also mastered the art of being captain obvious. today, she says, "wow, eggs and stainless steel cookware don't go together" (she recently bought new stainless steel cookware, and apparently this morning was her first egg-cooking with the new pans). i look. sure enough, eggs stuck to the pan like crazy. i say, (in my drollest, dryest voice) "well, i guess you shouldn't cook eggs with your stainless steel cookware." i am so very helpful. i pat myself on the back. ouch, i think i pulled something. ow, hang on.

recently, no. 1 runs up to me, one index finger extended, and says, "uh oh. poopy." followed by something that sounds like "god." and something else that sounds like "shit." sure enough, he has poo on his finger. like he was walking along, and suddenly--"hey, what the fu--?!! what's in my diaper? let me jus-- aaww fuck!" as i'm changing his diaper and cleaning his finger, i can't help wondering if he stuck his finger in his poo and then tried to immediately pick his nose with it, a thought that cracks me up!! i know, i'm a sick fucking bastard and i'm sure there's a special place in hell for me.

why do people slow down when they see a cop, even if they were already going below the speed limit? jesus, people, drive! everyone drives around here like they are packing four pounds of uncut heroin and a dead mobster in the back of their car. like if they don't get to the drop to ditch the drugs, and the dump to ditch the body in about 10 min, there'll be hell to pay most of the time, and like grannies the instant a police car is in sight.

and just a note here (cause today is most definitely a stream-of-conscious(and i'm sure i fucked that spelling up) day and i'm just spilling this shit as it comes to me), i do say "god" when my kids have a poopy, but my wife is the one who says "shit". i have been seriously cutting back on my verbal abuse of the "blue" words after numerous lectures by my mom and sundry others. the wife, on the other hand.... i'd say at least 80% of the repeat of vulgar language by my kids has been a direct result of something my wife has said. oh, everyone's concerned about your language, darth, you really need to cut back, blah fucking blah, yakity fucking schmakity, but lo and behold, the one teaching the kids bad language is my oh, so sweet and loveable wife who would never say anything to corrupt her kids, oh nooooo. yeah, well...

recently, i watched sky captain and the world of tomorrow. i was really excited to see it cause i thought it was going to be a modern-day sci-fi done with a thirties sci-fi flare. aaaaaamp! wrong! thank you for playing, you don't even get a consolation prize, cause this is a movie done entirely like a thirties sci-fi movie, complete with shrieking female lead, who thinks throwing an arm up in front of her face and making a loud whiny noise will protect her from a hundred empire-state-sized robots, and a male lead who spends most of his time expostulating about how cool he is, and the rest posing like some kind of gq ad. it was horrible, and i quickly found myself doing mst3k, making fun of it. it's too bad mst3k is off the air, cause they could do sky craptain and the world of boredom and it would be so hilarious that i would probably simultaneously shit my pants and shoot dr pepper out my nose. my one question when the movie was over was this: why would the criminally insane bad guy with the god-complex put termination sequences on board his doomsday/genesis machine rocketship? if he was convinced this was the future, why would he make it so that somebody inside the ship (which is supposed to be unmanned) could shut it down? huh? am i the only one who caught this? is it in case pvt 1st class stanley nuttbutt gets homesick? "ah just cain't leave mah ma!!" damn, this movie sucked.

i've decided that when my kids get older, i'm picking one day a year where i change the channel or volume on the tv repeatedly while they are watching a movie, whine and cry uproariously at everything they say to me, and climb all over them when they are trying to eat or rest or sleep. i promise not to enjoy it as much as they seem to enjoy it now, but it needs to be done.

anyways, this kind of stuff marches through my head like a macy's day parade (complete with giant underdog and shrek balloons) on a nearly constant basis, and now i have somewhere for it to go. hopefully, you guys have enjoyed it, and i'll pass more of this along again soon.

darth sardonic

in memoriam

okay, first off, i'm ill again today. now that i have two kids, i should just plan on feeling like shit all winter.

last night, my wife and i were discussing johnny carson, and how much he has influenced our lives.

now, when she initially told me he was dead, i was kinda unmoved. i mean, it's sad when just about anyone dies, but i didn't feel like johnny carson had really influenced me much.

but then we were talking last night, and i remembered that when i was like four or five, my dad used to wake me up in the middle of the night. then we would make huge glasses of nesquik chocolate milk, and a mile-high stack of buttered toast (for dunking in the chocolate milk), and sit in front of the tv in our underwear, and watch johnny carson.

i used to love that. i always cracked up at the swammi routine. not sure why, i guess because even a little kid can appreciate the humor in "may the bird of paradise fly up your nose" or "may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits".

and since my relationship with my father declined as i got older (mainly because he was no longer the kind of guy who would get his kids up in the middle of the night to watch anything on tv, let alone johnny carson--we were actually discussing the johnny carson times, and he apologized for being such a bad influence on my early years. fucking apologized!!! it was like he pissed on the fond memories that i had of him from before the divorce! ), the fond memories became fewer and farther between. and when he passed (it's been about ten years now), we were barely speaking to each other.

so i lost my dad, and any chance there was of building new fond memories (there are a shitload of less-than-fond ones, and then a double-handful of the fond ones that i guard like a vault lest they somehow become tainted or tarnished by the less-than-fond ones), and now, in losing johnny carson, i have been forced to reopen old wounds and rescrutinize times that were so much fun and ask myself, "where the fuck did that all go!?!" what happened to all of us that changed things so drastically from those glowing memories of watching johnny carson in our tighty-whiteys with the lights off and butter and chocolate milk dripping off our chin? what happened to the dad who, when informed by one of my friends that i had peed in another friends yard, asked my friend, "well, did you fall in it?" the dad who spent 20 minutes swapping "when you were born" jokes with one of my friends while the rest of my little teenage crew laughed so hard we cried? he knew some we had never even heard before--"when you were born, they stuck you in a tub of water to figure out which end was breathing and which end to slap". the dad that used to stand by the finish line of the cross-country course on race day and simply say "son. son." over and over again with his voice honey-coated in pride as i crossed? where'd that fucker go? what became of the guy who was my hero? who i looked up to? fuck that guy, and fuck you, johnny carson, for forcing me to tear out this chunk of myself that i thought i had put away forever and reexamine it like a tumor! fuck both of you and fuck me for sitting here and crying over shit that can't be fixed and can't be helped. fuck us all for the shit we do to each other whether we mean to or not.

i will just go back to enjoying the good times, and dulling down the bad.

but i must close the box titled, "fond memories of dad" as i see that already the edges are becoming tarnished, and the colors faded.

thanks for sitting through it with me.

and johnny--"thank you & goodnight"

darth sardonic

ps. and dad, if you're out there, and can see this, yes, i've got fond memories, more even than i like to admit, and you weren't the worst dad in the world. i just wish there had been more of them. and don't feel offended if i say i don't want to be the kind of dad you were, cause when i say that, i'm thinking of the later years when you no longer enjoyed the swammi routine.

is spongebob gay?

more importantly, who the fuck cares?

remember when that dumb fucking wackjob jerry falwell said that one of the teletubbies was gay? the really funny thing about that was that the purple tubby didn't seem to display any kind of desire to boff his fellow tubbies, falwell just based this on the fact that he was purple and carried a bag. so is barney gay? indiana jones?

but the thing that really cracked me up was that by lobbying that the purple teletubby was gay, he turned it into a gay icon. it wasn't before he said it was.

bert and ernie. of course these guys have to be gay, right? cause they live in the same apartment, and although they have seperate beds, they sleep in the same room. if that is the case, then i, and every mormon missionary in the world along with me, am gay, or at least was while i spread the gospel of jesus christ. it couldn't possibly be that they are two roommates who can't afford a two-bedroom apartment. nah, they are definitely gay.

and again, after all this hype, they became gay icons.

so the latest and greatest is spongebob squarepants. this guy is annoying beyond belief, but he is no more a spokesperson for homosexuality than bugs bunny (cross-dresser who has a thing for bald, short, fat hunters), the justice league (bunch of buff guys in costume who never hit on wonder woman or try to take her out on a date), or snagglepuss (shit, if we're going to use gay stereotypes as a reason for declaring a cartoon character is pushing homosexuality, this guy's got the walk, the mannerisms, and without a doubt the voice!). but i suspect that the christian right has again inadvertantly advanced the gay cause by identifying yet another character to be a role model (or at least a codeword for finding others like yourself) for every young man who is unsure of his sexuality (or who is sure, as the case may be).

i've always felt that if you're looking hard enough, you can find something wrong with everything. i could probably find reasons to say jesus was gay (hung out with twelve other men, and never had sex with a woman (actually, i believe he was married, so that doesn't even work for me, but i throw it out there as an example of how stupid this game can be.)) now, i in no way believe that jesus was gay. let me just get that out there.

but again, who the fuck cares whether these characters are gay, or push homosexuality, or whatever? i know that i don't.

so give it a fucking break, spend more time reading your bible and less time looking for trouble. all you end up doing is pushing people away from your cause.

darth sardonic

things that get me down...

i can't help it, i'm one of those people who thinks too much about shit, and i let the stuff i think of get me down.

and i'm kinda in a funk today anyways cause i'm tired and it's fucking foul outside and my children are whiney and i feel all "blah".

but we went out today to do a little shopping and we passed a flatbed truck hauling a mid-seventies datsun in a horrible state of disrepair on i-5.

now this datsun was three different colors, the most predominant being moss-green, and the windshields were cracked beyond visibility, and grass was growing up from the bumper and the tires were all flat.

when i see stuff like that, i get depressed, and here's why. no one will ever restore that car. nor will it probably ever be more than a moldering pile of scrap in one of the many salvage yards that dot the countryside. because it was probably on its way to a salvage yard when i saw it. and it probably should've just been smashed into scrap, and shipped off to be molded into something new, which would be good, and not depress me, because that's what happens with life, things die and get reconstituted into new living things. but this won't, cause the guy who bought it for his salvage yard will be hoping to get his money back so he will keep it around hoping someone will want parts off of it, but no one will because it has passed its prime, it has become null and void, it has become useless. so it will be lumped in with a pile of other useless and broken and past-their-prime cars that will just pile up and pile up and keep piling up.

so we're at a used cd/movie place, and i pass shelves of videos that no one will ever watch again, cause no one wants them. they'll just collect dust and no one will spend six bucks for them, so they'll be reduced to five, then four, on down till eventually they'll be on sale for 50 cents and still no one will want them. someone's blood, sweat, and tears poured out, someone's creative forces spilled forth, and it's not worth the magnetic tape it's printed on. eventually, they'll just be boxed up, and dumped out with the trash, or donated somewhere where they will still collect dust and wither away, and they will still be unwanted.

and it's not just cars and other useless items, it's people too. i have an acquaintance who is a poor-white-trash loser. and his wife is a pwt loser as well. and neither one of them will do anything to improve their state. because they choose not to. and they have a kid, who will most assuredly grow up to be just like them, and will have kids that will be just like them, ad infinitum with little chance of change or improvement. like human flotsam and jetsam to wash across the shore of humanity for eternity, multiplying and expanding, a whole vast eternal growing and swelling sea of throwaways that will clog and choke all life from the very universe.

and that fucking depresses me.

didn't i say i think too much about shit?

anyways,

darth sardonic

more random stuff to make you say "hmmm"

well, in light of the dumbass post that i left yesterday, the title "look, listen, kneel, pray" turned out to be a horrible waste of an astoundingly cool title. originally, i was going to post some more unsolicited netflix movie reviews and then forgot what i was gonna say.

but i did remember this little bit: (in my best tv announcer voice) i, robot was brought to you by; converse all-stars, helping cops run down bad robots into the next millenium, and audi, "bury our cars under 500 robots, and they'll still get you where your going!" now with new "dry-cleaning hanger" parking feature!

and 50 first dates has been brought to you by spam. not that i have noticed any product-placement in any of the movies i've seen lately.

yesterday, i saw a commercial for some jimmy dean breakfast thingy. the factory-worker lady says, (and i am not making this shit up!) "the eggs come from real chickens, the cheese comes from real cows, and the sausage comes from jimmy dean."

yes, that's right. yes, put me right off my jimmy dean sausage. if i'd only known all those years. but i think the real question is how they've managed to make sausages from jimmy dean for so long without killing him or at least rendering him unable to talk in his own commercials? maybe he is in a wheelchair, or takes a few years off every so often to regenerate the bogarted flesh. who knows?

then, last night, my wife asks me why it is that the major networks will run commercials for pads and tampons, menopause medicine, viagra, birth control pills and patches, preparation h, medicine that increases your breasts, and even medicine to cut down on the amount of your genital herpes outbreaks (you sick pervert!), but not a one for condoms? interesting.

my question is: why is it, when i see a condom commercial on one of the more forward-thinking cable networks, does the condom and package look more like a heavily-starched pillowcase placed over a life preserver instead of like an actual condom packet, with serrated edges and crinkles? did the suits at some ad agency think they would sell better if they were shiny and smooth in the ads? who knows.

finally, today, i leave you with this tidbit: yesterday, while watching a disney flick that had a segment about the samba in it, i had the joy of watching no. 1 dance around, his little legs stomping the ground, his stubby arms flailing, laughing, and singing gibberish made-up lyrics at the top of his lungs, tripping over toys as he ran circles around the room. he didn't care who was watching. he didn't care if he was doing it right. he didn't care if he was impressing the hot chick at the bar or whether he was gonna get her phone number. he was doing it cause it was fun.

i miss that a little. i do my best to dance around the house with him, (he already moshes and has an ear for what makes good moshing music) uninhibited, but no matter how much i flop around or act silly, some adult part of my mind is always worried about who might see. i'm very blessed that i have to children to remind me how to enjoy things for the pure sake of enjoyment.

so my thought that i would leave you with this day is: DANCE. doesn't matter if you're doing it right, doesn't matter if anyone can see, doesn't matter if it's gonna get you laid or not. dance for the pure fucking joy of dancing, of being alive, of being able to pop in your favorite song and do whatever it is you do to enjoy that song.

and yes, i know it is not usually my style to give you guys little nuggets of touchy-feely stuff, but hey, i've got a sensitive side, and i occasionally am moved and made happy by my children's antics, and no one can be pissed off all the time, and if ya can't deal with that, then fucking sod off.

i remain ever yours truly, my droogs and only friends,

darth sardonic

look, listen, kneel, pray

feel like i should write something today, but, as it turns out, don't really have anything to say. not that that ever stopped me before!

so much for the predicted snow that is supposed to have been coming now for a month. yeah, instead we now have to be concerned with flooding due to the warm weather and overabundance of rain. being a weatherman for the news and radio has to be world's easiest job.

it reminds me of right after high school, when i was working before going to college (or maybe it was before going to argentina, who knows?). anyways, i used to ride with my dad to work, and he would listen to am news radio.

so the weatherman says, "today, rain (and it was). tomorrow, 30% snow"

next morning, rain. weatherman says, "weather update. today, 30% rain, tomorrow, 50% snow."

next morning, rain. weatherman says, "weather update. today, 50% rain, tomorrow, 70% snow."

next morning, rain. weatherman says, "weather update. today, 70% rain, tomorrow, rain as well."

next morning, snow. weatherman says, "weather update...." which prompts me to turn to my dad and say, "apparently, you could predict that it will rain trout and good-n-plenties, and then you just get up the next morning, stick your head out the window, and make a weather update to say it's going to do whatever it already is."

anywaaays,

gotta change my kid's diaper, cause he's smelly.

darth sardonic

things i say on a daily basis that i never thougth i would say:

plastic bags are not toys!

don't lick the tv!

which one of you is poopy?

please don't kick me in the nads again.

digging for gold?

i told you if you kept climbing up there you'd hurt yourself.

ouch, those are my toes.

you want to watch bambi AGAIN?

why do you keep letting your brother out the front door?

get out of the garbage!

nooooo, that's icky!!

do not run around the house with those!

darth sardonic

how to win hearts and make friends

well, okay, we all know that that's bullshit, but it's my crazy-ass way of saying that i have added yet another pal to my link list of pals. and i definitely suggest checking out this guy, he's funny, and he has downloaded some of his original music for our listening pleasure. and it's good stuff.

and if your imagination is good, and the gods smile on us, while you're listening to his tunes, try and imagine yours truly on bass in the background, cause he's interested, and so am i. so we gotta make it happen!

oh, and mother hoodlum, we'll probably need a drummer too, so you're gonna have to sell off some of your nightmare before christmas stuff to buy rick a drumset. (different rick, rick. boy, that could get confusing. of course, we could name our band 2 ricks and a dave. nevermind, that sucks.) just kidding.

again, anywaaaaaayyysss.

darth sardonic

buying front row seats to armageddon

it's possible i spelled that wrong, but i really don't fucking care.

in light of recent events involving a pretentious lady and my pal, mother hoodlum, i've been contemplating the christian phenomenon.

first of all, in the grand scope of things, christianity is a relatively young religion. i can think of at least three big ones that predate it by a few millenia:

1.) judaism. without these guys, there would be absolutely no christianity whatsoever. and any christian who uses the whole "jews crucified christ" bullshit as an excuse to be anti-semitic should be drug out into the street at 4 a.m. and summarily shot. because if christ was born now, in the us, we'd crucify him. or give him the chair in texas, actually, but same fucking thing. it was simply a small handful of pharisees who brought about his execution, because their positions of leadership were being threatened, and not the entire race.

2.) hinduism. alls i know bout these guys is their gods look like cool dungeons and dragons characters, and they have a crazy amount of respect for all, and i mean all life. by comparison, us christians are bloodthirsty vampires who seek the destruction of all who are not us. oh, wait, that's christianity anyway. sorry.

3.) buddhism. i think buddha and jesus would've gotten along famously. jesus was kinda hippified, and buddha's all about meditation and letting material things go, and focusing on the spirit.

the interesting thing about most christians that i come in contact with is they function under the possibly well-meaning but definitely misguided notion that everyone either is, or oughtta be, christian. especially in the us. if i had a buck for every email or conversation that came my way beginning with the line, "the us is a christian country..." i would produce my own porn movies.

first of all, the us is a non-religious country, based on seperation of church and state. if the us was a christian country, you'd have to be christian to be president, or serve in the senate or congress. i lived in argentina, and it is written into their law that you must be baptized catholic to be president of their country, and yet nobody there goes running around saying "argentina is a catholic (or christian, or whatfuckingever) country."

but here, boy, we got the christians trying to cram their beliefs into every aspect of our lives. mandatory christian prayer in schools. "under god" in the pledge of allegiance, which was, actually, only added into the pledge in the 1950's (a period of time that we seem to be attempting to relive, god please pass us the wild and crazy 60's, quick!) spouting their beliefs and way of thinking from every available medium.

so my thing is, why don't we see any buddhists, or hindus, or jews doing this? i mean, they have been around alot longer than we have, and yet they are content to leave the rest of us alone, and live their lives and their belief systems in peace. no one is trying to convince me that my god should have blue skin (though that would be cool!) or multiple arms, no one is trying to convince me that the kabala (and i'm sorry, cause i'm damn sure i fucked that one up!) is the only way to go (cept britanny spears, but she's only doing it cause she's got her nose so far up madonna's asshole that i can't tell where one ends and the other begins), or that i should shave my head, give away my belongings, and wear an orange robe.

also, christians seem to be the only bipeds on this planet in a mad-ass rush to usher in the big fucking war between good and evil. (oh, wait, cept for jihad muslims, who are only slightly more crazy than the zealous christians.) is it possible, however sacriligious it may seem, that the battle is more of a spiritual one than one between our country and another's. i think the word for a religious battle between two countries is "crusade", and the ancient brits tried that, and i don't think christ came back then, either. and what we are doing in iraq is little more than the same thing. i doubt highly that it will usher in any new era of peace or what ever other bullshit that they think is sure to follow.

and finally, is it possible that since our universe is such a vast, huge, and unfathomably eternal place, that there is a something out there for each and every one of us? i mean, there's probably a heaven where christ resides, and a heaven or whatever they call it, where the elephant guy with six arms hangs out, and a heaven where allah meets the faithful martyrs with 76 virgins. i used to think that all our respective gods were the same thing with different names and outfits, but maybe they are all different, but equal, and reside in their own respective heavens. or maybe christianity is the right one, in which case, i know christ is going to be very disappointed with alot of his so-called representatives, because their recruiting methods drove more people away than they brought to the flock.

either way, i'm getting a little tired of the christian right running around thinking their way is the only right way, i'm ready for a couple of guys clad in turbans and loincloths, leading a cow, to knock my door and ask me if i've ever pondered how my life might be improved if i accepted shali or whoever into my heart.

darth sardonic

personality test (and yes, it proves i have none!)

i was going to put this personality test thing that got emailed to me in here. you know, it's one of those ask a million questions, some stupid, some sorta funny, and most simply annoying, in an attempt to get to know ya, only it was taking too fucking long and most of the questions were dumb, so okay, i've decided to create my own.

1.) what's yer name? darth sardonic, which denotes: a.) that i am a card-carrying member of the "dark lord of the sith" club, though i'm not sure why, as i'm not at all adept at using a lightsaber, and am only slightly embedded in the dark side of the force, and b.) a smartass with a kinda cynical and dark world's eye view. and in case you were wondering, no, it does not say "darth sardonic" on my driver's license, but i'm not gonna give you my real name.

2.) name two bands that you love and any bands that they may have spawned. joy division, which became new order upon the death of ian curtis and the subsequent hiring of gillian(i can't remember her last name.), then peter hook, the bassist, left to make revenge, and bernard sumner dabbled with electronic and 808 state, while gillian and the drummer, who's name has now slipped my mind, made a band called the other two. clever, eh? and bauhaus, which broke up, leaving peter murphy to go solo, while the others made, at different times, and with different combinations, the bubblemen(have fun finding their album, it's virtually impossible to locate, and is on vinyl only, but if you do find it, burn me a copy, please?), tones on tail, and love and rockets, before both david j and daniel ash went on to solo careers, with considerably less success than mr. murphy did. kevin haskins is probably still playing the drums and being goofy somewhere, and is probably old enough to drink now, as he, judging by the liner pictures in my bauhaus albums, was like 12 when the band broke up.

3.) what bothers you most? stupid people, and especially stupid people who cram their opinions down your throat unsolicited, and the fact that it's the 21st century and we still don't have flying cars or maid robots. all that money and time spent on fixing the y2k thing, and no one was even worried about the fact that in the sixties and seventies we were more or less promised flying cars and robot maids. jesus!

and finally, 4.) if you were a comb in somebody's back pocket and you fell out onto the sidewalk, would you want it to be summer or winter, and why? summer, cause the sidewalk would be nice and toasty warm, and i could lay out in the sun, and since i'm a "goody", i'm virtually indestructible, so i think it would be a fun adventure. sides, i didn't really like it in that guy's back pocket, as he was not real good with the personal hygiene thing, and his wallet was always digging into my side.

well, fuck, if you don't know anything about me now, then you're a hopeless case.

darth sardonic
"bringing the insanity to you, one blog at a time."

rallying around the forces (of evil, apparently)

note: before reading today's diatribe, i highly suggest clicking the link to mother hoodlum's blog, and reading what she has most recently posted (commenting on a comment), since my entire blog today is based upon the comment left by person or persons unknown at her own blogsite.

i am tattooed. i am pierced (and not just my ears). i like porn. i frequently overuse "colorful metaphors" in my written and verbal communication, especially when someone has done or said something that i find particularly annoying. oysters make pearls, i weave beautiful tapestries of vulgarity like an artist. but not today, lest the person that today's essay is aimed at not give this piece the proper attention due to my medium of choice.

most importantly, i am a stay-home father.

now, to assume that a child will be "penalized" due to his/her parents usage of the english language, supposed education level, and/or body modification is clearly a narrow-minded world view. to further assume (especially without actually knowing the person in question, or the child they are rearing) that one is a horrible parent based on these things is beyond my ability to fathom.

my entire family, my wife's family, their families, and my friends, and their families, are not bothered at all by my appearance, dress, or even my frequent use of "potty-mouth" (i'm sorry, i've really gotta ask, cause it is just annoying me beyond my ability to withstand--is that really the best phrase you could come up with?!!? we are not 12.) language. i will admit here that i am careful to curb my tongue when around mine, and others', children. my sons have numerous friends, and are able to play with them and have fun, without having to worry about what jane's daddy does for a living, or the fact that jack's mommy has tattoos, or that jill's family all swear. because it is not important.

now, let me ask you, are you the one who decides what "uneducated" is? becasue mother hoodlum has a degree. not that that really matters either, as i have met people with phd's who were otherwise unable to function in the real world. i suspect that you might fall into this category, ma'am.

let me ask you, (because i suspect that you might be a christian), who did jesus hang out with when he was on the earth? did he hang out with the educated? no, because they were known as "pharisees" in his time. matter of fact, he spent most of his time in verbal conflict with them, because they thought they knew more than he did. he was considered "uneducated". is it possible that jesus hung out with people who were tattooed, or pierced, or who used colorful language, or did other things that appeared unsavory to those around? mary magdalene was considered a harlot, which didn't make her a prostitute, per se, but it meant that her behavior towards men was considered by those around to be inappropriate. did jesus spend a surplus of time advocating going to school? did he teach that only people with uninked skin or clean mouths be allowed to have children? did he in any way, advocate his followers to run around casting judgement upon those who were minding their own business? or upon those that were different than themselves?

quite to the contrary, he said "love thy neighbor as thyself" and when asked to specify who was our neighbor, he gave the infamous parable of the good samaritan. meaning, everyone. he said, "judge not, lest ye be judged." he said, "let he among you who is without sin cast the first stone".

i find it interesting when someone purporting to be a christian offers unsolicited views on what's wrong with my life and why i should change so that i may enter the kingdom of heaven, when that is actually what the people who crucified christ did.

and, finally, yes, "trash bred trash" (i'm guessing what you meant to say there is "trash breeds trash", but i might be wrong, as i am uneducated, and you are, quite obviously, a highly intelligent individual). but you left out a few adjectives: "trash breeds thoughtful, unassuming, open-minded, accepting, fun, humorous, unfettered, free-thinking, glorious, special, self-assured, self-confident trash." and, frankly, i'd rather hang out with trash than yourself and people of your ilk, no offense.

and one more thing, ma'am, please get a hobby, or a job, or something, as you seem to have way too much time on your hands.

with regards,
darth sardonic

the joys of stay-home dadhood

naturally, you know that really this blog is not about the "joys" so much as shit that pisses me off, but hopefully you also realize that i really do know the real joys of being a stay-home parent.

having said that, let's start in, shall we?

first off, i used to never, and i mean never get sick. never. i thought a sore throat was sick. now, i catch every creeping thing that would fill my head with infected snot or my anus with watery discharge. and my kids aren't even in school yet. i'm fucked right good and proper when they start. the latest is a three-day bug that causes everything in your body to turn to water and gush out of your ass at half-hour intervals. yes, i know it's gross, but you think hearing about it is gross, you should be with me right now.

another thing i love about being a stay-home dad in particular is comments like: "oh, it's daddy's turn today, is it?" or "must be giving mommy a break." (these are always from women.) it's my fucking turn every fucking day. now, it's not that i don't think what mommy does is hard, and she's super good about giving me breaks. my point is, what kinda sick bitch feels it's necessary to a.) assume daddy never takes care of the kids, and then b.) go and make some snide fucking comment about it, to me, in the store/parking lot/mall/doctor's office? and if they do it when my wife is around, she will be the first to jump their shit.

i also love receiving unsolicited advice in the same locations i have just mentioned, from mothers who have obviously moved into the next phase of parenthood (more commonly know as grandparenthood) about overuse of binkies or whatever other dumb shit pops into their head. if i ask for it, then fine, if i don't know you and i didn't ask, piss off ya nonce.

i love (and i have alluded to this in previous blogs) the chilly reception i get from some stay-home moms. however, that dead horse is completely covered in fresh bruises, so i will say no more.

in closing, let me share a story. load my kids in the double stroller to go to the post office and mail off a couple of not-small boxes. post office has double entry. i am trying to manuever double stroller and two boxes through series of doors. nearby, woman sorts through junk mail, looking through envelopes and then tossing them in trash. watches me hold door with butt while manhandling stroller and doing my best diego maradona (or maybe you'd prefer david beckham? or maybe you'd prefer mia hamm? i know i would. mmmmm, mia hamm. oops, i digress.) with the boxes. finally, i have gained access to the fortress that is the tularosa, nm post office. wipe sweat from brow (did i forget to mention 100-degree weather? silly me.) woman says, "that was me 20 years ago."

i fight urge to scream at top of lungs, "did no one get the door for you 20 years ago?!!!!? is that why you feel like you can be such a twat to me now?? why, for fuck's sake, if you've been there as you say, would you just stand around like a fucking successful brain donor, watching while i fight my way through two sets of doors, when any teenage punk kid with a foot-tall blue mohawk and more metal than skin on his face would've had enough sense to grab the door. fuck you and your bratty-ass kids and your fucking junk mail that is more important than your fellow man and fuck your need to inform me that 20 years ago you were fucking some kids' lives up while you muddled your braindead way through this thing the rest of us call life!!!!!"

instead, i smile what i hope is a pleasant "i-don't-give-a-shit" smile, and ignore her for the rest of my time in the post office.

the point being, if you're not gonna get the door for someone who is struggling, don't be daft enough to mention that "you were there" before. just coninue ignoring them like you were before.

anywaaaaayyysss.

darth sardonic

trimspa, baby!

alright, in what must surely be one of the most poorly-thought-out ad campaigns of the decade, if not the century, we have anna nicole smith (or as i like to call her, "al", short for al kowalic) selling the dubious diet plan (which is not just one diet pill, but apparently a series of diet pills--when the wife told me this as she looked at trimspa's website i immediately thought of the mom and her "diet pills" in requiem for a dream.) put out by trimspa.

when the campaign first began, as you surely recall, the commercial showed anna getting out of a limo, looking drunk and stoned and freshly-peroxided, but not particularly "trim". everyone is asking her how she did it? how'd you do it, anna? she says "trimspa" at the same time i think, "do what?" followed promptly by "oh, she must've just taken a big dump".

cause honestly, right, i mean, she had maybe lost two pounds when they filmed that first commercial.

now she is decidedly thinner. but hey, she acts like a boozed-out, drugged-up crack whore, and not just in the commercials, either. you have probably heard about the awards ceremony where she acted like varuca salt on prozac--"i want him to make me a beeeeooooootiful dressss."

so, the imagery of ellen byrsten(i may have spelled that wrong, my wife says to "google it", i say i don't care enough, so if i spelled it wrong, too fucking bad!) popping uppers is driven home by the fact that anna "al kowalic" nicole smith permanently acts like she's on a bender, which makes me feel like trimspa's series of pills probably has a list of side effects that runs like this:

may cause jitters, nerves, paranoia, stupid behavior at public events, the inability to see how strung-out you really look, anal leakage, high-pitched twelve-year-old voice, bad dye job, raised heart rate and/or blood pressure, and/or jail stay.

"trimspa, baby!"

darth sardonic