All This Talk About Boobs.

Okay. So. This thing about the breastfeeding.

There she is, y’all. The perfect mom. She’s skinny and pretty and her boobs are still perky even, somehow, with a three-year-old kid attached to one.

Yep, there she stands – all “HELL YEAH THAT’S MY BOOB, BITCHES” – provocative, defiant, blah blah, while Internet moms falling squarely on one side of the fence or the other sharpen their pitchforks and light their torches, blah blah… and Time Magazine executives sit back and watch sales skyrocket, blah blah blah-dee blah blah.

Breastfeeders: “It’s about time! Go, girl! Other moms stink! Breast is best!”

Non-Breastfeeders: “STOP JUDGING ME YOU SKANK.”

Time Magazine: “Eeeeeeeeexcellent.”

Now I suppose, if pressed, I would land softly upon the grass of the nonbelievers, but that’s really WAY less about my personal feelings on the issue and more due to a very persistent rebellious streak that sounds a screechy alarm inside my head whenever its Sanctimonious Ass-O-Meter reaches critical levels.

I simply don’t like ANYONE AT ALL EVER telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. I just plain don’t like it, never have never will – and my flight response when it happens is legendary.

(See also: Religion.)

The truth is, I tried breastfeeding but just kind of sucked at it (no pun intended).  I gave it the good old college try and marked time until I could hang ‘em up, which I did swiftly and without guilt after putting in my requisite 8 weeks (plus an extra two, just to prove I really meant it).

Does that make me a bad mom? I don’t think so. In fact, I think I’m a pretty good mom – and to prove it I’ll point you to Exhibit A: my extremely healthy, happy, outgoing, well-adjusted five-year-old, who is SO perfect he could even give Perky McPerfectboobs up there a run for her money. (And while I suspect his perfection’s more about nature than nurture… I still could have made a real mess of this by now and I haven’t — so credit where credit’s due, and all that.)

If you’d still like to argue the point, I’ll now invite you to stare at this picture for 30 seconds, click on it and read him in his own words, and then please to suck my left nut.

The fact that I’ve managed to produce a perfect child without breastfeeding him into his twenties isn’t the point, of course. Nor is it my point that all women should (or should not) embrace attachment parenting (or the opposite) as either the best thing (or the worst thing) ever ever ever in the history of the world ever (period and amen).

No, my point here is this:

PLEASE PUT YOUR BOOBS AWAY.

I have a five-year-old, y’all. A five-year-old who’s very curious and very precocious and just happens to be showing a lot of interest lately in the differences between boys and girls and how babies get in bellies and that sort of thing. A llllllllot of interest. And all these boobies getting thrown around on TV, on magazine covers and in front of Panda Express at the mall have REALLY got him wondering.

Now, I’m not scared to talk to him about these things, most certainly not – in fact, I kind of welcome the chance to educate him in my own words before some douchey playground know-it-all decides to take care of that for me. However, I would like to exercise as much control as I can over when and where those conversations take place, and your boob poking right out there in the middle of the food court, or staring down at us from a magazine rack while we unload groceries at the checkout line, is yanking what little control I have left right out from under me.

So, please. For the love of all things easy and pleasant and non-controversial. IX-NAY ON THE OOBS-BAY.

Okay?

If attachment parenting is your thing, I applaud you. You are clearly better at the breastfeeding thing than I ever was so yay, you. I can only assume that you’ve thought this through, done the proper amount of research, and made the decision that’s best for you and your family. As a result, I’m sure your child will grow up knowing that his mother loves him and has done her best by him. Yay for you both. You’re awesome.

But — and I’m sorry for this, I really am — I just don’t want my five-year-old to see your tits today.

Let’s be clear. I have nothing against boobs. I LOVE boobs. I especially like my own, but I’m sure yours are wonderful, too. They’re terrific on many levels. I am grateful for mine, yours, big, small, long, short, stretchy, plastic, whatever. Yay, all of us, for having boobs!!

I will someday teach my son to appreciate the beauty of them – of the entire female form, in fact. I’ll explain to him the miracle of childbirth and help him recognize the wonder of the mother-child bond. I will do my best to de-sexualize the breast for him in this context, so that he sees a mother feeding her child as an act of nurturing beauty, with no stigma attached. I promise you, I will.

But right now? The kid is five. With the curiosity of a Cheshire and a verrrry vivid imagination. He’s also saddled with two parents who, combined, have the maturity level of a 14-year-old and can’t stop saying “that’s what she said” or high-fiving when someone farts. Do we REALLY need to throw a pretty lady’s boob (with kid attached) into this mix?

I think not.

Call me a prude, call me a killjoy, call me 1986 Tipper Gore. For the next few years I can live with that. I will OWN it. I will wear the dunce hat in the corner, I will sport a big nametag that says “SANTIMONIOUS ASSHOLE.” I will do whatever you want. Just, please. For the love of christ. Can we just shut the hell up about the boobs?!?

Seriously. I’m begging you.

PUT YOUR BOOBS AWAY.

Love,

Tags: I really do like boobs, Please don't come after me with pitchforks, shut up shut up shut up

I originally wrote this a couple of years ago, as a guest post for my friend John at Living With Balls. It remains one of my mom’s favorites, so I’m re-posting it for her. Also, because I’m (semi)determined to keep that promise I made to myself, to post something here once a week — but I’m horribly lazy and refuse produce anything of real value today. What I’m trying to say is: You’re welcome, Mom.

(begin scene)

Husband: (walks into office and sees multiple photos of testicles on computer screen) Good lord! What the hell are you doing?

ME: I’m doing research about balls.

Husband: Why are you researching balls?

ME: Because I’m writing a guest post for John.

Husband: Who’s John?

ME: John is a guy with a blog called “Living With Balls.”

Husband: John has a blog about his balls?

ME: Yeah. Well, I mean, it’s not JUST about balls. It’s about all kinds of man stuff.

Husband: Man stuff.

ME: Yeah, you know, like sports and chicks and stuff.

Husband: And he asked YOU to write something for it?

ME: Yeah.

Husband: About balls?

ME:Well, the balls were MY idea.

Husband: Why?

ME: I want to be topical.

Husband: No, I mean WHY does John want you to write something for his man blog?

ME: Because he likes me.

Husband: John likes you.

ME: Yeah.

Husband: John, with the blog about his balls.

ME: Yeah.

Husband: Where does this John live?

ME: I’m not sure. New England, I think.

Husband: Where in New England?

ME: What do you mean?

Husband: I mean, what STATE does he live in?

ME: Are you deaf? I told you. New England.

Husband: New England is not a state.

ME: Yes it is.

Husband: No, it’s not.

ME: Yes it is.

Husband: No. It’s not.

ME: Yes, it IS. They have their own baseball team and everything, duh.

Husband: ???!?

ME: The New England Patriots? HELLO? Try to keep up, honey.

Husband: The New England Patriots are a FOOTBALL team.

ME: Well, whatever. They play for the state of New England.

Husband: New England is not a state.

ME: Then why does it have its own football team?

Husband: Having a football team does NOT automatically make you a state. What about the Seattle Seahawks? Or the Tampa Bay Buccaneers? Do you think THOSE are states, too?

ME: No, but those aren’t real teams.

Husband: WHAT?!?

ME:They’re FANTASY teams.

Husband: ????!?!!??!!?

ME: You know, like in fantasy football.

Husband: You have no idea what fantasy football is, do you.

ME: Sure I do. It’s a pretend league of made-up football teams that people play for or coach or something.Online. You know, like Dungeons and Dragons.

Husband: Are you serious?

ME: Why wouldn’t I be serious?

Husband: I can’t believe you’re actually a functioning human adult right now.

ME: You know, SOME people really appreciate my amazing talent.

Husband: Some people.

ME: Yes.

Husband: Like John.

ME: Exactly.

Husband: John, who has a blog about his balls.

ME: Yes. He likes me. He liked my post about killer squirrels and mullets. HE can recognize quality blogging when he sees it.

Husband: Obviously.

ME: Are you being sarcastic?

Husband: Of course not. NOTHING says “quality blogging” like mullets and squirrels.

ME: And Billy Ray Cyrus with a squirrel on his head. Don’t forget that part.

Husband: How could I?

ME: You know, it’s really amazing that more people aren’t falling all over themselves asking me to guest post for them.

Husband: Absolutely.

ME: Are you being sarcastic again?

Husband: (nodding head) Nope.

ME: (finishing Photoshopped picture of balls) Okay, I think it’s done. What do you think?

Husband: (speechless)

ME: I’m going to take that silence as your approval.

Husband: You DO realize what that looks like. Right?

ME: Of COURSE I do. I’m employing SYMBOLIC IMAGERY. I DID graduate from college, you know.

Husband: And you’re obviously putting that education to excellent use.

ME: You can mock me if you want, but this guest post is going to be AWESOME. John and I are like the best combination EVER.

Husband: Absolutely. It’s a match made in heaven.

ME: Are you being sarcastic again?

Husband: Can I go now?

(end scene)

Tags: I really don't know very much about balls

Suddenly today I feel like I should write something here. Probably because it’s been like three months since I wrote anything on this stupid blog (unless you count that time last month when I told the Jesus pamphlet people to suck it) (which I don’t and probably nobody else does, either), but it also could be the fact that I’m currently “between projects” (translation: out of work and kind-of-really-a-lot losing my shit about it) and so I should be RIGHT NOW sending out inquiries and writing samples like a madwoman on a mission — which clearly makes this the best time ever to fuck around on the Internet. And then take a nap. And also I just accidentally read one of those “how to be a great blogger” articles where some know-it-all lists out a ton of rules for writing the perfect blog post, and I just really need — REALLY NEED — to break them all right now.

So here we go.

Rule #1: Pick the Perfect Title

Coming up with a direct but enticing title is the most important part of your blog post. You want readers to find your article easily with a simple search. Picking a title that will accurately match what the reader is searching for is obviously important in this age when nearly every Internet experience begins with Google.

Yes! And thus, I shall name this post Scabs.

Rule #2: Make the Main Point Clear

The perfect blog post will let readers know what they are about to enjoy right away. Unlike a novel or movie, you don’t want the crux of the blog post to develop slowly. Internet readers have notoriously short attention spans, so make sure you open with an intro paragraph that lays out the post and lets the reader know he or she has come to the right place.

Did you see my intro paragraph up there? Can I even call that an intro paragraph? What is my main point? Do I HAVE a main point? I think it might be that I’m currently wallowing in a vat of depression and should totally be working on working right now but can’t focus on anything other than talking animal videos and my own overwhelming stench of failure. Also, I don’t like blog posts that tell me how to write blog posts. Also, I ate too much cheese last night. (fart)

Rule #3: Make a List

One easy formatting trick is to organize your post as a list. Make your different arguments into numbered or bulleted points, or include bolded subheadings. Top-ten lists and rankings are interesting to readers and give the post a clear reason to be read to the end. It also makes the post organized and clearly shows the reader what the key points will be.

I like to write lists, even if most of them are of the grocery and to-do variety. I can try to do a list here too, though, I guess. How about this:

Things I Think About Blog Posts That Tell Me How to Write the Perfect Blog Post:

1. Fuck off.
2. Shut up.

Rule #4: Linkbait

The perfect blog post will have content that other bloggers want to link to… A great blog post also needs to have a large number of outbound links in the body. This is will help other bloggers notice your work and give you a return link, and will also give readers a feeling that you have done your research before writing your post.

I am including outbound links in this post because that is what this expert says I should do and god knows I want to do everything THAT chick says because she’s so fucking smart. Can’t you see how much research I have done here? Can’t you see how awesome this post is now?

Rule #5: Make It Attractive

Making your post look nice is a quick and easy way to make readers happy. Before making a post public, take time to go back and format it to your liking. Make keywords bold, form organized or bulleted paragraphs, cut out unnecessary content to shorten up the post, enlarge titles and subject lines, and so on. A perfect post will be a pretty post.

1. I actually have no idea how to format anything in WordPress.

• If one of my posts is well-formatted… well…

1. That’s by accident.

2. Still, I think we can manage to follow Rule #5 here and find a way to make this post pretty, don’t you agree, Angelina?
3. 

Rule #6: Include Multimedia

Even if your writing is the richest on the Internet, adding images or videos is crucial to breaking up the text and keeping things interesting… Multimedia livens up a post and is a critical part of the perfect blog post.

I love multimedia! I love video! Thank GOD this expert thought of adding it to a blog post! I could NEVER have come up with that on my own! I know ALL my readers (Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.) are really going to love this post a lot more once they see this! (And they’ll know to stay away from wild mushrooms, too!)

Thanks for the tip, Perfect Blog Post Expert!

Rule #7: Stick to the Point

For a blog post to be perfect, it needs to be concise and it needs to stay on topic. As stated before, blog readers have a short attention span. When they search for a specific subject, they want the post to deal with that subject and not meander between several topics. Unless your post is about a Hollywood star or political scandal, mentioning such an event will only draw readers who are really looking for a post on a different topic.

Andy Dick! Wait. What?

Rule #8: Use Keywords

The perfect blog post will be constructed with keywords in mind. A simple search using Google AdWords on a subject will let you know which related keywords are most commonly searched. Keeping those words in your title and throughout the body will make it easy for your audience to find your post and will make it clear to them that they have come to the right place.

Look, I mastered the art of the keyword a long time ago. You can tell from this post, and this post, and this post. And also from the fact that last month 47 people found my blog by googling midget porn.

Rule #9: Keep Length in Mind

I didn’t even read this one because THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID HAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!

Rule #10: Be Original

Make your post unique! Don’t simply say what everybody else is saying. Add your mark by mixing it up and making your post stand out in some way.

I believe we can call this particular mission “Accomplished.”

Love,

Tags: not about scabs

***

1. Very carefully.

2. Through those glasses with the tiny holes in them that you wear when there’s an eclipse.

3. On TiVO.

4. Like a boss.

4. Via proxy server, so it’s anonymous. (Sometimes I leave a tacky comment, too.)

5.Like rain, on my wedding day.

6. Like a free ride, when I’m already there.

7. Like some good advice that I just didn’t take.

***

Now fuck off and stop leaving shit on my door.

Love,

Tags: Seriously. Stop leaving shit on my door.

From Quiet to Chaos, 2011
Crayon on glass, with drapery overlay
Interpretation/Critique: Clearly, the artist was trying to convey a sense of desperation and mayhem as one makes the transition from a quiet, self-reflective night to a day lived outside oneself, bringing all of one’s inner turmoil out into the light for the rest of the world to see. It’s a bold work, especially considering the dangers the artist himself faced in its creation, working in secret under the constant threat of time out.

Bunny Beheading, 2011
Found objects
Interpretation/Critique: This piece speaks out against the commercialism of Easter. A painful reminder of the tragic (yet ultimately uplifting) story of Jesus, the artist’s subtle message encourages the viewer to quietly reflect upon the true meaning of the holiday.

Le Tour Eiffel, 2011
Mixed media, sculpture
Interpretation/Critique: The linear quality of this work makes an immediate impact, as the artist juxtaposes a well-known tourist attraction against a faceless would-be observer of the world. The cross-contour lines create a visual flow to the top of the tower, but the jarring presence of a headless, unclothed figure and its precarious hold on stability remains the focal point. It is a study in frustration: making the long, difficult climb to the apex, only to find the hard-earned view obstructed by one’s own lack of vision and/or sanity.

Eggroll, 2011
Performance art
Interpretation/Critique: The effects of this bold exercise are two-fold: the audience experiences a sense of innocent fun through a the laughter of a child, while at the same time receiving a visual representation of the limitations placed upon that child by parental rule enforcement and societal expectations.

Barbie Body Gone, 2012
Found objects, plastic/cloth
Interpretation/Critique: This work represents the meaninglessness of everyday chores and the desperation one feels when presented with such menial, tedious tasks. A decapitated doll’s head is carefully placed inside the folds of dirty laundry; its sad presence conveys a sense of hopelessness, as a beautiful girl experiences finality inside a chore that can never be completely final.

Damages, 2012
Performance art, human form/bandage
Interpretation/Critique: There is a subtle macabre quality to this work, but the artist manages to convey the suffering without gory representation; the pain of the piece is tempered by a feeling of tenderness and care that transcends the work’s darker elements. Furthermore, the bandages’ brighter, more pop-art quality adds both confidence and whimsy, leaving the observer to feel sad, scared, loved and entertained, all at the same time.

Don’t Lose Your Marbles, 2012
Mixed media, leather/marble
Interpretation/Critique: The simplicity of this piece really draws the viewer in. The placement of the marbles into the couch rivets is a logical use of the existing pattern, and the color of the couch creates a warm, almost organic effect to contrast against the metallic essence within its folds. The artist is clearly taking control of the space here, and there’s a threatening tone to the work, as if to say, “Sit on this couch only if you want a marble up your ass.”

Soft Knob, 2012
Mixed media: wood/plastic/panty liner
Interpretation/Critique: This piece conveys a much stronger sense of uncertainty than the artist’s other works; it’s also more functional, although that may not have been the intended effect. The artist seems unsure of himself as he explores possible uses for this particular media. The softer elements of the liner balance against the hardness of the wood and metal, establishing an unexpected aesthetic effect but also creating a feel to the doorknob that is surprisingly pleasing to the touch.

A Day in Little Bean’s Life, 2011-12
Photographic collage
Interpretation/Critique: The artist’s haphazard approach to photography suggests chaos, drama, wonder, friendship, love and fun as he explores four different scenes from a child’s-eye perspective. Capturing elements of his own closely-guarded life, the artist offers a rare glimpse into his private home and his own unique perspective of the world around him.

Fuck You, Mom, 2012
Found object
Interpretation/Critique: This piece is the most bold of the series, and also carries the most obvious message. The sense of rage and revenge is powerful; there is no assumed facade as the artist responds to an imposed bedtime with a work that says, simply: “Fuck you, old lady, AND your stupid $350 glasses.”

Tags: four-year-old masterpieces, I am SO full of shit, Somebody took WAY too much art history in college, yes he really did that

Dear Esteemed Members of the Former High School Asshole Association:

As President of the Former High School Nobody Association, it is my job to maintain an open line of communication with your leadership regarding our mutually accepted Post-High School Code of Conduct (COC). Specifically, I’m required to monitor and report possible violations of the rules set forth in the COC’s Chapter 7: Interactions. Since the reunion of 2010 we’ve seen a significant increase in co-mingling between our two groups, which we consider a positive step; but these increased levels of interaction have also resulted in violations of Chapter 7 that must now be addressed.

At present, our membership is concerned with activities falling under the purview of Article 43: Encountering Former Nobodies Who Are Now Somebodies, and Section 2 therein: Pretending It Never Happened. Upon review of these guidelines, you’ll find that Former Assholes are required to acknowledge the damages to ego and reputation their previous dickishness may have caused to their Former Nobody counterparts; furthermore, Former Assholes are strictly prohibited from making false claims to friendship with a Former Nobody during the formative years.

As you know, Article 43 was originally added to the COC because, with the passage of time and distance from the hostile High School environment, Former Nobodies are statistically very likely to become (a) more successful, (b) more attractive, (c) more intelligent and (d) much more interesting than Former Assholes in later years. This shift in balance has resulted in a number of recent Former Asshole-Former Nobody encounters that our members have reported as troubling, uncomfortable and, in some cases, deeply unsatisfying.

We’ve been asked to remind you that Article 43 clearly states:

“It is acceptable for a Former Asshole to represent himself/herself as heroic, kind, sweet and/or loved by all throughout the high school experience, when dealing with other Former Assholes and those in the outside world (see Chapter 6: Post-High School Denial). However, when encountering a Former Nobody (or his/her known associates), it is strictly prohibited for a Former Asshole to pretend to have been anything other than a total prick in high school.”

Section 2 further clarifies the rules governing Former Assholes in these instances:

(1) You may NOT drop the name of a Former Nobody-turned-CEO to your co-workers or management, particularly if a relationship with said Former Nobody will benefit your own corporate standing in any way.

(2) You may NOT attend the performance of a Former Nobody-now-popular entertainer and claim to be an “old friend from high school” within earshot of other audience members.

(3) You may NOT arrive at a Former Nobody’s best-selling book signing and request an autograph denoting you as a “good buddy”/”old pal”/”BFF.”

(4) You may NOT attempt to “friend” an admired target on Facebook based on your mutual friendship with a Former Nobody.

(5) You may NOT use any form of social media to share anecdotes, photos or other evidence of a Former Nobody’s undesirable status during High School, especially when accompanied by your own fond memories of that experience (“Hey, [Former Nobody], remember how funny it was when we pantsed you in the Home Ec hallway in front of that pretty cheerleader? Didn’t you get suspended for that? Hahahaaaa!”) or lack thereof (“Everyone says [Former Nobody] was in love with me back then, but I really just had no idea! I thought those puppy dog eyes were just his normal look!”).

If a situation occurs that is not specifically addressed in these guidelines, Former Assholes are encouraged to consider the Golden Rule and apply common sense.

While both associations acknowledge a Former Asshole’s right to grow as a human and evolve into a Non-Asshole Citizen, we also must respect the right of each Former Nobody to enjoy his or her hard-earned success without disregarding all the High School Bullshit he or she first had to endure. To this end, we must also remind you that, according to both Sections 3 (You Dished It Out Now Take It) and 4 (Suck It Up, Be a Man), every member of the Former High School Nobody Association is now entitled to act like a complete and utter dick to an individual whose Asshole status in high school caused the member (or other members) duress of any kind.

We hereby request that the relevant articles and sections of the COC be re-stated to your membership, with your firm acknowledgement of their authority. Moving forward, any Former Asshole found to be in violation of these guidelines will be considered in breach of our agreement, and therefore subject to the consequences set forth in the COC’s final chapter. Possible penalties include harsh fines and/or karmically returned wedgies, damaging gossip, rolled eyes, bathroom wall graffiti and a general shithead attitude from former recipients.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation. We look forward to continued peaceful relations between our two groups.

Sincerely,

President and Proud Member
Former High School Nobody Association

Tags: I crack me up, no one else will get this, too much time on my hands

It started as a little pile
A tiny pile of dirtied style
To wash it would just take a while
A very short, short while.

But my life was busy, so
I let it grow, even though
I needed clean and folded clothes
I really let it go.

The family just kept adding more
The hamper spilled out on the floor
Still, I refused to do my chore
That useless, boring chore.

And so, the pile became a mound
60 pounds, five feet around
At least four feet from top to ground
A real impressive mound.

And THEN it grew into a hill
A silly hill, like Jack and Jill
It grew into a silly hill
A silly, scary hill.

The hill became a mountain then
Tall as Big Ben, and without end
Tall as a stack of a thousand men
Remarkably tall men.

It grew so tall, it blocked the sun
And without sun, life was no fun
It must have weighed at least a ton
At least a goddamned ton.

Not one clean thing, not anywhere
Our drawers were spare, our closets bare
Not a single pair of underwear!
Not one clean thing to wear.

I fell into the pile one day
Was it foul play? I couldn’t say
But I was trapped, to my dismay
Like a needle in some hay.

No help, my husband shook his head
“Tough luck,” he said, as I begged and pled
He and my son just left instead
They left me there for dead.

I began to suffocate
A slow heart rate left me sedate
I swore I could see heaven’s gate
I knew death was my fate.

In my last hours, I felt contrite
“If I’d known, I really might
Have separated darks from white,”
I thought, with sad hindsight

I made one last stab to survive
I kicked and cried, and wished, closed-eyed
That all those clothes were washed and dried…

And then I fucking died.

Tags: I'm writing a whole book of this stupid shit, Laundry kills

1. Completed Phase One (and only Phase One) of Operation: Finally Clean Out My Ridiculously Overcrowded Closet. This basically involved yanking out random items to create a precariously tall pile on the floor of my already-inconveniently small bathroom, where they still sit, threatening to collapse at any moment, while I start-and-don’t-finish tons of other unnecessary projects in a desperate effort to avoid Phase Two.

P.S. Napoleon the Asshole has since peed on this pile. Awesome.

*******

2. Spent hours browsing the Amazingly Sick World of the Internet for my contribution to this year’s Jett Superior Annual Ornament Exchange Extravaganza. Considered, but ultimately rejected:

The winner?

Happy birthday, Jesus!

*******

3. Co-opted my child’s modeling clay to make this:

And this:

For absolutely NO REASON whatsoever.

*******

4. iTunes playlists. MYGODWITHTHEPLAYLISTSALREADY. Will someone please stop me?

*******

4. Made this:

So a day later, after “breakfast,” I could have this:

“Mommy, can I have a Christmas cookie?”

“Hey! Did you hear that? I think Santa might be on the roof!”

“Mommy pleeeeeze I want one of the Christmas cookies!”

“What Christmas cookies?”

“The ones we decorated last night!”

“I have no memory of that at all.”

“Mommy, come ON! We made cookies and I waaaaannnt ooooonnnne!”

“Okay. I was trying to avoid this, but you leave me no choice. Honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this… but Santa’s reindeer came in last night and ate all the Christmas cookies.”

“But reindeer only like carrots and apples!!”

“I can’t explain it, honey. I tried to fight them off, but they’re really tough and those horns are no joke.”

“Mommy, stop playing around! Reindeers don’t like Christmas cookies!”

“Well, maybe they changed their minds, OKAY?? SHEESH! Why don’t YOU try yanking some fat dude and his huge sleigh filled with tons of toys around the ENTIRE WORLD all night and see how YOU feel about carrots and apples THEN, HUH?!? Maybe they need a little sugar to keep them going, did you ever think of THAT, Mayor McKnowseverything? Huh? GOD you’re so greedy. STOP RUINING CHRISTMAS!” (burp)

*******

4. Wikipedia Fuckery. This very nice young lady recently wrote an appeal to her fellow Wikipedia users, encouraging them to donate to the site to keep it up and running so the millions of people who benefit from its existence could continue to enjoy it.

I’m pretty sure she had no idea that her picture would then appear *right* over the name of whatever entry a user was reviewing. And I’m definitely sure she never imagined that some asshole like me would come along with a Looming-Deadline-and-Problem-with-Authority-and-Terribly-Self-Destructive-Tendencies, find her looking unreasonably happy about whatever I decided to type into Wiki, and then spend hours channeling an inner 11-year-old boy:

*******

5. Wrote this shitty post.

Tags: Avoiding another deadline, I don't know why I wrote this

One of the things they don’t tell you before you have a kid is how your television will ultimately become an indispensible lifeline while simultaneously destroying all your values and everything you hold dear. Nickelodeon will eat your soul, then barf it up and leave it on the floor so later when you walk into the living room, you’ll slip in it and fall face-first into a pile of your own barfed-up soul, while those little iCarly assholes look down and mock you from your flat screen.

iCarly assholes

Seriously. I just want to watch a little SpongeBob, IS THAT SO WRONG?!?!  Sandy and Squidward are the shit, but they come at much too high a price.

The price of Justice, that is. VICTORIA Justice.

Victoria Justice

Just look at that picture. Are you kidding me right now? That so-called high school chick is early 30s if she’s a day. I don’t care WHAT Wikipedia says. She’s groomed within an inch of her life and wears hooker shoes (on trend? whatever. shoes like this are made for a ho and everyone knows it)

Ho shoes

and every 10 minutes she shows up, 50 inches tall and all ho-like in HD, to make me feel dirty and completely suck all the entertainment value out of awesome shows like FanBoy and Chum Chum and The Mighty B.

And now my 4-year-old son dances to My Best Friend’s Brother like he’s on fire, WITHOUT IRONY, and I’m pissed as hell.

YES, I could change the channel. YES, I could turn the TV off. But then I would miss out on moments like this:

(SpongeBob bouncing ball against wall repeatedly)

Mr. Krabs: What did I tell you about bouncing that ball, boy?

SpongeBob: Ummmmm, that you like it very much and I should keep doing it?

And that is simply unacceptable.

By the way, if you’re reading this right now and feeling smug, thinking, “Well, it’s your own fault… I never let my kid watch TV. We don’t even own a TV. My kid only reads books and does flash cards. And my kid could read by 18 months and cries when we turn off the NPR” —  Well, yeah. Fine. You’re a better parent than me. But you’re also an asshole, and your kid’s probably an asshole, too. So unless your asshole kid knows the words to Big Time Rush, shut your asshole mouth. It’s MY turn to be superior today. Kapeesh?

Big Time Rush assholes

Anyway, my point is, everyone on Nickelodeon is an asshole. And I want my son’s soul back. And mine, too. Because I just caught myself Freaking the Freak Out, complete with dance steps.

Fuck you guys. Just fuck you.

Tags: Brief rant, Nickelodeon can suck a bag of dicks