The Parade of Babies

Bubba Hoss, my 10 month old son, was looking sweeeeeeeeeeetttttttttttt!

He had on a little Haiwian shirt that screamed “Hey chicks, it’s party time. Bring Spuds Mckensie and some Enfamil and let’s see where this night takes us.”

He also has a birth mark on top of his head, directly in the smack middle of the top, where black hair grows out of it. We call it his sprout and when contrasted to his light brown hair, looks like a racing strip. Sure, his ears are a little big, which is Hossmom’s gene pool, but when combined with his cute 4 teeth smile, he is damn handsome. I mean damn handsome. If alien’s came to our world, my son is the first person that they should meet. Bring out the hotties first, then let them get a look at the rest of us. It’s all about first impressions people!

This is how he looked as we went to the local Kidfest and entered him in the cutest baby contest. This is was done on a lark, not something that we really scouted and prepared for. We are not the parents that drive to get there kids in show business so that we can leach off them and hook up with any groupies that I don’t think he could handle, not that that wouldn’t be sweet, don’t get me wrong.

Yes, my daughter was in a commercial once but her scene ended up on the cutting room floor. It was obvious that they couldn’t see talent when it spit up right on there face. Bastards.

The kidfest was down the street from our house and we thought, since the first kid doesn’t have it to make it in the biz, we would try with number two. It was also a chance to show off how cool my son is thus making all other parents insanely jealous of my genes. And if this doesn’t work out, well, we brought knuckles with us, my daughter. She, uh, has a punching problem currently. Well, not so much as “currently” as “still” but we’ll get to that later.

There were 12 other babies in the lineup. It was officiated by 4 gorgeous young vixens who had booths to sell us stuff. If they pick my kid, then I promise I will buy one of whatever they are selling.

The pageant is also referred by a giant rat. I suppose a mouse is more of what he is, but it is a giant rat, about 6 foot tall, with huge ears. Unfortunately for me, a man in a giant fur suit is my daughter’s kryptonite. She see’s this cartoon character and then freaks out. The pageant hasn’t even started yet and Little Hoss is throwing punches already. I try to get her to calm down, but she’s not having it.

This takes dad out of any preening or politicking that I could do on my son’s behalf. Little Hoss can be a handful especially when she’s trying to land round houses. My suggestion to any around this is to duck and cover under the nearest desk. Although I was tempted to let her have one go at the rat thing, just to see what would happen.

The pageant starts while I’m the middle of trying to hang on to Little Hoss, the Texas Tornado.

There are 12 kids that are going to come in second to my little boy. The first kid has a block head. I kid you not, it’s like someone put a brick on a neck and dressed it in a little sailor suit. And it was large, like the size of a volleyball. Mom was carrying the baby around in her best halter top and I’m sure just finished a bong hit from the honey bottle in the parking lot. The competition doesn’t look to stiff.

Kid number two is going for a Dennis the Menace kind of thing except with a curly blond fro. It’s obvious that someone has given up on trying to comb that monstrosity and I can’t say I blame them. I want to tell the parents to go ahead and prepay for his spot at Devry University, that kid was born to fix copiers.

Kid three looks like a cross between foot disease and stale bread. No winner there. Although I wouldn’t have gone with the plaid on this one, it brings out his vampire pale like skin. Dear Mom, get your kid some sun or fake tan. Do something before he gets sunburned by the florescent lights.

These are how things started, little innocent children parading by while I judge why they are no where as cute as my son.

Then the twins come. Fucking twins. I’m about to call bullshit when they parade them out there together in their smarmy matching outfits. This is called the cutest baby, note the singular form of the word. Either put your kids in a chewing gum commercial or do TV work because this is a baby, one baby at a time, pageant. Oh, okay, so they can walk while holding hands to, sure, why the fuck not. Seriously, I call bullshit.

People love twin babies. I don’t know why, no variety, no diversity. They keep the black man down, that’s what I say. They get into all the best schools and it leaves my big eared kid out in the cold. Again, I call bullshit.

But all hope is not lost yet as the very last kid to be rolled out is my kid, Bubba Hoss. He’s got his smile on, he knows it big time now. That’s right son, kick those twin asses. Show them how to do the cat walk.

He’s doing pretty good to. He’s smiling, he’s laughing and I hear one of the judges say “Look at that smile!” That’s right baby, eat it up. Keep up the charm Bubba Hoss, let’s show those bitches how we do things downtown.

In. The. Bag.

I’m feeling pretty confident and it did help that when my son went out there my daughter forgot her fear of the very large sewer rat and starting yelling and cheering for her brother. Humiliating ugly babies, it would seem, is a family affair.

My son walks off the stage and the judges get together in a little group. I’m telling my son to accept it graciously when they hand him the trophy bottle and make sure to thank his Momma. Hey, I’m Dad, I know I’m the guy behind the scenes pulling the puppet strings, I don’t need public acknowledgement. I just need 10% of your future earnings and a corvette, that’s all. But no need to thank me in your speech.

The judges come up to the microphone and are ready to announce the winner. I got Bubba Hoss on my shoulders ready to give him the Rudy type send off, please hold your applause until after his speech though.

The winner is……………………….

The block head kid.


What do you mean the blockhead kid wins the cutest baby award, what kind of shit is this?? Put a yellow sweater on that kid and he’s basically Charlie Brown. Jesus H. Christ on a rubber crutch, the block head kid?

That kid could replace the green monster at Fenway. Seriously, that waterhead could be used as a land mark in travel directions. Seriously, that thing is the winner????

Recount! Recount! Recount!

They then announce why they chose this lovely child. He has the longest eyelashes. Again, I ask what the hell? Did they not see my son in his Hawaiian shirt? Did they not see the racing stripe on his head? They chose eye lashes over that? C’mon man, seriously.

In the end everyone had a good time, even Little Hoss who never did have to confront her rat monster. I have decided that none of my kids shall be in show business. It’s time to take them out back and have a look at their throwing arms, let’s see how far that gets us.
In the meantime, if your interested, they are showing the latest Indiana movie on the winners forehead at midnight.

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