Screw it, sometimes you’ve got no choice but to lay out a rant.
I have lost my one year old daughter’s social security card. Yup, I am that bad parent. But think about it, how often do you need this? You can remember your number, you should not be expected to remember someone else’s. Half the time, I can’t even remember my home phone number.
This is bad because April 15 is fast approaching. That means taxes.
I don’t do my own taxes as my wife may suggest that I am to “moral” and not take off enough deductions. I say nay, this is not the case. I just would like to not spend the next 3 to 5 in prison with my roommate “Shanky Mcstabb”. On a side note, I freely admit that I would become someone’s bitch for protection. I see no shame in that.
So hiring someone to do my taxes has nothing to do with morality, it has to do with my butthole. And I’m sure he could do a better job than I could with it. If he can get just 1 more extra dollar more than his fee, it’s totally worth it. To date, I have not been disappointed.
But now I am ready for the parents dream. The big fat child deduction. She was born in Feb of 2006, so that’s almost a whole year. I would like to say that we are going to do something good with the money, maybe something noble or stable for the family.
We might, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get a new Xbox game or tool. Either one, I’m happy with it. I know that detractors will say that I spent much more on actually having a child. Yup, you’re right. But think of this of a rebate and there you go.
Unfortunately, you cannot file your taxes with the child deduction without a SSN for your child. I lost hers. We are in the process of moving so it has got to be somewhere in the bottomless boxes, most likely next to the 1999 computer parts that my wife won’t let me through out because she is worried about identity theft.
I want my money. I want my game. I am going to get my money like a loan shark in Philly. They owe me, man.
So I visit the Social Security Administration website to figure out how to get a new card and the number. This is problem number one. No government agency should be allowed to design it’s own website. I don’t care what the 2002 legislature said jerky, I just need basic how to info.
I eventually find the page. There is some good information but I am concerned. I am concerned because it appears to deal with only that section of the population over the age of 16. To get a new card, you have to fill out a governmental form then provide ID.
I hope everyone sees the inherent problem with that. My daughter is one. She lost her ID in a bar fight. Seriously, I cannot find anything that relates to this problem.
I work for the government, so I should be a master at working through the system. I call the number given.
Hello Ms. Recorded Sexy voice, how are you today. If I am fine, please press 1. If you are not fine, please press 2.
It’s amazing how quickly the frustration sets in so quickly. I am jamming 2 like it’s the abort button to a nuclear launch.
I go through a series of prerecorded messages, none of which have to do with the problem of no ID that I am facing. No, I am not applying for a new SS number. No, I am not a resident alien. No, I do not like green eggs and ham Sam I am.
But being a governmental man, I know the tricks. As soon as the voice starts talking I hit 0 or say customer service. That’s the trick and it seems to work well. However, Ms. Recorded Sexy Voice keeps trying to talk me out of it. She keeps referring me back to the website or threatening that I will be on hold for a very long time. Is she with the Mafia? Is she suggesting that perhaps it would be better if she broke my legs rather than talk with someone?
Finally I make it through and talk to a very nice lady. I appreciate this. When I get these calls as a governmental worker, I try to be as accommodating as I can. Otherwise I would hate my ownself.
I explain my problem and she promptly lets me know that as long as I have my ID and my daughter’s insurance card it should be no problem. She gives me the address to the nearest office and off I go.
When I get there, it’s not to bad. There are only about 5 people ahead of me so I think I should be out of here in about 20 minutes or so. Mistake number one: never assume that you will be out of a governmental office in less than 3 hours.
There is a new twist on the “take a number” thing. Now its through a computer. You press a number giving the general description of your request and it prints out a receipt. Of course I know that this probably cost around 3 billion bucks to develop and a monkey could have thought of a better way. I guess the straight forward paper number just wasn’t cutting it.
I am number A68. I have no idea what that means. I then soon discover that the number actually doesn’t mean anything. Not a thing, there is no order here. You would think that I would come after A67. Nope. After A67 came B45. These sound like vitamin supplements. What drove me up the God Damn wall was that B45 came in a good 45 minutes after I did. I immediately hate her. So would you. It’s ok, we can all judge here.
Next comes C12, then another B, then an A78. This last one pisses me off. What the hell happened to the rest of us schmoos? I hope that A78 falls and breaks her hip.
Two hours later I am finally called. I go up to the wizard of oz window looking to see the wizard. Please god, this has taken me roughly 8 hours today, please, just make this quick. God is very funny.
I start with a joke and he doesn’t laugh. It was gold and I didn’t even get a smile. This is not going well.
I explain my problem again. The man behind the counter actually rolls his eyes at me. I want to whip out my government badge, let him know that I am one of him. Let him know that I am a current fraternity brother and that I know the secret handshake. I want to pop him.
I guess it is popular to go ahead and start talking without listening because as he is explaining that I need to leave and go get medical records I stop him and give him her insurance card. He seems disappointed. But at this time, I want the number so bad that I am kissing major ass.
He looked up her number and began writing it on a post it note, upside down from my view. I am in full James Bond persona now. I am reading what he is writing upside down. This is my special skill, upside down number reading. I’ll make millions. I’m am sure that he is going to send me away, but damit, I want that number jerkoff. Very nonchalantly, I start writing the number on the inside of my hand. The CIA should hire me.
To my surprise, he gives it to me 30 minutes later. Victory is once again mine. I shall get my child tax deduction!
My daughter can’t count yet, but I guarantee you her first 9 numbers will be her Social Security number.
4/11/07
4/10/07
The Xbox Diaries--The whiner
The Nazi hoard is pouring the assualt on. Friends that I have known for many months are dropping around me. I fire my weapon in desperation. Shrapnel hits the wall beside me as I observe my digital self taking wounds. The end has come and no one will know about my last stand. But everyone will know my final words:
"You fuck head!"
At the end of each match on the Xbox world, the teams come together for some good natured ripping. From around the world, we are all connected in one game. Our headphones I'm sure stink of stale pizza pocket breath.
We go to the load screen where each team comes together to discuss the previous game. I am quite as I am a sissy. If you have read my blogs in the past, you just know that I cannot out smacktalk a 15 year old. But I know the rules of this world, my score can finally speak for itself.
This is not a place for the thin skinned. This is not a place for those that take great offense at the digital T-bagging. Abandon all hope all who enter here.
My team was decimated. We were destroyed by a superior force. The hoard came on strong and without mercy. We could not hold back the assualt. Maybe, one day, they will speak of it as they do the Alamo.
And then, as I listen in my headphones, I hear a baby cub utter a tragic mistake.
"You guys had to many people, that wasn't fair"
I inhale sharply as I know what is coming next. The people that I have heard on the online gaming world do not know the word "Mercy" or "delicate." They are savage hyenas, goading eachother on until the kill is made. To make such a statement has invited the wrath of the faceless demons.
"You suck, that's why you lost, pussy" the first jab comes. I know that it will only get worse.
"Maybe if you weren't so busy jacking off you could have held the controller better." the second insult is hurled. The sharks are circling, they can smell blood in the water.
"Fuck you mamma's boy." "Pansy" "Jerkoff" the insults are hurled like gernades, each one striking it's target.
This poor boy, this poor poor boy. I want to rush into the virtual world and hug his profile. I want to wrap my arms around him to protect him from the onslaught. But there is nothing that I can do because I am to much of a chickenshit to actually talk in the online world.
So I listen. I listen and I am shamed.
"Why don't you go play the Wii" one says. This is a hard insult, basically calling him out on his lack of bloodlust. This is a very high insult. "Maybe then you and the other kiddies can hug at the end". This insult hurts all of us other nameless ones as we feel for the young man who has decided to whine rather than throw his own insults.
But all hope is not lost yet. There is but a glimmer. Come on kid, give them something back. Give them something good. Tell them that you had sex with thier mother in a very undignified way. Tell them that you saw thier sister selling herself for fifty cents. Come on kid, it's in you, you just have to tap into it. Embrace the darkside. Embrace your hate.
"Hey guys, let's play another game and then I can be on your team."
Ohhhhh. A fatal error. He is trying to now suck up and everyone knows it. Tragic. Tragic.
It's a tough thing to see something so innocent and sweet torn apart. What was good is now being destroyed. What once believed that all people were good and trustworthy now discovers that in the online world, those same people are nothing more jackels fighting over a dead carcus.
It starts immediately and it is brutal.
"We should kick you out of our game, fag." The ultimate slight, to be kicked out of the game. It is the real world equivalant of being given a wedgie. I hurt for the kid, who can't be more than 15. Run kid, run.
"No way, then who could we beat the piss out of." another states.
I can almost feel his virtual tears streaming down his digital face. Life is cruel and so is the online life.
I am not the hero in this tale as my own courage left me. I remember when I made the same mistake, and it took me a good 3 days to come back and play. And still, when I see the same guys on, I avoid them. The hurt is still fresh and this brings it all back. The assualt may ruin him. He may decide to read a book rather than play another game, and thus a good soldier is lost to battle fatigue.
"Fucky cocky, motherfucker dickeheads" A british guy responds. His cockney accent is so think, no one can really understand him. The online world is silent. Who is this?
He is Long22, and he is on our team. He alone has the courage to speak when the rest are silent. But no one can understand him, which makes it all the better. I'm not sure that is what he said, but I think so.
"You dickheads, bloody maggots, fucking transvestite mother humping whores." I think that is it, but if not, I think I can be forgiven the misquote as he is talking like Mick Jagger on cocaine.
No one speaks. There is some laughter from both sides, but shock is the atmosphere.
"What?" one says. "I usually say people make no sense, but I have no idea what you just said." says the previous instigator. He is on his heels now.
What followed cannot be written becuase I cannot even guess what he said. The Brit went off full bore. I imigine that there was some more mother insulting but this guy was truly weaving something beatiful that the rest of us mere mortals couldn't understand, just sit back and enjoy the artistry.
"Yeah, fuck you" the kid says. He is now a toadie and I can relate even more to him. It's the kid that gives me the courage to finally speak.
"Blow me, jerkoffs" I scream. O, the rush of joy that comes through me as my pulse quickens and my cheeks redden. I am unleashed and so is my online team.
"Pussies!, Dickheads! Jerkoffs! Motherfuckers!" and my personal favorite said by someone with Boston accent "Crab carrying monkey whores!" I have no idea what this means, but it is so sweet.
Yes, let's play another game. Perhaps this time, it shall have a different outcome.
"You fuck head!"
At the end of each match on the Xbox world, the teams come together for some good natured ripping. From around the world, we are all connected in one game. Our headphones I'm sure stink of stale pizza pocket breath.
We go to the load screen where each team comes together to discuss the previous game. I am quite as I am a sissy. If you have read my blogs in the past, you just know that I cannot out smacktalk a 15 year old. But I know the rules of this world, my score can finally speak for itself.
This is not a place for the thin skinned. This is not a place for those that take great offense at the digital T-bagging. Abandon all hope all who enter here.
My team was decimated. We were destroyed by a superior force. The hoard came on strong and without mercy. We could not hold back the assualt. Maybe, one day, they will speak of it as they do the Alamo.
And then, as I listen in my headphones, I hear a baby cub utter a tragic mistake.
"You guys had to many people, that wasn't fair"
I inhale sharply as I know what is coming next. The people that I have heard on the online gaming world do not know the word "Mercy" or "delicate." They are savage hyenas, goading eachother on until the kill is made. To make such a statement has invited the wrath of the faceless demons.
"You suck, that's why you lost, pussy" the first jab comes. I know that it will only get worse.
"Maybe if you weren't so busy jacking off you could have held the controller better." the second insult is hurled. The sharks are circling, they can smell blood in the water.
"Fuck you mamma's boy." "Pansy" "Jerkoff" the insults are hurled like gernades, each one striking it's target.
This poor boy, this poor poor boy. I want to rush into the virtual world and hug his profile. I want to wrap my arms around him to protect him from the onslaught. But there is nothing that I can do because I am to much of a chickenshit to actually talk in the online world.
So I listen. I listen and I am shamed.
"Why don't you go play the Wii" one says. This is a hard insult, basically calling him out on his lack of bloodlust. This is a very high insult. "Maybe then you and the other kiddies can hug at the end". This insult hurts all of us other nameless ones as we feel for the young man who has decided to whine rather than throw his own insults.
But all hope is not lost yet. There is but a glimmer. Come on kid, give them something back. Give them something good. Tell them that you had sex with thier mother in a very undignified way. Tell them that you saw thier sister selling herself for fifty cents. Come on kid, it's in you, you just have to tap into it. Embrace the darkside. Embrace your hate.
"Hey guys, let's play another game and then I can be on your team."
Ohhhhh. A fatal error. He is trying to now suck up and everyone knows it. Tragic. Tragic.
It's a tough thing to see something so innocent and sweet torn apart. What was good is now being destroyed. What once believed that all people were good and trustworthy now discovers that in the online world, those same people are nothing more jackels fighting over a dead carcus.
It starts immediately and it is brutal.
"We should kick you out of our game, fag." The ultimate slight, to be kicked out of the game. It is the real world equivalant of being given a wedgie. I hurt for the kid, who can't be more than 15. Run kid, run.
"No way, then who could we beat the piss out of." another states.
I can almost feel his virtual tears streaming down his digital face. Life is cruel and so is the online life.
I am not the hero in this tale as my own courage left me. I remember when I made the same mistake, and it took me a good 3 days to come back and play. And still, when I see the same guys on, I avoid them. The hurt is still fresh and this brings it all back. The assualt may ruin him. He may decide to read a book rather than play another game, and thus a good soldier is lost to battle fatigue.
"Fucky cocky, motherfucker dickeheads" A british guy responds. His cockney accent is so think, no one can really understand him. The online world is silent. Who is this?
He is Long22, and he is on our team. He alone has the courage to speak when the rest are silent. But no one can understand him, which makes it all the better. I'm not sure that is what he said, but I think so.
"You dickheads, bloody maggots, fucking transvestite mother humping whores." I think that is it, but if not, I think I can be forgiven the misquote as he is talking like Mick Jagger on cocaine.
No one speaks. There is some laughter from both sides, but shock is the atmosphere.
"What?" one says. "I usually say people make no sense, but I have no idea what you just said." says the previous instigator. He is on his heels now.
What followed cannot be written becuase I cannot even guess what he said. The Brit went off full bore. I imigine that there was some more mother insulting but this guy was truly weaving something beatiful that the rest of us mere mortals couldn't understand, just sit back and enjoy the artistry.
"Yeah, fuck you" the kid says. He is now a toadie and I can relate even more to him. It's the kid that gives me the courage to finally speak.
"Blow me, jerkoffs" I scream. O, the rush of joy that comes through me as my pulse quickens and my cheeks redden. I am unleashed and so is my online team.
"Pussies!, Dickheads! Jerkoffs! Motherfuckers!" and my personal favorite said by someone with Boston accent "Crab carrying monkey whores!" I have no idea what this means, but it is so sweet.
Yes, let's play another game. Perhaps this time, it shall have a different outcome.
4/9/07
Concieve a child, Concieve a Name
Lily, Lola, Alanis and Rose.
Finigan, Kirk, Tiberious and Max Power.
These are all the names that my wife has so far vetoed in the constant game of “name our new baby.” And yes, I did try to see if I could name my new kiddo after Star Trek which did not go over well in the Hossman Family Home.
Picking a name is extremely tough. It’s not like naming the dog. That was simple. It was either Kahn or Zeus. We did not pick Zeus because I thought it would be funny to yell “Hey Zeus” when he was outside. That may have been a little blasphemous so we decided to go with Kahn.
But what makes it extremely tough is getting my wife to discuss it with me. She is the prime example of open communication. I have no idea why she doesn’t want to discuss it now. We are 13 weeks in and are due in October. By the way, do the math, it’s still 10 months. I would prefer to get a move on the name calling now, the sooner the better.
She tends to disagree with this view. I’m not sure if she truly feels this way or just likes to drive me slightly crazy. But either way this is the way it works so far:
“Honey, how about Spock?” I say.
“No.”
“Ok, how about Conan.”
“No.”
Realizing that she is on to me, I try some normal names to see if I get the same response.
“Lily for a girl?” I ask
“No”
“What about Alanis or Carolina?”
“No”.
It’s at this point I wonder if she is even listening to me. My experiment seems to prove that she is not.
This not the way that it went the first time. The first time, we would come up with a name and write it on the Nursery wall. I was going to paint anyway so this worked out well. When one of us had an idea, we would write it on the wall and then go over everything about the name. To what does it mean to what possible nicknames could be derived from it. Is it a stripper name? Is it a name that will one day be called out by the Pope or by a DJ at Topless Mike’s?
Those are the things you have to think of. Is it Irish? Is it to Irish. Do two names go together? Do I even care anymore.
Of course I do. I do because I have a girls name and I’m a 250 pound balding guy. You’re damn right I care about the right name. I do love my name, but I had to learn to fight early and often so that the school yard wouldn’t be total hell. For people who don’t know me, they usually address their emails to “Ms.” Instead of Mr. I usually call them on the phone after that to freak them out.
But even the first time around we fell flat. We didn’t know our daughter’s middle name until the night before her birth. My wife completely gave up and decided that the baby didn’t need a middle name. I was ecstatic. Because not only do I have a girls first name, I have no middle name. I am unique.
That was always my dream. My daughter not having a middle name would be cool. It’s the next best thing to naming her Hossman JR. I decided that then and there, I would be ok with that and stopped talking about it as it was decided.
So the next time around actually feels a little bit harder than the first time. Maybe it’s because we used all of our good names already and have nothing left. Or maybe it’s because she read the blog on the honey do list and this is how she exacts her revenge.
Either way, we are not getting anywhere. I’m looking for a name that has some strength to it. A name that will make others stop and gasp when they hear it. They will say “My, My, what a powerful name. Let’s follow this person and make him President or the starting linebacker of the Chicago Bears.” That’s the name I’m looking for if it is a boy.
For a girl, I want a name that is sophisticated and independent. I want a name that will spark images of Helen of Troy if she were the CEO of Exxon. Names like Circe or Aphrodite, just without the sexual connotation of those names. Something that a DJ at a strip club would never, ever be able to pronounce, like Penelope.
But I want to stay away from weird names. No names that are not pronounced as they are spelled. For example, the name spelled “Mikkeel” but is pronounced “Mike” doesn’t work for me. I would have to punch myself for that one. Back in my teaching days I had a girl in my class whose last name read like it was pronounced “whore”. I kid you not. I could not say it so I asked her to say it. Yup, it was pronounced different than the spelling.
My daughter’s middle name was finally picked out the day before her birth. By me. I ruined my own dream. But I couldn’t help it. I heard a name in a song and that was it, that was going to be my daughters name. It was Juliet. That’s my little hoss. That’s the kind of name that I am looking for again this time.
If I could convince my wife to name our new kiddo Juliet Conan Steel I would be very, very happy.
Finigan, Kirk, Tiberious and Max Power.
These are all the names that my wife has so far vetoed in the constant game of “name our new baby.” And yes, I did try to see if I could name my new kiddo after Star Trek which did not go over well in the Hossman Family Home.
Picking a name is extremely tough. It’s not like naming the dog. That was simple. It was either Kahn or Zeus. We did not pick Zeus because I thought it would be funny to yell “Hey Zeus” when he was outside. That may have been a little blasphemous so we decided to go with Kahn.
But what makes it extremely tough is getting my wife to discuss it with me. She is the prime example of open communication. I have no idea why she doesn’t want to discuss it now. We are 13 weeks in and are due in October. By the way, do the math, it’s still 10 months. I would prefer to get a move on the name calling now, the sooner the better.
She tends to disagree with this view. I’m not sure if she truly feels this way or just likes to drive me slightly crazy. But either way this is the way it works so far:
“Honey, how about Spock?” I say.
“No.”
“Ok, how about Conan.”
“No.”
Realizing that she is on to me, I try some normal names to see if I get the same response.
“Lily for a girl?” I ask
“No”
“What about Alanis or Carolina?”
“No”.
It’s at this point I wonder if she is even listening to me. My experiment seems to prove that she is not.
This not the way that it went the first time. The first time, we would come up with a name and write it on the Nursery wall. I was going to paint anyway so this worked out well. When one of us had an idea, we would write it on the wall and then go over everything about the name. To what does it mean to what possible nicknames could be derived from it. Is it a stripper name? Is it a name that will one day be called out by the Pope or by a DJ at Topless Mike’s?
Those are the things you have to think of. Is it Irish? Is it to Irish. Do two names go together? Do I even care anymore.
Of course I do. I do because I have a girls name and I’m a 250 pound balding guy. You’re damn right I care about the right name. I do love my name, but I had to learn to fight early and often so that the school yard wouldn’t be total hell. For people who don’t know me, they usually address their emails to “Ms.” Instead of Mr. I usually call them on the phone after that to freak them out.
But even the first time around we fell flat. We didn’t know our daughter’s middle name until the night before her birth. My wife completely gave up and decided that the baby didn’t need a middle name. I was ecstatic. Because not only do I have a girls first name, I have no middle name. I am unique.
That was always my dream. My daughter not having a middle name would be cool. It’s the next best thing to naming her Hossman JR. I decided that then and there, I would be ok with that and stopped talking about it as it was decided.
So the next time around actually feels a little bit harder than the first time. Maybe it’s because we used all of our good names already and have nothing left. Or maybe it’s because she read the blog on the honey do list and this is how she exacts her revenge.
Either way, we are not getting anywhere. I’m looking for a name that has some strength to it. A name that will make others stop and gasp when they hear it. They will say “My, My, what a powerful name. Let’s follow this person and make him President or the starting linebacker of the Chicago Bears.” That’s the name I’m looking for if it is a boy.
For a girl, I want a name that is sophisticated and independent. I want a name that will spark images of Helen of Troy if she were the CEO of Exxon. Names like Circe or Aphrodite, just without the sexual connotation of those names. Something that a DJ at a strip club would never, ever be able to pronounce, like Penelope.
But I want to stay away from weird names. No names that are not pronounced as they are spelled. For example, the name spelled “Mikkeel” but is pronounced “Mike” doesn’t work for me. I would have to punch myself for that one. Back in my teaching days I had a girl in my class whose last name read like it was pronounced “whore”. I kid you not. I could not say it so I asked her to say it. Yup, it was pronounced different than the spelling.
My daughter’s middle name was finally picked out the day before her birth. By me. I ruined my own dream. But I couldn’t help it. I heard a name in a song and that was it, that was going to be my daughters name. It was Juliet. That’s my little hoss. That’s the kind of name that I am looking for again this time.
If I could convince my wife to name our new kiddo Juliet Conan Steel I would be very, very happy.
The Duece
I have decided that I need a phone booth to be installed in my living room so that when I change into my superdad costume I will have some privacy.
Not that I mind people knowing that I am superdad. This is another reason why I would be a terrible superhero. I would not keep my secret identity secret. That sucks balls. Of course I would want everyone to know that I am the one who saved the world and kept the sun from exploding. I could turn that into a shot on Oprah and then a great book deal. I would then retire and spend my time constantly reminding the world how supercool I was.
The other night I was sitting in my God Father chair. I bought this solely so that I could look imposing when making family decisions. When my daughters future dates come in, I want them to be shaking as I sit in my power chair and decided their fate. I want them to be so nervous that they flub their words as I stroke my hairless cat. Live or die young man, it’s your choice.
It’s a great leather chair, deep seated and overstuffed. Dark brown leather, with the smell of power coming from it. Yes, yes, the world is mine.
This is where I was at while I was watching basketball. I’m normally not an everyday fan but the local team is gearing up for the playoffs, thus I sit. I find it odd that as soon as the word “playoffs” are introduced into any sport, I will watch. I may have not watched the cricket team all year, but damn it if I’m not going to support them in the playoffs.
That’s when I hear a scream from upstairs. It’s chilling. It’s filled with fear. Superdad quickly leaves his chair of power and rushes upstairs. It is my very secret fear that something will happen to my daughter and my wife. Are scream is the usual indication that this might be happening. However, those two are very screamy and love to see me scramble up the stairs during a playoff game. 99% of the time it is crap.
My cat left a dead bird in the bed once. My wife picked it up thinking that it was a stuffed toy. Yup, she screamed her head off. I got there with a golf club in my hand, ready to deliver protection to any foes foolish enough to invade my sanctum. When I saw it was a dead bird that could not hurt anyone my wife and I had to have a talk about control our reactions and thus saving superdad from a heart attack.
So with this new scream the worst came to my mind. My daughter was having a bath time which is filled with potential danger.
I raced into the hallway, my imaginary cape flapping wildly in the make believe wind. I saw my wife clinging to Little Hoss, fear in my wife’s eyes. My daughter on the other hand, had a shit eating grin on. I was intrigued.
“Go look in the bathtub!” my wife ordered.
I grabbed my machete from the closet. I don’t believe in guns, but knives are cool.
I stepped into the bathroom not knowing what to expect. Had a snake slithered up the toilet like that old urban legend? Was there a tarantula that had gotten in and had slowly wrapped up the cats in a silk web of death? Where was my dog, my trusty sidekick?
My sidekick is a coward. He is afraid of baths so won’t come in with me.
Everything is quite, I see nothing moving. I am on heightened alert, defcon 5, maximum perimeter defense.
There is no sound but the slow drip of the tub faucet. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror, stopping to admire the chiseled chin. Closer to the tub I get, the anxiety raises. I peer in. What demon is there? What danger lurks yonder.
A turd. There is a turd floating in the bathtub. There is a turd floating next to another turd in my bathtub.
Using my extensive investigative skills I quickly deduced what produced the deuce. My daughter, in her bathtime playtime, decided to go lay a number 2 in the tub.
According to my wife, my child smiled and stood up. She then squatted like she was about to splash, then grunted. My wife then saw the complete little baby poop float past her leg. The rest is a blur, just a scream and a laugh by my daughter.
So this is why I am here. I have no idea why this has become my job. But on occasion, superdad doesn’t get to save anyone, he gets the grunt work.
I have no idea how to remove 2 pieces of baby poo from water. I have never done this before, have never wanted to do this before, and have never even thought about the problem before.
I take stock of the tools that I have next to me. Not good. I grab the plunger thinking that I can balance the poop on top of it and do a quick fling to the toilet. I quickly discover that this isn’t happening. It’s slimy.
Plan B: I could drain the tub. Of course, that means that I have to stick my hand in it. Ok, that’s a last resort kind of option. Not to keen on that one.
Plan C: Toilet paper. Ok, this is going to work. I use roughly 2 rolls of toilet paper to make a toilet paper mitten. Completely impervious to any actual contact.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and make the grab. It’s not easy. Things start to fall off. The toilet paper soaks up a lot of water. It’s like trying to grab an eggshell out of scrambled eggs.
Finally, victory is mine. The whole mess goes in the toilet. I grab the plunger as I flush waiting for the eventual clogging. But it does not come, superdad catches a break. I take the plunger and eventually trip the stopper to the tub and all the water goes out. I will need to call the maid to see if she could come early.
I walk into my daughters room where by now my wife and child are laughing. It appears that they could hear my cussing as I was doing this chore. Superman never cussed but he never had to fish poop out of a tub like it was a mackerel. They see the sweat on my forehead and can’t help but laugh more.
I am disappointed that my weapon of choice for the day was a plunger and not my machete.
But once again, superdad saves the day.
Not that I mind people knowing that I am superdad. This is another reason why I would be a terrible superhero. I would not keep my secret identity secret. That sucks balls. Of course I would want everyone to know that I am the one who saved the world and kept the sun from exploding. I could turn that into a shot on Oprah and then a great book deal. I would then retire and spend my time constantly reminding the world how supercool I was.
The other night I was sitting in my God Father chair. I bought this solely so that I could look imposing when making family decisions. When my daughters future dates come in, I want them to be shaking as I sit in my power chair and decided their fate. I want them to be so nervous that they flub their words as I stroke my hairless cat. Live or die young man, it’s your choice.
It’s a great leather chair, deep seated and overstuffed. Dark brown leather, with the smell of power coming from it. Yes, yes, the world is mine.
This is where I was at while I was watching basketball. I’m normally not an everyday fan but the local team is gearing up for the playoffs, thus I sit. I find it odd that as soon as the word “playoffs” are introduced into any sport, I will watch. I may have not watched the cricket team all year, but damn it if I’m not going to support them in the playoffs.
That’s when I hear a scream from upstairs. It’s chilling. It’s filled with fear. Superdad quickly leaves his chair of power and rushes upstairs. It is my very secret fear that something will happen to my daughter and my wife. Are scream is the usual indication that this might be happening. However, those two are very screamy and love to see me scramble up the stairs during a playoff game. 99% of the time it is crap.
My cat left a dead bird in the bed once. My wife picked it up thinking that it was a stuffed toy. Yup, she screamed her head off. I got there with a golf club in my hand, ready to deliver protection to any foes foolish enough to invade my sanctum. When I saw it was a dead bird that could not hurt anyone my wife and I had to have a talk about control our reactions and thus saving superdad from a heart attack.
So with this new scream the worst came to my mind. My daughter was having a bath time which is filled with potential danger.
I raced into the hallway, my imaginary cape flapping wildly in the make believe wind. I saw my wife clinging to Little Hoss, fear in my wife’s eyes. My daughter on the other hand, had a shit eating grin on. I was intrigued.
“Go look in the bathtub!” my wife ordered.
I grabbed my machete from the closet. I don’t believe in guns, but knives are cool.
I stepped into the bathroom not knowing what to expect. Had a snake slithered up the toilet like that old urban legend? Was there a tarantula that had gotten in and had slowly wrapped up the cats in a silk web of death? Where was my dog, my trusty sidekick?
My sidekick is a coward. He is afraid of baths so won’t come in with me.
Everything is quite, I see nothing moving. I am on heightened alert, defcon 5, maximum perimeter defense.
There is no sound but the slow drip of the tub faucet. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror, stopping to admire the chiseled chin. Closer to the tub I get, the anxiety raises. I peer in. What demon is there? What danger lurks yonder.
A turd. There is a turd floating in the bathtub. There is a turd floating next to another turd in my bathtub.
Using my extensive investigative skills I quickly deduced what produced the deuce. My daughter, in her bathtime playtime, decided to go lay a number 2 in the tub.
According to my wife, my child smiled and stood up. She then squatted like she was about to splash, then grunted. My wife then saw the complete little baby poop float past her leg. The rest is a blur, just a scream and a laugh by my daughter.
So this is why I am here. I have no idea why this has become my job. But on occasion, superdad doesn’t get to save anyone, he gets the grunt work.
I have no idea how to remove 2 pieces of baby poo from water. I have never done this before, have never wanted to do this before, and have never even thought about the problem before.
I take stock of the tools that I have next to me. Not good. I grab the plunger thinking that I can balance the poop on top of it and do a quick fling to the toilet. I quickly discover that this isn’t happening. It’s slimy.
Plan B: I could drain the tub. Of course, that means that I have to stick my hand in it. Ok, that’s a last resort kind of option. Not to keen on that one.
Plan C: Toilet paper. Ok, this is going to work. I use roughly 2 rolls of toilet paper to make a toilet paper mitten. Completely impervious to any actual contact.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and make the grab. It’s not easy. Things start to fall off. The toilet paper soaks up a lot of water. It’s like trying to grab an eggshell out of scrambled eggs.
Finally, victory is mine. The whole mess goes in the toilet. I grab the plunger as I flush waiting for the eventual clogging. But it does not come, superdad catches a break. I take the plunger and eventually trip the stopper to the tub and all the water goes out. I will need to call the maid to see if she could come early.
I walk into my daughters room where by now my wife and child are laughing. It appears that they could hear my cussing as I was doing this chore. Superman never cussed but he never had to fish poop out of a tub like it was a mackerel. They see the sweat on my forehead and can’t help but laugh more.
I am disappointed that my weapon of choice for the day was a plunger and not my machete.
But once again, superdad saves the day.
Ms. Honey-Do
My life is basically controlled by women.
Not by the 50 foot women in the scifi film although that would be cool. She does not keep me in a glass jar with airholes punched at top and she does not keep me on a leash in the backyard.
I’m not just talking about my wife here. Let’s do the tally—I have a daughter, a wife, a little sister, a mother and a mother in law. On the flip side, I have a dog who I have refused to get neutered. This is my one battle that I will not abandon. My dog is not going out having mysterious one night doggy stands so there is no reason for his junk to be cut off. He’s with me night and day and damit, we will show him some respect.
It’s not that all the women in my life boss me around or force me to do chores for them. It’s not that all the women in my life beat me with a tire iron until I submit. It’s not that all the women in my life threaten me with calling the police and making up stories. None of these are the reasons that I am beholden to them.
It’s the way I was raised. As a good southern boy, I was taught to protect all the women in my life. If you are going to yell at my wife or my baby sister, chances are that I am going to punch you. If you scream at my mother, that’s a punching. If you shame the honor of my daughter, you better believe that that’s a punching. And if you break the nose of my mother in law while dancing at my wedding, well, I’ll let that slide.
So what does this mean for me, a man that cannot say no to any of his ladies, who strives to be the hero for them? It means that I get taken advantage of, that’s what that means. I can’t help it and I know it. The great thing about it, I don’t care either. Not one bit. I love it when they come to me, I am superdad.
However, they do seem to go a little over board on occasion with the Honey-do list. Every guy that is married has had this list. It’s a list of weekend chores that you are supposed to do. Some repair work, some garage cleaning, and hopefully some baby making with the wife at the end of the day.
The Honey-do list is the bane of my existence. No one ever gave Superman a list of things he needed to do, why me? Yes, let’s see. Clark, first you need to stop the earthquake, then save Lois, and pick up some milk on the way home. I don’t need written orders thank you. I do not need prior authorization from management. I’m a grown man with a very important job.
But they still come on from everywhere, although less from my sister as she is now married. My brother in law has my eternal gratitude for that. But I still get them from primarily my wife. Unless I’m visiting my mother in law, who’s always got one. And she says “just one more thing” every time I finish something else. Fix my garage. Ok, done. Oh, one more thing, I need you to hang the shelves. Ok, got it. One more thing, lay some carpet it will you.
So yeah, it’s gets a little busy and a little frustrating. I try not to wonder aloud why I have to get the car inspected when anyone can just drive over to the garage.
But being superdad also means that I am supercrafty. Take heed you other husbands out there, and listen to Hossman’s advice. This is how to beat the Honey-do list. When all you want to do is just watch the damn game, pull out this blog and your problems will be solved.
My wife and I are in the process of moving which means a lot of Honey do. I’ve had a major list for the last two weeks. This is how you handle it.
1. Get her out of the house. I don’t care how you do it, but do it. Trust me, this will make your life much, much easier. Suggest that she go buy some new shoes or get her a massage. Then tell her that as you are going to be so busy doing the list that it would help if she took the baby as well. The 400 bucks she will spend should be considered adequate payment for you relaxation time.
2. Make the list yourself. Seriously, take her suggestions and then make the list yourself. Take control of it. If you were in the space shuttle coming in on a tough reentry, you wouldn’t want a monkey behind the wheel would you? Winner’s always ask for the ball, be a winner.
3. Break down each task on the list to it’s most essential functions. If re-caulking the tub is on your list, divide it like this: 1. Buy caulk at home depot. 2. Buy caulk gun. 3. Buy rags for extra caulk. 4. Clean out old caulk. 5. Apply new caulk. 6. Check back in three hours to see if new caulk is dry. Why do this you may ask? Simple perception boys, simple perception. It’s about quantity, not quality. If she sees that you have 6 things on your honey-do list, she may think that you are busting your ass. Multiply that by only 3 true tasks and all of a sudden you have 18 things on your list. Genius, pure genius.
4. Never, ever let her examine the list. She should only observe it from a long way away. It’s like the nuclear football. Chain it to your wrist and never let it out of your site. This is essential.
5. Mark things off with a red pen. This is for a visual effect so that she can see how much you are accomplishing. Think about it. You hold up the list after re-caulking the bathtub and you have 6 things marked out. This gives the impression that you are uber worker even though it only took you 30 minutes. She won’t know, you sent her to buy a new purse.
6. Make it a very big deal about how much you have accomplished. Not with specifics, that’s a rookie mistake. Say things like “man, I’ve done 22 things off my list today, I’m tired.” Do that constantly. What this will remind her is that while you were busting your ass, she was taking it easy. Enter the guilt factor.
7. Always take her suggestions about what goes on the list. If she wants you to clean the garage, say “Honey, that’s a great idea, I’ll put it on the end of the list.” Then hold up the list so she can see how much is on it thus buying you more goof off time.
8. Add to the list any crap, quick tasks that bug her. Like changing the batteries in the smoke alarms. This takes less than 2 minutes but it’s another thing on the list. Remember, it’s about impression. For example, I put on my list “Fix Blinds” when all that was needed was to put the border up on top of it. Less than a 50 second job with a chair. This will give her something to look at while inspecting your work giving the impression that you have been busting your hump all day.
So that’s it. That’s how you beat the system. I know, it’s a little underhanded, but it’s necessary if you are ever going to watch the playoffs. This is how it really works.
You go buy the caulk and the caulk gun from the store. A 20 minute trip. You have just marked off 2 things from the list. You come home, play some xbox for about 30 minutes. Next step, you tear up an old t-shirt for rags, no need to buy something new and waste time. That’s one more from the list. Play more Xbox. Rip out the old caulk from the tub. This does take some time, take frequent breaks. Mark it off the list, start watching the game. Pause after 5 minutes of game time has elapsed. Put new caulk in, mark it off your list, watch the rest of the first half of the game. Half time, check on new caulk, make touch ups, play more Xbox. Clean up any mess left over by throwing it away, you can always buy more new caulk for 2 bucks and waste more time. Play more Xbox, make nachos, watch second half. Fix 2 easy things, like declogging the drain (draino—just pour and stare, less than a minute to do) or washing the dishes (place them on the floor first for the dogs then straight to the dishwasher, very easy).
She will come home and then you take her on a tour of all the things that you have done. Tell her that you are exhausted while you listen to her shopping trip. Ask her how the massage was, work the guilt.
Then exhale, slump your shoulders and say:
“Babe, I’m kinda beat, do you mind if I go upstairs and play some xbox for about an hour?”
Not by the 50 foot women in the scifi film although that would be cool. She does not keep me in a glass jar with airholes punched at top and she does not keep me on a leash in the backyard.
I’m not just talking about my wife here. Let’s do the tally—I have a daughter, a wife, a little sister, a mother and a mother in law. On the flip side, I have a dog who I have refused to get neutered. This is my one battle that I will not abandon. My dog is not going out having mysterious one night doggy stands so there is no reason for his junk to be cut off. He’s with me night and day and damit, we will show him some respect.
It’s not that all the women in my life boss me around or force me to do chores for them. It’s not that all the women in my life beat me with a tire iron until I submit. It’s not that all the women in my life threaten me with calling the police and making up stories. None of these are the reasons that I am beholden to them.
It’s the way I was raised. As a good southern boy, I was taught to protect all the women in my life. If you are going to yell at my wife or my baby sister, chances are that I am going to punch you. If you scream at my mother, that’s a punching. If you shame the honor of my daughter, you better believe that that’s a punching. And if you break the nose of my mother in law while dancing at my wedding, well, I’ll let that slide.
So what does this mean for me, a man that cannot say no to any of his ladies, who strives to be the hero for them? It means that I get taken advantage of, that’s what that means. I can’t help it and I know it. The great thing about it, I don’t care either. Not one bit. I love it when they come to me, I am superdad.
However, they do seem to go a little over board on occasion with the Honey-do list. Every guy that is married has had this list. It’s a list of weekend chores that you are supposed to do. Some repair work, some garage cleaning, and hopefully some baby making with the wife at the end of the day.
The Honey-do list is the bane of my existence. No one ever gave Superman a list of things he needed to do, why me? Yes, let’s see. Clark, first you need to stop the earthquake, then save Lois, and pick up some milk on the way home. I don’t need written orders thank you. I do not need prior authorization from management. I’m a grown man with a very important job.
But they still come on from everywhere, although less from my sister as she is now married. My brother in law has my eternal gratitude for that. But I still get them from primarily my wife. Unless I’m visiting my mother in law, who’s always got one. And she says “just one more thing” every time I finish something else. Fix my garage. Ok, done. Oh, one more thing, I need you to hang the shelves. Ok, got it. One more thing, lay some carpet it will you.
So yeah, it’s gets a little busy and a little frustrating. I try not to wonder aloud why I have to get the car inspected when anyone can just drive over to the garage.
But being superdad also means that I am supercrafty. Take heed you other husbands out there, and listen to Hossman’s advice. This is how to beat the Honey-do list. When all you want to do is just watch the damn game, pull out this blog and your problems will be solved.
My wife and I are in the process of moving which means a lot of Honey do. I’ve had a major list for the last two weeks. This is how you handle it.
1. Get her out of the house. I don’t care how you do it, but do it. Trust me, this will make your life much, much easier. Suggest that she go buy some new shoes or get her a massage. Then tell her that as you are going to be so busy doing the list that it would help if she took the baby as well. The 400 bucks she will spend should be considered adequate payment for you relaxation time.
2. Make the list yourself. Seriously, take her suggestions and then make the list yourself. Take control of it. If you were in the space shuttle coming in on a tough reentry, you wouldn’t want a monkey behind the wheel would you? Winner’s always ask for the ball, be a winner.
3. Break down each task on the list to it’s most essential functions. If re-caulking the tub is on your list, divide it like this: 1. Buy caulk at home depot. 2. Buy caulk gun. 3. Buy rags for extra caulk. 4. Clean out old caulk. 5. Apply new caulk. 6. Check back in three hours to see if new caulk is dry. Why do this you may ask? Simple perception boys, simple perception. It’s about quantity, not quality. If she sees that you have 6 things on your honey-do list, she may think that you are busting your ass. Multiply that by only 3 true tasks and all of a sudden you have 18 things on your list. Genius, pure genius.
4. Never, ever let her examine the list. She should only observe it from a long way away. It’s like the nuclear football. Chain it to your wrist and never let it out of your site. This is essential.
5. Mark things off with a red pen. This is for a visual effect so that she can see how much you are accomplishing. Think about it. You hold up the list after re-caulking the bathtub and you have 6 things marked out. This gives the impression that you are uber worker even though it only took you 30 minutes. She won’t know, you sent her to buy a new purse.
6. Make it a very big deal about how much you have accomplished. Not with specifics, that’s a rookie mistake. Say things like “man, I’ve done 22 things off my list today, I’m tired.” Do that constantly. What this will remind her is that while you were busting your ass, she was taking it easy. Enter the guilt factor.
7. Always take her suggestions about what goes on the list. If she wants you to clean the garage, say “Honey, that’s a great idea, I’ll put it on the end of the list.” Then hold up the list so she can see how much is on it thus buying you more goof off time.
8. Add to the list any crap, quick tasks that bug her. Like changing the batteries in the smoke alarms. This takes less than 2 minutes but it’s another thing on the list. Remember, it’s about impression. For example, I put on my list “Fix Blinds” when all that was needed was to put the border up on top of it. Less than a 50 second job with a chair. This will give her something to look at while inspecting your work giving the impression that you have been busting your hump all day.
So that’s it. That’s how you beat the system. I know, it’s a little underhanded, but it’s necessary if you are ever going to watch the playoffs. This is how it really works.
You go buy the caulk and the caulk gun from the store. A 20 minute trip. You have just marked off 2 things from the list. You come home, play some xbox for about 30 minutes. Next step, you tear up an old t-shirt for rags, no need to buy something new and waste time. That’s one more from the list. Play more Xbox. Rip out the old caulk from the tub. This does take some time, take frequent breaks. Mark it off the list, start watching the game. Pause after 5 minutes of game time has elapsed. Put new caulk in, mark it off your list, watch the rest of the first half of the game. Half time, check on new caulk, make touch ups, play more Xbox. Clean up any mess left over by throwing it away, you can always buy more new caulk for 2 bucks and waste more time. Play more Xbox, make nachos, watch second half. Fix 2 easy things, like declogging the drain (draino—just pour and stare, less than a minute to do) or washing the dishes (place them on the floor first for the dogs then straight to the dishwasher, very easy).
She will come home and then you take her on a tour of all the things that you have done. Tell her that you are exhausted while you listen to her shopping trip. Ask her how the massage was, work the guilt.
Then exhale, slump your shoulders and say:
“Babe, I’m kinda beat, do you mind if I go upstairs and play some xbox for about an hour?”
4/7/07
A Redo, Please
I feel that I must apologize for the last blog. My wife read it when it went up. Her initial response was "It's fine."
Which is how my wife says that it wasn't very funny. She tries to be delictate with me as I am what we refer to as "the talent". She is a little afraid that my ego will be so crushed that I would walk away from my blogging contract and hold out for more. She is right which is a tad bit shameful. Eggshells people, we are walking on eggshells.
I get most of my ideas on the ride home from work. An idea will hit and then I will mull it over a little bit. Hopefully by the next morning, I've got a good piece to work with. Just fill in the gaps here, add an adverb there, and whamo--Hossman classic. The line for autographs start at the right.
However, as you can see from the last post, not all are the gold that they start out to be in the amber waves of grain of my mind. I swear to you, when I was thinking about writing a state sponsered biography of myself in a spoof of the Wiki dictators I read, it was much, much funnier. In fact, I actually laughed out loud several times.
My wife's first criticism was that there was a political slant to it. She pointed out that most blogs seem to have a political underside. I took this to mean that my blog has become ordinary, uninspired and drab.
Ouch,
Hossman's ego takes a left hook and staggers.
It was also pointed out to me that once again, my spelling is dreadful. For the uptenth time I explained that I write what I think, and what I think is usually in the form of pictures. It's enough for me to actually get this down on cyberspace without worring how to spell. Did George Washington have to do this? What about Thomas Jefferson? Ok, bad example, but still, my point is that great men cannot be bound by the rules of an arbitrary dictionary. I'm a very complex individual.
When she told me all of this, my initial response was "Did you read the blog?" Which is always the first question anytime I ever see or talk to her. "Yes honey, it was fine, it was just a little............" I cannot write the next word, but it rhymes with flooring.
Hossman's ego takes a shot to the ribs, he stumbles, but stays up. The ref should stop this before someone gets killed.
I then remind her of everything that I thought was funny. "Did you read where I said that I invented the sun and the toaster. C'mon, that's comic gold."
"Yes dear, that was very funny."
Her lack of enthusiasm as she says this comment is not good. After 12 years together, I can read my wife like a properly spelled book. This is where she is trying to spare me but can't help it. What that means is that she barely laughed. She laughed like you would when you see a cutsey cat email about "hang in there." "Hmm, that's cute, ha ha, hmmm." What you really want is for people to stop forwarding you stuff like that so you can get back to your porn.
Hossman's ego takes another shot to the face followed by kidney punches, he may be going down.
Her final criticism was that intellectual pursuits, while self fulfilling, do not really make good funny material. She pointed out that while I may find that contrasting the roots of good versus evil is good reading, my core audience may get bored with the subject matter. That is her way of calling all of you stupid pop culture drones sitting there in your underwear eating your cookie dough straight from the tube while failing to recognize the subtle humor presented.
Are you really going to take that? Man, if she called me stupid, I would show her. I would get as many friends as I could to read this blog and show her up. What are we, wimps? But the point is made, we do enjoy reading all about who's really Anna's baby's daddy. I admit, I read US weekly as soon as it comes in.
Hossman's ego takes a brutal combination and hits the canvas. The ref starts the count down.
It's then that she reminds me of the type of things that I write about that most find funny. Being a dad, teaching my daughter completely useless things because it is funny, growing up part hick in Arkansas, middle aged softball or describing what is going on in the new pregnancy. And poop, because that's always funny. I did notice that she didn't mention anything about Xbox, which is one of my favorite things to write.
Hossman's ego lays motionless. 1,2,3,4, 5.............
And that's when I hear it. My motto whispered slowly in my ear.
Get up you son of a bitch, because Mickey loves ya..............
Which is how my wife says that it wasn't very funny. She tries to be delictate with me as I am what we refer to as "the talent". She is a little afraid that my ego will be so crushed that I would walk away from my blogging contract and hold out for more. She is right which is a tad bit shameful. Eggshells people, we are walking on eggshells.
I get most of my ideas on the ride home from work. An idea will hit and then I will mull it over a little bit. Hopefully by the next morning, I've got a good piece to work with. Just fill in the gaps here, add an adverb there, and whamo--Hossman classic. The line for autographs start at the right.
However, as you can see from the last post, not all are the gold that they start out to be in the amber waves of grain of my mind. I swear to you, when I was thinking about writing a state sponsered biography of myself in a spoof of the Wiki dictators I read, it was much, much funnier. In fact, I actually laughed out loud several times.
My wife's first criticism was that there was a political slant to it. She pointed out that most blogs seem to have a political underside. I took this to mean that my blog has become ordinary, uninspired and drab.
Ouch,
Hossman's ego takes a left hook and staggers.
It was also pointed out to me that once again, my spelling is dreadful. For the uptenth time I explained that I write what I think, and what I think is usually in the form of pictures. It's enough for me to actually get this down on cyberspace without worring how to spell. Did George Washington have to do this? What about Thomas Jefferson? Ok, bad example, but still, my point is that great men cannot be bound by the rules of an arbitrary dictionary. I'm a very complex individual.
When she told me all of this, my initial response was "Did you read the blog?" Which is always the first question anytime I ever see or talk to her. "Yes honey, it was fine, it was just a little............" I cannot write the next word, but it rhymes with flooring.
Hossman's ego takes a shot to the ribs, he stumbles, but stays up. The ref should stop this before someone gets killed.
I then remind her of everything that I thought was funny. "Did you read where I said that I invented the sun and the toaster. C'mon, that's comic gold."
"Yes dear, that was very funny."
Her lack of enthusiasm as she says this comment is not good. After 12 years together, I can read my wife like a properly spelled book. This is where she is trying to spare me but can't help it. What that means is that she barely laughed. She laughed like you would when you see a cutsey cat email about "hang in there." "Hmm, that's cute, ha ha, hmmm." What you really want is for people to stop forwarding you stuff like that so you can get back to your porn.
Hossman's ego takes another shot to the face followed by kidney punches, he may be going down.
Her final criticism was that intellectual pursuits, while self fulfilling, do not really make good funny material. She pointed out that while I may find that contrasting the roots of good versus evil is good reading, my core audience may get bored with the subject matter. That is her way of calling all of you stupid pop culture drones sitting there in your underwear eating your cookie dough straight from the tube while failing to recognize the subtle humor presented.
Are you really going to take that? Man, if she called me stupid, I would show her. I would get as many friends as I could to read this blog and show her up. What are we, wimps? But the point is made, we do enjoy reading all about who's really Anna's baby's daddy. I admit, I read US weekly as soon as it comes in.
Hossman's ego takes a brutal combination and hits the canvas. The ref starts the count down.
It's then that she reminds me of the type of things that I write about that most find funny. Being a dad, teaching my daughter completely useless things because it is funny, growing up part hick in Arkansas, middle aged softball or describing what is going on in the new pregnancy. And poop, because that's always funny. I did notice that she didn't mention anything about Xbox, which is one of my favorite things to write.
Hossman's ego lays motionless. 1,2,3,4, 5.............
And that's when I hear it. My motto whispered slowly in my ear.
Get up you son of a bitch, because Mickey loves ya..............
4/5/07
My State Authorized Biography
It has been a great Wikipedia week.
I started with Gandhi. He never won the Nobel Peace Prize by the way. Henry Kissinger did though. Go figure that one.
That led me to another question: What are the differences between universal good and universal evil? Not on the individual level. But those that affect millions and shape the world.
Which lead me to read about Mother Theresa. But you got to have a contrast to that, which lead me to read about Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot and the massive nut job Kim Jong il—the North Korean Dictator.
I started feeling a little creepy after that and had to go take a shower.
Ok, so I went back to the goodness. I read about Amnesty International, MLK and that guy in India that gives out 100 dollar loans and won the Nobel Peace Prize for it.
But I couldn’t stay away from the nut job. I went back to Kim Jong il—massive tool. This guy is so crazy he’s in a different world. The one basic connection between all the nut jobs is that they create a cult of personality. Think of it as brainwashing millions so that they believe anything you tell them. Between those three, they’ve killed about 50 million people on the conservative estimate. Every aspect of their citizens lives are controlled totally by the government. Imagine if your choices were to believe that I created gravity or death, which do you think you would choose?
Everything that is written or spoken must come from them, including science. For example, if Kim Jong-il says that there is no moon, people will say yes, he is right, there is no moon. There are actually teams of people that go around and photoshop old pictures so it conforms to his their views. Say that one day I decide that my best friend is to uppity and have him killed. They would then go around and take him out of all state pictures. And people buy this. They believe this.
My absolute favorite tactic though is the state sponsored biography. This is where you jazz up your life a little, make yourself into a 007. Stalin didn’t actually have much to do with the Revolution. Read his bio though, and it’s a different story. And that’s it, it’s the official line. Sure, I believe that you once lifted 2000 pounds Mr. Pat Robertson, as long as it is in your bio.
So in tribute to that, I offer the Hossman official bio as I am dictator of this blog:
Birth: I was born from the union of a Tulip and a Goat on a great mountain. My mother slowly wilted away as I grew only days old. In order to survive, I ate my father.
Early Years: I was self educated, teaching myself calculus, physics and Quantom Mechanics through the cunning use of sticks and dirt. I graduated from Oxford at the mature age of 5 having received every honor that could be given. From there, I decided that I must make the world a better place and therefore entered a life of public service. I was mayor of New York a year later, having won by a vote of 500 million to 0. The people loved me and I tolerated them.
Inventions: After tiring of running a perfect city, I decided that I should invent things as well. The following inventions are attributed to me: The sun, mathematics, the toaster, open heart surgery, the segway, and Muppets.
Continuation of Political Life: My heart could not stay away so I rejoined political life to become Supreme Commander of the Crazy in 1985. I loved the people so much that I hated them. I had to send everyone with a “Y” in their name to caves in Montana so that they wouldn’t contaminate my society. I also banished anyone with a vowel in their name after realizing that they too are not desirable. I then decried that the letters “O” and “A” are not vowels when used in the term “Hossman”.
Public Works: It was about this time that I decided to build the Pyramids in Egypt and the Grand Canyon. Both projects were finished in a day and cost 3 dollars to build. We needed more schools so I started the Hossman Institution of Higher Learning. It is now the most attended university in the world and highly sought after. It is mandatory that everyone attend the Hossman Institution of Higher Learning.
Scientific advancement: The sciences flourished under my golden rule. I proved that there was no such thing as blood pressure or cholesterol and instead found that ill health is due to not worshipping me. Therefore, anyone who was sick is denied treatment as they do not worship me enough. Thus, if you worship me, you live longer. It’s scientific fact.
Economic Development: I also decided that you should work for free and make everything that I wanted out of gold. Profits soared as overhead plummeted thanks to my new economic scheme of not paying people. Production of golden Nike’s quadrupled as I now have 4 pairs.
Military Leadership: As head of the arm forces of the Nation of Hossman, I lead an uprising against my neighbors. I annexed their driveway and their big tree. I allowed them to remain and tend to my land. I remade the army in my image, everyone has to be bald.
Legacy: Many peoples around the world have dedicated statues to me and my picture is everywhere. Through my good deads I decided that I was a God and temples were built in my honor. I will live forever and even if my body does not continue, I will be reincarnated in the form of a hot blond.
Welcome to my world.
I started with Gandhi. He never won the Nobel Peace Prize by the way. Henry Kissinger did though. Go figure that one.
That led me to another question: What are the differences between universal good and universal evil? Not on the individual level. But those that affect millions and shape the world.
Which lead me to read about Mother Theresa. But you got to have a contrast to that, which lead me to read about Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot and the massive nut job Kim Jong il—the North Korean Dictator.
I started feeling a little creepy after that and had to go take a shower.
Ok, so I went back to the goodness. I read about Amnesty International, MLK and that guy in India that gives out 100 dollar loans and won the Nobel Peace Prize for it.
But I couldn’t stay away from the nut job. I went back to Kim Jong il—massive tool. This guy is so crazy he’s in a different world. The one basic connection between all the nut jobs is that they create a cult of personality. Think of it as brainwashing millions so that they believe anything you tell them. Between those three, they’ve killed about 50 million people on the conservative estimate. Every aspect of their citizens lives are controlled totally by the government. Imagine if your choices were to believe that I created gravity or death, which do you think you would choose?
Everything that is written or spoken must come from them, including science. For example, if Kim Jong-il says that there is no moon, people will say yes, he is right, there is no moon. There are actually teams of people that go around and photoshop old pictures so it conforms to his their views. Say that one day I decide that my best friend is to uppity and have him killed. They would then go around and take him out of all state pictures. And people buy this. They believe this.
My absolute favorite tactic though is the state sponsored biography. This is where you jazz up your life a little, make yourself into a 007. Stalin didn’t actually have much to do with the Revolution. Read his bio though, and it’s a different story. And that’s it, it’s the official line. Sure, I believe that you once lifted 2000 pounds Mr. Pat Robertson, as long as it is in your bio.
So in tribute to that, I offer the Hossman official bio as I am dictator of this blog:
Birth: I was born from the union of a Tulip and a Goat on a great mountain. My mother slowly wilted away as I grew only days old. In order to survive, I ate my father.
Early Years: I was self educated, teaching myself calculus, physics and Quantom Mechanics through the cunning use of sticks and dirt. I graduated from Oxford at the mature age of 5 having received every honor that could be given. From there, I decided that I must make the world a better place and therefore entered a life of public service. I was mayor of New York a year later, having won by a vote of 500 million to 0. The people loved me and I tolerated them.
Inventions: After tiring of running a perfect city, I decided that I should invent things as well. The following inventions are attributed to me: The sun, mathematics, the toaster, open heart surgery, the segway, and Muppets.
Continuation of Political Life: My heart could not stay away so I rejoined political life to become Supreme Commander of the Crazy in 1985. I loved the people so much that I hated them. I had to send everyone with a “Y” in their name to caves in Montana so that they wouldn’t contaminate my society. I also banished anyone with a vowel in their name after realizing that they too are not desirable. I then decried that the letters “O” and “A” are not vowels when used in the term “Hossman”.
Public Works: It was about this time that I decided to build the Pyramids in Egypt and the Grand Canyon. Both projects were finished in a day and cost 3 dollars to build. We needed more schools so I started the Hossman Institution of Higher Learning. It is now the most attended university in the world and highly sought after. It is mandatory that everyone attend the Hossman Institution of Higher Learning.
Scientific advancement: The sciences flourished under my golden rule. I proved that there was no such thing as blood pressure or cholesterol and instead found that ill health is due to not worshipping me. Therefore, anyone who was sick is denied treatment as they do not worship me enough. Thus, if you worship me, you live longer. It’s scientific fact.
Economic Development: I also decided that you should work for free and make everything that I wanted out of gold. Profits soared as overhead plummeted thanks to my new economic scheme of not paying people. Production of golden Nike’s quadrupled as I now have 4 pairs.
Military Leadership: As head of the arm forces of the Nation of Hossman, I lead an uprising against my neighbors. I annexed their driveway and their big tree. I allowed them to remain and tend to my land. I remade the army in my image, everyone has to be bald.
Legacy: Many peoples around the world have dedicated statues to me and my picture is everywhere. Through my good deads I decided that I was a God and temples were built in my honor. I will live forever and even if my body does not continue, I will be reincarnated in the form of a hot blond.
Welcome to my world.
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