Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Let me tell you about the Stuff A Carcass Store. The Stuff A Carcass Store is more commonly referred to as the Build-A-Bear Workshop. As stated in the last post, this place creeps me the fuck out. Not only do you allow your kids to be amateur taxidermists, but the things you need to do to make a stuffed animal are re-goddamn-diculous.
My first experience with S.A.C.S. (Stuff A Carcass Store and I just noticed the acronym spelled out sacks, heh heh heh) was back in 2004 when the Trophy and I thought we should make Minion #1 a bear for a keepsake. At this point we were living in a different area and the closest S.A.C.S. was in the Natick Mall (again with the Mall Streets). We went there one Sunday afternoon and if you have been there before you know the first thing you come to are the bins of carcasses. This was a pretty memorable day for me for a few reasons, but the first was that I actually had a voice in a decision with the Trophy, I was able to pick out the carcass...oh, joy! While perusing the bins, I came across a monkey carcass, I love monkeys, hell what guy doesn't love monkeys? I could go on about monkeys, but I won't because were are talking about S.A.C.S.
The next step on this adventure is freaking fantastic (note the sarcasm). You pick out the carcass' first vital organ, the heart. You get to pick out a little tiny heart, about the size of the Grinch's at the beginning of the "growing" part and shove the heart in through the back of the carcass. If that is not bad enough, you actually have to do things to the heart before shoving it in.
Now usually, the S.A.C.S. Associate or the S.A.C.S. ASS., will have the child do a medieval ritual, but because Minion #1 was 1 month old and can't even poop without straining himself, I was elected to be the sacrificial offering. Now, at this point the S.A.C.S. ASS. was toying with me because we have spent HUNDREDS of dollars in these stores and my kids have never had to do this fiasco like I did. I had to hold the monkey carcass in my left hand and the vital organ in my right hand. I had to kiss the heart for "love", rub the heart for "life" and then stick the heart into the carcass. Oh, that's not so bad you might be saying, but after shoving the vital organ into the carcass, the S.A.C.S. ASS., made me stand on one leg, raise the monkey over my head and proclaim "I love my monkey!" Needless to say, it was at this point the Minion #1 started noticing things because he laughed his ass off like everyone else in the store.
Managing to get through this barbaric display of embarrassment, you then have to sodomize the monkey carcass with a metal pipe. Being blasted out of the pipe is (I'm sure) organic, hypoallergenic, stuffing. You get to control how much stuffing you blast into your carcass. Do you want your monkey hard or soft? Sounds a bit personal if you ask me.
After filling your monkey, the S.A.C.S. ASS. stitches it up like it just had a c-section. You then take your monkey over to the "bathtub". Now correct me if I'm wrong but when you have a new born baby you are not supposed to give it a bath until the little dried up nubby on the belly falls off and that usually takes about 7-10 days. So right off the bat you are teaching a bad lesson to the kids making their stuffed animals. The best part about the "bath" is that it is a high powered air jet and not water. Now I KNOW that you are not supposed to blast a new born with a high pressure tube of air.
Now you have an air cleaned, naked monkey. Of course monkeys need clothes, I mean seriously, why the hell not? As we are looking at these outfits, I am seeing the bill of sale going up and pretty soon this monkey is going to cost us more than the co-pay for our real kid. Both the Trophy and I like camping and hiking, we met at a Boy Scout camp after all, so we thought it would be cool to dress the monkey in some sort of camping gear (the Star Wars outfits didn't come out until a few years later and yes we have them). We picked out a "Boy Scout" outfit with hiking boots, shorts (Ohhh Look....It's A Scrotum), Scout shirt and a hat. But that wasn't enough, our monkey got a backpack that cost more than my actual backpack, a sleeping bag rated to -20 degrees, and a cook set to put in the backpack. This monkey was ready to hit the Appalachian Trail!
After admiring our handy work, you now have to got to a computer database and create a birth certificate for the monkey. Basically it takes all the fun out of making a birth certificate with the exception of naming the monkey. After pondering long and hard we decided to name the monkey....Scout (creative right?) Again the dictator reigned supreme and my choices were shot down (Luke, Chainsaw, Pistol, you know the usual).
We slowly approach the cash register knowing that we have created a really expensive monkey and that pissed me off because I could have bought a real live monkey for $50 on Barbados, true story. I closed my eyes and let my wife pay for the monkey. The S.A.C.S. ASS. sticks the monkey into a cardboard box, just like if you adopted a kitten from the MSPCA and you bring it home.
We have had this monkey since 2004 and guess what? It has only been played with MAYBE a 1/2 dozen times, tops. $150 stuffed animal that sits on a shelf? Frickin awesome. Now the Trophy despises that place too but her reason is that she is pissed she didn't think of the money making idea herself. Yet like a moth drawn to a flame, we keep going back there....go figure.
"You need to go in the bathroom and tell YOUR kids how to clean their armpits."
I looked at her and blinked, that was not exactly what I was expecting, "Uh, OK."So I saved all of my files and head into the bathroom, first I am hit with the stench of a freshly dropped deuce from #1 and he didn't spray in there. Both of them were in the shower when I walked in, normally we don't allow the older ones to bath together anymore, but it was late and they needed to get to bed. "What the crap? You didn't spray dude!" "Sorry Dad, but you don't either." "Do as I say, not as a I do, anyway your Mom sent me in here to teach you how to clean your armpits." They are now staring up at me soaking wet standing in the shower with some soap dripping down their arms, each holding their own floofy. As I look at them I think to myself, now would be a good time to teach them the other parts of your body that, as a guy, get really smelly. I might as well start them off right and nip the issue in the bud before they become teenagers and are REALLY smelly. "OK, listen, both of you, as a guy there are a few different places on your body that can get really smelly during the day, do you guys have any idea what those parts are?" "Your armpits!", Minion #2 exclaims. "Very good Captain Obvious, any others?" "Your feet?", #1 asks. "Yeah, that's another, but in all honesty...." As I am saying this I flash back to the teachings of George Carlin. He told me via a CD, that the four areas you need to really wash are your armpits, asshole, crotch and teeth. He also said you can use the same brush for all four, but I don't think I will relay that little tidbit to the Minions.
"What the hell took you so long to explain washing armpits?"
"I explained the rest of washing to them, you know armpits, asshole, crotch and teeth?"
"Oh, awesome, now I will have to listen to them all day long tomorrow, telling Gav Man and Syd Vicious about washing those areas...thanks dumbass."
And then I walked away with a smile on my face, justice has been served.
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Thursday is Q day in the A to Z Challenge and I thought this was going to be an incredibly hard letter to come up with a topic, well I was wrong. I've been known to make mistakes...from time to time. I came up with this letter looking in the mirror this morning. I am quirky. In other words I have several quirks that set me apart from "normal" people...but then again whoever said I was normal?
One quirk is that I am not quite O.C.D., I'm more like anal retentive. I don't have to wash my hands twenty times or double check to see it the door is locked, but I like to have everything in it's place. My work areas at home are neat and organized. Yes I said work areaS, I have two, one for my personal/graphic/blog part of my life and then there is my Scout work area in the garage. My wife must hate looking at my work area because it is minimal and organized, where she has a pile of papers on the dishwasher and she claims she can find anything there....that would drive me nuts. I frequent Staples to look for a better organization system all the time. When playing a board game I am constantly rearranging my pieces and making sure they are straight. I play dominoes with a few friends of mine and when we play I need to make sure the chicken foot is lined up. When I'm out shopping with the family and I see something on the floor of the store I pick it up and put it back or if I see a display out of order, I fix it. I don't know why I do it, I just like seeing things neat I guess.
|This sums it up better.|
|See? Arrow pointing the way...|
I am sure I have other quirks that I am not mentioning, if you ever get a chance to talk to my wife she will tell you all of my quirks. How she has dealt with me for 15 years is beyond me.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Proper Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. One of my many favorite sayings, but not what I'm here to talk about today. As you know we have three male Minions. Minion #2 is the classic "middle child" and sadly is a lot like me....poor kid. 99.9% of the time he is a really good kid, he's smart (I know we all say that about our kids but this time it's true, he's in 1st grade and at a 5th grade reading level and 3rd grade math level), polite and generally well behaved. Lately not so much though.
The past 4-5 weeks have been hell for us. He has been ridiculous with behavior, acting out in public and getting into trouble at school. We have been banging our heads against a wall with this, we've tried everything grounding, taking video games away, more chores, everything and each time we get the "I promise to be better" and then we get the "Fuck you, I'm going to be a little shithead."
Yesterday was the last straw, he came home with a note from his teacher saying his behavior has been getting worse and disrupting the classes. I lost my shit with this. Up one side of him and down the other. I felt really bad during and after, but we had enough. I had to go to Scouts (which we made him miss because of this) and when I got home the Trophy said things went well and he may have finally got it....and then we heard a noise upstairs. Sure as shit, he was up again an hour and a half after his bedtime. Again we lost it.
Long story short he finally said he was afraid of the dark....no shit, we knew that but then we saw his nightlight was off. It works fine, no blown bulb, no short, but it wasn't on. We asked if he turned it off and he said yes, last month...4-5 weeks ago...hmmm the pieces are falling into place. Come toe fins out a kid at school, one of his "friends" teased him saying a 7 year old shouldn't have a nightlight and that was babyish.
Sons of bitches! All this time he was afraid to tell us he was being picked on at school. The Trophy went to school today to talk to the teacher, #2 wrote a note to give to the teachers apologizing for his behavior and to let them know what was going on. All is good right now and the teacher is going to take care of the picking on.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
|If you don't get this, look down at your keyboard....numbnuts.|
Today is a list day, a list of people, places and/or things that are..ready for it...Out Of Control. Let's start in no particular order shall we?
|Figures..this would have been easy A-Z.|
|It's Spring Fling...NOT Easter you little shit.|
|Yay! Billy got 21st place!|
|Stop! In the name of love.|
Crossing Guards. I am blanketing the whole genre in this one. There are either the "super elite" crossing guard or the "lazy ass" crossing guard. Sure there are a handful of in between guards who actually do their job but for the most part it is these two classifications. The "super elite" crossing guards think because they wear a fancy hat and wear and orange vest it turns them into a traffic cop. I encounter one "super elite" crossing guard frequently. She will yell at you if she thinks you are going to fast, point to the flashing 20 mph school sign and I've even seen her walk right out with her little red stop sign lollipop and force you to stop because she can. This beast of a woman (reminds me of Roz from Monsters, Inc.) takes it to the extreme, I've seen actual police officers who are less likely to stop a vehicle than this *ahem* lady. Then there are the "lazy ass" crossing guards who sit in their truck or car and don't move until there are a bunch of kids waiting to cross and then, only then, will they roll out of their vehicle and saunter over to let the kids cross. Once 3:20 PM rolls around they are gone....thank the maker my kids take the bus to school. Hey Roz, you are Out of Control.
So there you have my post for today starting with the letter O. I suppose I could have gone on about the O face.
|I'm going to show her my "O" face...sad thing is I worked with a guy like this.|
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Ah video games, I don't care who you are you have to love at least one of them. Pong, Adventure, whatever your favorite is there is one thing that goes unnoticed. Yes, Atari and Collecovison paved the way for console video game systems but there is one that busted out and stayed strong...Nintendo.
The Nintendo Entertainment System, Super Nintendo, Nintendo 64, Gamecube, Wii, Gameboys, DS, we got it. I'm kind of a nerd like that.
But let's focus on the NES today. I tried telling the Minions that the games were way harder than the games they play now. They didn't believe it so I proved it to them. My original NES is long gone...a story for another time, so I ended up buying a "new" NES from one of my favorite nerd spots Never Grow Up. Mint condition and works perfectly I went home and plugged it in.
I played the typical Super Mario Bros., Excitebike, Tetris games and then let the Minions try them. I got the "This is easy Dad." comments all day long and then it was time for dinner.
"OK guys, pause the game and come to dinner."
"Let me save it."
"Save it? You silly little bastard, there is no saving the game." (No I didn't call the Minions bastards).
I explained to them that "back in my day" the games didn't save, if you wanted to attempt to beat a game you had to A. block out 10-12 hours or B. pause the game and shut the TV off and pray to God that your Dad didn't turn if off and watch 60 Minutes.
There was one direction you could go...to the right. There was no going back if you missed the 1UP or the growth mushroom. You were fucked. It sunk in and they finally agreed that the video games I grew up with were harder to play than the ones now.
Oh, one last thing...it's Princess Toadstool NOT Princess Peach. Deal with it.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Ok, fuck it, I'm done. I thought it would be a great thing to have a theme during the A to Z Challenge but that's just not how my brain works. My brain is very, extremely random and I can't limit it to just one particular theme. So from here on out, the theme is kaput. It's now my way A to Z Challenge, do you understand? I will not bow down to your overlordship. I will continue to do the Challenge because I believe it is jump starting my blogging fondness back up but no, I will not follow the theme. I am a Jedi, like my father before me....or something like that.
Wow, that feels better. I'm back bitches, no theme, no rules (except for the alphabet thing), it's on. Now before I get in the the topic of Masturdating, I need to give credit where credit is due. My friend Kelly, and yes she is a personal friend, not just a blogger friend, is participating in the torturous A to Z Challenge as well. I am going to send you to her blog right now by clicking HERE. Go on I will wait as always, I always wait. She is really, really funny and she brings her funny to the blogosphere. So, I'm piggy backing off of her Masturdating blog post. You need to go read it first seriously, otherwise you will be lost....
Anyway, Masturdating. The art of going out by yourself to a movie, dinner or any other event where you would bring a date. Flying solo, masturdating. I can honestly say I have never Masturdated...bated sure, what guy hasn't, you're in the shower and bang it goes off, who hasn't? But Masturdating is totally different.
I mean, going to dinner alone? Wow, la-who-ser. Going to the carnival solo...creepy. I mean who are you trying to win that big pink fluffy teddy bear for?
OK, now I need to come clean, I Masturdated last year when the Trophy was visiting her sister, she knew about it too and she was OK about it. I went to the movies by myself to see The Wolverine, I got there, grabbed my popcorn and soda, paid my $57.00 and went into the theater. I got there early like all old people do and grabbed my seat. Other people entered the theater and of course out of all the empty seats, these teenagers decided to plant their asses next to me. They were giggling and having...fun. They kept looking over at me, not saying anything until the movie started. That was the last and only time I Masturdated. I was the creepy old guy at the movies.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Once I again I found myself racking my brain today, searching for something to write about for the letter of the day. For those of you keeping score today's letter is the letter L. I can only imagine that some people who are reading this would say, "Kevin, you're full of shit, all you have to do is pick something that starts with the letter of that day and write about it." Au contraire my little minion, it is not that simple for someone like me. If you were able to crawl into what people call my brain, you will find a complex working mechanism of such magnitude you wouldn't be able to comprehend what is going on....in other words, my musing of certain topics has to strike me and it needs to be something I find interesting. I can't just choose something like a Lion, Linkedin, Lowes, Lady Gaga or LL Bean. It needs to make me stop and think, "Huh, that would be something to spread my brain droppings on."
So, as I was saying, I was having a hell of a time coming up with anything worth while to write about and then it hit me, mid-stream, taking a leak. Staring me in the face a mountain of super absorbent Lady Products.
|Mount Leaky Cauldron.|
Holy shit! Do you guys really leak that bad? There's tampons, pads, super pads, panty liners and on and on. Thank the maker I have three boys, I don't know what I would do if there was another girl in the house...well I take that back, there are three girls in the house but two of them are covered in fur. Obviously my wife had gone shopping and stocked up.....I hope....I try to avoid the topic when the moon rises above the misty clouds and the planets line up once a month. I was curious now, why so many different items to, um, er, use on your chooch? So I took a closer look.....
|The same instructions were on my BB gun.|
What the fuck is that? 1. Ready 2.Click 3.Go!????? What the hell are you doing? It looks like arming one of those dart guns you see the Aborigines running around with, does it really shoot up there? Also....full size protection, only CUTER? No offense to the ladies, but what is so cute about a Vampire's teabag? Oh look....there's a website...let's take a look shall we?
O_o (it called for one of those emoticons) I am at a loss for words, this one website should have a warning on it saying "If you have a penis, go the fuck away!" I'll leave the looking up to you, but again THANK THE MAKER, I DON'T HAVE A GIRL! Did you know there is a Tampax Training Camp? You do now! This website eliminates the whole mom/daughter talk.....
|Yeah, I didn't even want to know about waxing.|
I had to look elsewhere in the bathroom, areas I never venture to. You see we have two medicine cabinets and two sets of drawers, you know, his and hers. I opened up her medicine cabinet, nothing out of the ordinary, I opened her set of drawers, nothing major, then I looked under the sink.....
|Like I said, she owns stock in Bath and Body Works.....|
With the exception of the Suave 2 in 1 shampoo (which we use for the boys) my wife owns stock in the Bath and Body Works Company. Every scent imaginable, peach, apple, mango, cucumber melon, some hippie stink, sweet pea.....and on and on and on. I think I am going to go to the mall and see if I can purchase one of those aprons they wear at the Bath and Body Works and give it to my wife. She probably has more product knowledge than those who work there.
|What does this stink like? Cow patties and hay?|
***Yes, another blast from the past...sue me.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Yeah, I'm copping out on this one...first it's a day late and second we've been balls to the walls with birthday parties and Cub Scout events this weekend, so the letter K is for Kids which is my excuse and a very good one, especially if you have more than one...you know...
Friday, April 11, 2014
Junk, the final frontier..or something like that. Today is the letter J in the A to Z Challenge and I chose junk for the journey into Adulthood. When I was younger I grew up with junk in our yard. No it wasn't a junk yard but my Dad collected stuff over the years. We had a car frame, old lawn mowers and other random things that my Dad thought he should keep...just in case. Growing up I was a minimalist because I didn't want to be the junk guy when I got older. Quick story, picture this...Christmas 1997, we had family over for Christmas dinner and were in the middle of prepping, that's when it happened.
The faucet in the kitchen broke. Like it fell the fuck off and water was spraying out of the cold water handle. After scrambling to shut to water off, my Dad made an announcement.
"I'll be right back, I'm going to fix the sink."
And with that he put his coat and boots on and headed off into the woods. Now to a normal person, this would seem very, very odd, but to anyone who knew my Dad, you wouldn't think twice, so we all sat in the living room and waited. All of a sudden the front door opens and in walks in my Dad...empty handed.
"Someone stole my good sink I had in the woods, but that's OK because I found my other sink and here's a handle for the kitchen sink."
Yup, because of and old sink laying in the woods, my Dad saved Christmas like some sort of Sanford and Sons Santa Claus.
I told you that story to tell you that as the years have gone on, I have changed and am starting to turn into my Dad. No, I'm not going to save Christmas by going into the woods and getting a sink handle, but if anyone needs a brad new 1989 Panasonic word processor...I'm your man.