The Week In Review

I got an email from my eleven year old daughter’s teacher the other day. She was removed from class for communicating in fake sign language with a classmate across the room. During a test. She has absolutely none of the cunning and guile that I had at that age. Through a mixture of wily intelligence, parental cluelessness, and dumb luck, I managed to go through my entire childhood without getting busted for anything major after the age of five. Nothing. My daughter, on the other hand, is evening up the family score by getting busted for every idiotic thing she even thinks of doing.

For instance, back when it was actually safe to go to Mexico, we were planning on going to Rocky Point for a weekend of discount drinking and debauchery, and because we’ve pretty much written off winning Parents of the Year, we were going to let our daughter tag along. (Actually, she had cousins going as well. It’s not like we were going to be playing quarters with her or anything.) Then one fine day at work, I got a call from my daughter at home. This was odd, since she was supposed to be in day care. When I asked her why she got off the bus at our house instead of going to day care, she snottily replied, “I didn’t feel like going to day care.”

She also had invited six or seven friends over, and they were having a seven-year old party in our house, totally unsupervised. “You get those kids out of the house this instant! Lock the door after they’ve left and sit there watching TV until I get home. I’m leaving now.” Now, at this point in time, a more rational person would assume that the jig is up, and start to minimize the damage by clearing out the house. Not my daughter. When I got home and approached the front door, a kid elbowed his way by me, opened the door, and walked right into my house. If anything, there were more kids than when I had told my daughter to clear everyone out of there.

“I told you to get everyone out of here! Why didn’t you do it?” My daughter’s response? “I didn’t feel like it!” Needless to say, she spent the better part of the next week bawling her little fucking eyes out because she was no longer going to be allowed to go to Mexico with us. And, of course, I’d constantly remind her, “You know why we’re not taking you to Mexico? I don’t feel like it!”

Not my daughter. When my daughter is crying, she cannot be photographed. There is so much running makeup that her face looks like a charcoal briquet.

Not my daughter. When my daughter is crying, she cannot be photographed. There is so much running makeup that her face looks like a charcoal briquet.

Another, more common example would be this conversation:

Me: How is it that all of a sudden you don’t have any homework?

Daughter: I’m doing it in school.

Me: Right. This is the same school that sends emails back home complaining that you spend all of your time socializing? That school?

Daughter: I did it in school!

Me: You’re not lying, are you?


Me: Ok, so here’s the deal. If you show missing homework when I check your grades at the end of the week, I’m grounding you for a month, taking away your iPod, and deleting your Facebook account. But if you tell me the truth now, you get a free pass.


And of course I’ll look online on Friday and see that she failed to turn in ten things.

Me: Clearly, you knew you were going to get caught. And you knew that I’d have to pull the trigger on that punishment. Why in the world didn’t you just tell the truth?

Daughter: (after twenty minutes of denials, accusations that her teacher lost her homework ten times, and wild-eyed conspiracy theories) Ok, I didn’t do my homework. Do you still have to ground me and all that other stuff?

Me: I’m not going to ground you for missing homework.

Daughter: Really?

Me: Really. I’m grounding you for being a fucking idiot.

Not only do I hate having my intelligence insulted like that, I get frustrated because I want to tell her how easy it is to do next-to-nothing in school, get good grades, and then cash that good will in by fucking around and getting in all sorts of undetected trouble. I feel like yelling at her, “Take all of the time you spend cooking up lies, covering up the truth, and getting busted, and use that time to do the shit you’re supposed to do! Then, because you’re not getting in trouble, you get increased freedom and trust, and then you do shit behind our backs. It’s so fucking simple!”

So. Fucking. Simple.

So. Fucking. Simple.

Kids these days.

On to the week you missed because you were grounded to your room for playing Helen Keller in class:

Three fucking posts? (Well, four, if you count the Week In Review.) That is pathetic. I don’t think I’ve ever done that few posts in one week. Shit is really crazy around here. Between my son being in tee-ball, my daughter being in two plays (unless she’s lying about that too), work, work around the house, and all those beers I have to drink, I just couldn’t buckle down enough to put even a couple of dick jokes together and call it a post. My bad. Sorry.

And now, to pay some bills. We don’t have bills, but that’s ok; We don’t have sponsors either. It’s Involuntary Advertising, brought to you this week by… What the FUCK?

Seriously, What The Fucking Fuck, Japan?

Seriously, What The Fucking Fuck, Japan?

Say what you will about the Japanese, but they are twenty-six kinds of awesome. If anyone out there can translate this, and even better, get me info on how I can buy one of these things, I will be forever in your debt.

On to another disturbing image, this time involving Andy Dick’s colon. The poll has just gone final:

[poll id=”11″]

Look at that poll again. Everybody believes that Andy Dick has had both an onion and a G.I. Joe Action Figure in his ass. Probably five or six of each before lunch. I have the smartest readers in the known universe. A pomegranate holds the distinction of being an object that Andy Dick is least likely to have wedged up his ass. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Andy Dick and his ass stuffing habits are a mystery of nature, and so it’s hard to tell what he hasn’t put up there with any certainty. A pomegranate is as good a guess as any.

Ok, another week, another opportunity to send anonymous hate mail to Shriners. Do what you love, and enjoy your week everyone.