We were eating at a restaurant this weekend, when my five year old son bit into a fried shrimp that was surprisingly hot. And so of course he reacted quickly and violently, spitting the food back on his plate, and then he began to scan the table to see if anyone else had seen him. I started laughing immediately. “Hahaha, you looked like a dog that just got maced!” I said. We all had a good laugh, even my son who doesn’t take himself so seriously that he can’t laugh at himself from time to time.
Fifteen minutes ago, as I was putting him to bed, he reminded me of the fried shrimp. “Show me what I looked like, Daddy!” So I imitated him as best I could, which brought forth a few giggles, but I was hoping for more, so I pulled out my iPhone and showed him this wonderfully awesome video
My son laughed his little ass off, and we watched that video about twenty times in a row, both of us doubled over with laughter by the end of it. This is exactly what my wife is talking about when she says I get the boys all riled up before bed time. Yeah, it got him riled up. But he’s five and his brother is three. You know what else riles them up? Everything. Seriously, you could put on NPR, the most boring thing in the universe, and they’d be bouncing off the fucking walls within five minutes.
(They say that hyperactivity is a condition that affects one out of every one children, and with my boys it strikes hard, often in public. It is not uncommon for my five year old to be reenacting a scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark and wind up wrestling snakes on the floor at the grocery store. Meanwhile, his brother will be standing next to him, waggling his butt side to side, singing, “Shaking my booty! Shaking my booty! Shaking my booty!” No lie. I live in a fucking nut-house.)
My daughter used to be this way as well, but now that she’s almost twelve, she’s trading insane behavior for surly insubordination, which is way, way worse. Where did my little princess go, the one who greeted shoppers at Safeway by waiting until they entered the store and then mooned them? The one who cut her own hair and then tried fixing things with a brown marker? The one who rubbed shit on her walls? Ok, maybe I could get used to the surly insubordination.
Where was I? I have no idea. I’m still reeling a bit from Friday’s post on Led Zeppelin, which brought in staggering amounts of traffic. Way, way more than I’ve ever had before. More than when I was nominated for a Bloggie, and more than the time I publicly revealed the location of Osama bin Laden (which, now that I think about it, may have actually been something I hallucinated while on jimson weed). But, yeah, massive amounts of new visitors, most of whom had good things to say, which is alway appreciated. Some people had constructive criticism, which is also welcome, as is completely loonball bat-shit insane statements from the type of people who think Huey Lewis & The News is hot shit. We pass those comments around for kicks.
I’m tempted to rebrand the web site and go with an all Led Zeppelin format. That’d generate some hits, but probably some lawsuits as well. I don’t think Robert Plant would like me telling stories about him shitting on the walls of my daughter’s room. Still, it was instructive to learn exactly how much traffic I can get by shamelessly riding on the coattails of the massively popular. You’ll see exactly how instructive when I publish my post entitled, “I Caught Justin Bieber Having Sex With My Cat” next week.
On to the week you missed while you were rocking the fuck out to The Ocean.
- On Tuesday, I talked about the worst teacher I ever had, and how my classmates and I unscrewed her.
- On Wednesday, porn. That’s a real shocker for you, I know.
- On Thursday I admitted that I am planning on shitting my pants at some point in the future. Strangely, I’m not ashamed of this.
- On Friday, LED FUCKING ZEPPELIN.
Ok, now that I have more than four readers, I can finally fucking cash in. It’s Money Time! Or as I prefer to call it, Involuntary Advertising, brought to you this week by Revlon.
By the time you read this, it’ll be Monday morning and the week will be underway. Seize the day, people. Carpe diem. (and not Carpe Equus, as I recently found out. That means Seize the Horse. Stupid jimson weed.)