My boys are going to grow up thinking that Jan and Stan Berenstain were some really twisted motherfuckers. In order to counteract the nonstop stream of high-def candy and toy commercials that masquerade as children’s entertainment these days, I read them a book before bedtime. My kids feel that this is a rather quaint activity, something akin to whipping out a loom before bed and weaving the very blankets they’re going to sleep under. “Daddy, can we play Nintendo instead?” they’ll ask. The answer to that question is always no, and is met with groans until I pull out one of the Berenstain Bears books, which they enjoy because it gives them a sneak peek into the real world of bears and they can see how bears ride bicycles, go snorkeling, and how father bears are functionally retarded.
It also helps that I ham up the Berenstain Bears a bit. Picture Matthew Perry’s frantic mugging for the camera on Friends, as portrayed by Charles Nelson Reilly. Now multiply that by a hundred, and you’ve got some idea of how over the top I get. I also can’t help but interject some weirdness into the proceedings because I have read the fucking Bears Vacation so many times that if I don’t ad-lib, I’m going to flip the fuck out, something the State of Arizona made me promise I wouldn’t do any more (see: State of Arizona/Chuck E. Cheese v. Dogs on Drugs).
And that’s one of the more tame examples. Before the boys were old enough to repeat words, the Berenstain Bears might go in for more exotic fare as evidenced by an old family favorite, The Berenstain Bears Learn About Felching. But the boys are impressionable and teachers tend to pick up on comments such as “…bent Mrs. Bear over the picnic table and banged her like a screen door in a hurricane.”
So I have to get a little more creative with my weirdness, so the Berenstain Bears are more likely to deal with 9/11 Truthers, or Münchausen syndrome by proxy these days, which is a marked shift from the days when the most interesting thing on the Berenstain Bears agenda would be buying lube.
My six year old (he turns seven next week) is an excellent reader, and so my four year old relies on him as his reality backstop.
Me: …and so to make ends meet, Mrs. Bear had to go to work on the Mustang Ranch.
4 Year Old: The Mustang Ranch? What’s that?
Me: Oh, you haven’t heard of the Mustang Ranch? It’s a ranch in Nevada where girl bears who want to make money go to. They have… Uhhh… Parties there. And everyone is really friendly.
4 Year Old: Daddy! Is that really what it says? The Mussang Branch?
6 Year Old: No, daddy’s just kidding.
Me: Haha! You got me. Mrs. Bear actually went downtown Vancouver to find a clean needle exchange.
4 Year Old: DADDY!
Holy shitballs, it has been forever and a day since I’ve done The Week In Review. I really have no excuse for this except to say that Sundays have been spent drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon with Marvin the Hipster Spider, which takes some of the motivation out of me.
(If you’re wondering just how many meds I’m off of currently, you’re probably not familiar with Simian Idiot, where this particular inside joke came from.)
Ok, let’s go back in time and see what shameful shit I’ve been up to recently…
- On a stormy Monday in mid-April, we learned why you never let Tori Spelling near your orga-paste.
- The day after that, I Photoshopped a birdhouse on top of a guy’s junk because… Ummm, I’ll get back to you on that.
- My genius temporarily exhausted, I took a couple of days off and then bounced right back with a tale that involved cucumbers and lube.
- A rare Saturday post followed, in which we all came to the conclusion that everyone in the 80’s was higher than Jesus.
- On a Monday in the ass-end of April, I discussed video games and weed. No one was surprised.
- “And don’t you fuck with me!“
- April showers bring May flowers, or so they say, but all I got in May was a complete stranger telling me her furburger itched.
- Actually, if the lady with the funky fun-zone had read Dogs on Drugs on May 2nd, she would’ve known that she should have gone to see a used car salesman.
- The first Monday in May was spent writing about the one time I went into a bar. (Haha… Hahaha…. HAHAHAH!!! One time, yeah. HA!)
- The next day’s post was entitled Let’s Get Physical, which marked the closest Olivia Newton-John has been to the spotlight since Xanadu.
- Wednesday, May 8th, 2013 is a day that will live in infamy because I revealed that FDR actually looked like Jabba the Hut.
- Monday, mid-May: If you wondered what Russian hookers-in-training look like, this was your lucky day.
- If you were out of town, or comatose, or just blind drunk on May 14th, I recommend that you go back and read The Ol’ Tuck & Tug, because who doesn’t want to read about public package adjustments on Christmas Eve?
- A couple-a Wednesday’s ago, we learned that someone, somewhere is a nut-nut about putt-putt.
- Eagles on the highwaaaaaay, I got the wind in my hair…
- Two weeks ago this coming Tuesday (calendar math – yay!), I revealed the shameful information that I almost forgot how to ride a bike.
- The Wednesday before last, I was informed in short order that I was the best daddy ever, and that I was hated.
- Whine, whine, whine.
- Whiiiiine, whiiiiine, whiiiiine.
- Last Monday, I told my kids in no uncertain terms that while it may be really cool, and they might collect a lot of coins and power-ups, they shouldn’t run around on railroad tracks.
- Last Tuesday, synergy! Core competencies! Idiocy!
- And last Thursday, I offered to ass-fuck a girl behind a dumpster.
Wow. That was a lot of catching up to do. I had to go back and read some of those articles, because I didn’t remember them. “Dammit! Someone has been hacking into my site and writing about buying cucumbers and lube, or how Dick Van Dyke has a game hen-fisting fetish!”
“Uh, that sounds exactly like something you’d write about.”
“Oh. Ok, well, anyway, who wants to read The Berenstain Bears Huff Keyboard Cleaner?”