10 Ways in Which I Have Ruined My Sons' Lives (Irreparably. With flawed bagels, and beets.)

I have ruined my sons' lives completely and forever and here is proof.

1. I made my six-year-old take a shower. Yes, I actually made him take a shower. (He didn't want a bath, either.) Direct quote: "You have ruined my life forever. You have even ruined all my birthdays for the rest of my life, and all the weeks leading up to every one of the birthdays. And the weeks after the birthdays." (Note: This particular cleansing did not take place anywhere near his birthday.)

2. I failed to answer my phone when my 11-year-old called me to ask if he could go to his friend's house. Before he could try again, his phone battery died, so he was forced to come home, and was quite displeased. Direct quote: "Would it be so much trouble to actually answer your phone for one time in your entire life? Is it your ENTIRE life's purpose to make my life suck?" (Note: I did not answer my own phone because my battery was dead.)

3. When my nine-year-old, who tends to strew a lot of food around his seat while he eats, left bits and pieces of crumbs all over the floor, I jokingly suggested that we nickname him "Bits." He bolted from the room in tears. Direct quote: "You are a cruel mother."

4. Once, at a local Grange fair, my six-year-old desperately wanted to try one of the arcade games in which you shoot darts at balloons to try to pop them and win prizes, including ugly stuffed animals in appalling hues. Each try cost five dollars. I refused, and explained to him that these games were often rigged, and that he would not win the giant purple gorilla. And even if he did, the beast would not darken the threshold of my home. Direct quote: "You have ruined my life forever, and you have ruined it so bad that you have even ruined it after I am dead. I want a different family."

If you don't have one of these in your house, you have definitely ruined your child's life.

5. I served the same six-year-old a bagel on which the cream cheese was not properly smeared so as to cover every nook and cranny on the bagel. He looked at it in disgust, and then promptly burst into tears. Direct quote: "I can't even get a good bagel around here. No one ever helps me. I have to do everything! You need to fix this bagel so that there is not ANY spots that do not have cream cheese on them!"

You missed a spot. You worthless failure! I would have been better off raised by circus folk who would have LET me have a go at that balloon-popping activity and I would have WON a stuffed animal, for sure I would have. Now fix my bagel. 

6. Just about every time a child loses a tooth, I completely forget to put money under the pillow from the tooth fairy. I remember the next morning, and in a desperate frenzy I rush upstairs hoping that the child hasn't noticed. If I am lucky, they also forgot because they were too hungry for breakfast, and the tooth is still there. However, in most cases, they have re-hidden the tooth in some completely obscure place in one last effort to find out if the tooth fairy is clever enough to find it. Now it is far too late to do anything but write an elaborate, long note from the tooth fairy explaining that she got caught in a windstorm or had a lot of work to do after a fistfight in which children lost many teeth. 

In addition, my brothers ate the cookies that we left out for Santa last year with such gusto and chomping and "yum yum" noises that my nine-year-old was drawn out of his bedroom and compelled to spy upon them. Direct quote: "Mom. I know things. I have seen things. Many things. You don't want me to speak them out loud. Do you? DO you?" 

7. After having had too many margaritas at a friend's party, I ended up telling their 10-year-old daughter the name of the girl that my son liked at the time. Whoops. I guess that was pretty bad? But for goodness sake, the child should've been in bed! Let's move on.

8. I told my 11-year-old that his two younger brothers were like a gift to him because he had constant companions and steadfast friends that would last a lifetime. Direct quote: "Your poisonous fecundity has completely ruined my sanity and deprived me of any chance of a nice hot relaxing shower without the revolting scent of my sibling's turds plopping into the toilet at the SAME TIME." He didn't say it out loud. But his eyes did.

9. When I served my six-year-old an innocuous chicken tender, he informed me that this wasn't the type of chicken tender that he preferred, and that I should know this by now. He just doesn't care for that brand of chicken tender, and the fact that I served it to him indicates that I have little understanding of his needs. Direct quote: "This is the worst day of my life."

10. I tend to write humiliating blog entries about a child pooping out blueberries during tubby-time, and other things that my sons surely would not want the world to read. However, I have been posting so sporadically that I think I have only about five followers by now. So it's seriously not a problem at all that I can use phrases in my blog like "ass-grabbing toadhat" and "muppet-fondling marmoset" (totally hypothetical examples of phrases that I might use, mostly in photo captions). Because just a handful of local moms of my sons' friends will ever read this blog and cast shame and aspersion upon my family, and will come for us with the beets, rutabagas, eggs, offal, old toys, etc. to toss at the property with cries of "Pfaw! Horrid badly-raised children!"

All these items would look totally NOT out of place on our lawn. I mean, my son did say he wanted "beets" for Christmas this year. He definitely meant these types of "beets," right?

Fertilized by Doctor Dre! I mean, um...what? These are beets!

So maybe I just ruined a few birthdays and all the weeks leading up to them and all the weeks following them?

Coming Soon....Chapter 14 of the Manny diaries! In which he gnaws off his own tongue. Sorta. 

Terrifying and Dismal Valentine's Day Gifts

Valentine's Day approaches! And once again, my local drugstore has offered up a myriad of beautiful and touching ways to tell my loved ones that I mean them grievous bodily harm but can only communicate that sentiment through something plush. Here, a selection of products and the meaning behind them.

I wish to murder you.

I love you theeeeeiiiissss much...ughghgh. Damn stubby little arms!  

My winker has now deflated to the size of a vienna sausage.  

My nethers are in a state of surprised and oily arousal at the thought of your arrival in my pants.

Owl Luv U 4 Eva, as you can tell by the heartfelt expression in the doleful and buggy eyes of this Lesser Saw-Whit Owl, caught and stuffed for your pleasure.

Is it okay if I snurfle at your crotch in public gatherings?

My boyfriend sniffs at my pubic area in public places and I am seriously skeeved out.  If I come live with you will you ignore my incessant weeping?

Hey, HEY, where you going? I just had me 18 liters of Night Train Express and slathered myself in choco pudding and I am ready for some ACK-she-oh-nee! What? When did I last bathe? I dunno. 

Nothing says "I love you" like 2 1/2 pounds of chocolate stapled to your thighs. This isn't a sampler, it's the entire product line.

Seriously, we have to break here and ask: If you got this grotesque purple elephant for Valentine's Day wouldn't you just punch the stuffing out of whomever gave it to you? And why is there an elephant theme in 2013? Is this something sexual or something? Gross.

I am planning to rape you in a parking lot in a few days.

This tiger is more animated than my penis.

So what's the worst Valentine's Day gift you ever received?

Subliminal Messages Behind Common Valentine's Day Gifts

Today this blog is lucky enough to welcome renowned psychiatrist Dr. Q. P. Turnipseed, an expert in human behavior and motivation whose various works include Why You Can't Stop Piddling in Your Shorts, Hey Fatass! and Who Moved My Oysters? Welcome, Dr. Turnipseed!

Dr. Q.P. Turnipseed. Photo credit: James Turnipseed, Jr.

With Valentine's Day fast approaching, Dr. Turnipseed has taken some time to evaluate the secret meanings behind some of the gifts you might give and receive on this "most romantic of days." What she reveals may shock you.

"The giver of this gift has recently been kicked in the nads, and also stopped taking his
Prozac approximately 2.5 weeks ago. He blames you completely but can only say so with chocolates."

"This stuffed animal contains within it many layers of meaning. It also contains a small videocamera."

"He who gives a pile of stuffed canine nethers to you for Valentine's Day pretty much wants to
have an orgy with you and your sorority sisters."

"The person who gave you this stuffed dog plans to tattoo your name on his face. He wants to kill you."

"The boyfriend who gave this gift feels inadequate. He knows that his girlfriend would rather be caressed by a gorilla who sings and dances to its own rendition of 'Bad to the Bone' than ever look at him again. You can help the situation by referring to him as your 'dream lover gorilla' so incessantly, and in a tone so babyish and high-pitched, that next year he gives you the dog pictured above."

"The person who gave this really wants to be kissed, but decided to express his/her feelings through the use of an animatronic heart that will give the recipient a fatal heart attack when it starts inching, inching slowly through the boudoir at 1:00 a.m. This gift is a mistake. It is always wise to express one's feelings openly, not through the use of cursed, goggle-eyed objects. Note the spatulate paws, which suggest an inability to grapple with deep emotions."

"The person who gave you this gift wants to imprison you in his basement in that special room that was built outside of code in 1972. Run and call 9-1-1! Seriously, there are some really weird freaks out there and THIS ISN'T NORMAL."

"If given by a man, this gift usually suggests that he is cheating on you at this very moment with that waitress down at Mo's, and hopes that Mr. Romance will buy him enough time by enthralling you with witty sayings such as, 'Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.'

If given by your best female pal, she's really sorry that she insulted you with this gift but she thought you needed a talking doll since you're so lonely and all and kind of have become antisocial since your long-time lover Bob left.
Plus, it could double as a dildo! I didn't say that. You thought it. I know this since I have written a lot of books on human psychology."

"The giver of this gift is eager to please in many ways. Rowwwff! If you were given the white dog in the background, it probably means that you are coming up short in some manner. Step up your game to satisfy your lady."

"The suggestion here is that your love has left the giver bereft and penis-less.  He or she will soon expire."

Night of the Lovies: A Graphic Novel (Chapter Two)

When we last left our hero, Little Pushkin, he had fallen into the clutches of the evil Schtinky Teddy and his band of foul cutthroats, and was sold into slavery on the docks.

To think that, I, Little Pushkin, would sink to such despair. Sold into bondage at the dark and hideous Lovey Work Camp, I was forced to sort nubby plastic pieces by color while the snarling guards watched my every move. Corpses of other workers lay about like disregarded offal. Oh, pity! Oh, terror!

Just as I had suspected, the overseer was none other than the nefarious Schtinky Teddy, who had had his nose repaired by a coquettish seamstress, no doubt. He lurched up over the walls, sauced on Bourbon, and laughed cruelly at my plight. His eyes were battered from a life spent bouncing down stairs and being flung at walls for no reason, and the light of ursine kindness was not to be found there. He had a fine new ribbon about his neck—surely bought from the spoils of his slave trade!

I knew then I must flee. I escaped by cart under cover of night, while terrible slavering hounds pursued me.

I escaped the hideous canine beasts and hid in the jungle, my heart pounding. I was but a wee little creature, and who knew what fiends hid here in this wildness? My withered leg hurt me a bit, but I am made of stern stuff. I, Little Pushkin, would survive!

Good God! He lurched out of the fronds like a fiend from a nightmare, part of his gnawed-upon and licked-upon face dangling down and tickling my neck and filling me with a nauseated loathing. Schtinky Teddy, doth Hell have such devils as ye in it?

He was done with me. "No good as a slave, me poppet!" he shouted. "Your kind are more trouble than they are worth in hoisting bricks and blocks, for you will drive the others into revolt. Prepare to greet your maker!" I was tossed in a chariot filled with rubbish, bricks, and used cars.

He tossed me into the junkheap, where I fell atop a pile of horrid cars due to be crushed later that day. "This is so derivative of Toy Story 3!" I screamed, but his ears were closed to my pleas.

Help was at hand! Three little mice threw me down a rope and rescued me just in time. Their maniacal giggling was unpleasant, but Little Pushkin was in a bind. Now, I simply had to gather a band of allies, defeat Schtinky Teddy at his cruel game, and break up his Work Camp. To be continued!

Stuffed Animals With the Heads of Men

Always alert to iconic ponies, especially pink ponies, I spotted this display in the window of the ISE Cultural Foundation in SoHo, whose mission on their web site reads: "In the generation of globalization, cross-national and regional activities have been splendid in the field of arts." Do we think they are fulfilling said mission? I vote YES. This is entirely splendid. I spent many fond moments examining the creatures while keeping an eye out for the Tribeca Taco Truck.

(Can anyone identify the men depicted in the below photos?)

Bald, malevolent, dangling, pink. Everything one wants in a pony. But not everything one wants in a man's weiner, not really. Why did I even write that previous sentence? Hey, lookit the cute pony! He is mad.

So many things are happening here. Those penile projections are releasing weird globular goofballs into the air, while things with fur and heads are dropping from above. The furred things are scared. What will happen when they reach the bottom? Maybe a furred shark with the head of Mr. T will rise up and devour them? These activities have been splendid!

I got a close-up of this one. His voice through the glass was tiny, yet audible. He said, among other things that were unprintable: "Good Lord! Is that a first-generation iPhone?"

Night of the Lovies: A Graphic Novel

Night of the Lovies: Chapter One

My name is Little Pushkin. Having very little in the way of fortunes or relations, I set out in the world to make my way. I had been born with a withered left leg, but this did not impede my spirit and pluck. Nay, I was more determined than my able-bodied brethren to make something of myself in the wide world!

No sooner had I left the bucolic land of my birth when a hirsute stranger happened upon me on the road, and whispered of sweet temptations and evil things. His words were like honey dipped in butter, soaked in whiskey and topped with brandied cherries. He called himself Lambie. He led me to his lair.

There we met Mousie, a swollen and grotesque beast with a penchant for picking pockets...and a murderous skill at knifeplay. "Little Pushkin," said he. "Join us. You'll make a fine and merry cutpurse, as your little stature will be your asset!" He laughed, a trace maniacally.

Lo! From the rafters, like a fragrant leopard, dropped a rapscallion by the name of Schtinky Teddy. I blanched when I saw him, fair reader, for his face was gnawed and tattered, and he bore the faint stench of old saliva about his limbs. Human teeth had been upon him, and he had been roughly handled and tossed about. His eyes were devoid of human emotion.

Oh, depravity! I feared for my soul.

Lambie and Mousie slept the drugged sleep of the damned. Before I knew it, the villainous teddy had clutched me up and bore me away, to a ship docked in the harbor. "Har har, poppet!" said he. "I'll fetch a pretty price for you in the slave markets. Even with that bum leg o' yourn. "

"Don't leave me here!" I cried. Schtinky Teddy, remorseless, left me on the quay in the settling darkness, the fee he had received for me rattling in his paw. Soon, the others would come. The unknowns. I was alone. But I would fight on. Little Pushkin would not perish!

To be continued. Chapter Two here.