Monday, April 08, 2024

NON-PARTICIPATION TROPHY

An older gentleman was commiserating with a much younger fellow the other day about his three year old kid, who is going through an extended version of the terrible twos. Ah, young fatherhood; rabies, too much sugar, open electrical outlets. And fresh diapers in the middle of the night. Or at the ballpark watching the first baseball game. It should not surprise you that, listening in, I was convinced that I would make a wonderful dad. There are several things which point in that direction.

Several years ago I gave a friend wonderful constructive advice on raising a daughter, in this blogpost: INSTRUCTIONS ON RAISING CHILDREN

I've taught kids about dinosaurs and what happened to them.

I also know about the Christmas Lobster.


For the uninformed: The reason why there are no dinosaurs in San Francisco is because they all moved to Las Vegas to work as lounge lizards. More space, and much more pizza. Dinosaurs love pizza. The Christmas lobster scuttles around on December 24th to reward sweet little children with his Generous Claw of Plenty, showering them with candies and shellfish. Obviously this is much much better than some fat old pervert in a greasy crimson bathrobe visiting kiddies in secret during the night; that merely makes them buy into the patriarchal value system, frightens the very young, and does nothing for people who are not wasps. The Christmas Lobster on the other hand, with his Generous Claw of Plenty, is quite perfect for Cantonese-Americans. He favours little Cantonese-American girls especially. He is non-threatening, but he also has the Dreadful Claw of Punishment with which he snips off the heads of bad children. All little Cantonese girls are sweet and good, and richly deserving of seafood, and should get EVERYTHING they wish for. The only ones who have anything to fear are little boys. Especially nasty little white boys. At least, that's what my apartment mate says. And she should know; she once was a little Cantonese American girl.
Also, I smoke a pipe. That lends me an air of gravitas and maturity far beyond my youth. Little children are in awe of me. Their eyes follow me down the street when I pass.
Why, they don't even notice the tentacles!

And I make sure not to step on those trotting eyeballs behind me.
The precious, precious eyeballs.


Pursuant the pipe, I should mention that aged Virginia flakes are good stealth tobaccos. My apartment mate didn't even notice that time when I smoked several bowls late at night in the teevee room, whereas Latakia would have gotten her busting out of her bedroom like a bat out of hell telling me to go huff that crap with all the other senescent old fossils at the abandoned church up the street.


She also once said that the reason I never had kids is because I'm male.
She totally overlooked the fact that I'm a chupacabra.
We can be any gender we want to be.

I'd be a wonderful dad.



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