Friday, October 21, 2011
In a huge victory for the floundering purple fruit community, a one year-old boy in Chicago has remembered his own birth after a steady diet of blueberries.
“It was terrible,” the boy known as Bub said. “Imagine the deepest slumber you’ve ever known, dreams of red velvet and tropical breeze. Then turn on the sun and park a dump truck inside your head. And then it’s pretty much like trying to stuff a fully inflated balloon into a pillbox.”
Childbirth--miserable for parents, miserable for newborns. Shocking, indeed. Science today also revealed that concrete is, in fact, very hard.
In a recent study, a gaggle of septuagenarians were given a memory test, then juiced up on blueberries for 12 weeks and given the test again; their scores went up 20%. But nobody thought to give them to a baby, until now.
“Better than acid. It’s like Total Recall and shit,” said Daddy, fidgety, his fingernails a deep violet. “You don’t have like an extra pint on you, do you?”
“The secret is anthocyanins,” said Dr. Hugenerd. “These polyphenols have been shown to reduce memory loss and possibly even stop it before it starts.”
In a related story, a lab technician in Missoula, Montana semi-lost his virginity last night following a particularly vigorous lap dance.
“Blueberries are basically the new gingko biloba,” Hugenerd added.
In an ironic blow to Chinese imports, it seems no one can remember what gingko biloba is. However, a recent survey showed that one in three Americans believed it to be a ninja’s mysterious cloak of invisibility.
Blueberries, of course, date back to Roman orgy times. The CIA used them surreptitiously for decades during its lesser-documented Purple War, but they fell out of mainstream favor in the early 1970s, when hippies started remembering the dumb shit they had done.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
In yet another odd twist in an already bizarre case, the baby known only as Bub (now 11 months) has now taken his case to the molecular level by requesting his own DNA.
“The longer I am alive, the clearer it becomes,” Bub said, through a lawyer-issued statement. “I am a switchbirth baby. When you look at all the evidence, it’s clear that I am simply a more evolved being than Daddy. To suggest I am of his seed is illogical, hurtful, and an insult to Darwinism. It would be like suggesting a Vienna sausage begat a grass-fed Argentinian ribeye. Or a gatling gun had a wooden spear baby.”
When confronted with this statement, Daddy said, “Mmmm. Vienna sausages.”
The battle began several months ago when Bub made national headlines by suing his parents for custody of himself, citing numerous parental infractions and oversights.
“Things at home have only deteriorated,” Bub also stated. “Relationships have frayed.”
When asked to clarify, Bub said only, “Hmm, I don’t know how to be tactful about this. Let’s just say that ever since the restraining order incident, he’s been short-wiping me.”
Bub filed for the restraining order, but a judge threw it out on the grounds that Daddy’s presence was still required for diaper changings, feedings, etc. Daddy immediately counter-filed for a restraining order against Bub.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner!” Daddy said. His bliss was short-lived, however, as his attempt at dissolution was shot down by the same judge.
“Can’t blame a Daddy for trying,” Daddy said. Actually, quite a few people did. Protestors stood on his front lawn during this interview, holding signs that read, among other things, ‘Free Baby Bub’ and ‘Daddy Eats It.’ Although mostly peaceful, the occasional breast milk balloon came dangerously close to the porch. Aside from several NC-17 tirades and the occasional threat of charging with an icepick, squash racquet or a brick of frozen tempeh, Daddy took it pretty well.
“Yeah, tough to be a big, independent baby when you can’t stop shitting your pants,” he said. “It’s like he’s got the Ferrari, but he can’t reach the pedals. He needs me. I’m the pedal-pusher. I’m the only friend he’s got.”
“Let me put it this way,” Bub responded in a statement to that statement. “If I were to physically write a dictionary and then you were to open said dictionary and look under the word ‘friend’, not only would you not find a picture of Daddy, you wouldn’t find him under any derivation, conjugation, synonym, root word or any other historical etymological reference ever. I’m sorry Daddy, there’s just no vacancy at my friend hotel.”
When asked who he thought his real Daddy might be, Bub thought for a minute.
“Possibly Alex Rodriguez. This is what I intend to get to the bottom of. And if the judge doesn’t see it my way," he smiled, "there’s always Jerry Springer, bitches.”