Friday, March 30, 2012
A Chicago father named Daddy has gone to new and unusual lengths to affect his child’s self-esteem by introducing a new “little brother” sack of flour to the family.
“It’s preposterous,” Bub, his son, said. “Parading around with, essentially, a bag of unmade biscuits, reading it my books, sitting it in my high chair. I’m embarrassed for him.”
“Well, IT has a name,” Daddy said. “It’s little unbleached baby Otis. So say hi to your new cribmate, buddy.”
Flour babies are generally used by middle school health teachers as an overblown anti-pregnancy exercise, wherein students carry their “baby” everywhere for a week to get a severely watered-down version of parental responsibility.
“I had one as a kid, so it’s part nostalgia for sure,” Daddy said. “Name was Roy. He was a good lad.”
And where is Roy now?
“Hotcakes,” Daddy said. “Some species do that you know, out of respect. And hunger.”
Asked about his motivations for psychologically wounding his firstborn, Daddy said: “Hey, just because you’re the only choice doesn’t make you the best choice. It’s like he’s running for Daddy’s Favorite with no one else on the ballot—that hardly seems fair. The real question to ask is why is he sweating a little friendly competition?”
“It’s a bag of flour!” Bub said. “How can I possibly compete with that?”
“He’s right to be nervous,” Daddy said. “I’m not one to play favorites, but I’d have to say Otis’ stock is skyrocketing right now.”
Did you just say that a sack of flour is preferable to your own child?
“Not just any sack of flour,” Daddy said. “My sweet, silent, baby Otis.”
“It doesn’t wake up teething or soil itself or cry during the game, so there’s that,” a noticeably upset Bub said. “Yesterday he was playing Ring Toss with it, for God’s sake.”
Asked if he had any words of wisdom to offer Otis, Bub said, “Watch your back, kid. I’ve got a muffin tin with your name all over it.”
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
A Chicago father is in hot water again after “misunderstanding” the rules of a simple children’s game.
The man, known as Daddy, was suspected of severe intelligence deficiency after his 17 month-old son, Bub, reported his plan to project him, and not like a film at a drive-in.
“He was going to chuck me,” Bub said, “like a giant lawn dart.”
“It’s called Children’s Ring Toss!” Daddy said. “I mean, how else could you possibly interpret that?”
I think the generally accepted interpretation is that it’s a smaller ring toss game made for children to play amongst themselves.
“No, that’s stupid,” Daddy said. “Kids can’t even spell ring, let alone toss one. That’s an absolutely asinine idea.”
As opposed to tossing your son like a sack of flour into a giant plastic ring?
“Wow, you made me think of flour babies just then,” Daddy said. “Man, those things were awesome. Do they still make those?”
Fun Fun Joy Joy, makers of the game, issued a company statement stating that your average two year-old could look at the box and see instantly how to play.
“The picture is pretty straightforward,” Bub said. “Scoring is ambiguous, but I’m sure it’s covered in the rulebook.”
“What the fuck is a rulebook?” Daddy said.
Asked if he could forgive Daddy, Bub said, “Not likely. I haven’t been this upset about rings since White Castle’s brought back chicken rings.”
When informed of Bub’s comments and asked if he thought an apology was in order, might be the first step toward mending some fences with his son, Daddy said, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Can you repeat that?”
After repeating the question, he began to noticeably drool a bit: “Mmm, chicken rings,” he said.
Monday, March 26, 2012
A young Chicago lad unwittingly incited a minor scuffle between his father and another supermarket shopper yesterday when his friendly greeting fell on deaf ears.
The incident occurred while the 17 month-old boy, known as Bub, and his father, Daddy, waited for a self-checkout lane to open.
Bored in his stroller, with no fikey in sight, Bub allegedly waved to the man in front of them, James Walker. What follows is a transcript taken from store video surveillance cameras.
Bub: Hiiiiiiii! Hiiiiiiii! Hiiiiiiii!
Daddy: (taps Walker on shoulder) Hey man, I think my kid is saying hi to you.
Walker: (looks at Daddy like with equal parts disgust and pity) Terrific. You teach him that all by yourself?
Daddy: Well, it’s just that we’re trying to reinforce him saying hi with him getting an answer.
Walker: So answer him—he’s your kid.
Daddy: Why would I answer? He’s clearly talking to you.
Bub: Hiiiiii! Hiiiiii!
Walker: (shrugs shoulders) Well, whoop-dee-fuckin-doo.
Daddy: (leans in, nearly whispering) Watch the poopmouth, huh? Come on, man, how hard is it? Be a sport. I’ll buy you a Zagnut or something.
Walker: (shakes his head) I’m on a diet. From stupid. And my lane’s open.
Walker heads to check-out. Daddy walks up behind him, knocks his Vitamin D half-gallon to the floor, spilling it everywhere.
Daddy: Yo, I said say hi to my kid, bitch!
Bub: Hiiiii! Hiiiii! (End of transcript)
Walker could not be reached for comment, as legal action is now pending. Daddy, however, has no money for a lawyer.
“Crying over spilt milk,” Daddy said, with no trace of irony. “Seriously, what kind of a freak doesn’t like a baby waving at them? This is the same kind of guy that probably clubs baby seals and staples kittens to his carpet for fun.” Then he added, “Still took that free Zagnut, though. Just for the record.”
Saturday, March 24, 2012
A Chicago toddler has laid claim to the title of Shortest Sleepwalking Episode after making it a modest four steps before wiping out and awakening in a puddle of tears.
The dubious feat was achieved Sunday night by a toddler known only as Bub. He describes it here in vivid detail:
“Well, I was asleep on one end of my crib, then I remember having this falling sensation. Next thing I know, I’m jolted awake on the far side of the crib. Now that was either sleepwalking or a particularly feeble alien abduction attempt.”
Fascinating. If it holds, this would shatter the record held by Johnny “Mad Dog” Madson by a whopping two full steps. Mad Dog managed just six steps on a balmy 1984 morning before his Beta Cam captured him stepping on his shi-tzu’s chew toy and swearing in utter lucidity.
“I’m thrilled to even be mentioned in the same font as Mad Dog,” Bub said. “I think we all know he has been the face of truncated somnambulism for as long as anyone can remember.”
Asked if he was proud of his son, Bub’s father Daddy said, “Oh, shittin' bricks. It’s like winning that ugliest poodle award or an Oscar for Sound Mixing. Still, an award’s an award.” He then added, “You know I was voted Most Likely to Join the Carny? He’s got winner’s blood, I’m just sayin.’”
Of course the matter of authentication will have to be addressed before Mad Dog is dethroned, but Daddy was quick to quell any fears.
“Nanny Cam, bitches!” he said simply.
Indeed, video evidence did confirm Bub’s four small steps for sleeping mankind. We asked the soon-to-be champ what was next, and where he plans to go from here:
“I think I can get it under three steps,” Bub said.
So two steps, then? Wouldn’t that be just sleepstanding?
“I’ll tie my legs together and hop like a flaming scarecrow if need be,” he said.
A beautiful mental image indeed. Asked what it felt like to have a famous somnambulist in the family, Daddy said:
“Look, what a guy does with a bing cherry in the haze of college is his choice,” Daddy said. “I’d hardly say it made me famous, though.”
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Happy Pants, the “uber-chic loungewear for babies” upstart from a young Chicago entrepreneur, is wearing a sad face today amid allegations from its sole employee of mistreatment and unlawful working conditions.
Since Daddy makes up the entire assembly line, his strike has brought production to an abrupt stop.
Asked to describe the working conditions, he simply began to sob.
His son (and owner) Bub stepped in: “Pretty standard work day, really. 9 – 5, an hour for lunch, plus naptime. Paid. I’m not really clear as to exactly where manservant’s grievances truly lie.”
“Well, he refers to me as manservant,” Daddy said. “So there’s that.”
“If he wants a new title, all he has to do is apply for a promotion,” Bub said. “However, there are currently no vacancies.”
Daddy went on to reveal harrowing tales of early morning work starts, subpar lighting, a blister on his right index finger and an “unrealistic” work load.
“So far we’ve had two orders,” Bub said. “One from Germany, and one that was cancelled. He thought they ‘did something extra for that price.’”
The Twittersphere was abuzz with reaction, including this one from @Bub: “@Daddy You can dress a turd in a tutu all you want. But at the end of the day, you’re still just left with a dancing turd.”
“Must be some other Bub,” Bub said.
“Was the fuck is a Twittersphere?” Daddy said.
“It’s not really manservant’s fault,” a thoughtful Bub said. “In his defense, he has never put in a full day’s work in his life. Not everyone’s cut out for it.”
Asked if there was any hope of solving this labor stand-off anytime soon, Daddy said, “Yes. I quit.”
When informed of Daddy’s decision, Bub said, “Oh, my. Sounds like somebody forgot to wear his Happy Pants.”