Monday, April 23, 2012
A Chicago father known as Daddy openly wept over the sudden, violent end of his flour baby “son” Otis, while authorities gathered evidence pointing to the man’s actual son, Bub, as the assailant.
“Yeah, it’s a real tragedy,” Bub said, munching on a freshly-baked crumpet. “Could you pass the marmalade?”
Otis, described as a five pound bag of Gold Medal, was last seen in his entirety Tuesday night, when Daddy put him in Bub’s crib at 11:00. The two had shared the crib for the past three weeks, since Daddy introduced Otis into the family as “friendly competition” to his son.
“Does no one else find the Gold Medal part massively ironic?” Bub said. “No? Just me? Oh, okay.”
Aside from his recent penchant for baked goods, police began to suspect Bub after his entire crib was literally covered in flour.
“It looked like Charlie Sheen’s birthday in there,” Detective Claude Rains said. “Minus the tassles.”
“Okay, you got me, fine. I shanked him,” Bub said, flatly. “He bled out pretty quick. Mostly into this pre-greased muffin tin.”
Detective Rains said no charges would be filed against Bub, because despite numerous status-change bids by the National Flour Baby Society, flour is still classified as “just a fucking sack of flour.”
“No man should outlive his sack,” Daddy said pensively. He then added, “Mmm, do I smell blackberry scones?”
The incident, if nothing else, provided a rare opportunity for Daddy and son to break Otis together.
“Yes, if Otis were here, he might say, ‘Why hast thou desserted me, brother?’” Bub said. “Get it? Dessert-ed? Come on, that’s rich.”
Daddy did not get it. But when asked if he had any misgivings about eating his former son, Daddy wiped little Otis crumbs from his beard and maintained it’s what he would have wanted. “Truly all purpose,” he said. “A son, a friend, and a tasty shortcake.”
Monday, April 16, 2012
A Chicago child’s recent amble into infamy has inspired a former champ to put on the sleeping mask and step into the competitive somnambulist ring one more time.
The Chicago lad, known as Bub, raised eyebrows all around the sleeposphere a couple weeks back by notching the record for shortest recorded sleepwalk. His four-step walk of fame bested Johnny “Mad Dog” Madson’s decades-old record of six steps.
Since then, the boy has become the poster child for really short walks. He’s been inundated with endorsement deal offers from the likes of arthritis, painful bunions and even stiletto heels.
“It’s all a little overwhelming,” the head-swelling lad said, “But not entirely unwelcome.”
Not unless your name is Mad Dog, which Mad Dog’s happens to be. The viral video eventually made it to the crevices of the Victorville desert, to a dusty single-wide.
“Looks fake to me,” a haggard-looking Mad Dog said. “The Nanny Cam pixel quality is for shit. That could be any random baby off the street.”
“Well, it’s no Beta Cam, that’s for sure,” Bub quipped. “But if he has a personal vendetta he feels he must see through, so be it. Living with Daddy, I’m quite used to self-destructive conviction.”
“Look, I’m not directly calling him a dirty little cheater,” Mad Dog said, the paused. “Oh wait, yes I am. Why don’t you step out of the crib, punk?”
“This cat is like a giant yellow pit-stain on the Oxford of sleepwalking. And my kid is the Clorox,” Daddy, Bub’s de facto promoter, said. “Bow to our sleepwalking scepter, bitch!”
Never one to shy away from underhanded insults, Mad Dog made it official at a semi-crowded 7-11 near Van Nuys.
“As of today, you can officially consider me un-retired,” he said. And nary a Slurpee was spilled.
Mad Dog quietly walked away from the sleepwalking game back in ’03, when he started sleeping upside down, like Batman. Now, it will take a superhero performance to challenge a man fifty years his junior with a gait a third the length of his.
“I’ll have to start training. I’m not currently in championship form,” he conceded.
Asked how one trains for a sleepwalk-off, he replied, “Two words: Rocky IV montage scene.”
We asked Bub if he had any advice for the challenger: “Try sleeping in a crib, if you think it’s so advantageous. You can borrow my fikey.” Then he added, “Bitch.”
“Big bark from a little doggie,” Mad Dog said. “I could take this chump in my sleep.” By definition, Mad Dog, I’m afraid you’ll have to.
Monday, April 2, 2012
The Chicago Renaissance toddler Bub has decided to channel his creative energy into the music forum by “re-imagining” Real Life’s 1983 classic Send Me an Angel.
“With all due respect to the original, this is not a remake,” Bub said. “From the title on down, this is a totally new concept, a little less mundane.”
Bub’s single, titled “Send Me an Angle,” tells the story of a very popular triangle who loses everything in a freak dinner bell accident. Reduced to being simply a right angle, the triangle is forced to lie in disrepair and ruminate on the true meaning of his geometric relevance.
“What if a right angle was wrong?” Bub asked. “That was the creative genesis to the piece. It’s a lot like The Wall. Only shorter.”
Bub was kind enough to share the first verse with us:
Do you believe in isosceles? Do you believe scalene? Pythagoras lied, two of my vertices died, I have no hypotenuse. Send me an angle, send me an angle right now.
Asked if he had any qualms about remaking someone else’s work, Bub said:
“Does UNESCO have any qualms about reconstructing world heritage sites? Real Life essentially provided the cream filling, but I always felt they lacked the yellow spongecake goodness to make the song a true Twinkie.”
We asked Bub’s father, Daddy, what he thought of his son’s most recent endeavor.
“I think it’s like painting over a Michelangelo or re-writing a Stine book,” he said. “You can’t just mess with art like that.”
You mean Steinbeck?
“R.L. Stine, yo,” he said. “What the fuck is a Steinbeck?”
Real Life had no comment on the remake, but were sure to mention that they are available to fulfill any birthday, wedding or bar mitzvah needs you might have.