Dad thoughts #1 Bomb Difuser

Being a dad is a tough go in life, you can tell just by asking the wife Ha! Being a dad is like having your own personal paparazzi following you around and commenting about what you’re doing is wrong. Maybe that’s where the name comes from. Razzing papa? I dunno. But what I do know is you have the same tension you get from diffusing a neutron bomb and placing 2 toddler boys within the same vicinity of each other. Both situations require only minutes before one or the other ends up going off. I find distractions only give you minutes of cover before the situation at hand blows up in your face. Sometimes mom ends up being the collateral damage but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Her obituary could read something like “she was a kind woman, with an intelligent and devilishly handsome husband, (some would say dashing but not in a queer kind of way), a manly man, A man’s man, a man who has been rumored to bench press 800lbs. A husband like no other men before him, leaving behind 2 boys from the loins that represent the combined efforts of Macgyver and Sledge Hammer! (Ah man remember those shows? The 80’s were awesome - they sure don’t make them like that anymore) and 1 beautiful daughter, her cooking will be missed”        

Prologue (It’s been a long time)

So here it begins anew,

Years gone with none too few,

So much time spent lost and unheard,

Not prepared, not one word -

Just when I thought it was the end,

Here upon the page, lain my old friend,

My mind open, renewed, once again.

I call it by its true name

So today I thought I would write about a topic we parents like to avoid. The sort of topic that makes you look around the room when your kids are talking about it - to make sure no one else heard. My sons are getting older now and sooner or later they are going to learn it at school, So I thought I would break the ice and tell them in a form they would listen...the power through song: 

I call it by its true name.

So let's sing a song my sons,

about a word you should know,

it's the sort of song you sing about

when you gotta go,

It's a word that makes your mommy cringe

when you say it out loud,

So yell, and scream, and shout, and sing -

when you're in a crowd...

It's my

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis.....

It's the medical term so you can't get in trouble.

Up till now, you've heard it called by many different things,

Fun words like Tallywhacker and Giggle Stick, Ding Dong, or maybe Ding-a-Ling,

There's a lot more to teach you sons,

but your mother is listening,

Such as Trouser Snake and Pecker,

Dookie Kong or maybe even Prick,

But my favorite word that started it all was - Dick?

I'm kidding it's

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis.....

At least I didn't call it a Pork Sword.

Now I can see how red her face is,

your mom is really mad at me -

But the one thing that she can't deny

I extended your vocabulary!

Now I could have called it "The purple mayonnaise martian

from the planet of Uranus,"

But the one word you guys really want to say is:

It's my

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis HEY!

Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis Penis.....

And now my life is complete.

Tale of a Veiled Backside Bride

Sweaty palms, I stand suited, I stand firm,

Waiting for the church doors to turn, watching for my veiled bride,

Why has she not yet come inside?

The music on the piano starts playing – Pachelbel Canon in D Major,

Why is this song taking forever?

Doors creak open - everyone one turns to see her entrance,

But all we see is white running shoes in the distance.

Nothing but second thoughts made her turn and ran,

Dammit why was I such a fan?

Watching that beautiful sequenced bouncing backside,

Reminded me it was worth the ride…

She may be crazy yet I love her,

How am I going to recover?

And as I watched her beautiful ass get in,

I yelled out to the limo driver –

“Her favorite drink is lemon gin!”

The Majestic Mustang - 1988 Ford Mustang.

            After losing my battle with the brown Mothra, I was approached with the very idea of horse trading. I have never swapped one object for another, let alone a car, and I couldn't believe that a man who wasn't a mental patient escapee from the hospital would ever want a battered up Japanese prostitute. Luckily for me he was roped in by her painted beauty as I was when I first saw her and traded me straight across for a grey mustang. How could I say no? The gauges all worked, it pretty much ran on the price of hay, and it actually got me from point A to point B. Marvelous.

            The joy having a car that looks like a thoroughbred (but runs like an ass), could trick young, naive girls into going on a trail ride at the drop of a hat. Enjoying this newfound attraction makes me forget the Japanese monster (who by the way feel in love with the new owner and never gave him one damn problem the entire length of ownership, that C***), But no matter, the new horse is doing just nicely. And as a reward I decided to sink some extra cash flow into her. Some new body work, tinted windows, a fresh coat of paint, cool racing stripes, and a bass sound system that could project the very resonance of a young man’s throbbing loins to all the local mares in heat. Yes. I was proud of my new prized pony (let’s face it; it was only a four banger). But with her midnight blue exterior   gleaming in the dazzling sunlight, any gambler that saw her would admit she would be a sure thing getting girls up on the saddle!

            Breaking her in was the easy part. Unfortunately, breaking parts was a part of her way of life as well...sadly. Being a ford owner also meant costly breakdowns which mean my ride wouldn't get to stretch her legs as often I liked. Just like Mothra, but with a twist of domestic violence. Most notable occasion was a road trip with a couple of good friends on the way to the Grey Cup. At first I thought she seemed a bit lame. On the way back what we thought would be a victory lap, ended up leaving us stranded on a bridge. In the middle of Calgary. During rush hour. We were able to bring here home limping, but like all horses who break their ankles you have to put them down. So unfortunately this is the end of the trail for this here nag, she'll end up back in the stables for quite some time before I end up horse trading her for an orange 1973 Dodge Charger.