First Birthday

Well, it's official, we made it past Kiki's first year!  At 8:02 p.m. on January 27, 2010 Kiki came into the world; screaming, gooey, and reminiscent of a chinese sumo wrestler.

And here we are, after what was at times the longest and the shortest year of our lives, with a little girl.  We got through our first year as parents and managed to keep her alive and not screw her up too terribly.  Well, at least not that we can tell.  It has been amazing, crazy, absurd, and the greatest thing ever.  Looking back, I can't believe how much she's changed, although at times she does remind me of that tiny diapered baby. 

Happy birthday Doodle.  Happy birthday.

Sell Sell Baby

Well, it had been almost 14 days, so it was time for another trip to our local baby supply depot.  This time, being wild and crazy parents, we chose to hit "Buy Buy Baby" instead of our old reliable "Babies R Us" because, what the hell, maybe they have some even dumber products.  And we were not disappointed.    

First off, what the hell were they thinking with that name?  Buy Buy Baby?  Am I the only one who imagined a black market baby exchange?  Well, needless to say, I was disappointed from the start, since I was really curious what Kiki would trade at.  But instead of boards showing the exchange rates for the various ages, ethnicities, and cuteness on offer, I was greeted with stacks of baby crap literally to the ceiling.  I mean, it's great that you carry crap, but do you need so much of it?  How many of these are you really going to sell?

I mean, just what the fuck is that?  Do you need 300 in the stores?  Is there going to be a run on... what IS that?  Is it just me or does it seem strangely sexual, in a creepy furry gross kind of way?  As far as I can tell from their website, it appears someone had a lot of surplus beanie babies, so they just glued a pacifier on them and sold the whole lot to BBB.  BBB means "Buy Buy Baby" if you didn't get that.  I got fed up with typing something as inane as Buy Buy Baby over and over, so instead I shortened it and then proceeded to type it twice in explanation necessitated by trying to avoid typing it once.  Stupid store.  Anyway, I guess it does fill a need in the marketplace.  You know, if you're child loves pacifiers and you just wish there was a way to make it appear they were making sweet mouth love to a stuffed animal, well, consider your wishes (however sick and perverted) granted.  

Delving deeper into the store, I was delighted to find my favorite bathing device, the bucket:

Oh, sorry, POD.  It's apparently inspired and designed by "european"?  What?  That doesn't even make sense.  How can the same person design and inspire something?  They were self-inspired?  And grammatically it is weak at best.  European Inspired?  How so?  Because they use buckets?  So therefore, it was equally inspired by janitors, right?  But my favorite is the tagline: The Most Natural Way to Bathe Baby.  Really?  A bucket is more natural than, say, a river?  Or a stream?  Or a puddle?  Or letting a dog lick her clean?  Or a powerwasher? Alright, maybe not the last few, but in what way is a bucket any more natural than a bathtub?  To be fair, maybe the pod is made of something more natural, like wood or smashed up ants, that makes it more natural. 

But lest you think we are cruel and heartless parents, parading our daughter through the store, mocking everything and buying nothing for her, we did get something for lil' Kiki, though not from BBB...

Now, before you get all upset, we only let her drink three and she was not allowed to drive afterwards.  

Childproofed!

Well, it finally happened, my darling daughter is walking. Not a ton, just a few steps here and there, but now the real fun begins.  See, previously she would sometimes pull herself up and could slowly get around with a modified army crawl type of locomotion. But now, well, she stands up on everything more solid than a stiff breeze, pulls on and chews everything within 36" of the ground, and crawls at approximately mach 2 (my radar gun is only so accurate).  And as the old adage goes, what comes up must come down... often times on it's face, usually at speed, and always accompanied by crying and yelling.  Sometimes she even breaks out the dreaded "Silent Scream" wherein she freezes for about 5 seconds, her face bright red, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth wide open in a huge yell... but no sound comes out.  Well, eventually it does, and that's kind of her "okay, this time it really hurt" signal, but that first silent frozen moment is just horrible... and kind of cute too.

But she's not some one trick pony, she's got lots of skills other than falling down.  She has also learned to feed herself, and likes to practice whenever she can with anything at hand... like lint, dirt, and hair.  Delicious.  She also seems obsessed with crawling fully into the fireplace.  I mean, I guess it does look warm, being all, you know, on fire.  


Well, faced with a clumsy, pica afflicted, self-immolation obsessed toddler, we turned to that bastion of all parenting knowledge... well, er, parenting goods at least. Here's a hint, it starts with a B and ends with an abies Я Us.  On our latest visit we hit the "Safety" aisle hard.  Now, we started off with the easy stuff. You know, the gate that only requires 4 hours and a TIG welder to install, so darling Kiki doesn't throw herself down the stairs, even though we all remember how fun that is. We also bought a jumbo bag of outlet covers, so she doesn't electrocute herself (I know, our daughter isn't going to have any fun). Finally, we topped the cart off with a few devices that prevent anyone without an advanced engineering degree from opening a cabinet, though we did not elect for the PRO models, since, though cute and wonderful, Kiki is not yet a professional.

Having bought only three items from the aisles of safety devices on offer we felt like negligent, careless parents.  But really, I just couldn't bring myself to spend any more on safety items.  I don't think we need to keep Kiki out of the dryer.  Frankly, if she really wants to do the laundry I think we'll be okay with it.    We also didn't buy a toilet lock, since we'll be overwhelmingly thrilled when our daughter decides to start using the toilet, and this would just seem to discourage her.  Besides, the toilet is one thing I really, really don't want to be locked out of.  Ever.  

We also passed on the vast array of corner and edge guards, because, according to the packaging, we are monsters and hate our child.  But, in our defense we did get rid of the most obvious issues in the house (glass coffee table, bed of spikes, tiger).  Other than that, well, I think we just accept that Kiki is going to run into things, probably at speed, and in doing so she will learn that things can be hard... and sharp... and made of tigers.  And eventually everyone needs to learn that, right?

A movie so bad, your eyes will retreat into your brain

The day has finally arrived, Nicolas Cage has done it.  He's made the most craptastic movie ever.  Going beyond "bad", through "terrible", past "so bad it's good", blowing past "hilariously shitty", and landing solidly in "insultingly, offensively, mind numbingly shitful".  Yep, here's the crapfest that did it, it took the cake... the crap cake, as it were.  Behold... DRIVE ANGRY





Stunning, simply stunning.  From the title (Drive Angry, really?  Angry Explosion Movie just wasn't evocative enough?  Bloated Flailing Star Vehicle was a bit too honest?) to the, well, goddamn, where to start with this steaming puddle of poo?


Nicolas Cage, looking old, fat, and tired while managing to also appear totally non-threatening and vaguely effeminate (nice dye job) is your star?  What, Wilford Brimley wasn't available?


Oh, but he's so sexy, just look how he picks up that young hottie.  It must be true, it happened in a movie, right?  And who could blame her, with acting chops like that, ol' Nic can get any woman, man, or animal he wants.  Admit it, not even Sir Lawrence Olivier could deliver the line "I am going to get her back" in a more wooden, unheartfelt, and ballsy manner.  


But wait, it's in 3D!!!  Well, it only claims to be shot in 3D, maybe not shown in 3D though.  That would be too bad, because then you couldn't see all four of Nic's chins in stunning lifelike depth.  It's like you could reach out and touch them.  Just for the record, they feel like a balloon filled with pudding.  Yeah, I wouldn't recommend touching them.  


And before you complain that I cut off a bit of the screen to the right I have two things to say:


1) Really? You want to see more of this?  If I was actually nice, I would have just posted a still from the movie instead of the trailer.  Or just a picture of a dog being sick.


2) You get what you pay for.  Free blog = I can't be bothered to delve into the inner workings of Blogger to fix my youtube issues.  Sorry.  Take it up with my manager.


The most astounding thing about Drive Angry though, besides the very fact that it was conceived, created, and then released on the general public, is that it manages to make the latest Rock movie look like great cinema.

3D Television - Watch Yourself Thin

I'm sure you've noticed that to be truly entertained these days, you need three dimensions.  Accordingly, I've smashed my old television with a hammer and bought the latest and greatest 3-D plasma-LCD-neutrino flat screen heads-up display-o-ma-job.  Hey, I can't accept sub-dimensional entertainment.  How many of you watch 1-D television?  I rest my case.  


But wait, there's a slight, minor, tiny little issue with 3D television... The Barfogenic Zone.  No, it's not a bizarre mashup of Jackass and The Twilight Zone, rather it is the nausea caused by the conflict between the angle of your eyes and the shape of your eye's lens, a.k.a. cybersickness.  Now, for many this is a cause of serious concern.  Samsung has gone so far as including documentation with their 3-D televisions warning against motion sickness, night sweats, disorientation, loss of sexual function and psychotic episodes.  Fine, maybe I added a few to the list, but they do warn against watching their televisions if pregnant, sick, drunk, sleep deprived, or elderly.  


Fuck, what are our old dying preggers insomniac alcoholic loved ones supposed to do now?  Spend quality time with their family?  Apparently you've never spent any time with a hammered, hormonal, bloated, sleepy 90-year-old.  Suffice to say, parking them in front of the television is about the only option open to you, other than dropping them off at the funeral home preemptively.  


But I think Samsung has got the wrong end of the stick on this issue.  They shouldn't warn people away, they should embrace the barfogenic zone.  In fact, they should tweak their products to more acutely cause nausea.  Think about it.  What better way to solve the obesity epidemic in this country?  That's right, create televisions that make bulimics out of couch potatoes.  Not feeling like working out tonight?  Don't worry about it, just curl up in front of your new Samsung CyberPuke LCD 3D TV and halfway through 'Two and a Half Men" you'll be vomiting up your pancreas.  Although, to be fair, with that program it may not be the television causing it.  

My Daughter, the Cannibal

On the day after Christmas a.k.a. Boxing Day, a.k.a. my birthday (happy birthday to me!) Kiki decided to unveil a thrilling new skill.  Well, not thrilling in the "hooray, look at what my daughter can do!" way, more of the "holy shit, what is my daughter doing!" kind of way.  


You see, Keeks has a habit of chewing on her index fingers.  Seemed harmless enough, we figured at some point it would either hurt and she'd stop or she would outgrow it.  But last Sunday she managed, with her two tiny and surprisingly sharp front teeth, to cut her finger open.  So we find her waking up from her nap with blood on her hand.  Awesome!  Our 11 month old is apparently a cutter.  In retrospect, maybe we should have seen it coming, you know, with the goth clothing, the crap poetry, the constant Cure playing in her nursery, but despite all the warning signs it was still surprising.  


We even had to take our first unscheduled trip to the pediatrician due to her bloodlust, where we were informed that she is apparently a werewolf and this is the first step in her transformation.  Wait, no, my wife is informing me that I am mistaken, she did not tell us that, she just gave us antibiotics and advised us to keep Kiki from chewing on her fingers (REALLY?).  We were also given a steroid cream to help little Kiki grow into a big and unnaturally strong ravenous flesh eating monster.  Oh, wait, no, once again I am apparently wrong, it was just to help her poor finger heal. 


But the most amazing thing was it didn't stop her chewing on her finger.  Nope, my little cannibal wouldn't be deterred.  Even putting band-aids on her finger didn't stop her.  We have had to resort to mittening her hands with socks.  But the worst part of it (besides the nightmarish visions of my daughter eating her own hands off, I know I shouldn't have watched Titus right before bed) is that the hand she cut, the hand that is now mittened (socked?) all day and night is her left hand.  Hmmm, maybe this is all just an elaborate, deceitful, and diabolical plot by my wife to convert our daughter into a righty.  Damn!  But, I have to say, she still looks pretty cute even with no hands.

Japan Tales - Tulibo through the sex machine

A request has been made by my darling wife that I clarify something from an earlier post.  In truth, the Japanese "arcade sex machines" I mentioned previously:

are not sex machines at all.  Although they are found in arcades in Japan.  No, they're photo booths.  Which makes it slightly less weird that I used one with my wife and two of her cousins during our last trip.  


I didn't really understand why there were so many of these photo booths, especially since everyone has a camera in their phone, computer, car and, er, camera these days.  But these aren't simply photo booths, no, being Japan they also have a small robot implanted inside that digitally manipulates the images, supposedly to make you more attractive.  


Of course, if these were brought to the states, they would just blow up your tits and lips, making you look like some fish faced milk machine.  Or they could just save the computers and output pictures of Pam Anderson.  Either way.  But no, these machines digitally transform you into, well, apparently, what is the pinnacle of Japanese beauty and desirability.  For your reference, here is what I look like, sans digital sexifying:

And here's what the sex machine did to me:

So, it smoothes out the blemishes on your skin, lightens your skin tone, makes your eyelashes darker, fair enough.  However, it also appears to make your eyes much larger and rounder.  Hmm, apparently, in Japan, big eyed baby looking things are incredibly sexy.  Could have been weird though, it could have given me big boobs.  

Merry Christmas!

From everyone here at Tulibo Heavy Industries World Headquarters located in beautiful Ohio ("The Heart of It All", mildly more appealing though arguably less accurate than the runner up "Hey, At Least You're Not In Iowa!") we wish you a Merry Christmas, a Pleasant Post-Hanukkah Hangover, a Kick-Ass Kwanzaa, a Fucking Amazing Festivus, a Splendiferous Boxing Day, and a Wonderful New Year.

Hullo daddy

My wife and I put our heads together, thought long and hard on it, tossed through many a sleepless night, and have finally come to this conclusion vis-a-vie our daughter: We are going to raise her British.


Yep, she'll grow up bundled in stripy jumpers, pushed in her pram, have to wear nappies until she learns to use the loo, we'll take the caravan on holiday, discuss the 'appenings of the day, guvn'r, whilst sipping our Earl Grey and nibbling on crumpets.  Trouble is, as you may have discerned from the previous mess of a sentence, neither of us is British.  Nor do we even know anything about "britishness" though I think failing to take her to the dentist will help.  Most troublesome for our endeavor, we won't be moving to England.  Or even Wales for that matter.  But hopefully a combination of James Bond movies and BBC America will convince our child that she IS british.  Maybe we can instill some class and sophistication in our daughter in the middle of America.  Or at least the illusion of such.


Now I just need to find a set of crayolas with the color (whoops, colour!) grey. 

Christmas Time for Kiki

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting morbidly obese, and it's time to buy presents for Kiki for the first time.  Now, we've bought things for our daughter, you know, the exciting things like diapers and formula and even, sometimes when we're feeling crazy, a new pacifier.  Before you begin sending us donations for Kiki's well being (we accept cash and most major credit cards but no Discovery cards, we're not whores), let me clarify that we were lucky to inherit a vast assortment of clothes, toys, and baby paraphernalia from friends and family, so Kiki has not had to crawl around naked.  I'm not saying she hasn't done so, but she didn't have to.  It was her choice.  What can I say, she's a free spirit.


But this Christmas, her first Christmas, we've decided to go all out.  No, we're not getting her a combination bathtub and changing table.  Nope, not a whirlpool child bath either.  Not even a combination whirlpool bath and changing table (I don't think it exists, but just in case I'm putting a patent on it.  By the way, saying "I put a patent on it" in your blog will hold up in a court of law, right?).  No, this Christmas, her first Christmas, we're going to do something really special, we're going to get her three of her favorite things:


1) Shoes
What can I say, my little girl loves shoes.  Mainly hitting them on the ground, smacking them, and especially licking them, particularly the soles.  My wife is less than thrilled with this new hobby, since, apparently, shoes are dirty (I know, it's a weird Japanese thing).


2) A refrigerator
Not a full size one, that would be ridiculous.  Just a mini-fridge.  She thoroughly enjoys slapping the outside, looking inside, and, if unattended, attempting to climb inside our current refrigerator.  So, being the smart, thoughtful parents that we are, we figure we'll get her a little one of her own.  


3) Boxes
Yes, like all sub-four year-old humans, our child loves boxes, and why wouldn't she?  They're brown, boxy, and smell of cardboard.  All the things little girls love.  And, being creative, enterprising, and thrifty parents, we're saving the earth and our wallets by re-gifting the boxes her other gifts came in as separate gifts.  It's what Jesus would have done.  

Sinistration

For those of you who didn't take Latin: 
(yeah, way to take a "useful" language, who'll be laughing when the Romans take over the world economy?!?!  What's that?  A dead language you say?  Well don't that just bite it.) 


SINISTRATION
Pronunciation: (sin"u-strā'shun),
—n.
the quality or state of being left-handed
Synonyms: Left-handed, Awesome, Totally Awesome, Totally Super Awesome


Yes, left handedness.  A surprisingly prevalent talent in my family.  Of the 5 of us, 4 are lefties.  Oh, and the dog was also a lefty, so 5 out of 6, that's what, 233%, right?  Well, sinistration does not indicate a propensity for mathematics.  


Anyway, my wife, whom I love dearly, is not left-handed.  So she's somewhat defective, but I've learned to look beyond that.  But now, horror of horrors, my sweet, beautiful daughter seems to be exhibiting right-handed tendencies.  I mean, I guess I can still love her and care for her.  Somehow.  Maybe I only look at her in a mirror so she appears to be a lefty.  It's either that or tape her right arm down for the next three years.  


Hmmmmmmm.


Okay, fine, the mirror it is....


But taping her hand down is the only way to guarantee that my daughter is more creative, better spatially aware, and much more likely to die in an industrial accident...


Man, this parenting thing is hard.

How To Determine the Proper Parenting Style for You.

Well, you've mastered the diaper change, gotten feeding under control, and may, just maybe, have had a few nights of uninterrupted sleep.  Now comes the big decision, what type of parent are you going to be?  There are thousands of books, millions of websites, and billions of other parents who are just dying to tell you how to do it, and warn that any deviation from their method will result in a sociopathic child.  Well, I'm here to put all your fears to rest.  My simple, 5 question test will quickly and accurately tell you which approach to parenting will work for you and your child:


1) Your child is crying.  Do you:


A) Pick them up immediately, hold them, coddle them, and smother them in kisses and praise.  Continue until they tell you to stop or turn 18.


B) Ignore them.  They'll figure out eventually how to fix what's ailing them on their own, after all, you're never too young to learn how to reset a dislocated elbow.


C) I don't know that I can answer definitively with so little information, I mean, what are the circumstances?  Is she hurt?  Then I'm absolutely comforting her.  Is she just cranky or bored, then maybe I'll let her cry a little bit and see if she resolves it on her own.


2) It's bedtime. Do you:


A) Sleep with your child in the same bed, always there to comfort, breast feed, and smother in love.  Continue until the child tells you to stop or turns 18. 


B) Put child in crib.  Close door.  Ignore all crying, screaming, and whimpering until morning.  Alternately, get infant an apartment of their own, it's never too early to learn self-reliance.  


C) Well, I don't know again.  I mean, I guess sleeping on their own would be nice, and we will all probably sleep better, but if she isn't having it, I don't know that I'm totally against sleeping in the same room, at least for a little while.  


3) Time to go to the Pediatrician.  Do you:


A) Defer all immunizations until your child contracts the disease.  No one dies from tuberculosis anyway.


B) Demand that the pediatrician combines all the immunizations needed for the first ten years into one mega-shot.  For best results, make your child self-administer it.


C) I think I'll talk with the pediatrician and take their advice pretty seriously, since they went to, what, 15 years of medical school, and have since dedicated their lives to helping infants, and deal with these issues every single day.  


4) Your child is hungry.  Do you:


A) Breast feed.  Nothing but breast feeding.   Again, repeat until they ask you to stop or turn 18.


B) First off, if it is not a designated feeding time they will just have to wait until the next scheduled eating period.  We're not running a 24 hour diner here.  And breast feeding?  Ha, we'll give them something they can really use.  Like a steak.  Oh, and don't cook it, let them figure out how to turn on the stove.  


C) Feed them.  Something.  I mean, breast feeding is great, if it works for the mother and child, but at some point you've got to stop.  And then, I guess formula, if they still need it, or food of some sort.  


5) Your child is misbehaving.  Do you:


A) Hug them and calmly explain that their behavior is brilliant and wonderful.  Breast feed them.  If behavior is really bad (stealing, hitting, murder), maybe kindly ask them if they would enjoy possibly redirecting their energies in another direction, but only if they want to.    


B) Tell them no.  Firmly, clearly, and often.  If this fails, tell them they are a disappointment and send them to their room/apartment.  


C) Well, what are they doing?  Are they just being somewhat annoying, or are they acting in a seriously violent/destructive manner?  How could one response possibly correct for all misbehavior?  Should the courts just have one verdict for all crimes?





Please put down your #2 pencil and await results.


If you answered all A's:


Congratulations, you're what is known as an "attachment" style parent.  Your child will grow up nurtured, loved, and emotionally fulfilled.  They may die of tetanus, but then every rose does have it's thorn.


If you answered all B's:


Congratulations, you're what's known as a "babywise" style parent.  Your child will grow up independent, strong, and resilient.  They may become a psychopathic murderer, but as they say, you can't make an omelet without turning a few eggs into psychopathic murderers. 


If you had any mix of A and B or, god forbid, any C's:


You are obviously unfit to parent, attempting to apply logic and thought to a process that should be marked by blind adherence to a theory created by an author primarily motivated by profit and personal gain.  Your child is doomed.  You should just do everyone a favor and drop them off at the fire station now.  

Evolutionary Development

If I was forced to name my favorite aspect of evolution (it could happen!), I would have previously listed vision, maybe speech, and quite probably sexual organs as some of my favorites.  However, I have just rethought my entire approach to this question.

This sea-change was brought about when I came across the following sentence: "This cycle of glaciation ceased after the evolution of the anus" and I realized, with stunned insight, that I had never before considered the anus in the evolutionary process, I'd always accepted it as a given.

Yep, it's my new top item.  In fact, it's numbers one through seventy-four.  Because, let's face it, wouldn't you rather be blind, mute and sexless than forced to live without an anus, doomed to spend the rest of your hopefully short life walking around wondering why you're getting larger?

Hairscrimination

I love how people spend lots of time and money to entertain themselves.


Trips to exotic locals.  Expensive dinners.  Extravagant parties.


Nope, not me.  It doesn't take much.  Time with the family (aw, tender).  A bike ride, of any duration, at any time, in any weather, on any bike (Unicycle with a flat tire at midnight on New Year's Eve in an ice storm?  Perfect!).  Even something as utterly simple as a haircut can make my day... okay week.


Well, no, not any haircut, I don't have some weird fetish or something.  No, I just really like having a mohawk.  It makes me happy, looking slightly ridiculous.  No, not happy.  Stupidly happy, deliriously happy, retardedly happy.   Seriously, just look:


Me without a mohawk:

Meh

Me with a mohawk:

Awesome Sauce

Fine, yes, I'm goofy looking either way, but by god I'm happy about it.


You know what they say about simple minds and simple pleasures, and I'm not sure it gets a whole lot simpler than a haircut.  Oh, wait, yes.  Doorstops.  You know, these things:

Yeah, my daughter is mildly entertained by them.  You know, because you can flick them and they go "boing-oing-oing-oing."  But then, she is only 8 months old.  But me?  Yeah, I love those things.  I've found myself standing in our bathroom, flicking it with my toe and giggling to myself.  Hmmm, that sounded kind of dirty.  Well, a little dirty, but mainly dumb and pathetic.  But seriously?  Boing-oing-oing-oing.  Hehehe.


Moving on.  So why do I devise so much pleasure from a hairstyle?  I'm not quite sure.  Most likely because I am a bit of an idiot, and it's nice having a quick and simple way to show that to the rest of the world without having to speak or wear a slogan t-shirt (You know how hard it is to find a "Tapout" or "Affliction" t-shirt?  Sadly, not hard at all.  I think I just got one free with my last fill up.)


But, unfortunately, my love of doorstops isn't the only thing my daughter inherited from her father...

Happy Thanksgiving

From all of us here at Tulibo Heavy Industries, manufacturers of the finest in industrial cleaners, caustic chemicals, and pointless blogs since 2010, to you, dear reader, thank you and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.  To our readers outside the U.S., well, happy Thursday.  Finally, to our industrial cleaners and caustic chemicals customers, regular shipments will resume Monday, November 29, and don't forget to try our newest product; Leftover-B-Gone concentrated liquefaction solvent, guaranteed to liquify pumpkin pie, corn on the cob, and even an entire turkey to a loose gel in 15 minutes or less, just in time for the holidays!

Your Votes Have Been Counted and Discarded

Yes, to all who participated in the Great Kiki Halloween Costume Vote of 2010, I thank you, my wife thanks you, even Kiki thanks you.  Well, she says phhbbbblhh, but she means thank you.  However, I regret to inform you that your votes, though tallied by the third most exclusive accounting firm in Hollywood (they do the counts for the People's Choice Awards!), were for nought.  No, my darling child was not a monkey.  She wasn't a flower or sushi.  She wasn't even a aviator/owl mashup.  Nope, she was Goku.


Thank you for your vote nonetheless.












What, oh, you're still here.  What's that?  Oh, you don't know what the fuck a Goku is?  It's a character from Dragon Ball, a Japanese anime.  Or, more succinctly, it's this:

And Kiki's version:

Illustrating the five-finger death touch technique

Eating her Dragon Ball.

But we got so many people saying, "What's a Goku?" "She's going to be a dragon?" and "Isn't Japanese anime all weird tentacle sex stuff?" that we decided to have a backup, more accessible and generally less odd costume.  Minnie Mouse.  Well, Minnie in an outfit a lot like her normal outfit, but not sanctioned by the Disney Corporation and Global Domination Task Force.

You may notice that she is flipping the bird, as if to say, "Fuck you bastards, I should have been Goku.  I learned the five-finger death touch technique for this bullshit?  Come closer, let me touch you!"

Carboloading for Breakfast

Hope you've heard the good news, Burger King has added the Whopper to their breakfast menu!


Yes, no longer do you have to buy a Whopper on your way home and leave it in the car in order to have one for breakfast!  Now, don't tell me I was the only one who did that!


I've heard lots of "Whoppers for breakfast, that's gross, disgusting, and borderline insane."  Mainly from my wife.  But how else am I supposed to efficiently surpass the daily recommended allowance of, well, everything except vegetables, by at least 1,400%?  


Have it my way?  Hell yes, Mr. King, er, I mean your Highness.  I would like this please:

Unfortunately, BK didn't plan on someone creating a sandwich of these proportions (how is that possible?), so it cut off some of it.  Well, most of it, really. Here's quick rundown:

Meat:

20 burger patties, 20 chicken patties, 5 veggies patties, and 5 fish filets.  

Condiments:

Tartar Sauce, Ketchup, Mayonnaise, "Stacker" Sauce, Mustard, and A1

Toppings: 

Double lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, and crispy onions, 8 slices of cheese, and 10 slices of bacon.

For a total of:

885 grams of fat

290 grams of saturated fat

3020 mg of cholesterol

34,830 mg of sodium

and 13,880 calories

Served with a large fries and shake, it takes the total to 15,380 calories and 935 grams of fat.  Delicious!

Face it, before they started offering the Whopper for breakfast, the best you could do was this:

http://www.bk.com/en/us/menu-nutrition/index.html?mymeal=201011158a888089744849fa8e5c1725d6b0b2d6

A mere 2,160 calories, 149 grams of fat, and a measly 6,740 mg of sodium?  Pathetic.

Japan Tales - Arrival

Ah, Japan, you tempting seductress, with your panty vending machines and toilets more intelligent than the average 8th grader.  Yes, I just returned from a trip to Osaka to visit my in-laws.  I have been a few times before and have become somewhat accustomed to some of the peculiarities of the nation, but there are still new surprises for me every time.


This trip, it didn't take long to notice something a bit different.  While sitting in Tokyo awaiting my connecting flight, they began pre-boarding the flight.  Now, I know the drill; children, handicapped, those who need more time, I got it.  However, they seem to include a few more groups I am not as familiar with.  Unfortunately, I could not understand the announcements, and when this graphic appeared on the screens in the gate area it didn't exactly clarify things:

Now, some of these I do understand.  Top left, Japan Airlines logo, got it.  Bottom left, pregnant ladies, fair enough.  Top center, wheelchair bound passengers, with you still.  Bottom center, infants, okay as well.  Now, top right, apparently they feel the need to clarify that children in hats, and not just those in bibs, are also welcome to board early?  Or maybe bodyless children (could be a bigger problem in the far east)?  And then bottom right, I'm totally clueless.  Men in hats?  Mustachioed men?  Or maybe the two on the right are indicating that decapitated children and adults are welcome to preboard?  I'm not sure, all I know is I went to the bathroom, drew on a mustache, fashioned a hat out of paper towels, and got on the fucking plane.  Hey, I don't want those decapitated children filling up all the overhead compartments with their robot bodies.  

Roommate

Alright, today I will ask you to use your imagination.  Yes, close your eyes and... wait, you can't read this with your eyes closed.  Okay, read the post, memorize it, then close your eyes and tell it back to yourself.  Hmmm, yeah, that does sound like a lot of work for what is, let's face it, a minor entertainment at best.  Okay, fine, just read it and pretend you're imagining what I describe, and hopefully we will achieve minor entertainment.

It's your first day of college.  You move in with your new roommate.  She seems quite pleasant, very smiley and generally a happy, easy going sort.  But then you go to sleep, and at first, all is well.  But then, after about 5 hours of sleep, she wakes up screaming, yelling, and crying.  Not knowing what to do, you get her a glass of milk and she quickly calms down and goes to sleep.  However, every 2-3 hours for the rest of the night, she repeats this bizarre ritual, awakening unhappy, bawling, and yelling, only placated by a drink, after which she quickly returns to sleep.  The next morning, frazzled, exhausted, and more than a bit disturbed, you quickly find the college's housing office and demand a reassignment, since your roommate is obviously unwell, slightly disturbed, and possibly psychotic.  

The End.

What was the point of my little tale?  Well, only this.  That roommate, yes, she's my daughter.  And I have submitted a complaint to the housing authority about her nighttime behavior.  And by housing authority, I mean my wife.  It took a while, but I finally received a response.  I was informed that I was a jackass, and was being reassigned to the couch.  

Japan Tales - Sushi

Finally, on my fourth trip to Japan, I convinced my wife to take me to a true sushi restaurant.  See, my darling wife doesn't eat raw fish.  So she is understandably less-than-thrilled to take me to a hardcore sushi restaurant in Japan, where, except for the eel (because it's blood is poisonous... neat!), the idea of cooking the fish is rather sacrilegious.  It may also be that she doesn't want to have to sit next to me while I eat all the fish in the restaurant.  For the sake of brevity, here's basically what I ate:

But of all the sushi I had, there was one piece that really stood out from the rest.  Or should I say swam.  Yes, "dancing sushi", a piece of shrimp so fresh it was still moving on the plate... and when you bit into it the tail fins curled around your lip.  Here is the aftermath:

As for the before, I didn't want to offend the chef by taking a photo while my food was slowly dying so I did not get a shot of it, but it basically looked like this:

Well, minus the doorman outfit.  You've got to go to a really fancy restaurant to have them dress up the fish before serving them.  

Now I know, some of you think this is disturbing, or cruel, or gross... maybe all three.  And I don't know that I can defend myself, but all I can say is that it was delicious, and it could have been worse.  I could have been eating this:

Yep, spam sushi.  Spushi?