Thanks for the help, I guess?

Kiddo makes me proud.

KIDZOOKIE: Those aren't zombies. Zombies can't run. That's a zomgie.

TACO: The hell's a zomgie?

KIDZOOKIE: As in Z-O-M-G.

They're young, not dumb.

I feel compelled to reiterate this. It's the root of an argument I've had repeatedly with some of my friends.

I never let the kids win when we play games or otherwise compete. I do place constraints on my own efforts to keep things fair, but within those constraints, I play my damnedest to win.  Sometimes they win, sometimes they lose.  They're learning to do both more gracefully, and as they get better and better, I have to constrain myself less and less.

The kids in the neighborhood have taken to playing Pokemon, and my son's in the thick of it.  In his enthusiasm for the game, he begged his mother and me to buy decks so he could play against us.  I picked up my deck this week and let him teach me.  I lost the first few games while I got a feel for the mechanics of it, then started reliably beating him while he picked up my tricks.  It was a lot of fun, especially since he's grown enough to get competitive instead of whiny in the face of it.

Apparently, I now have a reputation as the man in the neighborhood to beat.  My doorbell rang a short while ago, and one of my son's friends was on the porch, Pokemon deck in hand.  We informed him that our son was out of town, but would be back next week, to which he responded that he was here to play against me.

Heh.

Take note, folks.  It's not just my kids who like to be challenged.

His sarcasm is developing nicely.

KIDZOOKIE:  I got a hundred on two tests in a row.

TACO:  Kick ass.  I'm proud of you; you're really smart.  What tests?

KIDZOOKIE:  Science and math.

TACO:  Okay, so you're studying fractions in math.  What was the science test on?

KIDZOOKIE:  Planets and stuff.

TACO:  Astronomy is awesome.

KIDZOOKIE:  Not like all of them though, just the sun, the moon, and the stars.

TACO:  Cool, what did you study about them?

KIDZOOKIE:  Like how they light themselves.

TACO:  Well, the sun lights itself.

KIDZOOKIE:  But the moon doesn't, I know.  The stars do, though.

TACO:  What are stars made of?

KIDZOOKIE:  Gases.

TACO:  That have turned into?

KIDZOOKIE:  Stars.

TACO:  Touche.

Donny, you're out of your element.

KIDZOOKIE: When I grow up, I'm going to open Kidzookie's Awesome Restaurant, and the largest ice cream cone is going to be this big. [gestures]

TACO: Really? Because at Taco's Awesome Restaurant, that's our smallest cone. If you order the large one, three waiters have to help you carry it to the table.

KIDZOOKIE: Well at mine, it takes five waiters.

TACO: If you order it to go, they have to bungee the cone to a trailer behind your car.

KIDZOOKIE: At mine, you need a truck to pull the trailer, and the trailer better be covered so you don't get bugs in your ice cream.

TACO: If you order the extra large, the American President invokes a police action against you so he doesn't have have to get a Congressional declaration of war, sticks you in Guantanamo Bay, executes you, admits he couldn't find the Weapons of Mass Consumption, then hangs around your house for years while Jon Stewart makes fun of him.

KIDZOOKIE: What?

Thanks for clearing that up.

My reputation precedes me.

TACO:  Am I going to have fun?

WIFEZILLA:  If I don't pass out.

TACO:  If you pass out, maybe I'll have a LOT of fun.

WIFEZILLA:  If I pass out, you can do whatever you want.

TACO:  ...

WIFEZILLA:  Oh, God, what are you going to do?  Fry eggs on my ass?

Very crafty, Eclipse.

He's talking trash above his grade level.

TACO:  You kids ready for your spankings?

GIRLZOOKIE:  Noooooo.

KIDZOOKIE:  I wanna play Monopoly.

TACO:  Does Monopoly involve spankings?

KIDZOOKIE:  It will when I beat your butt.

TACO:  Well played.

He's so much fun to tease.

TACO:  ...because a certain Justin Bieber looking beyotch...

KIDZOOKIE:  THAT'S WHY I WANT A FREAKING HAIRCUT!

FML

TACO:  [reads Dr. Doom's Twitter feed to wifezilla]  Blah blah blah FML.

WIFEZILLA:  FML?

TACO:  FML.

WIFEZILLA:  FML?

TACO:  F.  M.  L.

WIFEZILLA:   Does that stand for something?

TACO:  Yes.

WIFEZILLA:  I wanted to know what it stands for.

TACO:  Then that's what you should have asked.

WIFEZILLA:  [sighs]  Living with you is hard.

TACO:  Yep.

WIFEZILLA:  What does FML stand for?

TACO:  "Fuck My Life."

WIFEZILLA:  FML.

TACO:  See what we did there?  That little meta jo...

WIFEZILLA:  Shut up.

The WoW goldfarmers are getting more aggressive.

Now they're advertising to me on my evening commute.

BA-DA-DA-DA-DAP!

KIDZOOKIE:  Do you know about the Jersey Devil?

TACO:  Oh, yeah, I know all about him.

KIDZOOKIE:  I learned about it today.  Know how he was created?

TACO:  Yeah, he was created in a genetics lab, but there was an accident.  The lab was destroyed and the Jersey Devil was presumed dead.  He drifted from town to town for several years before being sent to prison by a military court for a crime he didn't commit.  He promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground.  Today, still wanted by the government, he survives as a soldier of fortune.  If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire the Jersey Devil.

KIDZOOKIE:  No, this lady had a baby with horns and wings and it flew out through the fireplace.

TACO:  Oh.

I feel you, brother.

Donner, table for two?

TACO: Just so you know, if the power goes out, I'm resorting to cannibalism.

KIDZOOKIE: You're not supposed to resort to cannibalism until the food runs out.

TACO: If I resort to cannibalism first, the food will last longer.

KIDZOOKIE: But I don't have to be refrigerated.

TACO: It's the snowpocalypse. I can just put anything I need refrigerated outside until the power comes back on.

KIDZOOKIE: Crap.

Push it real good.

NETFLIX STREAMING:  [Retrieving.]

WIFEZILLA:  Make it work!

TACO:  What do you want me to do?  Open up the wire and push the ones and zeroes myself?

WIFEZILLA:  Yes!

NETFLIX STREAMING:  [Plays for 5 minutes]
NETFLIX STREAMING:  [Retrieving.  AGAIN.]

WIFEZILLA:  Push the bits and bytes, Taco!

TACO:  I'll push the bits and bytes if you push my bits and bite.

WIFEZILLA:  Well aren't you funny.

Search Strings: January 2011 Edition

I haven't done one of these in a long time, because frankly, the search strings haven't been all that funny in a long time.  I have a reminder set at the beginning of every month, and every month I check it... but the search terms are generally just permutations on a few very bitter themes.

Really ought to do something about the tone of my posts, I suppose.

Also somebody is really really into Carl Sagan.  Which is awesome.  But probably very disappointing for him when he winds up here.

Anyway, this month's search string report made me laugh, so I had to share.

The usual... the usual... the usual... wait, what?

A Chain Unbroken

We were hanging out at my parents' house a lot over the holidays.  One night, my son was tired, overstimulated, and frankly, had spent too damn much time around too damn many people.  He mouthed off at somebody and stomped off to be by himself and cool down.

Dad shot me a smirk, and I made some remark to the effect of recognizing where he gets some of that charm.  I doubt that either of you who reads this will be particularly shocked by my assertion that I can occasionally (ha!) be somewhat surly and rude myself, particularly when I've gotten more of people than I can handle.

All right, I'm moody as fuck.

So anyway, at that point, Dad reminded me of a story he'd told me ages ago, which I'd nearly forgotten.  I dragged kidzookie back in immediately, so he could hear it from The Old Man himself.

The story takes place when Dad was a pretty little kid.  My grandmother was off at the hospital to give birth to my twin aunts.  Grandpop needed to do something with Dad, so he dropped him off with my great-grandfather.

My aunts were born at Christmas, so the typical decorations were about.  Dad, the story goes, was bored, and eventually figured out that by popping the glass orbs on the tree just right with his knuckles, he could shatter them.  Suddenly, he was much more entertained.

My great-grandfather watched Dad pop a few bulbs, then tried to stop the misbehavior with typical grandparently kindness:  he went over to Dad, and said, "Billy, if you break one more of those ornaments, Grandpop's not gonna like you any more."

Dad, I'm told, thought this over for a minute, popped another ornament, and told him, "I don't like you, either."