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Preschooler Oysters
You know how it’s important for a parent to mess with her kid, just to make sure he’s ready for the Whac-A-Mole game that is middle school? I do; therefore, I view every day as a “mess-’em-up-early-and-hard” opportunity. Case in point: While the Wee Niblet still has affection for his Pokemon cards and is
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Not So Much My Savior After All: The Pompous Lord Rerun
In honor of my naturally-red Irish roots; the big drunk that is St. Paddy’s Day; a lack of writing time; and a firmly-entrenched believe that recycling is always good, I’m re-running one of my earliest posts (it had all of three readers!). I wrote a series of tales about Jocelyn Set Loose in Ireland, and
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Stockholm Syndrome for the Flabby
My relationship with the airlines thrusts me into moral crisis. When I fly, they make me angry. They treat me condescendingly; they torment me with their itty seats; they feed me not; the handlers bark at me when I inconveniently have to use the bathroom during Beverage Service. Of course, if the handlers could bother
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Another Wasted TV Hour
There I was, a plate of hash brownies on the tv tray, a bouquet of tulips nestled to my not-inconsiderable bosom, clogs shodding my feet, and damned if I wasn’t disappointed. Turns out that show New Amsterdam isn’t about dykes at all.
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Pecking at the Picketing PETA Pipers
Keith Richards was named this week as the new face of Louis Vuitton (headed by Marc Jacobs). Shortly after the contracts were signed, Jacobs seized Keith’s face in a firm embrace, skinned it, and used the leather to make a suitcase. Keith staggered home, enjoying the aftereffects of the anesthesia, eager to answer his family’s
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Ouchie-ooh-la-loobie-ding-dat
After a particularly hardcore session of Webkinz, during which he mined for precious gems, tackled fairies in the Charm Forest, and added a new trellis to his platypus’ yard, Wee Niblet stood up and staggered away from the computer. Leaning uncomfortably against the bed, he groused, “My legs fell asleep.” “Eep opp ork ahah,
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Hep Me. Hep. Me.
You know how, every night when you’re asleep, there’s the possibility that a mouse will crawl down your throat and suck the very breaf out of your body? Now imagine a critter that’s 23 times as big as a mouse, one that doesn’t restrict itself to the obvious throatal orifice. Picture Big Evil with
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Thursday Night Live
“Thursday Night Live” Had it not been for the two drinks in July rum/ginger ale/lime concoctions (aka the “Dark ‘N Stormy”) Downed before my pal Jim over for dinner that night–crispy pork bits on rice Said, “So some of us were talking” a gaggle of clackers at the college “And we think you’d be a
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Shameless Plug
No, not like the ones on Elton John’s head. This is a different kind of plug. There’s a new online humor magazine that just launched its first issue this week. It’s called the Clay Pigeon, and its puppetmaster is Diesel over at the Mattress Police, head puppet designer is Joel Bezaire from Crummy Church
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Mama’s Best Advice: “Do It Naked”
My mom gifted me with lots of things in my youth: flute lessons, bassoon lessons, piano lessons, ballet lessons, the old Nissan Stanza, her recipe for beef stroganoff, a deep loathing of my body, a fondness for the ocean. Human nature being what it is, however, I’ve also decided that my parenting should compensate for
