"Daddy, I know what I want to do when I grow up." No, absolutely not... Where in the world do kids get their crazy ideas? "From their parents, usually..." Oh... In any case, there's something I find very disturbing... "So, you're saying you're a disturbed person..." Look, my daughter's shown interest in dissecting a human body, maybe making it a career. "A dead body, right?" I'm not sure -- I'm too afraid to ask -- but let's hope so. I'm concerned. I mean, why such proclivity for the macabre? "Pro... maca... what?" I'd like to place all the blame for her strange career interests on horror flicks she watches. "Oh, you're just being silly..." Hey, you have to admit, slasher movies play tricks on kids' minds. I mean, why else would my kid want to cut open a body, right? Then again, as a parent, I'll take some responsibility. "It's about time..." You see, years ago -- over my wife's objections -- I decided it wasn't a good idea to let our daughter dissect frogs at school. "Why not? That's very educational." Nobody understood my hard-line stance at the time. And I was hesitant to explain my reasoning. Until now... I just hope it's not too late. You see, out of respect to frogs -- particularly Kermit the Frog -- I wouldn't allow it. Look, just between you and me, I always wanted a stuffed Kermit as a kid (my mom thought it was healthier for me to snuggle with a stuffed panda, instead). I never got a Kermit, so years later, even as an adult, I felt like I owed something to Kermit and his amphibious pals. "You made a pact?" Yes, I promised myself -- and Kermit -- that I'd never slice and dice a defenseless frog. "What about frog legs? Have you ever eaten those?" I'm going to ignore that... Anyway, that's the explanation for why I never let my kid dissect a frog. "I bet you feel better talking about it, huh?" Yeah, but now look at the results. My daughter's having weird thoughts. She's looking at humans in a whole different light. "Oh, you have nothing to worry about..." I can only hope it's just a phase she's going through... "Daddy, do you have an axe I can borrow...?" Gulp...
Before I start -- "You just did." -- I want to make something perfectly clear: In no way, shape, or form do I want to turn the following into sophomoric, silly, bathroom humor. "Fine, we'll behave like mature adults..." Don't get me wrong: bathroom humor has a place in our society... mainly in bathrooms, outhouses, and porta potties across America... So, where do I begin? "You began here quite a while ago..." Okay, so... Apparently, dinosaurs had much to do with Global Warming way back when... "When exactly was when?" Believe it or not, we can blame the change in climate during the Dinosaur Era on methane gas, if you catch my whiff, uh, drift... "You mean...?" It seems that British scientists with too much time on their hands learned that dinosaurs really affected the environment with their uh, bodily, uh, gases. "No way!" Yes way! "You've got to be joking!" Not at all. I'm being totally serious. "Totally? -- since when?" This is no time to joke. No time to laugh. "But it's funny!" No, it's not! We're talking science here, people! "I never liked science -- especially dissecting those frogs." Thank you for sharing... Simply put, dinosaurs were the first to cause global warming: the Allosaurus, the Brachiosaurus -- never mind the Ford Taurus... "You've got something against Al Gore, don't you? You're mocking him! You're poking fun at him!" Wait just a minute, I'm not poking anybody! And I'm certainly not trying to get political here. Please, listen to me -- and wipe that silly grin off your face, will ya? "But this is hilarious!" Please stop... "Okay, go on..." Thank you... So, to summarize, dinosaurs contributed to their own demise by -- "You're making this up." Think what you want, but why would I lie? "We know your type." I'm just the messenger, folks. Scientists are sure about this... By the way, I'd like to know what the families of these brilliant minds thought about the dinosaur findings... "We sent you to Cambridge and Oxford for this?!"
"Location. Location. Location." When I'm not busy solving many of our world's problems, I dabble in real estate. In fact, I consider myself somewhat of an expert in that department. "Expert? -- you?" Alright, wise guy... To be perfectly honest, I get amused when I read about those mansions that go up for sale. "Are you in the market?" Right now, the only market I'm into sells me 2 lbs. of chorizo. As far as purchasing a mansion, I'm not interested. Never will be... "Too expensive for you?" Please, don't insult me. "Are you envious of those than can actually afford big homes?" Now you're getting me mad. If you must know, there's something about big homes that really bugs me. "You are dripping with envy..." I don't drip for anyone! No one, you hear me?! Look, if you really must know, I can't get past the idea that these multi-million dollar homes have so many bathrooms. "Bathrooms? What do you have against bathrooms?" Nothing -- especially when I have to use one... If you'll allow me, awhile back I went to an Open House at one one of those luxury homes. "How luxurious was it?" You'll never believe the first thing the real estate agent says to me: "Let me show you the bathrooms." Really? For those who know me: Do I look like a guy that spends all his time in the bathroom? (better yet, don't answer that, please) Anyway, that house had so many bathrooms, I ran out of fingers for counting. "You should've taken off your shoes." The whole time I'm thinking, "Who actually has time to use all these bathrooms?" (I'd have to carry a map just to remember where each is located. ) And another thing, there's a lot of pressure in keeping up all those bathrooms. "Bathroom no. 17 needs more candles!" Imagine living in a home where double-digit toilet seats need to be put down -- and aren't. "That's a lot to worry about." Not to mention -- I'm about to -- all those wet towels that have to be picked up off the floor (my kids are allergic to doing so). Of course, my worst nightmare then comes to mind: "Where's my toothbrush?! I don't remember where I left my beloved toothbrush!" I'm sorry all you mansion lovers, but so many bathrooms are a waste of space -- and energy, if you ask me. "I don't ask you nothin'..." Uh, let's keep it that way...
Maybe I'm too sensitive, I don't know.... "Please, let it out. Let it all out..." Oh, I don't want to make a big deal about it, really... "No, you have to express your feelings, it's okay..." Well, if you insist... Everybody take a seat.... "I'd rather stand." Recently, I got my feelings hurt pretty badly. "You poor thing, what happened?" I'm heartbroken, actually. "Don't say it, she -- " He. It was a 'he.' "Huh?" I must say, I never thought it would happen to me. "Hey, it happens to the best of us..." You see, a few days ago -- it was morning, actually -- I was driving on the freeway and I let a big truck squeeze in front of me. Then, I waited. And I waited some more, for some sort of acknowledgment. Anything. Any sign of "Thank You!" Well, I got nothing... That's right, the truck driver did NOT bother to flash his tail lights -- nothing! "Why, the nerve of that guy!" That's what I said! To be taken for granted like that, it hurt. It really hurt. In case anyone's wondering, my eyes welled with tears. "You cried about that?" Wouldn't you? "Uh... no..." What's so difficult about flashing your light to someone in an appreciative way, right? Right?! "You may need some help..." So, what did I do after that? Why, I did what anybody else with half a brain would do: I followed that truck. "You what?" Yeah, I kept pace with that guy for a good long while... I even cut him off. "You really do need help." All with the hope that he'd finally flash his lights. "And...?" Negative. So, I slowed down, got behind the big, bad truck again and memorized the license place. I was determined to have the DMV hear about this absolute lack of manners (All I got was an answering machine, so I left a message.) Anyway, it seems I lost track of time in my quest for the trucker's attention. "How long were you driving?" Funny you should ask. First, the sun started to set -- more than once. Then, the next I knew, I saw a big sign. It read: "Welcome to Canada." Of all places... "You drove all the way to -- " Anybody know how to say "I don't have a passport " in Canadian?
"You don't want us to do what?" You heard me. "Why not?" My decision is final! "You can't be serious..." Yes -- I refuse to be considered for any Father of the Year awards... "But... but..." No matter what the masses think, my mind is set. Especially with Father's Day right around the corner. Nothing will change my mind... "You'll change your mind..." No! Do I make myself clear? "Yes, sir... Are you sure don't want -- ?" I'm not worthy of any Daddy awards, okay? Don't make me explain... "Please, explain yourself." I'm not going to -- I'm a bad dad, okay? That's all I'm going to say... I'm a rotten dad. "Rotten egg bad?" Call it what you will. You see, some weeks ago, I let my younger son near a very bad influence. Really bad. What was I thinking? I'm supposed to be there for him, to protect him, to steer him away from wrong... "You don't mean -- " Yes, the Evil Empire... "How could you?! -- the New York Yankees?!" Yes... "No! How could you do that to your own son?!" It's terrible, I know... I haven't been the same since. As a life-long Dodgers fan, I don't know how I ever allowed my child -- my own flesh and blood -- to wear a Yankees jersey. "Damn Yankees..." That's what I say. Now, I wake up every night, tossing and turning, hoping it was all a bad dream, but no, it really happened. "You let him wear a Yankees jersey?" It was only for a school project, but my conscience, it won't let me rest. You see, the kid wanted to do a report on Babe Ruth, but he had to dress up like the Bambino and... he got me at a weak moment, okay? Now, I'm haunted by Ghosts of Dodgers Past -- Pee Wee and Jackie -- Van Lingle Mungo! They follow me everywhere, they poke and they prod -- they won't leave me alone! "Good. You deserve that and more!" I totally agree. That's why I renounce my candidacy for any Father of the Year accolades. "Accolades? -- that's a joke." Look, I feel terrible for what I did. I can only hope my son recovers, that those nasty pinstripes didn't dig deep into his veins... "To the dungeon with you!" Yes, I know. I deserve whatever punishment comes my way, no matter what it is... Even if it's water boarding... But before we go there, I do have a question: the water's not too chilly, is it?
Awhile back there was a lot of criticism directed at a certain celebrity. People wouldn't stop talking about him... "Did he break the law or something?" Uh, no... "How bad's the mug shot?" Uh, if you'd let me explai -- "What naughty images did he post on a social network?" -- Please, let me finish! Jeez... The criticism dumped on this guy was so uncalled for, if you ask me. "Can I ask you something?" Not now. You see, our celebrity friend was spotted with a lunch bag. In a restaurant. So what?! "You're pulling my leg." I'm not pulling anything. Look, I don't see anything wrong with walking into a restaurant with a lunch bag. Do you? "I do." Sorry I asked... My suggestion is that we learn the facts instead of ridiculing this celebrity who shall remain nameless. "What's his name?" Look it up yourself. "Come on, just one little hint..." NO! It's so obvious that sack lunches have significant meaning for this man. We should be respectful. I mean, I'm guessing that he clings to those childhood days when his wonderful mama packed him a delicious lunch, a spicy homemade burrito, with a loving handwritten message tucked inside his Scooby Doo lunch pail --- uh, lunch bag... (excuse me while I dab away some tears... it's my contacts) Getting back to the celebrity with the sack, uh, lunch: I say, leave the guy alone, okay? Let him eat his homemade lunch. At restaurants, the dentist -- or anywhere else he darn well pleases... The guy probably just doesn't want to eat by himself... All you waiters, give him a break, okay? Be nice, and he'll surely leave a good tip... "Sir, will you be ordering anything today?" I actually think it's a nice gesture on the celeb's part. "How so?" Can't you see? "I can't." He's actually lessening the load for restaurant staff... From what I understand, this famous patron doesn't put any demands on the waiters, for the most part... "Yes, I'm going to need a doggy bag... for my lunch bag." Oh...
ATM's used to make me nervous. "Nervous? ATM's?" Now they creep me out. "Creep you out...?" And for very good reason, yes. You see, it all started with a recurring nightmare... In my nightmare I approach an ATM, push a few buttons here, a few buttons there... There's all this whirring and stirring and -- voila! -- nothing. "Nothing?" Nada. Absolutely no money, no lana, no -- wait a minute, that's no nightmare -- that's my reality! "You have a zero balance, sir. A big fat zero..." (I wish ATM's were a little more discreet) Okay, so I have no money, the story of my life... But at least there's a silver lining in this whole mess... "So, how so with this fiasco?" Well, in a strange sort of way, it's really good news that I have no reason to visit ATM's these days. You see, some automatic teller machines are delivering something other than bills. "Really? Like what?" Try mice and snakes. "Mice and -- say what?!" I'm not joking. I'm really not joking. "He's not joking." People stand there, expecting their money, and what do they get instead? Furry little friends with beady little eyes... The horror... "When was this guy president?" Look, I love money as much as the next guy, so if I ever have to go to an ATM again, I'll expect greenbacks -- not green creatures that wrap themselves around my throat! "He was good man... but he never looked good in turtlenecks..." I can only imagine the look on customers' faces when they receive their surprise: "How do I fit this thing in my wallet?" Just to clarify, I'm not that afraid of snakes or rodents, but I do think it's un-American to have something other than bills coming out of our nation's ATM's. Hopefully, it's just a fad... No disrespect to anybody, but that's how I feel... "We feel for you..." It's a sign of the times, I guess... Hopefully, it doesn't get out of hand... "Sir, uh, how would you like your money -- prairie dog or black mamba?" Sheeesh...
