(clearing throat nervously)

So. Hey! Hi. Yes, it's me. The stupidly named TwoBusy. The newest member of Team America (fuck yeah!) and/or DadCentric. I just moved here, and I was wondering if I could sit with you guys at lunch?

(crickets)

C'mon guys! Let's be friends! I... I have gummi bears! They're a little linty, but if I pick it off I think they'll be...

(crickets start throwing rocks and garbage)

Alright, look: clearly, my presence here is a grave error in judgment. We can only presume that Jason's invitation to me was issued in a vodka-clouded haze, and much like the tattoo of Jennifer Jason Leigh that now graces his left thigh is something that he will one day regret and/or attempt to have surgically removed.

But. Meanwhile, here I am. In all my glory. You can think of me as George Lazenby: tall. Handsome. Australian. (Except for the tall and Australian part. The handsome part is subjective, and therefore stays.) Selected from countless millions of dreamers to assume the mantle of pop culture icon... only to fail miserably. To prove as stiff and talentless as a bamboo shoot, excepting that a bamboo shoot can serve ably as a caning tool and, therefore, this characterization is kind of unfair to the bamboo shoot in question. To lose the job almost immediately, and in subsequent years serve as a vernacular shorthand for some kind of half-assed Icarus — wings melting away, plunging helplessly toward a cold and unyielding earth, already imagining the voices wondering how and why he ever got the wings in the first place. Eventually, diminished to the point of sad self-caricature... "hey, didn't he used to be somebody?" "No, not really."

What's particularly apt about this parallel is the fact that George Lazenby is the father of twins (see, Jason? This is about parenting! And fatherhood! I'll make you proud of that tattoo yet...). Just like me! And his were born in 2005. Just like mine! And his were produced by Pam Shriver! Just... well, okay: technically, I haven't procreated with Pam Shriver. Yet. But I'm thinking we have a lot in common, and could one day forge a really great relationship. I'm not sure how my wife would feel about it, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it.

All of which is neither here nor there. When it comes down to it, you come to DadCentric for one reason and one reason only: to enjoy the most cutting-edge Dad/Parenting-focused content available anywhere on the interweb if you haven't looked really hard. Given which, my presence here seems obvious. Let's check the facts:

1. Do you write online?
   Yes. (Badly)
2. Are you male?
   Yes, despite rumors to the contrary.
3. Do you have kids?
   Yes. Three — or, as one of my friends kindly puts it, "an unnatural number of children."
4. Are you actively involved in Dad-type activities?
   Yes. (Badly)

And thus, you have incontrovertable evidence as to why I belong not only here, but in the hearts and minds of all right-thinking Americans. And Canadians! Everyone else... sorry. You're on your own.

So... that's it. The DadCentric guys have already been quite welcoming, and Kevin tells me that as the newest new guy I'm going to get plenty of swirlies! Which is awesome, because nothing tops off ice cream like a nice swirly. I might even ask for extras!

(crickets)