DadCentric

Why It's Important To Teach Your Kids About Gun Safety

Guy shoots bottle. Gun jams. Guy looks down barrel of loaded gun. What you think is going to happen, happens. Kids, remember: guns don't kill people, stupid people with guns kill people, and occasionally themselves. (Don't worry - this guy lives, and we assume that he'll take Dick Cheney up on his offer to go hunting.)

Yes, These Kids' Parents Dressed Them As The Jersey Shore Gang For Halloween

This has been going on for weeks: "Dad, can I go as Killer Croc?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Killer Croc is." "Oh. Then can I go as Cad Bane?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Cad Bane is." "Oh. How about Nick Fury?" "Do you want to shave your head?" "No, I mean THE ORIGINAL Nick Fury." 

Sigh. At least he's considering costumes that a few of his second grade classmates might get. And regardless of what he ends up wearing, we draw the line at letting him dress up like The Situation. Unlike these kids' parents.

(Photo via this Flavorwire post: "Kids' Halloween Costumes That They're Too Young To Understand". Bob Ross? Really?)

Has It Really Taken This Long For Someone To Do A Dr. Seuss - H.P. Lovecraft Mashup?

In his house in R'lyeh, Dead Yertle waits dreaming.

For the entire 11 page story - go here. (Thanks to Cole Gamble.)

Bronies Are Passionate, Creepy

I've been watching, with some interest, the Bronie flame war that's erupted over at SD Momfia. Way back in June, my wife Beth wrote that post about Bronies - adult males who are rabid fans of My Little Pony - and how they're sort of, well, creepy. Since then, the Brony herd (I'm assuming that's what the collective is called?) has been piling it on, maybe protesting a bit too much about their whole deal and the greatness that is MLP. Here are some of the best comments:

Commenter "Marrik": "That man isn’t the head bronie. bronies are not lead by one individual so there is no leader at all."

Commenter "Brotaku": "...these little ponies are cute and small and sweet, and somewhere in our male minds, buried below the repressed feelings and pointless displays of masculinty, is an instinct to protect the cute, the small, the helpless. To prove my point ask any brony how he felt when Gilda made Fluttershy cry."

Commenter "Relictus": "I like the characters, and it’s a pleasant diversion from the real world of rampant unemployment and a faltering economy. Plus, you learn a little something about friendship every episode. I don’t really have friends – but ponies won’t judge me."

Commenter "Aiden Raccoon": "Oh come on. I’m in the furry community and, while true, furries find plenty of fap material, MLP is NOT one of them."

So, I don't see what the big deal is here, other than, you know, the whole "adults turning a cartoon show aimed at my four-year-old daughter into a fucking lifestyle choice" thing. Also, Hitler.

 

 

 

An Anatomy Lesson, Courtesy Of The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse

Over at E's scathingly funny clip show The Soup, Joel McHale takes a closer look at a very special episode of The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. To say any more would ruin the fun, but the title of the video is a bit of a spoiler.

 

Tune in next week, when Daisy helps Donald find the little man in the canoe. (Yes, he's actually a little man in a canoe. What did you think we were talking about?)

It's The 9/11 Cartoon Show! You Know - For Kids!

Quick show of hands - who thinks teaching (not sure if that's the right word) the kids about the horrors of 9/11 via a cheaply made propraganda cartoon is a good idea? Well, you're in luck: former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee's new venture, a company called Learn Our History, has just the thing for you:

 

I was half expecting the Ambiguously Gay Duo to show up and punch Bin Laden. Anyway, Huck himself makes an appearance on the company's website, explaining that because schools today are distorting facts and not Red White and Blue washing events and the causes behind them, your kids should learn the truth from his 9/11 cartoon, which doesn't bother with nonsense like "root causes" and "blowback", instead focusing on the important stuff, like God loves America because we love God.

Before you go labelling me as the guy who wants Howard Zinn's version of history in the classroom, consider this: the answer to having "left-biased" (if that's the phrase we're using) curriculum in schools is not dumbing it down with reactionary crap. (A reminder: Christopher Columbus did not, in fact, discover America.) The way to avoid raising a generation of morons: encouraging kids and teachers to take a neutral look at the people and events that shape our history - to teach facts, and not wrap them in mythological trappings.  

Rather than buy this, I think I'll hold off until my kids are old enough to read Lawrence Wright's The Leaning Tower. Unless Mr. Wright can be persuaded to write a graphic novel. On second thought, maybe that's not such a good idea.

(Thanks to Marinka for the heads-up.)

Wordless Wednesday: The Worst Family Photo Ever

It's like "Eight Is Enough" meets "The Human Centipede".

(via Avitable)

We All Scream For Ice Cream...

...but perhaps that's not such a good idea.

(This is an actual sign. Moments after the photo was taken, CPS gunships swooped in and destroyed the joint. Via Happy Place.)

My Very Vagrant Father's Day

I realize there are places of business that actually sell cardboard boxes for people who need to move, but paying for boxes is, I've always thought, a sucker's bet.  Or, stated more closely to my customary vernacular, it's for pussies.   Why pay money that can better be invested in fine bourbons on freely available rubbish? 

So, while the rest of you normal fathers watch golf and eat large breakfasts in bed on Father's Day, I climb in and out of metal dumpsters in 90+ degree weather while the Mrs. keeps the minivan's engine running and her eyes peeled. 

 

Don't you mean, "Carboard and Muskrats Only"?

But what makes the afternoon truly worthy of great Father's Day lore?  It's when the Universe smiles upon me and sends a 20-something employee outside for a smoke break.  I crouch in silence as he pulls an extended drag from his Camel, leans against the green beast whose belly I occupy, and begins a quiet daydream as he stares toward the few clouds that cannopy the serene parking lot. 

Recognizing opportunity, I step-up-sidekick the inside of the dumpster.

Him:  "FUCK!" 

The cigarette hits the parking lot.  He jostles 3 steps away from the dumpster. 

Me:  "Sorry.  Thought I saw a rat in here." 

I climb out with the last of the boxes and toss it into the back of the minvan as he stands agape.   My work here is done.

Help Save the Youth of America from Hair Metal Ballads!

I "get" the concept of Kidz Bop.

Take the pop hits of the day. Sift the bump-and-grind rhythms  through a Size 45 Lawrence Welk cone filter. Scrub in some Ajax to remove any hint of naughtiness from the lyrics ("brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack" in Tik Tok by skank dance queen Ke$ha becomes "brush my teeth and then I go and pack" ... yet it still leaves a scummy film on my skin after listening.) Finally, let a Holiday Inn warbler share the lead vocals with some truly average sounding children who fill in the chorus and harmonies with their screeches.

Bland as instant oatmeal but, geez, it beats that Satanic turdgrinder Raffi. His music has been known to wake coma patients just long enough so they can unplug themselves.

Now, the whole Hair Metal scene back in the '80s -- that I never understood. Guys in Tammy Faye Baker makeup, teased tresses and Spandex print pants tight enough so the high notes flowed like Jesus juice at a sleepover at Michael Jackson's house. I can vaguely understand how some teenybopper girls confused about their sexuality might have longed for those dudes from Ratt, but pubescent hormones are the Devil's Good 'n' Plenty .

Therefore, I have been totally mystified by the entire industry of Bret Michaels, headbanded ex-honcho of Poison.

Since his re-emergence in the Rock of Love reality series in 2007, his status as a "rock legend" has grown and I can't understand why other than the fact I'm not regularly sedated. The adulation the man receives with every appearance on the latest cheesy reality show, overblown award show and supermarket opening is truly mind boggling.

Yeah, he's a diabetic but so was my Polish great aunt and she could rock a polka on the accordian 50 times as hard as "Talk Dirty to Me." Oh, yes, he has a hole in heart, too -- probably stemming  from the saccharin buildup that finally leaked out into his "greatest" hit, the nadir of suburban white boy power ballads "Every Rose Has a Thorn."

But unleashing his lameness on the children of America -- nay, the children of THE WORLD -- that is something we must stop.

http://youtu.be/-k2D7IfcO0w

Please contact Razor & Tie, a once respectable indie label, and beg them to stop the madness.

Or at least beg them to send you a copy of any Laurie Berkner CD they stock. Now, there's someone who can rock my cradle of love any day.