At the races

Kids Walk in on BBC Interview

Surely you’ve seen this video of a man being interviewed by the BBC when his kids start coming in to join the fun.

First, it’s the older daughter who struts in like she’s walking in the club like she owns it. She comes closer when the man attempts to hold her back. Undaunted, she just stands there, studying her candy.

Then the baby seemingly floats in on a rolling baby walker with no care in the world. First of all, this kid can move in that thing. Better add some brakes because before long there’s going to be some crashes in the condo.

Mom realizes what has happened and rushes in like the Road Runner, but she has a little too much body speed, so she hits the breaks in a power slide. She drag-pulls the two children back through the door while the man puts up brave face.

Now that’s comedy.

Some online commenters have said, “I don’t think it’s funny.” Really? Nothing like this has ever happened in your family?

Or they comment the father should have pulled the kid into his lap. Right! That would have been worse. You know the kid would have started pulling his glasses off and playing with his tie. Interview over right ‘dere.

At the races

Your Choice of Breasts — Choose Wisely

An aunt created a storm of controversy recently when she breastfed her sister’s baby. Talk about spoiling your kid.

How does that work? Does the mom give them a choice of breasts?

“Honey, who would you like today? Remember, the nutrients and nourishment you get from breast milk at this stage will play a major role in your success in life. Choose wisely. So today we have Aunt Jane, who has a bad habit of shoplifting after downing shots of 151 rum; Aunt Alice, who smokes 6 packs a day while lifting the family Jeep so Uncle Frank can change a tire; and finally Aunt Clara, she like to breast feed on the benches outside of Walmart while she sings country ditties for change from shoppers.”

Local Youth Learns Lesson the Hard Way

This kid thinks he can do whatever he wants.

 

The Warning

Image taken from page 24 of 'Funny Books for Boys and Girls. Struwelpeter. Good-for-nothing Boys and 11235980043
Courtesy The British Library

He gets a warning, but hey, he doesn’t care. He can lean back in the chair if he feels like it, right!

 

The Wake-Up

Image taken from page 25 of 'Funny Books for Boys and Girls. Struwelpeter. Good-for-nothing Boys and 11235748454
Courtesy The British Library

Woah, woah, well lookee here! Look who seems to be losing their balance.

 

The Final

Image taken from page 25 of 'Funny Books for Boys and Girls. Struwelpeter. Good-for-nothing Boys and 11048575456
Courtesy The British Library

Ha, ha! Serves you right kid. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

 

 

 

Is There Royal Blood In Your Family? Here’s How To Tell

You might be related to royalty. Just think how much better people will treat you when they know you are related to kings and queens. Here are the signs you may have royal blood flowing through your veins.

Crowns

Does anyone in your family walk around the house wearing a crown? It doesn’t even have to be made with valuable jewels. A crown of oily rags or celery sticks is just as good. Your family member is answering an ancient call; responding to their royal blood.

Guards

Do your pets stand guard outside your house, protecting your home and grounds from possible intruders or incoming hordes? This means they sense your royal blood, and are taking up the role as gatekeepers to the crown. Then again, they may just be hungry and are waiting for you to come home from work.

Coronations

Do your children expect to be coronated on their 16th birthday, perhaps with a new drum set or even a car? They expect this because it is part of their royal heritage — also because you have spoiled them since they were little.

Chariots

Normal people drive sensible cars. Royalty are driven around by footmen in royal coaches. If your spouse has purchased a used coach from Disneyland, and hired high school kids to hitch up horses to it and drive her around the park, you can be sure she has royal blood.

Coat-of-Arms

All royal families have a coat of arms, as yours should.  Have you ever come home to find artwork displayed on your refrigerator, perhaps made of macaroni or pencil shadings of leaves? Do not despair. This is your royal offspring attempting to summon the royal coat of arms. Let their knowledge flow, and soon they will reward you with a full-colored, magnificent coat of arms you can proudly hang in the foyer. Or your basement. Or garage.

Polo

Are your offspring riding bikes around the driveway and neighborhood, attempting to crash into each other at high speed? Don’t worry. For most children, this would be a sign of a future life of crime. For you, it means their royal blood is answering the call to play polo, galloping with great gusto and verve, holding off the competition as they wallop the winning goal.

These are just a few of the signs your family is indeed royalty, and you must do everything in your power to restore your kingdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

A few years ago, my brother and I watched a Blue Jackets game in Columbus. It was a warm night, so we found a nearby restaurant near the arena that had an open patio to sit and drink beers.

We had to wait for a hostess to seat us.

She slowed her walk as she approached us, giving each of us a long look up and down. We asked to sit outside.

Grabbing two menus, she said brightly, “Oh, I know a perfect table for the two of you!”

She walked out on to the empty patio, made her way to the back, and pulled some chairs from a secluded table near a hedge.

“Uh, cool,” I said, “But I think we’d rather sit out front where we can watch girls walk by,” I said. “I realize I’m too old for that, but it’s all I have at this age.”

She looked surprised. “Oh, of course! Girls!” she said, pausing before she said “girls.”

She sat us out front and started to walk away.

“He’s my brother,” I called out, smiling.

She didn’t turn around.

I could see the air quotes above her head: “Your ‘brother.’ Right.”

Mom Songs

Recently a video swept social media of a baby reacting emotionally to her mom’s singing. This story touched me because my mom would also sing to us, from the time we were babies through high school.

I remember when I was thirteen she used to sing these lyrics to the tune of John Lennon’s “Imagine”:

Imagine there’s no fighting
It’s easy if you try
No hitting your brother
Just because he walks by

Imagine the whole family
Living in peace for one day
Aa haa

I always enjoyed her singing her version of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”:

With the lights on, your rooms a mess
Here I am now, you have to clean up
I feel stupid I have to tell you son
Here I am now, you have to clean up

She always like the Beatles’ “Hey Jude”:

Hey Joe, I feel bad
Put some gas in my car to make it better
Remember to put the cap back on
Then I’ll start to feel better

Hey, Joe, don’t be afraid
You were made to take out the trash
Every minute you sit in front of the TV
You delay your allowance cash

She must have been a fan of the British invasion because she loved the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction”:

I can’t get no reaction
I can’t get no reaction
I try and I try and I try and I try
I can’t get no, I can’t get no

When I’m driving in our car
And you kids start fighting to and fro
And you’re screaming more and more
About some useless ideation
Supposed to drive my imagination
I can’t get no, no no
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say

I can’t get no reaction
I try a car-stopping rear action
I try and I try and I try and I try
I can’t get no, I can’t get no

I miss my mom. She died a long time ago. But I can still hear her telling us to shut up–to the beat of a Johnny Cash tune.