Let's Take an Okay-tion...

I used to think the Old Lady and I were lazy, neglectful parents because we never really take the spawnage on fancy family vacations -- you know, Disneyworld, China, Frankenmuth... shit like that. I've come to realize, however, that we're actually geniuses. See, the spawnages' vacation expectations, their 'expacations', if you will, or maybe their vacexpections, if you won't, are now set SO FUCKING LOW, that anywhere we decide to take them is a goddamn travel extravaganzeleh.

Case in point -- for the five-day President's Day weekend (and feel free to re-acquaint yourself with my feelings about that) we're jetting off to beautiful Ann Arbor for one and one-half days and one (1) craptacular night at the Hawthorne Suites, sandwiched between frantic shelf-clearing visits to Whole Foods, Trader Joe's and H&M.

The spawnage, literally, could not be more excited. Mainly because "the Hawthorne" has a pool and a little area off the front desk that sells candy, where they're allowed to pick out ONE of WHATEVER THEY WANT!!!! Seriously, the thought of being able to ingest a "regular-sized" Butterfinger in one sitting completely blows Space Mountain or The Great Wall or the America's Only Nazi Village Theme Park, outta the fucking water.

Geniuses, I tell ya.

We're leaving bright and early tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to properly peruse the seasoned nut aisle at Trader Joe's, load up on bottles of wildly over-priced vino at Whole Foods and, maybe if we're feeling generous, stop off at the Natural History Museum so the spawnage can look at a coupla shitty dioramas and pick up some local superviruses from pushing all the buttons.

Who knows... maybe if this trip goes well, we'll really push the envelope next time. Two and a half days and TWO nights in Flint!


Oh, and don't forget to vote for our song in the Masters of Song Fu #3:

Click here and vote for crabbydad or else you'll make Miss O cry!

Toodles!

New Post... BUT KEEP VOTING!

STICKY: Please vote for my (and Miss O's) song here:

Click this sentence with your mouse-y clicker!

As of 11:21 PM tonight, we're in second place. Not first, mind you, because I don't "do" first place. Or it doesn't "do" me. Nope... me and Bobby Brady... losers. Just like the goddamn ice cream eating contest -- Bobby was fucking chowing down on that bowl and then ol' Porky McSnarferson ends up getting the golden scoop.

Why can't I ever get that golden scoop.

It's the kids today with their loud ukulele music, that's why. No one has time for old men and their calypso songs. Oh well... maybe the crabbyfamily will have a trophy for me at breakfast tomorrow morning: "Honorable Mention Parent."

An old man can dream, can't he?

[a single tear drips from cheek, splashing on a nearby box of adult diapers]

End scene.

VOTE EARLY, VOTE OFTEN!

Please vote for Crabbydad's song at Quickstop Entertainment's Song Fu contest:

Vote for Crabbydad

I've gotta make it to Round 2 -- it's the only thing that's gonna get me through this shitball of a winter alive. Seriously.

VOTE!

Oh, and if you can tell 900 or so friends to do the same, that would be most helpful. Thanks.

Hangin' in the Showers...

Mr. Z and I had the following conversation regarding his post-swimming gym class, yesterday:

MR. Z: So, I was toweling off after taking a shower and all these guys started yelling at me to cover myself up.

ME: What do you mean? Weren't they taking showers, too?

MR. Z: Yeah, but they weren't taking off their bathing suits.

ME: And what... you were naked? What's the big deal?

MR. Z: I don't know. They kept their suits on and they were yelling, "Gross, Z, cover that up!"

ME: So what did you say to them?

MR. Z: I said, "What, you guys've never seen a WANG before?! Get used to it!!!"

ME: You know what? You couldn't have had a better comeback if you tried. That's awesome!

MR. Z: Those guys are so weird.

ME: Hey, maybe next time you can say, "Don't worry fellas, I've got a license to sell hotdogs."

THE OLD LADY: (from the other room) NO!! Don't say that!

ME: Yeah, your mom's right. Stick with the "never seen a wang" thing. That's probably your safer bet.

MR. Z: (laughing) Heh... hotdogs...

What the Fu?

Okay, I'm back... kinda. I entered this song contest thing here:

song contest thing

... and I've gotta write a fucking "happy" song by next Tuesday. The irony is not lost on me, thank you.

So yeah, I'm thinking of starting to post more... maybe. Plenty of shitballs have foisted themselves upon me since we last spoke, so I shouldn't have too much trouble coming up with topics. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, please enjoy this poem by Mr. Z that he wrote the other night while atop the crapper. He's a regular "Smell Silverstein."