Swearing toddler taken into custody

[Huffington Post headline]

What the fuck? Hey, I can walk, asswipe!

Stop calling it toddling. and get your filthy meathooks off me!  Son of a bitch! Pedophile!

Where’s my mom, motherfucker? Yeah, I still nurse. What’s it to you, hornbag? Nurse on this!

I grab one extra piece of motherfucking birthday cake and Jamie’s mom shits a brick. Who am I, Curious George? What a cunt. If my mom was like that, I’d shoot the bitch.

Alright. You don’t care? Unnngggg. Nnggg. There. Right in my motherfucking pants.! Enjoy the smell.

Hey, pussface. I’m a min-or. You put me in there with these drunk druggie faggots and I will ream you out. I will eat your ‘nads. Yes, bro, I will fuck you up.

Fine. Slam that door. When I get out of here, I will stick my foot so far up your ass, a croc will come out your earhole. I will stab you in the eye with my Barbie. I will dig up Mister Rogers, cut off his head, and leave it at the foot of your motherfucking bed. Clown-turd.

Oh, hi, Mom. School was ok and so was the birthday party. What’s for dinner tonight?


Single Mom Of 10 Went To Get A Turkey, Got Huge Surprise Instead

[Huffington Post]

My children expect a damn turkey at Thanksgiving. I got my first turkey at Bother’s Market way back before Rufus, my firstborn, arrived. I was fifteen at the time. Thanksgiving was coming on and my ma sent me down to the market to buy a turkey.

To my surprise, Mr. Bother did not want to take my money. To my surprise, he told me to keep the money for my own and not tell my ma. Mr. Bother told me that I could “earn” the turkey.

It wasn’t hard to do. It was a little uncomfortable, Mr. Bother being a big man, but it didn’t take long and soon I was on my way with the turkey and the turkey money too.

My next surprise came a little bit later when I learned I was in the family way. Ma had twelve of us herself at the time and no man in the house. She told me one more wouldn’t make any difference.

I spent the turkey money on underwear and flip-flops.

The next year, Ma sent me back to get another turkey . She didn’t give me any money this time so I guess when my underwear and flip-flops showed up, she figured out what had happened.

I earned another turkey and nine months later, my Edie-May was born.

What I’m saying is, after ten years of turkeys, a mother has the right to expect another one the next Thanksgiving. Ten children, ages one through ten, were at home waiting with their little mouths watering.

But Mr. Bother told me that Pearl, a fifteen-year-old from down in the hollow, had just earned my turkey for herself. Mr. Bother said that if I swept out the back room, I could earn a chicken, but that was the best he could do. My mouth just dropped open. Was it a huge surprise? Dang right it was. I was angry, disgusted, and frustrated.

I took the chicken, but I also came back the next day. I waited in the shade across the street from the market and when Baylee-Ann, who is fourteen, went into the store and Mr. Bother flipped the sign on the front door to Closed, I waited a few minutes and then went in and grabbed my turkey.

Police: Spy Likely Died Naked In Gym Bag By Accident

My husband? Yes, he was a spy. He loved his country, enough to sneak around and snitch on folks like a rat. That’s how patriotism has got to be sometimes. Like that time when I was in the bathroom trying to… Never mind. Suffice it to say, my husband was a spy 24×7.

When he first became homeless, after I forgot my own love of country and lost my head and kicked him out of the house, he lived in a cardboard box in the back yard. Outside the bathroom window, now that I think of it. A nice big cardboard box.

You see where I’m going with this.

Fact: The gym bag was waterproof. Important during the rainy season.

Fact: My husband, technically, wasn’t naked, as he had one of my merry widows wrapped around him, though not fastened.

Should you try to make coffee or fry an egg in a gym bag? In retrospect, no. Wait for the rain to stop and build a little campfire in the dog run. Begging at the back door won’t do any good, storm or no storm. And move the damn bag away from the down spouts. Show some common sense.

Plus, anyone who tries to climb a ladder while in a gym bag, to peek in a window during a raging storm, deserves whatever befalls him.

Fact: The old scarring on his body was, yes, caused by accidents, him being a clumsy guy, though wait, the big one on his forehead was another example of me being unpatriotic.

Fiction: Drago and Dajbog (our pit bulls) would not attack a man for taking their food. Well, yes they would, but probably not my husband. The wounds seemed too deep and ragged to be inflicted by squirrel or skunk, but a raccoon could have done it. As for an opossum, I don’t know.

Was I responsible for my husband’s death in any way? No. But just in some cosmic case I need to make restitution, I’ve signed up for a yoga class at Gold’s and I’m going to carry my leotard to it in the gym bag, once the bag is released by the police and thoroughly cleaned.

Dog Brings Home Human Leg

Milojica is a black flat-coated retriever. Last summer I trained him for a month to find and retrieve wallets. No luck. Now he brings home a leg.

I tossed the leg in the freezer in the garage and posted an item on craigslist. Nobody wanted the limb, not even, evidently, its owner.

It’s a male leg, or that of an exceptionally hirsute, muscular female. No polish on the nails. A little lint between the toes. (The leg has a foot on one end.)

There is a small tattoo above the ankle – two Chinese characters, taken together meaning “Huizhou tamale.”

Next day I took the leg out of the freezer, let it thaw, and had Milojica sniff it once or twice. Between his nose and bringing the thing home in his mouth in the first place, he had to have its scent firmly embossed upon his canine brain. I led him out the front gate, aimed him down the road, and said “Fetch.” Slapped his rump to get him going. He sped away, down the street and into the woods.

“Will he bring back the other one?” said my daughter Jasna.

I shrugged. While we waited, I went inside and posted a picture of the leg on Facebook. Friends registered many Likes (trolling spam) but no Wants. Well, one want, but for totally inappropriate reasons.

On Twitter I posted “What to do with my leg?” As I have no followers, no one responded.

Milojica returned empty-mouthed. He trotted into the open garage and sat down whining in front of the freezer.

“That is not your personal chew toy,” I said.

“Aw, Dad, please?” said my son Javor.

“We don’t let the cats toy with the birds they catch,” I said. “This is the same thing.”

“Well, can we play with it?” Jasna said.

“No you cannot,” I said. “Stay out of the freezer or I’ll give you a good thrashing.”

In the dark of night, though, with Milojica at my side, I took out the leg myself, and warmed it with a hair dryer. I can’t say why, but I had sentimental feelings for it. Perhaps it reminded me of my father’s leg. Or poor Yorick’s.

The leg went all the way up, but stopped just before it would have got, you know, weird.

8 Arrested at Kindergarten Graduation

Jimmy Wu was named valedictorian of Young Angels Kindergarten by Miss Thustle. Why? Because Mr. Wu bought her off. Can you believe that? I don’t know what it cost him. Earlier I had mentioned a hundred bucks to Thustle and she turned up her nose at me.

Little Butch didn’t care. Heck, he couldn’t get farther than one syllable  into “valedictorian” when he tried to say it. The decision bothered me and the missus, though.

“That’s all it’s worth to you for our son to be the best?” she said to me.”You’re imperiling our boy’s academic future because you’re a skinflint? I suppose you want him to go to State, not to a good university? Tightwad.”

“Honey,” I said. “I should have named a bigger number. I admit it. Everybody knows how serious the Chinese are about education. I guess I thought Miss Thustle might want to support the white race in a situation like this, even if it cost her a few shekels.”

“Fix it,” the missus said. She had that dark look she gets. The one where she calls her father.

My problem was, Thustle didn’t like me ever since I accidentally made contact with her a couple of times in the bust and buttocks regions. She’s a babe. Wasted on five-year-olds, if you know what I mean.

Then the missus told me that her dad was actually coming to the graduation ceremony. There was no way in heaven he was going to sit still and watch a ch… a Chinese boy win the big prize. Not with Butch sitting up there on the stage with the rest of his class.

So on the night, I went to Miss Thustle right away.

“Butch’s grandpa is going to be in the audience tonight,” I said to her. “Believe me, you don’t want to give the Wong kid the valedictorian Mr. Professor teddy bear with Wong watching. Two hundred bucks to change your mind.”

“Do you know who Mr. Wong is?” Thustle said.

“Don’t tell me he’s in the rackets.”

“Look. He just came in. See that guy beside him? The big one?”

“Butch’s grandpa just came in too. See that big guy beside him?”

Thustle turned and headed for the stage. I took my seat next to the missus and her dad and his goon. Wong and his wife and his goon were off to our right. The kids assembled on the stage.

The lights went down and the ceremony began with the little angels singing a song. Thustle said a few words. Then she apologized for feeling faint and told us that her assistant would direct the rest of the ceremony. She exited stage right. I could see where this was going and told the missus that I was having stomach cramps and needed to visit the little boys room.

I didn’t want to use my cell phone to make the call, but fortunately the lobby had an old pay phone that still worked. I traded a dollar for a quarter from the woman in the box office and dialed 911. Told the operator that there was going to be trouble.

Then I did use the bathroom. I was nervous because with these guys, you never knew when the guns were going to come out. When I got back to the auditorium door and opened it a crack and peeked in, I saw that Mr. Wong and Butch’s grandpa and both their goons and the missus and some other twerpy dad who imagined his son was the best and brightest, were all up on the stage with the teacher’s assistant, whose eyes were bugging out of her head. She had the Mr. Professor teddy bear clutched to her chest and Butch and Jimmy Wong were trying to pull it away from her. The twerpy dad’s kid ran and hid.

The goons began throwing punches. That’s what goons do; that’s what they were there for. The missus pulled her hand out of her purse with a .32 in it. I heard sirens.

At this point I left the building, meaning to stop by Podesta’s Bail Bonds on my way home to a TV dinner and ballgame. In the parking lot I saw Thustle stepping into her Prius.

“You’re a dirtbag,” she said. “but compared to the rest of them, you’re Saint Francis.”

I took that as a compliment.

Cheerleader Kicks Herself in Head

[Headline, Huffington Post]

I was sitting at home, resting with  some very sore ribs, when my daughter came home with a shiner.

“Oh, Honey,” I said.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” she said. “It’s just the one eye this time.”

I was going to beg her to take up swimming, but her dad got home from work just then. He hobbled in and sank onto the couch.

“Kicked myself in the groin,” he groaned.

“That’s the worst,” I said.

“What happened to you?” he said.

“The ribs,” I said, “While I was vacuuming.”

“And what about you, Pumpkin?” he said to our daughter.

“Just the one eye,” she said. “I’m OK. A little makeup and I’ll be good as new.”

“Listen, Pumpkin…,” her dad began, but our son Buddy burst into the room with a whoop.

“You should have seen it!” he said. “It was awesome!”

“Did you kick the back of your head again?” I said.

“Nah. I kicked Tommy!!”

Boy Finds Live Grenade On Easter Egg Hunt

[Headline, CNN]

I was going to write a word or two here based on the followup CNN article, “Boy Tries to Open Easter Egg by Pulling Its Pin,” but I decided not to go dark. As of this post, then, we can imagine that the grenade is still nestled in the Easter basket.

The photo shows the boy with a big grin, because his frustrated buddy is still out in the field trying to dig up the Easter landmine he has found, and getting all muddy in the process. I was going to write a word or two here based on the followup CNN article, “Other Boy Stomps on Live Landmine in Frustration,” but again, why not capture the scene while the sun is still shining?

This is the first Easter egg hunt I can recall where the Easter Bunny is wearing a Nazi helmet. Hitler, at the age of five, found no eggs on a hunt, only some stale Chanuka gelt. When the difference between Chanuka and Easter was explained to him – that is, the difference between gelt and chocolate bunnies – he first conceived in his brain his most disturbing notion: that he would gain control of all the chocolate bunnies and eggs in the world, and rid the world of all stale gelt. Too bad he didn’t find that live grenade!

For more, see also “Boy Finds Blackbeard’s Treasure by Using Metal Detector on Easter Egg Hunt.”