My Son Is Al-Qaeda

I’m pretty sure my kids are terrorists.

But never at the same time. No….one always has to be America.

I can only break it down to you as though I were the inter-web-machine-thingy.

So let’s say I’m Twitter.

On this particular day the boy is Al-Qaeda and the daughter is America.

Twitter lay in bed thankful to be at the top of the food-chain in its household as it enjoys the silence. The fan is turning as it should to drown out barks from the incessantly annoying beast that lay caged below. Twitter’s bride is asleep next to it kindly keeping her nighttime breath-funk from darkening its nostrils thanks to the “Great Wall of China” pillow barrier she’s built between them.

And the little bastards sleep. Life is good…

But that’s not what Al-Qaeda has planned for the day.

The boy wakens. There’s no haze on the brain, delay in reaction or hesitation in what the goal of the task that lay ahead contains.

He MUST create chaos and disrupt order!

Taking the last step from its Ikea-built loft onto the cold November wood floor, Al-Qaeda stops to listen for the lay of the land. The sun is not up yet so its senses must be keen.

The humming of fans and calm feeling of peace bring a smile to Al-Qaeda’s face as it tip-toes slowly from its room towards America’s lair.

Standing eerily at the country’s doorway Al-Qaeda contemplates… “shall I pounce or douse the toilet and floor with my urine first?”

Al-Qaeda chooses to give the bathroom a thorough golden shower first. But it’s made a mistake because it has yet to realize it cannot pee without slamming the lid down upon completion.

That is when Twitter’s senses become awakened and keenly aware something is afoot!

Twitter immediately turns his eyes to the closet mirrors and watches as Al-Qaeda slowly and methodically makes its way towards America’s doorstep. Twitter tweets, “I see something #alqedaisgonnafuckshitupyo”

America lies peacefully sleeping, clutching its soft, pink blanket.

Al-Qaeda’s brain shuts down. Rationale escapes. There is but only one thing left to do.

Pounce America and make it cry!!!

And with that Al-Qaeda unleashes itself running full-fledged, uncontrollably towards what will end in pure hell just as Twitter swoops in from behind with a “occupy my daughter’s bedroom quick!! Terrorists!!”

But it’s too late.

Al-Qaeda lands solid on America, crushing its dainty hands below. A scream bellows from America.

America has been crushed…but not for good…because Twitter is there to rally the masses.

The wife comes crashing through the door, tossing Twitter aside and grabs Al-Qaeda by the arm.

“What is your problem boy!?!!! We’re sleeping, your sister’s sleeping and your dad’s standing over there tweeting like a douche?! GO TO BED!!!”

Al-Qaeda slowly sleeks away to its cave. America rolls over in its fuzzy blanky calmly going back to sleep. And, the wife gives Twitter a death-look as it tweets, “wife just rocked a whole batch of awesome parenting. Now off to snuggle with her and sex away the night!!”

This….this is just a small moment in what is the life of being parents of two organizations who want nothing but the utmost harm done to the other.

*Editor’s note

Dear Government:

My son is NOT actually Al-Qaeda, nor does he have any affiliations with Al-Qaeda or even know what in the hell it is. Please do not kick down my door, steal my computer or put me in any situation in which Matt Lauer must interview me following a segment in which he “investigates” whether Kim Kardashian’s ass is real or implants.

Love,

Me

I'm Done With You Snuggie!!

At some point in my social media madness I became as synonymous with Snuggies as Sarah Palin has with shotguns, seeing Russia from her backyard, and thinking North Korea is our ally.

Could it be my original post about sex and the Snuggie?

Could it be my take on the Great American Snuggie Family?

Could it be that I just brought this Snuggie-shit-storm on myself?

Quite simply…yes is the answer to all the above.

Fact: At least once every three days I get a tweet, Facebook message, or text from a friend about a new Snuggie that’s come out.

It’s like I’ve become the Woodward and Bernstein of Snuggies. Apparently you’re all my “deepthroats” leaving it up to me to blast the hell out of the underground sadistic Snuggie world.

And I love it!! It’s been awesome!

However, it’s become blatantly apparent how the marketing gurus of the world jam just about anything down our throats and make us buy it.

If Justin Beaver’s skill-less singing triumphs aren’t enough to reveal how marketing sadly dominates our interests, then by Baby Jesus Snuggies definitely do.

It wasn’t until my dear friend Stacey (@ieatmykidzsnack on Twitter) sent me a Tweet of a Santa Snuggie that it hit me…I’m experiencing a mild, diluted version of what child actors must experience.

How many times did Gary Coleman get asked by a nervous elevator-rider to just say “what you talkin’ about Willis?!”

How many times did Macaulay Culkin get aftershave thrown on him in the hopes he’d throw his un-chapped palms against his cheeks and reveal his young, innocent “O-Face?”

The numbers must be obscene.

Am I even in same realm as a child actor? Hell no.

Did I think it was an awesome opportunity to use “O-Face” in a blog post? Yes.

But, it’s time for me to part with the Snuggie.

I’m forever grateful for every email, text, Tweet, Facebook post, etc…. that includes Snuggie insanity.

But I’ve made a grown-ass decision to try and leave it all behind. And, like most child actors…I’m doing it by nudity.

I’m grabbing my long coveted “Pants Optional Friday” by the balls and making it a life-style.

Clothes & Snuggies optional baby!!!

I mean come on! The Snuggie Sutra is just a cumbersome reminder of how painful it was to “get it on” under pegged jeans, long sweaters, and Madonna bracelets back in the day.

Who in the hell wants fake fibers creeping into private areas and getting absorbent at the wrong time? We’re all adults now, right?!

So let’s drop trow, throw those tops on a lamp shade and be done with it. It’s Clothes & Snuggies Optional Lifestyle!

Maybe it’s called the “Nudie?” Maybe it’s called the “What Honey? Yeah I Showered Today, I Swear.” Or maybe it’s called the “No I’m Not Sitting On The Remote, I’m Pretty Sure I’d Know!!”

Whatever it is, it’s not a blanket covering our holy given goods, instead, its letting them flaunt, breathe and hang.

So join the club my fellow campers. Let’s go Clothes & Snuggies Optional this holiday season and give the family something to REALLY talk about.

This blog post is not sanctioned by the people at Snuggie. Snuggie is a trademark carried by the Dudes Owning Universal Class H Eveningware (DOUCHE). Snuggies does not believe individuals should copulate, grope, see, touch, imagine, feel, dream, remember, or even brush up against anything that should resemble human skin. Snuggies should only be worn by WhyIsDaddyCrying’s daughter in the hopes it will keep all participants of the male gender from her doorstep. Any man and/or woman seen at Why Is Daddy Crying’s daughter’s doorstep with the desire to copulate, discuss copulation, or any other inappropriate action should be warned a gun is currently aimed at your “feel good” areas. If you are with the local law enforcement agency or FBI please note that last sentence was only a joke. No it wasn’t. Yes it was.