Hire My Dumb-Ass!

With there being just a slight gap between my last paycheck and the new job I’m about to take, the wifey and I have realized the slight forthcoming pinch to our finances. We’ll make it work, but it’s definitely raised question marks above my head about whether I should try to land a quick one-day or two-day job that could put some walking cash in my pocket till I’m employed again?

With the wifey’s approval to the idea, I sat down and quickly took inventory of the many skills I’ve gained naturally or through this extended break as a stay-at-home dad. Once I exhausted the list and eight beers along with it, I quickly hand crafted a classified ad I plan to run in this week’s paper. I figured throwing it up on my blog couldn’t hurt either.

So…if you’re in the need and a skill seems to fit…let a brother know and give me a call!

Help Wanted

• Young, strapping lad looking for small, non-handy-man jobs to be accomplished around the house.
• Able to provide light hammering of nails, painting, yard mowing and weed-eating.
• Incapable of anything requiring plumbing, electrical, picture hanging, wood cutting, leveling, or other type of manly-man focused household activities.
• Enjoys long walks along the beach and may occasionally look out of his peripherals to view the random bikini-clad lady.
• Eclectic skills abound, ranging from professional beer taster, Jager-bomb maker, running buddy, shower soap holder, sex slave, compliment giver, beer fetcher, break-dance freak of nature, twitcher, professional thumb wrestler, make your friends laugh at my lisp-er, stay up late laughing at other people’s expenses-er, put soft socks on me after a few too many beers and tell me to walk down these wooden stairs and watch me tumble-er, willing to see what can fit in the gap between my teeth while you watch-er, drinker and laugher.

Please note that if I:

• Wear no pants on Friday
• Am caught using your interweb machine thingy
• Watch your pay-per-view
• Destroy CDs in your music collection I believe is pure shit
• Drink all of your beer
• Cram a full day’s worth of work into the 35 minutes before you come home, then fake looking exhausted and saying, “wow…what…a…day. I am beat!!”
• Look you straight in the eyes and say, “yeah, it seriously looks good doesn’t it?!” when you ask, “did you even paint this fucking room today?”
• Twitter about all the insane stuff I find throughout your house (this includes TwitPics)
• Access your Facebook account
• And, hide random empty beer bottles, condoms and pictures of “spy horse” throughout your house

then I cannont be held responsible for said repercussions and damage.

Disclaimer

The party responsible for hiring WhyIsDaddyCrying must hold all responsibilities for said activities and damage and are forbidden from demeaning, beating, laughing-at, Twittering about, or calling his wife regarding any of these issues. You will NOT call the police. WhyIsDaddyCrying holds all copyright regarding anything stolen, TwitPic’d, written about, looked at, sat on, or beer-spilled on. If I look at you, you are considered copyrighted by WhyIsDaddyCrying. WhyIsDaddyCrying is not sold in foreign countries and may be harmful to your health. If you speak to, look at, lick, shake hands with, or brush-up against WhyIsDaddyCrying, please call your physician immediately and tell him/her your situation. WhyIsDaddyCrying is not harmful to children under the age of 18, but should be kept far far away if you’ve witnessed him ingest more than 2 bottles of wine and/or Jager. WhyIsDaddyCrying is not a laxative nor a diabetic cleanser.

Call Today If You Need Simple Jobs Done!

1-800-468-3825 or email whyisdaddycrying (at) gmail (dot) com



The Great American Snuggie Family

I hate the Snuggie. I hate it more than anyone could hate anything. Wanna know why? Read an old post I knocked out a while back about how the Snuggie is nothing but a glorified cock-block.

But for some reason I’ve been attached to the Snuggie on Twitter. At least once every couple of days I’ll get a picture of one sent to me by one of my kick-ass kids on Twitter.

But while Snuggies have impacted my life and made me contemplate arson as a means to which I could rid them from this planet…they’ve also created a life of their own. They’ve grown out of control becoming Slankets, Sham Wow Snuggies, and more.

Regardless, I still find myself wondering, what happened to the original Snuggie family. You know—the one you saw in all the ads.

So I tossed on my super ninja spy gear and dug into their history. And…here’s what I found:

It all started with the perfect family. The dad, hot mom, and two perfect, adoring kids and their Snuggies.

Then they boy wanted a dog.

So then the girl wanted horses.

The mom had two older twin sisters who lived their lives as “Cougars” hunting men and trying too hard to look sexy.

And of course there was the creepy uncle.

Over time the kids grew up. The boy went through a bit of a gangsta phase.

The girl…well, she got a little slutty.

She then had a life-altering experience and felt love for the first time. She panicked and became a recluse for a short period of time.

And when she came out of it, she decided to eliminate sex from their relationship for a solid year to make sure he truly loved her.

Meanwhile, the boy met a bad group of people and ended up joining a Snuggie cult.

A year later, the girl married her boyfriend and they settled down and quickly spat a little nipper out.

Although she always described it as “watching an alien tear out of me.”

But regardless she enjoyed motherhood. She enjoyed it so much she decided to crank out seven more rug rats.

And then life became too much, and she slipped back into old bad habits.

She even sampled hanging out in her brother’s cult for a bit.

Then she got pregnant again. And, for obvious reasons, after the baby was born her husband wanted a divorce.

In the end, the son got kicked out of the cult and he spent his life rebelling against the Snuggie.

The daughter’s eight kids traveled the world became well adjusted Snuggie lovers.

The original Snuggie parents got older, larger, and obsessed with Wal-Mart.

The illegitimate kid became President of the United States.

And the girl…she regrouped again, went back to college, traveled the world, but

eventually became a hoarder and died buried under her own filth.

THE END

The Wifey & I Have a Talk

Wifey: “I did this for an entire freakin’ summer you douche!”

Me: “I don’t know how in the hell you pulled this off. Were you on crack the whole time or what? I mean, I’m two minutes from jumping off a bridge.”

Wifey: “That’s why men could NEVER birth children.”

Me: “Fuck yeah we couldn’t!!! The world as we know it wouldn’t exist. Humans would have died out centuries ago. We wouldn’t be having this conversation cause I’d be a tiny worthless sperm cell sitting in front of the egg all: “screw that dude, you go ahead…I’m good. I’ll just take pictures of you being all bad-ass and put it on your Facebook page!”

Wifey: “Speaking of Facebook, you seriously need to be more careful about what you put on there. People there know who you are. It’s not Twitter jackass.”

Me: “Say that shit on Twitter…people will cut you woman.”

Wifey: “If Grayson ever calls me ‘woman’ cause he over-hears you saying that to me I swear you’ll need to wear a cup around me for a year.”

Me: “Look – you’re getting off the point. Three days!! Three day’s I’ve taken the kids sledding. And today I added a third child. And there was crying…anger…crying…ambulances…more crying. But it’s only been three days. How the hell did you do it for three months?”

Wifey: “Seriously – snow and ice and you want a medal?”

Me: “And when I got home I made snacks. The children loved the peanut buttery snacks. And TV was on. And all was good. Serenity rained down upon the land. And then Grayson came down stairs crying like a baby cause your freakin’ “mini-me” daughter socked him in the eye for trying to teach her how to say “the!” The simplest word on the planet – “the!!!” Well, next to “a.”

Wifey: “She hit him in the eye? What did you do?!”

Me: “I Googled ‘daughter hits brother in eye’ and a ton of videos came up. And they were so awesome. So then I Skyped my brother to show him some of these videos so I could see his reaction. It was hilarious. Actually – get the lap-top you HAVE to see this one...”

Wifey: “You seriously need medication you ADD bastard! What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “Oh, no…it’s cool. The kids made up and were making art projects by the time I got off Skype! In fact, they made you a Valentines card!”

Wifey: “For the record – when I leave in the morning for work…I leave scared for my children’s lives!”

Me: “You’re taking me all wrong. I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you did as a stay-at-home-mom for a year. I’ve been doing it for not even two weeks and I hurt. I hurt everywhere. And I appreciate you.”

Wifey: “No!”

Me: “No what?”

Wifey: “No. No we cannot have sex tonight. I still have to write like 30 thank you notes from Christmas.”

Me: “Damn you and your ninja mind-tricks. How in the hell did you know?!”

Wifey: “You’re like the cat, dumb-ass. You only come around all happy and caring and stuff when you want to be fed. In your case, when you want some action. Back off dude!”

Me: “No, seriously. I appre-ci-ate you!!!”

Wifey: “It….ain’t….happ-en-ing!!!”

Me: “I took your children to see the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie woman! Baby Jesus…that should get me sex for 6 weeks straight!”

Wifey: “’Your children?’ Really…you just dropped the ‘your’ word in talking about ‘our’ children? And also – idiot-boy - I was there, too! We shared the pain together!”

Me: “Holy shit you saw that movie too?! I swear to god…if I ever see anything as awful as that again…I told you I appreciate you right?”

Wife: “You seriously scare me. And, No!!!”

Me: “Fine! The appreciative train has left the station. You’re gonna have to work for it now!”

Wifey: “Damn. That sucks. And you said we weren’t doing Christmas gifts this year. Hey – can you toss me that pillow before you leave the room? That’d be great!”

I Guest Blogged!

The wonderful and talented Ms. Mimi Ruse (@mimiruse on Twitter) politely asked if I would do a guest blog on www.IHeartMimi.com.

I found a quiet place to hide and asked my imaginary friend, Seemore, if I should drop some words on ole Mimi for her blog or if I should very rudely email her and tell her to go suck on a tail pipe. Seemore’s always the first to conclude the tail pipe option is the way to go, but I knew differently. I’m a huge fan of her blog, enjoy listening to her nonsense on Twitter, and love her photos of her beautiful daughter. So I wrote her back and said, “sure, I’d love to.”

And here it is: Only Time Will Tell.

Which Came First

I admit it….I got lazy. I had a shit day, I wanted to knock out a Wednesday post and I got lazy. I went on Twitter and asked my rock star friends to toss out a topic they’d want me to blog about. I said – the 7^th one would be the winner. Honestly, I thought I’d have to ask three times to hit 7…but it only took once. And the winner:

@rdemelo with the question “Which came first – the chicken or the egg?”

Fuck!!! Why do you have to get all “hey WhyIsDaddyCrying I know you’re having a beer, relaxing, but I’m gonna make you use your brain….?”

My Answer: The chicken came first and let me break it down for you sister.

The chicken’s a badass dude. He’s all: “I worked my feathers off today….I made some deals, I clocked my time, my phone rang like a bitch, and my email’s screaming ‘uncle…uncle!!!’ It’s Miller Time!!”

Then he grabs his stuff and heads out ready to find some kick ass action at the local pub. This bastard doesn’t even make it two blocks before he finds some neon that screams just the right message:

“Beer - Hens”

FastForward to beer in hand, cold pitcher on table, and hens giggling, texting, and clucking all over the house. My man Chicken is in roasted breast heaven. A couple of head nods and 14 winks later, my man’s gotta a hen all giggly and wrapped around his finger.

“Cluckity cluck cluk,” he says – trying to rap his best game.

“Bawk bikity bawk bawk,” says the hen as she clearly falls into this seductive trap.

Knowing all’s good and the gravy train has arrived, he lays down the final tracks leading to his lair of manhood – “Cluck…c…l…u….c..k. …clikzuck”

Well that sealed the deal. FastForward and they’re hanging out at his pad, she’s all: “I’m not sure, we just met.”

He’s all: “Naww baby, I’m not like that. You make me smile and I want to get to know you and stuff….”

She smiles, makes herself vulnerable… He smiles and knows he’s got his A-Game on….

FastFoward to 2 months later.

Chicken dude slams the phone down, “Shit!!! What a crap-ass day!!!”

“What’s wrong Ted?,” the chicken in the cubical next to him says.

“Nothing man – it’s just been a shit day! Let’s get a brew and check the hens out.”

Three high-fives and a cab-ride later, their rolling up in a local pub. The pitcher comes quick, the stories are flying, then comes that same hen coming to pay our star Chicken a visit.

“Daaaaaamn,” he says watching her walk up. “Hen’s got some junk in the trunk. Check it out!!”

The hen comes strolling up….checks our main man out from head to toe and says… “hey baby….remember me?”

“Uhhh...yeah I do. I remember those fine feathers…”

“Good, cause I got something else you can remember….”

FastForward…our famous, sexy-ass Chicken is naked, blindfolded and chained. Hotty hen says, “OK sexy boy…I’m gonna unblindfold you….get ready for a life altering experience.”

Playboy chicken is jittery he’s so freakin’ excited, “I’m ready baby..give it to me.”

The blindfold comes off and nothing but brightness hits him. He blinks and blinks until the picture slowly comes into focus…. And as it does he says pieces of thread, hay, and twigs. He feels a warm lump under his ass which at first kinda had him excited…then he noticed…it was an egg…

“You take care now….raise it well OK?!,” Hen said as she laughed, slamming the door behind.