Saturday, February 18, 2017

"Vagina Diapers"






Success. We "camped out" in the living room, loving the playfulness of it  He wore his new Star Wars BB-8 pajamas to sleep, as happy and sweet as a boy can be. We made a "camping style" dinner which consisted mostly of hot dogs, popcorn and other crap foods, all of which I am now struggling to overcome. We topped it off with s'mores, the marshmallow and graham cracker foundation broiled in the oven, the chocolate and top half added once the marshmallows had sufficiently softened and lightly browned.  We treated ourselves to a luxury bubble-gum bubble bath before reading adventure stories for the night. 

Once he had slipped off to sleep I retired to my bed. The air mattress is very nice and works great in a camping situation but nothing loves a man as does his own bed. 


The boy is still combining the fledgling "bad words" he has access to. Last night he dropped a new phrase on me, Vagina Diapers. It was too good to not include here, somehow. 

I will find a way to use this casually in conversation, and soon. Be ready. 


Today we may go see a model train exhibit at the Napa Fairgrounds. They sure love trains, boys do. There are never any young girls at these events. I don't think that they're allowed. The complex and delicate world of model train dioramas is quite resistant to females of all ages. 


I often spend my time at events like this trying to figure out a way to bring a Superman-level catastrophe upon their little miniature world, something from which time can not be turned back by causing the earth to spin backwards, by orbiting it in reverse at high speeds in a leotard with a cape, out of frustration at the loss of love, the loss of the beloved - dams bursting, global chaos, nuclear warheads detonated at the San Andreas fault, the riven earth swallowing Lois Lane's care which then drops into the crevice of darkness and death, etc. I can see it all now, as if scripted in the heavens. I wish only to misuse my imaginary powers for evil rather than good. 

I'll pour an entire 7-Eleven Big Gulp at the highest point of the display and then let beautiful nature take its course. It's the only time that I truly get to feel like a God, when bringing short-circuit destruction upon the helpless unsuspecting with a tidal wave of syrupy Coca-Cola. Maybe today I'll bring a gas powered leaf blower in with me and cause more than just biblical flooding and power grid failures. These little well-crafted towns are in need of a few tornadoes to help unite them as a community. Small plastic towns of this sort have no defense against my divine wrath and malevolence. I am the Great Tasmanian in the skies. 

It's always the adults that ruin everything, dressed in overalls and striped denim caps surrounding me and screaming their chorus of incoherent anger. Before they attack in an effort to force God from the clouds and out into the parking lot, the last thing I'll scream: This isn't a fair fight. All of you guys are in NAMBLA!

But first, strawberry pancakes and maple syrup. 

Perses the Tasmanian Titan Destroyer must bulk up on carbs to sufficiently foul the mood before noon strikes the summit of Mount Olympus.





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