- A child’s cry is magical – what else sends someone into a panic and flurry of activity so well? I can picture some sales person or ad executive having a child and thinking, “how can I recreate this for my upcoming ford f150 campaign? If only people could hear the ad, freak out and run to their nearest dealership in an emotional panic!”
- I like to pretend I’m an overworked waiter at a restaurant and the chef has gone nuts and only makes one dish – milk. Then I have to talk up the milk, it’s organic, it’s fresh, the milk supplier is treated well, etc. My son may grow up crazy, but he’ll be creative and crazy?
- The sight of tiny snaps will cause my tremors of fear even when I’m old
- Maybe some kids don’t want to listen to music from their parents generation because their parents sang terrible versions of it, off key, lacking rhythm, and with words changed to sing about poop and pleading with their child to not cry. Then, years later, mom or dad says, ‘hey I loved this song when I was your age’ and the child instinctively clenches and begins to scream.
- Is my son’s urine in a league for evil?
- It does escape whenever it has the chance. Diaper gone … MOVE MOVE MOVE.
Thoughts From a 4am Rocking Chair Session
October 20, 2017
Attn: Ellen (10/18/17)
October 18, 2017
Front
Back (apologies for my handwriting!)
The text of the postcard is
Dear Ellen’s Intern Who is Forced to Read Crazy Fan Mail,
You’ve probably been wondering – why did the weird postcards stop? Well, I’ve been busy being a new dad! Now you’re likely thinking, can I meet your child? Huh. Really. You’re thinking that? Seems a little … presumptuous, don’t you think?
Hmm.
This got awkward.
Well, umm, say hi to your friends?
Sincerely,
DumbFunnery.com
Doctor Trump
October 16, 2017
If you were hoping to read about my baby, nah … it’s just me bashing Trump. I wrote this right after Charlottesville and DJ’s response. See if you can catch my oh so subtle opinion on the matter.
I’m sitting on the butcher paper, nervously rubbing my knee while checking my phone every 40 seconds or so. The doctor should be in any minute now to tell me the results of all the tests that have just been run.
The door opens and he glides in, holding himself to his full height and bearing a look on his face that says ‘I know something you don’t knoooooow.’
I search the doctor’s eyes and he looks down at me, beginning a series of remarks about what a great doctor he is, and how so many other doctors aren’t great, and also about how a lot of doctors think they’re good at tennis but really they’re not that good at tennis. ‘Believe me,’ he says, ‘I belong to a tennis club. These guys. They’re no tennis.’
‘Doc, please!’ I exclaim against my desire to be patient and cordial, ‘what do I have? Is it bad?’
He smirks, then raises his eyebrows, then lifts his chin so he undoubtedly sees more of his nose than he sees my face, and he says, ‘Look, I’m not going to lie, it’s bad. You’ve got on the one side, maybe cancer, and on the other side, maybe a bad headache. They’re just words. Whatever it is, they’re bad.’
My jaw drops. ‘Doc … I … There’s a HUGE difference between cancer and a big headache … Which … What do I have?’
‘Your words, ok. Your words.’ The doctor looks around the room like he’s debating remodeling the place, and perhaps me, he smacks his lips and continues, ‘It’s bad, ok? I’m not here to say which is worse, either way it’s bad. You’ve got one bad thing on one side, another bad thing on the other side.’
My brain nearly shuts off I’m so overwhelmed by rage and confusion, ‘…CANCER. HEADACHE.’
The doc purses his lips, smiles a little, ‘both bad,’ he says as he turns around and walks out the room.
DumbFunnery 