For everyone that’s been asking for an update on the baby, here’s a video: baby in mirror
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It started innocently enough.
My 9 year old step-son “E” came into my room and asked that I go to bed a little earlier than usual that night. Normally I would pry at him a bit. But I don’t like having conversations while I’m taking a shit, so I agreed on the condition that he gets the f*ck away from the bathroom door.
Fast forward to the next day. I let the baby sitter go and all was quiet for about three minutes.
Then, all of a sudden, the baby starts screaming as a visibly upset “E” enters the room. I notice that the baby is rubbing her ass back and forth on the floor while screaming, which is her favorite new thing to do upon completing a bowel movement. I’m not sure why she does it. What I am sure of is that the Ass-To-Floor-Scratch is THE most effective way of getting poop in your vagina.
I begin the diaper changing process while trying to pick poop out of the V, while trying to stop her from grabbing her V in the process, while E begins to talk to me:
“Remember when I asked you to go to bed early last night?” he said.
“Yeah” I replied while doing the strangest multitasking of my adult life.
“Well, I prayed to Santa to get my Christmas presents early and they didn’t come”.
“F*ck me sideways with a trashcan!” I thought.
“Santa doesn’t bring gifts early” I said.
“What did you ask for anyway?” I continued.
“Skyrim with no violence, so I can play it” he responded.
“That’s not even something that exists” I snapped.
“Santa is magic and he can do anything” he quipped.
“Not to change the subject from the Magical May Santa Claus, but bring me your notebook so I can check for homework” said myself.
Upon receipt of his homework notebook, I noticed a note from his teacher stating that he punched a girl in the arm. I explained to him that this was completely unacceptable and told him that he would write a paragraph explaining why he should never hit a classmate.
I sent him to work on it and watched TV until Lisa got home. Ethan was still visibly upset when she saw him. Apparently, he REALLY didn’t want to write the above mentioned paragraph. After about 15 minutes of asking E what was wrong, he finally mumbled that he “had a big decision to make”. After another 15 minutes of asking what the decision was about, he wrote on a sheet of paper “whether or not to runaway” and ran upstairs.
Now, I knew what was going on, and I was not going to be manipulated. I yelled upstairs to E that he had five minutes to come down stairs with either 1. a pencil and a sheet of paper, or 2. A survival kit. I’ll be honest, I was hoping for option 2. Not because I wanted him to runaway. Because I wanted to see what kind of survival skills this particular 9 year old had or thought he had.
Five minutes later, E comes down stairs with his survival kit, the contents of which did not disappoint. No canned goods, no toiletries, no phone, no knife, no sleeping bag, no matches, no money. He packed a baseball bat and a toy wooden sword. I blankly stared at him for about 30 seconds before he said “I guess I’ll go write that paragraph now”. Which was good, because the baby was doing another Ass-Floor-Poop-In-V-Butt-Wipe again.
I went to Ikea last week. Here are some random guerrilla thoughts about Ikea. In absolutely no discernable order:
I imagine that Ikea is a lot like hell. Except that nobody is on fire. But thats probably the only difference.
(On a quick side note, so far my phone has tried to autocorrect “Ikea” to “Ike’s” and “okra”.)
Back to Ike’s. Fuck. Ikea.
Ikea is apparently where you’re supposed to take your kids to act like assholes when you get tired of them acting like assholes in your house.
Ikea is the only place you can get away with intentionally tripping children.
Ikea has shopping carts on floor one. Right when you walk in. Then they have a sign telling you to go to floor two. Right up the fucking escalator. What a sick joke. There has to be a hidden camera with a guy in a room watching and laughing his head off all day.
If you haven’t been to Ikea, imagine WalMart. Now imagine eight WalMarts put together. Now imagine they make everyone walk down each aisle in the same order. Then imagine that the aisles are arrange in such a way that make a giant fucking maze. Yep. That’s Ikea.
For the younger generation, think Legends of the Hidden Temple. The maze you run through in the end. Olmec’s Temple. If you don’t remember, here ya go:
They even have an Olmec like guy that tells you how to navigate the place.
If you still can’t picture an Ikea, try this visual exercise:
1. Take a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
2. Close your eyes, put your pen down, and draw on the paper for about 30 seconds.
3. Drop pants.
4. Shit on paper.
And that’s what the inside of an Ikea looks like.
I ran into a man that said he just came to Ikea to eat the Swedish meatballs. If that isn’t weird enough, I will add that I didn’t ask the guy what he was doing there. He just walked up to me with his plate of meatballs, and said it.
Ikea will sell you a kitchen. Stove, oven, and everything else. It’s probably not a good idea to buy your kitchen from a place that makes their furniture out of cardboard.
Ikea has showrooms that say “Look what my 200 square foot apartment looks like thanks to Ikea”. I walked in and there was no bathroom. Nobody lives in 200 square foot apartments Ikea. Fuck you.
Ikea makes a lot of “Asian style” furniture. Probably because it’s the only furniture that you can build using paper mache.
I’m done. Don’t go to Ikea.
I had to take the Miko to get neutered today. I also had to fire my nanny. She was great with the baby. The problem is that she cared more about Miko than anything else. She is an animal rights activist. Or as she put it “A voice for those that cannot speak”. Lame.
Anyways,the nanny said that we were abusing our dog because he is outside too much. Outside too much in his half acre, invisible fence lot complete with a $80 bed, treats, and delicious wet dog food that I would even eat. Yeah I know, we are horrible. She even insisted that we “rehome” our dog.
After I decided to rehome her instead, she sent a series of text messages about how our dog is going to turn on us and a bunch of other bullshit. I responded and told her that our dog has a pretty fucking awesome doggy life and I’m tired of her outlandish, dramatized opinion that I didn’t ask for. Then I sent her this video:
She won’t be working for us anymore. So if anyone knows of a good nanny in Atlanta, let me know.
I’m taking a much needed break from fatherhood. Lisa and I are leaving tomorrow for the Dominican. I’ll be back Tuesday, and have a couple of posts I’ll put up then. Till then, titties.
Two weeks ago we took the baby in for her 6 month check up. She was 7 months old. Shut up, you’re not perfect either.
The doctor came in, checked the baby out (she was fine), and then started talking to us. Rather smugly might I add. An excerpt from the dialogue:
“Is she sleeping through the night?” said the doctor as he looked upon the couple in a belittling manner.
“Sometimes, but when she wakes up we just make her a bottle and she goes back to sl…” said the father who didn’t get to finish his sentence.
“Woah woah woah, let me stop you right there” said the doctor who grinned when he noticed my obvious displeasure with his fucking manners, or lack thereof.
“She doesn’t need a bottle in the middle of the night. You really shouldn’t feed her so she won’t expect it” continued the know-it-all that forgot I didn’t ask for his opinion.
“She’ll just cry all night if we don’t give her a bottle” said Lisa while noticing the color of my face changing rapidly.
“You’re just going to have to tough it up until she gets over it” said the doctor that I could probably beat the shit out of.
“Maybe you should come to my house and listen to her cry all night while we get a good nights sleep in another bedroom then” said the father who was soooo over this guy’s pious attitude.
“Hahaha, I can’t. I’m very busy” said the doctor who didn’t know how close he was to becoming a battery victim.
“Busy telling people how to live their lives or busy telling people how amazing you are?” said the father as he was elbowed by his wife.
“He’s kidding. Thanks Dr. ****, see you in a couple of months” said the wife who didn’t want to add “Guest on Jerry Springer” to her professional resume.
“Be sure to thank Dr. ****** for his unsolicited advice on child rearing. And Miss Receptionist Lady, please tell him I left a gift for him on the table” said the father that did not carry the dirty diaper to the car with him, despite the doctor’s demand.
We won’t be using that pediatrician again.
I know I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks. I’ve been traveling and dealing with some really heavy shit. Theoretical shit. Not actual pieces of extremely heavy human excrement. That would be gross. Anyway, a quick site update:
A few weeks ago, I got an email saying something along the lines of:
“Hey, your Adsense account has been cancelled. Don’t ask us why. We are Google and we dont give a shit about your problems. Also, you will not be receiving a payment for January.
The Google Adsense Team”
So just like that, with one swift kick in the dickhole, I was making zero money.
After Google bent me over prison style, I thought about just canceling the site. I figured people weren’t reading anyway.
But today, I found out that’s not true. A little while ago, I checked my Twitter account (@Asshole_Baby) for the first time in a week. Well, it turns out you guys are still reading. And a lot of new people read this blog too. So thanks.
Here’s the deal: Even though I now make around zero doll hairs a month doing this, if ya’ll keep reading, I’ll keep writing. So look out for some new posts. One should be up tonight. I don’t want to ruin it by saying too much, but future topics will include: doctor visits, re-homing, smug assholes, and nicotine withdrawal, and more.
Raising a baby does something to your head. You think differently. The irrational suddenly becomes rational. Below are three ideas I’ve had to make parenting easier, along with my sales pitch to Lisa. At the time, they all made sense to me.
1. Early on, the baby slept in the bed with us. While it’s great not having to get out of bed every hour, it sucks waking up to a punch in the face or a kick in the grundle. My solution?
The Baby Sleeping Jacket: A sleeping jacket that tightly bundles the baby, restricting it’s movement.
“Hey, you know how the baby moves around a lot and shit? What if we could kind of wrap her up tight so she couldn’t move? Like in a jacket.”-Me
“They have one of those. It’s called a straight jacket. And you’re a f***ing idiot. Now go make a bottle.”-Lisa
If you thought it was a good idea too, don’t worry. Baby Straight Jacket exists. I’m guessing this guy had the same conversation with his wife…. Only he said “F*ck It” and made one anyway:
Seriously. How is that okay? And how pissed does that baby look?
2. It was a Tuesday. And she spit the pacifier out 31 times. And I picked it up 31 times. Which led me to my next idea:
The Strap On Pacifier: A pacifier that straps on to the baby’s head.
“I’m going to invent one of these that straps to her head so she can’t spit it out. Everyone wins right?”-Me
“That already exists. Only its not called a ‘Strap On Pacifier’. It’s called a ‘Gag’. Bruce Willis. Ving Rhames. Pulp Fiction. Ringing any bells?”-Lisa
Then she showed me this picture:
And then I realized it was a bad idea.
But, it exists anyway:
Introducing the “Cry No More”. An actual patent. And creepy as shit. Apparently, this guy never saw Pulp Fiction.
3. I’ve always wanted to have a safe place to put the baby while I get shit done around the house. Apparently, I’m not alone.
This drawing was sent to me by a reader:
The Baby Cage: A safe, breathable environment for your baby. It’s got holes to pass food through and a handle for carrying. Hell, it even has a gerbil water bottle. Filled with milk of course.
“Hey look at this picture someone sent me. It’s what I was telling you about. The Baby Cage. Good idea isn’t it?”-Me
I’m not totally convinced she took the time to think about it. Actually, I’m pretty sure she was tired of me pitching ideas to her. For the record, I still maintain that Baby Cage is a good idea.
It already exists.
The baby got her first pair of tennis shoes recently. She managed to wear them all day long and not use them once. Turns out she cant walk. Good thing we bought her shoes she will outgrow before they can be used for their designed purpose.
I would love to kick the evil genius that invented baby tennis shoes right in the taint. How did he make money on that?! Here are a few other inventions, that I made up, on an airplane, just now, in 60 seconds, that are just as useful as baby shoes:
1. “The Cow Phone”: A telephone system for cows to keep in touch with each other.
2. “Your Baby Can Read: Sanskrit Edition”
3. “Baseball Glove (3-6 months)”: It’s never too early to teach your infant son to catch a curve ball.
Yesterday Lisa left for work at 12:30 and returned at 7. I was at home alone with the baby during that time. Here is her preplanned itinerary for the day:
12:32: Stop faking like I’m asleep.
12:34: Demand food.
12:35: Stare at dad while he makes bottle. The whole time. Without blinking. Smirk. Try to say “Yeah Bitch”.
12:47: Finish eating.
12:49: Stick hand down throat. Throw up lunch. All the cool babies are doing it.
12:50: Cry until the vomit is cleaned from my hair.
12:55: Take 2 hour power nap. Replace the counting sheep with the tripping of old ladies.
1:12: Wake up from two hour nap. Cry and demand diaper change.
1:16: Get diaper change.
1:17: Pee. A lot.
1:18: Get diaper change. Laugh about it.
1:23-1:58: Make loud noises while dad is trying to watch TV.
2:38: Take huge runny shit. Be sure to get some in my vagina for added effect.
2:39: Grunt and make poop face until he realizes what’s up.
2:42: Laugh when he opens the diaper.
2:43: Make creepy face when he cleans the poop out of vagina. Just to make him feel more awkward.
2:50: Demand to be placed on couch beside dad.
2:52: Smack him in the face when he’s not looking. Just to remind him that my pimp hand is strong.
3:00-5:15: Watch Caillou, Blues Clues, and the Wiggles on Sprout.
5:16: Figure out that every host on Sprout is a registered sex offender.
5:17: Think about how much the rising cost of baby formula is hurting my parents financially.
5:18: Think about how much I don’t give a shit.
5:26: Think about how bored I am.
5:27: Attempt front flip off couch.
5:27.20: Fail attempt at front flip off couch.
5:27.80: Cry. Wonder why dad would allow me to attempt such a stunt.
6:33: Pick up bottle.
6:33.27: Drop bottle on face.
6:42: Fart. Laugh at fart.
6:57: Take one last runny dump.
6:58: While getting cleaned up, grab wipe and rip in half.
6:59: Put ripped, shit-covered wipe in mouth.
7:04: Take two hour nap. Replace the counting of sheep with the kicking of puppies.