“Arrogance is the roadblock to transparency.” My brilliant mind just came up with that, but you don’t need to know why.
Author Archives: chamclowda
Tonight it is perfectly acceptable to sit in the corner of a bedroom to creepily stare at your sleeping child, but only if he/she:
• is a baby.
• is sick.
• told you “I love you” for the first time today.
• was the last kid to be picked up from school today.
• told you “I hate you” for the first time today.
• was bullied by another kid without realizing it, right in front of you.
• listened sadly while you yelled at him/her a little more than you probably needed to.
• was bullied by another kid, and suddenly realized it for the first time.
• watched a scary movie without your permission.
• is back home for the first time since leaving for college.
• lives in the same scary world that you’ve been reading about in the day’s news.
• pointed out something beautiful in your day-to-day surroundings today, that you yourself hadn’t noticed since you were that same age.
Year 1: Yes muffin of course I’ll hold your purse! I love you. Hahaha doesn’t that elevator music sound like its lyrics should be “love love love love love?”
Year 2: Am I confident enough in my masculinity to hold your purse for you? I suppose so. Feeling a little manipulated here, but let’s set aside two to three hours tonight to discuss that in depth, like productive intellectuals.
Year 3: No I’m not holding your purse. No no no no no I’ll be at Brookstone.
Year 4: Look my love I got you this wonderful purse for your birthday. Well, yes I suppose that to some this could be considered an unusually darker shade of gray, but…yes I realize that this color might not be the fashionista’s top pick for 20-whatever year we’re in, but…yes I suppose that I should understand that Goth subculture has undergone significant shifts which might make it supremely unappealing to the average non-conformist, but…no I don’t think it’s really a bookbag, and further more…no I didn’t get it from Brookstone, and further more…yes there’s a gift receipt.
Year 5: Sure I’ll hold it…for a Cinnabon.
Year no clue: Hey is my phone in your purse? Cool. What about my wallet and my keys and my Cinnabon? Cool.
Year no clue + 1: Here let me hold your purse for a minute. Oh by the way your son needs a diaper change.
1. Looks like one of Santa’s elves was a little tipsy when he wrapped this present.
2. “It’s a Wonderful Life” is this classic holiday movie about what would happen if a daddy weren’t around, except it’s got kind of a sad ending. Burn.
3. Looks like one of Santa’s reindeer tried to use our toilet last night…and missed.
4. Hey look this year’s daddy’s hair is going to give us the white Christmas we’ve always wanted. Burn x2.
5. Hey Rudolph I bet Santa would’ve wanted to run that yellow.
Happy holidays anyways!
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
The master was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed with wonder; the boys with fear.
“What!” said the master at length, in a faint voice.
“Please, sir,” replied Oliver, “I want some more.”
The master aimed a blow at Oliver’s head with the ladle; pinioned him in his arms; and shrieked aloud for the beadle, for he was in a hurry to calculate ways in which to divert his corporation’s newfound tax savings away from his employees and shareholders, back into his own golden parachute.
Need some uninterrupted privacy to finish some errands around the house? Try setting up your old Halloween decorations right outside your kid’s bedroom while he’s waiting out his latest timeout. If you don’t have any, an audio recording of sinister laughter or growling animals will work just as effectively.
I find that if I furrow my brow while typing, I can compose a lengthy blog post without interruption from those who would have me assume the mantle of productivity. Throw in the occasional frustrated sigh and I’m pretty much left enough alone to come up with some seriously flowery, unavailing sentences. And as a jocular bonus, I’m able to fill said sentences with enough ignominious adjectives and protracted noun pre-modifiers to represent my misguided attempt at sounding both intellectual and clever, though astute readers might and will upon closer inspection discover that any machinations fed by my grammatical representations are in truth erroneous and nonsensical. Nevertheless, my thesaurus lookups alone have afforded me nearly fifteen minutes of irresponsible revelry, with the written word.
My only regret is the time stolen from unsuspecting site visitors, who’ve been mistakenly taken in by my pretense of profundity. Such is the price of my personal goal to procrastinate. Sorry.
…although if you’re reading this then I’m thinking that we might have that in common.