PAY IT FORWARD: My Own Personal Hell(mo)
First things first: Last night I got my ass on stage for the first time in, oh, roughly 13 months at the Pittsburgh version of this, and while I was shitting my pants all day from nerves, it went just fine (translation: no actual shitting of pants on stage*) and I had a fantastic time. I also got to see m’lady Baby Expert Kylan (like, seriously, she is a super-smart child development type who reassures me that Sadie is hitting all her major milestones and is a damn genius), who then introduced me to her friend Johanna (DEAR GOD I hope I’m spelling that right – I just had to guess and pray that there isn’t a silent ‘k’ in there or something) who also happens to be a reader of this here blog. So, HI, Kylan and possibly-misspelled-Johanna! You all are proof that JT readers are some hot pieces of ass with high tolerances for profanity. Nice work, my friends.
Kylan is also the person who gifted Sadie with the infamous Baby Einstein Musical Duck, who has been Sadie’s homey since day one. Here we see Sadie wondering why The One With The Boobs can’t also have a pleasing array of colorful musical buttons on her extremities.
Speaking of my awesome readers, today I give you a horrific installment of PAY IT FORWARD! courtesy of my favorite New Yorker (more favorite than the NAKED COWBOY, even!), Shelli. You should know that plans are underway to arrange a marriage between Sadie and Shelli’s son Noah Matan, because MY LORD THAT BOY HAS CHEEKS, and the offspring of our two generously be-cheek-ed children might just save the world.
Or the sheer volume of cheekage might cause the Earth to collapse in on itself like a dying star. One or the other.
Alright, enough fun. Time to tuck into your daily serving of forwarded horseshit, i.e.,
Fwd: Fw: Elmo toys
OK, let me preface this by saying that Elmo has always annoyed the ever-living shit out of me. Second only to Motherfucking Barney in terms of I’d-rather-be-shot-in-the-face-than-watch-this-shit, Elmo is a disgrace to the good name of Sesame Street and the Muppets. But Internet, someone knew what they were doing when they creating that red bastard, because KIDS LOVE HIM. Not only that, but BABIES LOVE HIM. I’m pretty sure there is a way to prove that even FETUSES love him, although I’m not sure how that would work.
A couple months ago, when Sadie was around 7 months old, I was home alone with her and needed to plop her in the exersaucer for a minute so I could brush my hair/tie my shoes/poop/get another beer/something of this nature. She was fast approaching the end of her tolerance of the ‘saucer, and when I slid her legs through the holes she let loose a stream of bitch-ass-ness that could be heard in the sleepy little towns of America’s Breadbasket, so I turned on the TV and flipped to the first kids’ channel I could find, which happened to be showing Elmo.
Internet, when she saw Elmo, she went completely silent. IMMEDIATELY. Her arms and legs went limp, her eyes widened, and she assumed a slack-jawed expression I have only seen on a guy I knew in college who subscribed to High Times and wore the same pair of corduroys for the better part of three years. I’m not sure how he works, but Elmo is some kind of crazy crack for babies, my friends.
I’ve gotten similar reports from other parents when I share Sadie’s story of Elmo Paralysis. What the fuck? Why does it have to be Elmo? Why can’t it be something cool like Yo Gabba Gabba or The Sopranos? Why do I already feel the struggle to keep Elmo from Sadie in order to save my sanity EVEN THOUGH I know she clearly loves the shit out of that grating, referring-to-himself-in-the-third-person fuckwit?
OK, now that I have sufficiently expressed my Elmo Rage, onward with the forward:
Although the image makes it look more like a Put A Wallet In My Mouth Elmo, complete with MedicAlert bracelet.
I don’t know why, but that folksy use of “Well,” really irritates me. It’s like suddenly the Elmo joke is being told by Waylon Jennings, and we can expect him to occasionally interrupt with an update about what them ol’ Duke boys are gettin’ into this week.
It appears we have witnessed the birth of an entirely new species of punctuation: the bastard child of an ellipsis and a period: THE PELLIPSIS!
How DARE she deprive the world of their efficiently-produced Tickle Me Elmos?! Have you no sense of decency, ma’am?
It was at this point in reading this steaming pile that I started to get dually annoyed and ashamed that I had no idea where this inane fucking joke was going. Although I was remotely sure there was a vibrator joke in here somewhere.
A visual, just in case you fucking forgot what marbles are.
Also: this joke is veering into ball-sack territory. You’ve been warned.
I imagine the SEVERAL MINUTES of hysterics was really enjoyable for Lena.
OH MY FUCKING SHIT ASS BALLS.
I’m sorry, you guys.
A risk I am willing to take.
*I did, however, say “my vagina” within 5 seconds of stepping up to the microphone, but I did not ONCE drop the F-bomb. This is what we call “being a lady.”
**You guys, remember when THIS was the Whitney Houston we were dealing with?
Entry filed under: PAY IT FORWARD!.