I Need You Maury Povich!!!

Yesterday I was changing out of my work clothes in my room, when the boy came in and said, “daddy…I looove math.” I immediately got tears in my eyes, fell to my knees, and started sobbing. I knew right then and there….he couldn’t be my child.

I mean...just look at us both side by side!!

I rest my case.

So, I collected myself, rose to my feet…gave him a huge hug and said, “I’m proud of you. Keep it up…not everyone rocks like you do at math.” Then I walked passed him to find that hussy wife of mine.

She was on the computer in the basement…or should I say, her love communicator machine….when I found her. I said, “woman, we need to talk.”

She looked annoyed and said, “please stop calling me woman…and broad…that’s just so..”

“Look, this is more important right now. Tell me who the real dad is damn it,” I interrupted.

She shook her head and went back to what she was doing. “I’m serious!!!,” I yelled.

“What the hell are you talking about now?!”

“Grayson just said he likes math,” I belted out.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“You know, for years people have asked me, ‘where does your son’s red hair come from,’ and I’ve always joked saying, ‘the mailman I guess.’ And now he comes to me saying he loves math when I still think 2 + 2 = 3. What gives? Who’s the boy’s pop?”

“You seriously need help,” she said while giving me a dramatic pause, death look, followed by a “you’ve got 3 second to disappear before I fucking cut you” look.

I ran upstairs, kicked the cat out of my way, grabbed a beer, opened it and threw the bottle cap at our framed wedding invitation, snagged the laptop and immediately typed into Google, “Maury Show.” I was determined to get answers and if anyone could knock out a paternity test, Maury Povich could.

As I started plowing through the Maury website, desperately trying to figure out how to send that daytime TV god an email, Grayson came walking by and sat down to watch TV. I glanced up at him, then back at the screen…then back at him. He had those kick-ass freckles all over his cheeks and nose. It reminded me of when kids at school made fun of my freckles and would try to draw on me like they were connecting the dots. I smiled and chuckled cause the little bastard just couldn’t sit still…kinda like me. Then he did his little thing he does with his hands, something I spent half my childhood doing.

He could feel I was looking at him, so he looked at me and that’s when I saw those massive ears…the ones I clearly genetically burdened him with. That’s when it clicked…..my wife didn’t bang the mailman. She didn’t wanna keep me from ever duplicating any part of my idiotic self and hit the sperm bank. This little punk was mine…all mine!

I threw the computer off my lap, stood up and hugged the little guy. “I love you man,” I said.

As I put him down, the daughter came walking through with a stick doing some weird throwing motion. I said, “whatcha doin’ baby?”

“I’m playing lacrosse daddy..I love lacrosse!,” she said.

I immediately fell to my knees, started shaking….and crying….then got up and stormed back down stairs….

Sex & The Snuggie

I got a glimpse last night into what my winter will be like. Let me rephrase that…what my sex life will be like this winter.

My wife is sick right now. I fell badly for her because she’s clearly not feeling well. She tries to help around the house, but all I see through my insane, fucked-up way of thinking is her spreading germs all over the house.

Last night I’m hanging out, just finished putting the little bastards to sleep, when it happens. The wifey descends from upstairs and flops down on the other end of the couch wearing the big, blue, stupid, frock looking, Snuggie. Yeah the real Snuggie.

Now…she knows I hate the Snuggie. She knows the first time I saw an ad for the Snuggie I picked up the TV and threw it out the front window. She knows that the very site of the Snuggie makes me want to take a flamethrower to it. It’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. But what am I going to do? She’s sick, and achy, and clearly wanted to get warm.

Then I suddenly became paralyzed with a sudden formula:

Comfort + Warmth = Snuggie cock-blocking all winter long.

She’s never going to take this thing off again. It will forever be the oversized sheath covering wifey and keeping us from the wonderful world of whoopie-making. It will become one with her. Once the children are tucked nicely in bed, she will shroud this magnificent piece of marketing bullshit around her body making her impenetrable to any and all efforts me and my little fella make towards sexual bliss.

I know, I know..you’re thinking, “well climb in there with her you idiot.” No..for a few reasons...

1) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

2) Wifey is clausterphobic and would be miserable with her and me in the Snuggie

3) I hate the fucking Snuggie and don’t even want it touching me.

And there’s no such thing as a crotchless Snuggie. There’s no Velcro strap that can be removed and placed back once the deed is done. There’s no flaps up top like women’s breast-feeding bra flaps.

My anger for the Snuggie has now reached new dimensions.

You’re on notice Snuggie. I will fuck you up. You will die. I will watch you burn, Twitter about it, TwitPic the whole thing, blog about it, then burry your ass in the alley where I can drive over your remains every day. You’re dead to me and I’m coming for you…….

Getting to Know WhyIsDaddyCrying

I had a work related human resources question yesterday, and as it was being answered it made my mind wander back to what it would be like to be a human resources person and how awesome it would be to ask the questions that drives everyone fucking nuts!!

“What do you feel you will bring to our organization?”

“What are your strengths?”

“What is your biggest weakness.”

“Can you please take your shirt off and twirl around for me?”….oh…I probably should have said that in my brain I’m the HR person for a porn film company.

So then I thought…wouldn’t it be awesome to do a real interview and actually answer the dreaded “What is your biggest weakness?” question honestly?

Interviewer: So WhyIsDaddyCrying, what would you say your biggest weakness is?

Me: Really? Are you fucking serious? You’re really going to ask me this god-forsaken question. Fine ya douche…let me answer it…

It honestly depends on who you’re talking to. My wife – she’d tell you it’s in keeping my hands to myself. She’d say the ability to keep the palm of my hands from her breasts or ass as she tries to walk by me is absolutely vacant from my physical capabilities.

My friends…they’d have a laundry list of my biggest weaknesses:

• Inability to not use the word “fuck” in any sentence.
• Incapable of having a conversation without making the sound of a can of beer opening.
• Cannot go to a wedding without monopolizing the dance floor with a litany of yard dances.
• Twitches in public the point that people call 911 cause they think he’s having a seizure.
• Refers to women as “broads” except for when he’s talking to them face-to-face.
• Gets involved in serious conversations, then in the middle says, “oh, before I forget, here – I found this the other day for you” then reaches in his pocket and pulls his hand out with his middle finger sticking up.
• Is obsessed with being naked.
• Refuses to get the massive gap in his two front teeth fixed.
• Believes he’s fat…to the point he really should read “O Magazine” while watching Oxygen channel while wearing a skirt and bitching about the run in his pantyhose.
• Thinks it's OK to jump on a friend when they’re lying on the couch and dry-hump the hell out of them.
• When peeing in a public restroom at the same time as a friend, loves to say out loud so everyone can hear him – “my doctor said pretty soon I won’t have to the peel the scab off before I pee anymore. I can’t wait!!”
• Loves to walk next to his son, reach his foot around and kick him in the ass while acting like it wasn't him
• Periodically goes downstairs like everything's normal while wearing nothing but a pair of his wife's underwear

Does that answer your question or would you like me to continue.

Interviewer: Ummm…..well I…..you should probably gather your things and leave.

Me: Really? We’re not a match? That’s a shame because I really admire the mission of your organization and feel I could help drive a variety of strategic and successful initiatives under your leadership. Well..good luck to you anyway. In case you change your mind…let me reach in my pocket and get a business card for you……