My Kids Launch Political Attack Ads On Each Other

It’s that time of the year. Election time!

I always loath and love election years.

Why? You may ask…

Because I LOVE the attack ads.

The formula is brilliant. Spend 15 seconds knocking your opponent down, pouring gasoline on them, and lighting them on fire in front of the world. Then spend 15 more seconds making yourself look like you not only walk on water, but created water, the land, Earth, and play poker with baby Jesus on the weekends.

I can just imagine the young-buck interns and political public relations strategists who sit around a large bong coming up with these brilliant, mind-numbing attack-ads.

So, with that thinking, I decided I should run a mock election between my kids. My son, the left-wing redheaded advocate of creating government programs (like ICFTAYS – Ice Cream For The American Youth Service) running against my daughter, the right-wing lover of supporting corporate America (primarily American Girl dolls) are vying for the senate seat in my Congress.

So now the stage is set…let the attack ads go!!!

This message is approved by Macy.

Candidate Grayson. He wants you to believe he can hoola hoop for an hour straight. He claims he can spell “because” without cheating. And he even tells adults that he loves broccoli.

Candidate Grayson pees with the seat down and doesn’t wipe-up afterwards. He once told his mother she has a large butt….and then laughed. Candidate Grayson eats his own boogers.

If you want a booger-eater representing you in Congress then Grayson’s your guy.

Candidate Macy once saved a unicorn from a tar pit and 10 minutes later fed Africa. Candidate Macy invented the clock and recently negotiated with the Mayans to fix their calendar so we all won’t die in 2012.

Candidate Macy once made Chuck Norris cry.

This November, vote Candidate Macy for Senate and let that turd-wrestler Grayson go back to the school yard.

“Hi, I’m Macy and I approve this message and I look really cute in pigtails.”

I’m fairly confident that’s an ad my dear daughter would have helped assemble and happily distributed on any media outlet willing to take her money.

Now, on to the boy’s ad.

This message is approved by Grayson

Candidate Macy kicks me in the shin when she doesn’t get what she wants. She can’t read, she can barely write her name, she doesn’t flush after she poops or pees, and she still needs her mommy to help her ride her 2-wheel bike.

I have personally seen Candidate Macy almost kill a grown man over her blankey being washed in the washing machine.

I’ve witnessed her beating a tree with a stick, smashing a tiny ant, and telling her mother she hates her just because she wanted to put her hair in pigtails.

Is that who you want representing you in Congress?

Candidate Grayson mapped out and personally taught the entire system of migration to birds in order to give these flying beasts a better lifestyle.

Candidate Grayson personally hand delivered Saddam Hussein to hell and then turned around and made it rain in the Sahara Desert.

He holds the record for the most “your mamma” jokes told in 24 hours, has the cure for cancer, and holds the patent for the design on ladybugs shells.

It’s pretty clear Candidate Grayson’s the man we all need in Congress.

“Hi, I’m Grayson. I approve this message and I CAN spell ‘because’ without a cheat sheet.”

All right....that's it. You've read both ads. Now tell me....who would you vote for?!

The Wife & I Discuss Testicles

This past Saturday we took our puppy Marty to have his manhood removed. Despite the wife trying everything in her power to have the doctors neuter me as well, I managed to escape with my bits and pieces.

But, the whole situation did instigate a conversation between the wife and I about testicles.

Me: “That poor little bastard is gonna have a twig with no berries. You think he’ll need doggie therapy to deal with it?”

Wife: “You’re not taking this too well are you?”

Me: “It’s a guy thing. When another member of the male gender loses his man-bits we’re required to take a collective sigh and moment of silence.”

Wife: “You have serious issues.”

Me: “Those things are important. They’re magical and scientifically speaking, I wouldn’t be shocked if they have some sort of roll in the Earth’s orbit around the moon.”

Wife: “They have a scientific affect all right. They cloud your thinking with images of boobies and panties so you say really stupid things. Case-in-point…the Earth revolves around the sun sweetie.”

Me: “If you ever say ‘case-in-point’ to me again you’ll be orbiting the sun.”

Wife: “I don’t know, I just think those things possibly do more harm than good. I mean, look at child molesters and rapists.”

Me: “Yeah, they should definitely have their balls removed immediately after being found guilty. But come on, they do a lot of good. They produced your children!”

Wife: “They did help with that process. Although, now that that’s done with maybe we should consider removing them?”

Me: “Why, so that I turn into a Snuggie-wearing, Oxygen-watching, girlfriend of yours who doesn’t hump your leg, do naked dances for you after my showers, or complain about going shopping?”

Wife: “Oh my God that sounds blissful. I think I had a small orgasm at the thought of that.”

Me: “That hurts….that hurts deep. My balls are staying with me till the bitter end my dear!”

Wife: “Speaking of that, there’s another testicular fact. Old-man-balls are an absolute horror show. Your balls are never gonna hit your knees are they?”

Me: “When the hell have you seen old-man-balls? Do you have some sort of old person fetish? Is this why you watch Golden Girls all the time?”

Wife: “I just think you should consider wearing like a man testicle bra so when you’re 80 your nuts aren’t dragging the ground.”

Me: “So can I take a second to recap what you seem to believe about my balls? They make me think of nothing but boobies and panties, clouding my thoughts to the point that I even dismiss Galileo’s hard work. You would like to have them removed so I turn into your dream-girl BFF. But, if they do remain part of me it scares you to the point that you spend sleepless nights inventing man-testicle bras?”

Wife: “Honey. You know you were staring at my breasts the whole time you were ranting just then?”

Me: “What color panties are you wearing right now?”