Posts tagged ‘kid’

21st century, 1st world problems

I came across this toot on Mastodon.

Well, perhaps it is an evil scheme from Amazon, forcing toddlers and their parents to interact, at least occasionally.

By removing pictures, aka pictograms, and replacing them with text, kids who can’t read yet, MUST ask an adult (or older child) for assistance. This preventing, possibly, binge watching in the next generation, enforcing the oh so sweet human interaction.

But what do I know. My five year old would binge watch the entire library of Tom and Jerry, PJ Masks and similar stuff twice over if we would let him, or he had pictograms to help him navigate when we are distracted.

So, maybe, just maybe, Amazon didn’t fuck up, they did shit right.

Take care,

A.

Ben’s diary ep2

Dear diary, I met her at the airport, her beaming smile captivated me as she exited her plane:

After saying hello and talking for a little while, we drive of in her convertible.

After we arrived at her house things got heated pretty quickly.

Dear diary, I don’t know how to put it, but I’m in deep trouble. Those days of fun seen to be over:

That’s all for today, dear diary.

The wheels on the bus…

The other day in the bus:

I had just picked up my son from kindergarten, the bus had stopped at a red light and bus stop, the light turned green, we moved on, however, one car in the lane next to us honked at the driver in front of them to get moving, my son turns over in the direction of the honking car and yells for the entire bus to hear: “Stop with Tutu, or I’ll set you on fire!”

What is the correct parental response to this?

A high five?

Asking him where he picked THAT up?

Turning on Rammstein – Benzin?

I don’t know whether to be a proud dad, or to be worried. I don’t even know how to feel about this. There’s a delighted joy, there’s pride, but also worry and a bit of shame. (The people on the bus heard, they laughed, but surely also judged.)

FYI, I went with laughter, imagining a high five, and then asking him where he picked it up. He claimed he taught it to himself, that he’ll take a candle and burn the car…

Take care, A.

Crappy Halloween 2017

Holy fucking pumkin on fire!

Normally I’m quite fond of owls, but this abomination had stared into the abyss too long, is now the devourer of souls, as the abyss is staring through your soul, seeing you more exposed than naked.

Decorate your house with this, the kids won’t be frightened away, but will be tormented until eternity ends. Gift this, and you can strike one name off your list of enemies.

Crappy Halloween.

Chestnuts

Come fall I used to search for chestnuts all afternoon after school. 

I, as well as my peers, was nuts for chestnuts. Pretty useless crap, those chestnuts. Can’t eat them. They “spoil” soon after collecting them (as in they shrivel up). You could craft shit with them. Which I never did. 

I just liked them. Their shine when fresh. The texture of the hard exterior. The overall look was magnificent. As a kid I likened the bright spot to a navel. They were cute, magnificent, beautiful things. That I just had to collect. 

Just to throw them out soon after, when they were ugly. And molding. But always with sadness in my heart. 

I was waiting at the bus stop the other day. (After a shrink appointment) And there were a few chestnut trees. Since my son is in that magical age of four, I decided to see if I could find some for him, despite there being numerous kindergartens and primary schools in the area. 

I found numerous. 

Kids these days don’t seem to collect them. There’s a proverb floating around the internet. “Every time a kid stares at a smartphone, an adventure dies in a tree somewhere.” 

Have a nice autumn, and go collect these little useless fuckers with your kids.

A.

A surprise egg!!!

Oh boy! I am letting out my inner child by buying this. I loved kinder surprise eggs as a kid. I’m a nerd. This will no doubt be a shitty toy, but it will still be epic!!!

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. The suspense is kiiiilling meeeee!!!!

Here we see tangible disappointment in the shape of a FUCKING ERASER!!!

If I were still a kid I’d be having a massive tantrum right now. Any child finding this inside their Star Wars surprise egg would be choking back tears of disappointment, broken dreams while munching on cheap chocolate. Maybe it skips well across the lake when tossed at the right angle and speed…

What is this supposed to be? Preparation for life? Cheap chocolate, suspense, disappointment. Not ONE parent will buy a second one of these. I won’t. I’m 35 and I even felt cheated and deeply disappointed. 

They should make Game of Thrones surprise eggs, containing the severed heads of the cast, with a small amount of fake blood in them for maximum gore and “fun”…

Whoever made this shit a reality should be forced to watch one thousand kids opening these fuckers. 

Take care, A.

Crappy Birthday Jan 2017

This rainbow morphsuit is for kids. For the low-low price 34.99€ you can not only traumatize your own brat, but all their friends too!
Act quick and you can give away the 1960s selnderman, watch children cry, hear them sob, watch their parents rake up the therapist bills afterwards.

Crappy Birthday!

Keeping the gate

 … closed. Real tight!

(An experimental father blog post)

During my vacation I got to spend a lot of time with my son. 
Alone, out in the wild, where people are. 
Where mothers roam.

Running around in an urban area one day, a suburban the next, rural one on day three, zoo, aquarium, playgrounds. 
Everywhere you go as a dad with your child, you meet them. 
The Mothers. 
Especially the “MOTHERS”(tm). 
And everywhere you meet them, they give you a smile.

Nice. Isn’t it?

No.
It isn’t. 
It is no smile of joy, of friendliness, of kindness. 
No. 
This the contemptuous, belittling smile of a person about to drown a puppy.
If women were treated this way in hardware-stores, feminists would (rightly) tear them to the ground. 
Brick by brick.

With that one “smiling” glance they let you feel how superior they feel over you, how they see you as an intruder into their realm, their domain, their existence. How they despise your very presence there, and think, or feel, that everything you do is wrong, that you are wrong for even attempting to spend time with your child alone.

These women define themselves, and validate their entire existence, through the fact they squeezed a human being out their vaginal opening. 
There is no place for you, for a father, a man, in that world, the realm of the mothers.

Maternal gate keeping.

It’s a thing: 
》A father maybe plays with the kids under maternal supervision, is permitted to accompany the “MOTHER”(tm) and the kids to the playground. But, and this is the most important thing, a true mother never, ever, lets her children leave the house with the father unsupervised. 
A father does not feel or think with/for his children like a mother, thus can’t take care of the child(ren) like the mother.《
BULLSHIT!

All that is implied in that one smile they give you.

Dads! Rejoice. 
For these women lead the most pitiful life imaginable. Once the kids are old enough to leave the nest, once the menopause has begun to haunt their bodies, ravaging their self-validation with the undeniable fact that birthing is forever off the table, they have but a shallow empty ghost of a reason to live. Whilst we have memories of time spent with our children, the husbands (or lifepartners) of these despicable women will have memories of them spending time with children under maternal supervision that was as strict like a prison visit. 
Relax fellow dads. 
Smile back, and put all the pity you feel for these old hags who have lost the reason to live due to aging, in that smile. 
Give them the same pity, the same contempt and dispise they give you. Disrupt their self image, for they expect a shocked expression, a shy or hurt glance, shame in your eyes. If you hand them back what they dish out, they are disrupted.
Maybe, just maybe, you can draw a “MOTHER”(tm) back to the realm pf normal people, and make her a normal mother.

Take care,
A.

Streets of Vienna

There is a street in my town, called Triester Strasse – Street to Triest (guss where it leads to in the end, realy difficult innit?), which is notorious for its traffic. 

There is always traffic. No time of day without traffic, never could you (if you had a balcony or window to that street) sit there and enjoy the silence, if one day you wake and the street is silent, and stays that way, congratulations, you survived the apocalypse. 

Triester Straße is also notorious for the nightlife there. Brothels, ‘Massage parlours’, Strip clubs – like pearls on a string. 

My wife and I were driving down that road, out of town, doing some errands when we noticed the following on the side of the road:
Brothel, Stripclub, ‘Massage parlour’, intersection, Kindergarden, Brothel.

Read that again.
Slowly.
Perhaps speak the words aloud.

Brothel
Stripclub
‘Massage parlour’
Intersection
Kindergarden (Daycare)
Brothel

There are several things here that disturb me.
1 – next to a street that coughs up enough exhaust and soot to fill cathedrals in minutes, you do not open a daycare.
2 – the prudish ways of the Americans where a titty is worse than guns is not my thing, but brothels next door to daycare centers are a bit too much too early.
3 – at least the ‘masage parlour’ and the brothel immediately next door to the Kindergarten were displaying bright ‘Open’ signs. At half past two PM.

A few questions arise too:
a) – What kind of men go to a brothel at that hour?
b) – Do you want those men near your kids?
c) – Are those the children of the prostitutes, strippers, and ‘massage experts’?
d) – Do these kids have a pole?
e) – Can customers of the surrounding establishments put their kids into the daycare by the hour?
f) – Whose fucking idea was this?
g) – Seriously? SERIOUSLY???

Well, that was enough roadside entertainment for me. Carrying a pax closet upstairs six flights. That shall preoccupy my mind now….

Mommy blogs!

Or joint parent blogs.

I have never indulged in the activity of reading these insipid, driveling wastes of insignificantly minute storage space on the net.
First off, I’m not the target audience – a mom, and secondly these blogs almost never have any value.

You’re not gaining some new insight on how to “parent”, that you didn’t get from being one, or having one. There is not enough substance to these vapid excuses of brain leakage, that would permit wasting time on reading them. Or just one.
Same goes for 99% of these so called “parenting magazines”, with articles so empty you are left to wonder why these sniffling shits aren’t writing speeches for politicians.
If it weren’t for product testing – including lab tests for hazardous materials – these magazines would be worth less than ink and paper, separately, used to make this glossy kindling.
I digress.

Mommy (b)logs are used by the mommy bloggers to make the simplest most mundane task look like a deed more heroic than the deeds of all Marvel and DC superheroes combined.
Mommy dearest breastfeeds her baby despite it being four and will continue to do so, until the kid enrolls in college. She carries the child in a sling, although her shoulders are bleeding, claiming “her indigo crystal child needs the intimacy, closeness and prolonged bonding,” although the brat is clearly old enough to fracking walk, or even go on prolonged hikes.
Great job.

Vegan, gluten-, lactose-, sugar-, and fat-free is an added “burden”, because it creates a (selfimposed) martyrdom to raise a child this way, with relatives and friends and doctors(!) telling them that it is absolute BS.

Adding to that, they hallow their “parenting” (and thus themselves) even more, if they are absolute nutjobs who think science and medicine are evil and thus they raise desease ridden, virii spreading little snotballs who run from vaccines and pills like they stole something.
But hey, they raise kids who are “all natural”. (Despite humans being omnivores, not herbivores, and our very existence outside of Africa is unnatural, but that’s not the issue here.)

That’s another staple of mommy bloggers.
The absolute glorification of the natural, and nature, ignoring the cold, logical, harsh and mindblowing truth that EVERYTHING is perfectly natural, unless some shit comes oozing into this universe through some rift in the space-time continuum.

But these narcissistic, ego driven, professional parents and breeders probably have lactated away all the brain cells necessary for rational and coherent thought, thats why all these blogs (or magazines) are shallow, pitifully dumb, meaningless drivel. People who read or write mommy blogs are people who have picture frames with the words “Friends”, “Family” and especially “Selfies” at home. For this is just another of the “Give me attention, because I am” cases, like the Selfie-people .

If you ever happen to strand on a Mommyblog, take it for what it is, snot. If you stare at the screen for too long thinking that a deeper meaning would peel out of this mindless conglomeration of letters and words, your eyes will roll back in your skull and they will find you, once your bills go unpaid, as a half rotten corpse in front of a computer that burned down in self pity.

Take care, and don’t read mommy blogs, they are an insult on the very words making them up (“mommy” and “blog”), as sell as an insult to anyone thinking.
A.