Wednesday, November 04, 2009

My New Book For 8 Year Olds

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(Chapters 1 and 2 appear at the bottom of this post in case you missed when these were posted.)

Chapter 3. This is daddy's cup. You can't drink from this and if you tell mommy about it I will take away your phone.

You see, there are certain things I've tried to teach you that you only need to remember for a few more years. Like, that there's a Santa Claus. Or that the Easter Bunny is real. Or that Jesus died for your sins. (He totally only died for Janie's sins. LOL, just kidding. Jesus doesn't exist!)

This whole "your cup" or "daddy's cup" thing is only just so you learn to drink what we put in front of you and that you don't lose focus and want to drink something else instead. It's important that you drink what we give you for a couple reasons. One, it'll make you big and strong so that someday you will grow to the size you're supposed to be. Ultimately, you'll be healthier and stronger if you drink your cup every day. The other reason, and possibly more important reason, is that I must establish who the master is. I am the master. You will do as I say, little monkey. If I yell "DANCE!" then you will dance, monkey. If I say you have to "go to bed," you go to bed. If I say "eat your vegetables," you eat your vegetables. If I say "shut your little whore mouth," then I'm talking to your mother. Completely disregard that command.

Chapter 4. Give me that phone. How old do you think you are?

Who gave you this phone, anyways? Was it your mother? Because that would explain things. Our money has gotta be going somewhere. I make it and deposit it and then sometime soon after our balance has somehow become lower than your mom's sagging tits. Here's the thing. You think you need a phone to keep in contact with your friends but here's a little hint for you. In fifteen years you won't know any of these people. Honestly. Daddy didn't get to be this old and savvy without being able to read people.

That friend of yours, Hannah, will be pregnant before her sophmore year. Mark it down. Kimmy? I'm pretty sure she's mildly retarded so she won't even be attending the same school as you. Tina? Criminal. Remember these words: She will be scissoring her cellmate before you finish college, and that's a guarantee.

What daddy is trying to say is that people go their separate ways all the time. You're young. You may end up at different schools, playing different sports, and ultimately finding a whole new group of people you connect with.

Which brings me back to your phone.

You're lucky that criminal Tina hasn't stolen it from you yet. I'm telling you...criminal. There's nobody that needs to get a hold of you who can't call you at home or grab your attention at school. You're dependent upon mommy and daddy for everything. Mommy gave you that phone because she's compensating for all the things she didn't have when she was a kid like money, new clothes, friends, dignity. You need to text "LOL" to Kimmy about as much as your mother needs another donut. Gimme that phone and go do your homework.

Chapters also featured in the hardcover edition.

Chapter 5. The gypsies are real and if you don't behave I will give you to them.

Chapter 6. If you want to dress like a slut then I'll treat you like a slut. Wait, what?

Chapter 7. Basic Geometry

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Chapter 1. Daddy isn't buying you a dog because, although you won't understand if for a few years, you don't really give a shit if you have a dog or not.

Sure, you think you want a dog right now because that little slut Janie down the street has one. Nobody likes to be outdone by Janie. I know this. But all of those traits that make Janie the one to look up to now are the same traits that will ultimately make Janie the high school cum dumpster. Oh, I know this is a little above your head and you may be thinking that even that would be pretty cool. Actually, it is pretty cool. For (and during) high school it is. But after high school is over Janie is going to be the one desperately clinging to those years and never moving ahead.

And you know what?

Janie will still have that goddamn shed-monster of a dog. Is that what you want? To be washed up at 20, still having to clean piss off the floor of your parent's basement (this is where you will be living) every time your dog decides you haven't shown it enough attention? Good, now go play in the other room and let daddy and his computer have some adult time.

Chapter 2. The real world isn't a television show. It's an actual world. That is real. That is also 30 feet away from you. Drop the snack and turn the goddamn television off. It's time to go play in the yard.

Look, don't get me wrong. I'm happy that at age 8 you can create a facebook profile, blog, and figure out how to talk to your friends via webcam. It's impressive. Daddy can't hardly figure out how to maximize the screen of the porn he's trying to watch without somehow finding out he's purchased a year long subscription to Spunk Mouth. Thankfully he doesn't know how to unsubscribe either, but that's not the point.

You need to get out more.

I would have thought my Italian heritage would have come through better but your skin is paler than your mom's tits. Though I'm just speculating because officer Jenkins tells me it's no longer acceptable to get within 200 yards of her and also that looking into windows at night (Even if they were bought by you!) is something called "peeping" and it's illegal. At any rate, you need some sun. The glow of the computer screen is turning you into an 8 year old version of your mother. Without the frigidness, of course.

So what can you do? Plenty of things! You can rake the pavement like that retarded boy down the street. You can sell that blind kid in the wheelchair your crappy baseball cards like daddy does. You can do anything you want! So long as it involves the sun, interaction with others at some point, and a promise that you won't come back inside unexpectedly so daddy has enough time to put away any incriminating adult items.

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3 comments:

Joe Speaker said...

Naturally, as I am a wicked cool Dad, these anti-douchebag mantras have been drilled into the sizable head of young AJ for a while.

But...and I can vent here can't I? I've needed to get something off my chest for a while now and it's one of those things you don't want to come back and bite you in the ass if any of the subjects of said tirade ever see it so I figure this is an excellent place to spew my vitriol since your post is somewhat related.

I hate my soccer team. The one I coach. There I said it. I know, I know, they're 7 years old. 7-year-old dicks! Would it kill ONE of you to actually do what I tell you? When I tell you?

Fuck.

Also, I think last week's referee wanted to fight me.

Mytgod said...

You can always vent here. In fact, your venting totals half of the new content to appear on this blog in the past year, I think.

Keep it up and I'll put you on the payroll.

Joe Speaker said...

Not one hot mom this season, either.

Jesus.