Da-da's Psychotronic Catalog of Extreme Mental and Physical States of Parental Vagabondage

Exhibit 27b. "Don Corleone would very much like it if you would do your homework. Now."
(Or else Luca Brasi will get a job at an aquarium.)

The Wrath of Mom

Da-da told you boys to wear aluminum foil clothing. Either that, or just lower the toilet seat when you're done.
And don't worry: your butt will grow back.

Da-da's Psychotronic Catalog of Extreme Mental and Physical States of Parental Vagabondage

Exhibit 19a. "Hey, you kids... turn down that Montovani."

The Wrath of Mom

Da-da told you guys to watch out for the eye blasts.
Don't worry, the feeling in your butt will come back after a few days.

WANTED: Klingon Weed Disruptor

"ALERT! ALERT! We have WEEDS growing on Sector Four playgrounds... ALL PERSONNEL..."

Da-da's brother-in-law passed on this little gem. Turns out the Air Force will actually pay you to develop a death ray, provided you call it a, "floral disruptor," and not a, "phaser." This is the actual Air Force RFP:

AF121-207: Floral Disruptor - Directed Energy Weed Abatement and Prevention Tool

TECHNOLOGY AREAS: Materials/Processes

OBJECTIVE: Develop a device that uses directed energy technology to prevent and abate unwanted plants (weeds) in areas that require control or defoliation. The purpose of this system will be the removal of unwanted plants and keep seeds from germinating.

DESCRIPTION: Every year millions of dollars are spent on weed control in and around military installations. Weed control and abatement can either be performed chemically; by applying poisonous herbicides, or mechanically; by mowing or tilling. Herbicides can be grouped by activity, use, chemical family, mode of action, or type of vegetation controlled. Herbicide use generally has negative impacts on bird populations, although the impacts are highly variable and often require extensive field studies to predict accurately. Having a cost effective device that eliminates the use of herbicides or reduces the amount of machinery could extensively save money and protect wildlife at the same time. Private industry has been actively engaged in the research, development, and deployment of various physical control technologies utilizing microwave radiation (as heat), lasers, and sound to deter, disrupt, deny, or degrade the desired objective. Thermal technologies such as foam, hot water, steam and quenched hot gases to physically rupture cell membranes within young, vigorous green weeds to shut down the plant’s capacity for photosynthesis, has been explored as a means for safe, effective weed control . The technological challenge is to develop a device that would effectively destroy weeds in various growth stages from seeds to maturity using some form of directed energy in designated areas.

The Sikes Act and Air Force Instruction (AFI) 32-7064 require the Department of Defense (DoD) to manage the natural resources of each military reservation within the United States and to provide sustained multiple uses of those resources. Edwards AFB complies with these requirements by preparation and implementation of an Integrated Natural Resources Management Plan (INRMP). The primary purpose of the INRMP is to use adaptive ecosystem management strategies to protect the properties and values of the base’s natural environment in concert with the military mission. This is accomplished by defining and implementing natural resource management goals and objectives that collectively achieve habitat and species sustainability; thereby, ensuring no net loss in the capability of the installation’s lands with a realistic testing and training environment.

Finally, the frequency used for this system must not interfere with any current operational aircraft or ground-based sensor systems and it must not be able to target personnel or wildlife.

PHASE I: Define the proposed concept and develop key component technological milestones. Produce a conceptual design and provide a detailed analysis of the predicted performance to include simulation of the prototype device. Determine the technical feasibility of the device and provide a plan for practical laboratory testing and eventually field deployment.

PHASE II: Develop and successfully demonstrate a working prototype system based upon the Phase I results.

PHASE III DUAL USE COMMERCIALIZATION:
Military Application: Military facilities have many needs to abate and control the spread and growth of unwanted plants or weeds. This device will provide a viable and cost effect alternative to traditional chemical or mechanical weed control techniques.
Commercial Application: Commercial facilities have many needs to abate and control the spread and growth of unwanted plants or weeds. This device will provide a viable and cost effect alternative to traditional chemical or mechanical weed control techniques.

Makes perfect sense to Da-da. Why spend $25,000 deploying unemployed folks to pluck weeds by hand (and get some sun) when you can spend $1B on something that makes cool ZAP noises and turns weed killing into a video game that a 17 year old kid can operate while eating a burrito.

There is a cost-effective alternative, however. Call Da-da a "ROBOT" (not much of a stretch in his case), put him in a green suit and helmet, and he'll use his zombie blaster to burn each and every weed. For an extra $20, Da-da will even smile and pretend to get into it.

DIE, weeds, DIE!

Da-da's Psychotronic Catalog of Extreme Mental and Physical States of Parental Vagabondage

Exhibit 6. "Running with scissors."

Da-da's Psychotronic Catalog of Extreme Mental and Physical States of Parental Vagabondage

Exhibit 17. "That thing they did with the cat."

It's Monday, Scrooge 2.0...

...time to unplug the air hose of Christmas Past, have a long cold draught of Christmas Present...

...and try not to think about that Christmas Yet To Come. Pray that the spirits do it all in one night.

That Nutty Look of Parenthood

Parenthood kinda feels like this. Every day. But in a GOOD way. No, really.

Black Friday SPECIAL: The Neurotangler 3000!

Da-da's first Holiday 2011 MUST-HAVE is THE perfect thing for those holiday mall crowds! [gifmovie]

TIME for a Little Holiday Fear!

(Click for a larger view. Via thedailyfeed.)

Take a look at these TIME Magazine covers for December 5, 2011, by region. Notice anything?

Just to state the obvious, ANXIETY is a euphemism for FEAR. TIME Magazine is thus blatantly telling North America that, "FEAR IS GOOD FOR YOU." What TIME is missing is that actually HORROR is good for you, as it better prepares you for the future.

C'mon, America, stop screaming and just fall into the acid, ok?

Bad Mall Santa Da-da #5

Bad Mall Santa Da-da gets all kinds.

Santa Da-da: Hello! What can Santa do for you?
Kid: I want a jellybean explosion.
Santa Da-da: How big?
Kid: Big as my Da-da. [Kid points at a huge man the size of a vending machine.]
Santa Da-da: Big, then. Anything else?
Kid: A ramp.
Santa Da-da: A ramp?
Kid: Yeah, like a freeway ramp.
Santa Da-da:Where did you want Santa to put that?
Kid: Inside my house.
Santa Da-da: Ok.You like concrete?
Kid: [nods and smiles]

[Read Bad Mall Santa Da-da #4, or go to Bad Mall Santa Da-da #6.]

Gone, freeway, gone.

RTPP: Repurposed Turkey Pot Pie

This is one of Da-da's favorites, better than Thanksgiving dinner, because it IS Thankgiving dinner in one pot with a crust. Awesome. Da-da stole this recipe from Grandma Scotty, whose madder than a wet chicken in a chili tornado about it. (What?) Anyway, it's pretty simple.

Place alternating layers of gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, gravy, stuffing, gravy, green beans, turkey, gravy and more gravy in your largest, deepest ceramic crock (or equiv.), fill almost to the brim with more gravy, microwave the whole thing (if it fits) so the core is heated (or warm all the ingredients before assembly). Slap a pie crust on it, cut slits in the crust and bake till it's done (about 30-40 minutes) at 350 degrees. This is so good, you'll find yourself making TWO Thanksgiving dinners so you have enough leftovers. Be sure to make gallons of gravy the day before. Yum.

Media Consolidation: The Illusion of Choice (Infographic)

This from Frugal Dad -- not Frugal Da-da. That's a different thing altogether.

As a dad (and blogger) I’m concerned with the integrity of the news and entertainment my family and I consume every day. Who really produces, owns and airs the shows my kids are glued to every evening and which companies select the stories I read with such loyalty each morning? I’ve always advocated for critical consumption, and what could be more important than an awareness of the sources of our families’ daily info and entertainment diets? And today, most of our media is controlled by one of six companies. Check out Frugaldad’s infographic on the state of media consolidation in the U.S.:

Source: Frugal dad

Happy T-Day Hot Fusion HORROR

Damn, that smells good.

Da-da's been mixing "the red" with "the yellow" all morning, and pumping it into a fourteen-year-old frozen turkey (as all the others were raptured), the gestalt of which has born strange fruit just in time to thrill... well, somebody. VOILA! 

Poof! Hot fusion! (What? You wanted to eat it, too?)

Enjoy, everyone! Happy Thanksgiving. For those of you in other countries, Happy Thursday! Or Friday. Or whatever the hell day it is. Let the international countdown to Chris-kwanza-ka-nude-year... BEGIN!

Atomic Brussel Sprout Failure! Yaay!

Da-da was up early to energize the fnortner rods (while trying not to burn the articulated whiffletree)...

...waiting for a charge...

...which finally occurred (after Da-da turned HAARP up to 11), but at least we successfully achieved...

...a serious Atomic Brussel Sprout Failure! Hooray!

Da-da's Brussel Sprout Atomization Team celebrates today's utter lack of brussel sprouts! We'll take all our calories in the form of roasted meat and alcohol, thank you.

This Pilgrim Infestation Must Be STOPPED

Unraptured, NAKED "Left-Behind" Turkeys...

...are lewd and digusting -- BUT HOT.

T-day Revisited: A True Tale of Thanksgiving Horror That Actually Wasn't That Horrific, But Everyone Laughed and Scratched Their Heads

Oh, you're gonna feel that tomorrow.

This is longish, but well worth it, so stop griping.

Most holidays are taken for granted, their meanings lost to the currents. When Da-da was a kid, Thanksgiving was a time filled with sloth, food, football, overweight relatives, general unconsciousness... your basic Senate subcommittee meeting. These harbingers presaged the coming of winter, the endless chopping and stacking and hauling of wood, and the prospect of blesséd snow days.

For the longest time, Da-da saw T-day as just another day to goof off. He’d read the skewed pilgrim stories, laugh at their funny hats and square-buckled shoes, make turkey noises until something was thrown at me -- usu. one of the deadly ninja cats -- and revel not only in the way jellied cranberry sauce mystically took the shape of the can, but also in how far and how fast a puck of this material could defeat a feline ninja before centripetal force or ninja cat claws tore it apart. However, the true nature of the event wasn’t brought into clear relief until Da-da was a junior in college.

Picture a blustery, leaf-strewn Wednesday before T-Day on a college campus. A younger, thinner version of Da-da with infinitely more hair and energy and sex appeal... and about 10,000 other positive things that have since vanished... schlepped across campus, enjoying the relaxed solitude of emptiness. Da-da was literally one of ten people left at school, the rest of the student population having the presence of mind to respectfully DITCH and head home for the holidays. Da-da stayed, as he had a Spanish exam the next Monday, and was still pronouncing virtually all the L’s in “tortilla.” Besides that, Da-da's Spanish class was an educational anomaly he simply couldn’t miss.

No one believes Da-da when he tells this story, but it's 100% true.

The instructor of Da-da's Spanish class, Dr. Liu, was Chinese and spoke no English, only Mandarin and Cantonese and Spanish (only!).  He’d never been to the U.S. before and was hired through the mail. When he was delayed for three weeks at the beginning of the semester (with visa troubles), the class was warned about his untested nature and offered seats in other classes, as the administration had no idea what to expect. Da-da stuck around because he was certain it would be entertaining. Da-da was so right.

Dr. Liu had no clue what the United States was like (hello? we're not that united), any more than Da-da would about China from books and TV (Da-da's since been to Asia several times), so poor Dr. Liu was thoroughly unprepared to find a whopping THREE students in a class of 200 that pre-Thanksgiving Day Wednesday. The faithful few sat staring at each other while the wind howled outside.

Flabbergasted at the dearth of student bodies, Dr. Liu queried us in his very broken English (it was all he could do, as we spoke no useful Spanish): “Ah, where... ever-body... go?”

He pointed at all the empty desks, to the cold world outside.

Da-da and his classmates shrugged, assuming everyone else took the day off before Thanksgiving. To Dr. Liu, we must’ve seemed like survivors of some horrible plague.

The one hardcore surfer-dude in the class (the LAST person Da-da expected to show up), shrugged and answered: “It’s Thanksgiving, dude. They ditched.” This meant nothing to Dr. Liu, as he could barely understand us anyway, slang notwithstanding.

He nodded in mock comprehension, “Ah, bitched." he said and got a small giggle. "What ‘Thanksgiving’?” he asked.

We stared at each another. Da-da drew a blank and suddenly felt like an idiot. At that stage of his student career, he was still a simple assemblage of 3rd-order differential equations and chaos theory. Thanksgiving? No idea.

The other person in the class, a dopey girl (who later went on to win a Pulitzer, go figure) answered: “Thanksgiving! You know, that’s when we get together and stuff things up the turkey’s butt!”

Da-da goggled at her. Pulitzer, indeed. Before Da-da could say anything, poor Dr. Liu nodded.

“Ahhhh, up turkey’s buutt,” he said, as if that settled everything.

“Yeah, and I ride my skateboard, dude!” surfer-dude added, following some phantom conversation somewhere south of comprehension.

Dr. Liu nodded: “Ahhh, skaebordoood.”

Da-da was feeling pretty skaebordood himself at that point, so he approached Dr. Liu and asked for his Spanish dictionary. He conjured the only word for turkey he could find -- “Turquia,” which really means the COUNTRY of Turkey. Da-da then proudly stated in Spanish that we eat the country of Turkey once a year. Dr. Liu stared at me.

Da-da then looked up “Pilgrim,” and blurted out “Peregrino!” More staring. Yeah, that’s it. We eat the Turkish people who are making pilgrimages. Bueno, tonto.

Pulitzer-girl chimed in: “It’s when we give thanks. Muchas gracias!” This led to an enthusiatic chorus of “muchas gracias” from the gringoes assembled.

Surfer-dude clarified: “Dude. It’s when we EAT... COMER... the turkey’s butt. RUMPO! Comida! Valle con Dios!”

Dr. Liu puzzled all this, and finally came to the disturbing realization that he was knee-deep in a weird, depopulated American zombie ritual where the dumb are left behind while the rest eat the flesh of the living. So we did, venturing to the cafeteria to snag the last helpings of corn, mashed potatoes, gravy, canned cranberry sauce, maple-syrup-laced pumpkin pie -- and, of course, the roasted country of Turkey (which we all pointed to excitedly). Dr. Liu had never seen a turkey, let alone any of the other strange food.

It occurred to Da-da then that this was probably what happened to the out-of-the-box Native Americans as they tried to communicate with the stuck-in-the-box Pilgrims. They simply showed them what was good to eat in the area: corn, cranberries, maple syrup, pumpkins -- and the ubiquitous wild turkey. (Potatoes came from South America, Gertrude.)

And like Da-da's forefathers and the Native Americans, at the end of the meal we all gave thanks, just as they did... that is, for the day being over, and the joy of living through it. Happy T-day, everyone.

Here kitty kitty... cranberry blob is hungry.

That Holiday SNORT of...

...your best ape-friend. Or was that you?

Bad Mall Santa Da-da #4

No more alien children, please.

Today's featured Santa/kid interaction involves a cute, innocuous looking 7YO blonde girl with Heidi braids across her head, dressed impeccably from some expensive European catalog. Her mom was dressed identically, the same Heidi braid on her head. It was a little odd, but not as odd as the software borh their heads were runing.

Santa Da-da: Hello! What can Santa bring you this year?
Heidi:YOU'RE NOT THE REAL SANTA!
Santa Da-da: I'm not?Heidi: NO! YOU SHOULD BE IN CHAINS!

She then jumped down and high-fived her identically dressed Heidi mom [??], both of them giving Santa Da-da dirty looks as they stomped off. What the hell was that all about? Perhaps it's true that Da-da lives near one of those Displaced Space-alien Enclaves like the ones outside all the Disney properties. Maybe Santa Da-da needs some body armor.

[Go back to Bad Mall Santa Da-da #3, or go to Bad Mall Santa Da-da #5.]

Step back from Santa Da-da, or there will be... trouble.

That Holiday SNORT of...

...Owen.

That Holiday Feeling of...

...premature burial.

One Less College to Tour

Let's see... Da-da has two boys, each of whom is bright and likely to attend college to the tune of say $500,000 (two boys times four-plus years of college, including incidentals), all things considered. At least Da-da doesn't have to tour UC Davis, now.

Hopefully, other universities will see how much money the above unthinking tactics will cost them long-term; if they did, they'd be giving out free massages to protesters.

That Holiday Feeling of...

...double vision.

That Holiday Feeling of...

...unconsciousness. (Really a LACK of feeling, a well-worn holiday tradition, but who cares?)

Your Basic T-Day Immolation (or "Thanksgiving Fire and Ice, with Sprinkles")

Dude, is the grill supposed to smoke like that?

True story. When Da-da was in college and everyone was just sitting around waiting for Facebook and Twitter to arrive (really, that's all we did), Da-da was lounging in his modest off-campus apartment -- gleefully childless and well-rested -- on the Day Before Thanksgiving, thinking that he'd stay at school and NOT go home for Thanksgiving. There wasn't any familial bad blood involved, Da-da was just lazy. Besides, he thought he was smart enough to do T-day dinner himself, and so did a bunch of his friends. Jeez, how tough could making Thanksgiving dinner be?

Being new to the bird-roasting ritual, Young Happy un-Child-laden (YHuCl) Da-da thought that the most important element to a proper Thanksgiving was to first procure the largest turkey he could find to feed the three or four guys coming over to watch football. The largest turkey he could find was a 32 lb. monster that took days and days to thaw. Spending all of the night before running water on the thing and preparing all the side dishes in advance, really all Da-da had to do was roast the bird, though it was still half frozen. Once all the guys had arrived and we were collectively cruising on our third beer, Da-da lit the coals.

Coals, you say?

Yes, Young Master Bonehead (YMB) Da-da was going to do his 32 lb. steroidal monstrosity ON THE GRILL, a modest black Weber; indirect charcoal, of course, the bird over the drip tray. Problem was, the turkey was so big that it not only overhung the coals by about four inches on either side, Da-da also could just barely get the lid on. Anyway, Da-da coordinated with Mission Control throughout (that is, Grandma and Grampa Scotty), and all seemed well, at least for the first 45 minutes. A turkey that size would have to cook  for about ten years, with several charcoal-adding forays, such that current Old Da-da has no idea what YMB  Da-da was thinking. Then came the immortal words:

"Dude, is the grill supposed to smoke like that?"

Da-da looked out on his balcony in horror. The Weber was totally engulfed in white smoke. The turkey had simultaneously auto-immolated and named itself Pope in one fell swoop. Da-da and company put it out with their beers.

Tom's gonna feel that later.

Scientifically speaking, only about 65% of the turkey's body had been charred beyond recognition; the rest was frozen. So, Genius Da-da figured that he could finish the rest off in the oven. Six hours and many many beers later, the bird was STILL not done (way pink) and, well... the one piece Da-da sampled tasted like charcoal and burnt beer and plastic. YES, besides all the other errors, Da-da had neglected to remove the plastic bag of giblets stuffed into the neck cavity. Lovely.

Unfazed, YMB Da-da walked to the strip mall down the way, bought 20 orders of cheeseburgers and fries (with drunk people's money, not his own), then proceeded to sit down with his guests and eat their glorious fire-and-ice repast, along with all the side dishes (which were excellent), the pies and whipped cream, MORE beer (we were in college, after all; beer was a 300-level class) while watching 14 straight episodes of the Monkees marathon on Da-da's awesome small-screen (20") TV, before we lost consciousness.

Later, after something like 8 hours of cooking, YMB Da-da and company put BBQ sauce and sprinkles on the penultimate bird and it was just AWESOME, in a really terrible way. O'course, drunk people will eat just about anything. And one shpould never ever underestimate the power of BBQ sauce and sprinkles.

Confetti and sprinkles taste pretty much the same.

The Wrath of Mom

Don't let that smile fool you. Run, Timmy, RUN!

That Dream of Progress

...to raise their children for them, yet still retain custody of the peni$. Ah, progress!

You've Never Really Lived Until...

Da-da's life is now complete.

The Wrath of Mom

Honey? Ok. You've made your point. Da-da will take out the trash when it's full, ok? Honey?

The Wrath of Mom

Um, boys, Da-da would go to bed if he were you. Pissed-off Ma-ma nostril flare means TAKE COVER.
Her feather boa will take your head clean off.

Chemical Dependency, or Parenthood?

Maybe the cat can figure it out.

That Drained Look of Parenthood

"Honey... don't make eye contact with the children. Honey?"

2012 SUX Preview, Part Deux

And now it's time for the sheep controlling your brain... to explode.

Fresh from PART 1 of Da-da's 2012 TV offerings, he and his crack team of Supersecret Second- and Third-person Bolivian scientists working in Secret at a Secret TV testing facility in SecretLand USA, have hatched EVEN MORE horrific S-U-X games. Weird, huh? Again, S-U-X refers to that raw gash of Super-Ultra-Xtreme sports, but with a difference that is frightening and wondrous to behold, especially if you're a supersecret overpaid Bolivian scientist. Anyway, here's another list of future JACKD-UP TV (FOX) shows coming in 2012 to a village, hamlet or local correctional facility near YOU:

JACKD-UP's 2012 SUPER ULTRA-X-TREME SPORTS (S-U-X) LINE-UP (Part 2)

S-U-X PSYCHOTIC TEEN Para-Wars: Two teens (former best friends) are pumped full of psychotropic drugs (how can you tell?), snagged from a mall (hence the drugs), strapped into a single parachute and thrown out of an airplane at 30,000 feet. Boring, huh? BUT, the parachute is only built to safely support a single teen, hence the "war" element of this plunging cavalcade of death. Teens are encouraged to sober up quickly and sever their opponent from themselves and the parachute by whatever means necessary while attempting to land safely. Cordless power tools and shaped-charge explosives are popular para-wars weapons. Grand prize is survival and a free t-shirt. Planned sequel: S-U-X Married Couple Breakfast War Challenge!

S-U-X Caffeinated Barber Challenge: An all-out race to see which quartet of barbers can give the most traditional straight-razor shaves in a quarter-hour after consuming 40 gallons of coffee. Volunteer shavees are encouraged to apply (esp. gallant satire bloggers). Free first aid and blemishes removed while-U-wait!

S-U-X Steeplechase: Specially bio-engineered horses (with two front-facing eyes) turn manic predator. With sharpened hooves, teeth and Mad-Max spiked harnesses, they chase jockeys mercilessly through jumps over flaming pits. Sorta like Barb Wire meets National Velvet in the Thunderdome.

S-U-X Bowling Challenge: Yes, it's like regular bowling, except now actual live people are watching it. Boredom quickly sets in (after two minutes) and advertisers pull out, leaving contestants scrambling for some kind -- ANY KIND -- of notoriety and endorsement. Some clothes come off. Some blood is spilled. First contestant to get a WEEPY EYED CLOSEUP wins... um... something. Free cans of foot deodorizer for all who watch this one!

S-U-X Ironman: OK, let's see how tough these guys and gals really are. S-U-X IRONMAN adds a "fast food" element to the pre-event warm-ups, making each contestant eat six McYucks and 12 orders of fries -- as well as a friendly cup of nuclear waste -- prior to the grueling swimming, biking and running segments. Contestants also sport leeches and are plagued by rabid, bloodthirsty bats during the distance running. Keep your limbs from falling off and you're a winner! Anyone caught foaming at the mouth or barfing is disqualified. (There goes Da-da's entry.)

S-U-X Waste-Hauling Contract Challenge: Another "reality" contest that follows four young hopefuls seeking to make in-roads into the exciting and rewarding mob-owned sanitation services industry. No "X" is required to make this one worth viewing! YOW.

S-U-X Batting Challenge: Rocks, roughly baseball-sized, come flying in at about 200 MPH. You get a helmet, a bat and a cup. Object: DON'T GET HIT. This is the first entry of what will soon be known as "Kinetic Reality" shows.

S-U-X Badminton Challenge: - Here's the second kinetic entry. The shuttlecock is loaded with explosive and rock salt. Minimal clothing worn. If it contacts the ground, BOOM. Volleyball variant.

S-U-X Dating Challenge: Male "reality show" contestants are dropped into the downtown area of a small midwestern city with no money, no I.D., smelly rumpled clothes and temporary oral implants that make coherent speech difficult. Tiny cameras are mounted to their heads, facing forward. The first man to go on a formal date and get laid wins 10 million dollars. Prostitution is allowed as a way to earn money, but does not qualify as a "win" for the purposes of the competition. The woman must be employed and earning at
least $90,000 a year. Wind up getting married and you forfeit the 10 million.

And you thought TV was dead. You were right!

That's right, there's still MORE TO COME! You like lava, right?