That Midnight Look of Parenthood

"The worst kind of insanity is that induced by children." -Sigmund Freud

A Pre-Father's Day Volley

In Da-da's previous post, Mother's Day Post-mortem, he featured Bronko and Nagurski's school questionnaires re: their Ma-ma, with someone (probably Da-da's mother-in-law) anonymously commenting:

"Why is Mom, according to Bronko, cleaning house so much? Isn't that your job?!" 

Indeed, it is, though we share the house duties, so Da-da can at least keep some rights to his penis, if not the actual member itself, most of which was decommissioned at least one kid ago and shipped off to some containment facility, O the humanity. Wherewasi?  Oh. Da-da let the commenter know that much of Da-da's cleaning work is done when the kids are at school, but also promised to do his own questionnaire. About Da-da. So, here we go. Below are Bronko's responses, unedited and uncoached (the underlined portions are his answers), with Da-da's inexorable comments [in brackets]. Da-da hopes this puts this issue to rest.

From Bronko: "My Da-da"

What is your Da-da's name? Da-da. [Bronko actually gave Da-da's real first name.]

What does he look like? What color are his eyes and hair? What does he like to wear? He looks tired. His hair is white and red and brown and no hair. [Thanks, kid.] His eyes are blue and red and blue. [Must be the spice.] He likes to wear tie-dye shirts. [Damn hippy.]

What does he do for work? His computer.

What does he do at your house? He does games and cleans the house up and goes to school with me. [Ahem. As Wellington said to Napolean at Waterloo, "HA!"]

What do you do together? He plays with me. And builds robot box monsters. [True. Pics later.]

What makes your Da-da happy? Huggies and kisses. [In a manly way, arrrr.]

What does he do for fun? Do his computer and play with me. [Mmm. Da-da might need to work on his computer less.]

If you could give your Da-da a present, what would you give him? I would give him a trumpet. [Da-da used to be a musician -- indeed, he's now a recovering musician, having sold his prized horn to a friend so her kid could get some professional mileage out of it.]

This exercise must've worn out poor Bronko, as he promptly went into his room and crashed (getting up at 5:00 am didn't help). Anyway, there you have it. Da-da is tie-dye afflicted, cleans the house and spends too much time on this stupid computer (usu. editing lame html). That means it's time to start spend more time making kosher pickles and sauerkraut, as per this guy; his pickle recipe is awesome, btw. Speaking of pickles... gotta go. "Dr. Freud, clean up on Track Nine."

Da-da's decommissioned manhood on its way to a containment facility [sniff].

Another Mysterious, Subliminal Holiday Ad

Huh. Wonder what's going on here, though note that sometimes a Freudian 7-Up ad is just a Freudian 7-Up ad. Indeed, even as Freud said, "Every hot dog dream is a wish of Freud," he also said that people shouldn't strive to eliminate hot dog complexes, but should instead get into accord with them, as they are legitimately what directs human conduct in a world of big and little wieners. Speaking of that... 

...quod erat demonstrandum. (Note: Marthaman wins the Mirthless Smile of the Millennium Award.)