Triumph of A Man Called Da-da's 5th Anniversary!

Five years of waiting for The Return of Da-da's Brain, soon to be a major motion picture.

The Da-da Trench Test (UPDATED)

Da-da's actually quite sweet -- provided you apes take Hill 407 this time without tantrums.

After inspecting his sleeping troops and settling in to his cold k-ration beany weenies -- AGAIN -- after a terrible day in the kid-trenches (trench beany weenies are the highlight), Da-da ruminated on what it's really like to be A Man Called Da-da, with two sub-7YO mental patients -- or being a parent, in general. What's it really like?

It's like trench warfare, that's what. But with more hugs and vomit. And a stuffed unicorn in no-man's land. Don't believe Da-da? Then take this little parenting test:

The Da-da Trench Test

1. Do you feel exhausted from little or no sleep/being up all night, your fatigue the stuff of legend?
2. Are you perpetually rumpled, dirty, unclean, unshaven, unkempt, perhaps even STINKY -- in public -- and find that you simply don't care?
3. Have you started to resemble Chewbacca? Make Wookie noises?
4. Do you often find yourself wearing the same clothes over and over, day after day?
5. Do you find yourself scarfing cold or lukewarm, greasy food while standing up/walking/running?
6. Have you found that you actually not only LIKE beany weenies, but talk about it in public? 
7. Do you occasionally find yourself screaming?
8. Do you occasionally find yourself screaming the same thing over and over? And over?
9. Do you occasionally scream or pontificate about beany weenies?
10. Has your memory... um, is the... what was the question? 

If you answered YES to many of the above questions, CONGRATULATIONS: you're a parent. Or perhaps a teenager.

If you'd like the...

DELUXE DA-DA TRENCH TEST, TRY THIS

...it's on page 185.

Whose turn is it to take out the diaper pail? (WWI Sam Raimi courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Ramey.)

"Da-da, Why Does Pteranodon Start With 'P' "?

OK, who left 'P' on the chair?   [P available here.]

Da-da takes great some small pride in flexing his wide-ranging, near-worthless education and capacious swiss-cheese memory before his minions children, answering most any question they ask without resorting to Google. (This makes Da-da oh so valuable in power blackout situations, in elevators, camping, etc.)

So, when Da-da's oldest, Nagurski, asked, "Da-da, why does, 'pteranodon' start with 'p'?" Da-da was ready. He was ready to give up and look online, as he could not recall what the Greek word, "ptera" meant. Then Da-da's mommy brain fog (replete with homicidal ghost pirates seeking revenge) parted for a brief moment, allowing Da-da to spot the necessary info tidbit next to that rusty pirate scabbard.

"Ptera" (really, "pteryga") is Ancient Greek for, "wing-y," with "-nodon" meaning, "giant vending machine with teeth." Da-da remembered this because, "ftera" means feathers, and lots of bird names have ftera in there someplace; "ftero-" is Greek for "winged"... but that could make said reptile a, "fteranodon," which involved so much potential flying spit that the powers that were opted for "ptera." Aren't you glad you asked?

But Da-da... why does pteranodon it start with P? Who knows, kid. Go ask an Ancient Greek. Perhaps it begins with P because it had to go to the bathroom all the time. (That's what Da-da told Bronko and Nagurski and they died laughing. It's good to be king.)

Hey! Put that sword away and go sweep out Da-da's corpus callosum!
Lousy cranial fog pirates.

Da-da's Ghost Brain, Already in Progress

Da-da is cursed. Sure, his children are incredibly cute and darling, but they're also such a goddamn 24/7 chaotic trainwreck handful that Da-da's brain is, he fears, irreparably damaged from being too close to the tracks. Case in point, Da-da was just on the phone, talking train metaphors or somesuch with an editor, when Bronko comes running full-tilt and half-naked down the hallway, peeing his pants and screaming, "GHOST FESTIVAL! GHOST FESTIVAL!" [Ghost festival?] Then, BAM. He goes down on his face and skids into the wall.

"Um, lemme call you back." Da-da calmly deals with Bronko's Bronkoness and returns to the phone some time later. Da-da asks, "Um, what was that question, again?" The editor answers with a stony silence. [sigh] Da-da will never have an adult conversation at this rate, not with this brain -- and not with this family -- unless he changes gears and moves into the janitorial or casket-testing industries. Alas, Da-da's thought train was derailed and hopelessly sunk long ago in some fetid mommy-brain swamp of redundant mommy-brain swampiness. It struck Da-da then that he doesn't have, "The Brain That Wouldn't Die." No. Instead, he has, "The Brain That Doesn't Know It's Already Dead." Welcome to the ghost of Da-da's brain, already in progress.

The Curse... Nay, the HORROR of Mommy Brain

No... MOMMY brain, not mummy brain. Jeez. Who's in charge here?

For those not yet 30, and who eventually want kids, a word of advice: don't wait to have them. Da-da doesn't care what your mother says. Have them while you're still young and energetic (just not before you're 29, please). If you wait like everyone else, "till you're ready," like Da-da did (ready at 95?), then you don't exactly bounce back from the endless marathon obstacle course. Indeed, you don't bounce back much from ANYTHING. You just start moving slower and slower, getting closer and closer to the ground until you're a permanent resident.

Interestingly, scientists recently discovered that people who multitask in the extreme (like parents) begin to lose their will -- which explains Da-da and parenthood and the electorate perfectly. You find yourself not bathing for a week (oh, well). You notice that you're eating cold chicken tenders and tator tots again (ok). Someone has thrown something that's either marred the wall or stuck in it or attached itself to your head (interesting). One child starts wrestling with another and then they're hitting and using knives and shuriken and mad monkey kung fu and flying respective B-52s to their failsafe points (huh, you kids). You find that you're not sleeping much and going to bed later and waking up earlier and making kid meal after kid meal after kid meal often eating the cold leftovers while driving small beings here and there and filling out forms and making small talk about kids and forms and cold meals and no sleep and the weather and shopping for more food and washing things you can't remember getting dirty and finding the cat taped to the wall and then there's a big white BIGFOOT in the front yard tap dancing and singing, "Silver and Gold," and you think, that's nice.

THIS is Mommy Brain. Da-da's so-oo ready for it to be done... though he suspects it's a permanent condition.

Fresh from the cranium, it's Mommy Brain! Now in cheery radioactive green.

Unsuccessful Parenting Strategies Meet With Success and Other Inspirational Nonsense

Shotgun!

Recently Da-da read about a 23-year-old mother who left her 2YO and 9MO kids on her mother's doorstep (presumably to ride grandma's ostrich) late at night. Reprehensible, o'course (and it shows you that once you're a parent, you're one FOREVER), but this did give Da-da an idea. Da-da's since left his own children (for the day, officer) on the doorstep of the Buck Institute for Aging so they can determine why Da-da's children have not only made him into such an old man in such a short time, but also to determine what skin conditioner he needs to keep from looking like solid rock. Good luck, guys.

Da-da undergoing special anti-aging therapy at the Redundancy Institute of Redundancy.

Huh. The Rapture Actually Occurred...

 
...for prairie dogs. First it was the dinosaurs, then the dodos (except those on Capitol Hill), then the turkeys, the pigs, and now the prairie dogs. Damn. (So to speak.) Krikey, when will it be RAPTURE TIME for those of us with mommy brain? Like many before him, Da-da will simply have to take comfort in a really big spiky pickle. All Hail Spiky Pickle!

Da-da's Internal Parenting Callus Test

A bass player, or really any musician or tradesperson or skilled robot parent, develops special calluses due to repetitive action/pain (and like hitting yourself in the head with a ball peen hammer, it feels so good when it stops). In some cases, you can't really do the job properly without these calluses. (Bass players develop what's called, "mummy fingers," and can't play without them.) But what separates skilled robot parents and Emergency Room RNs from the others? Our calluses are on the inside.

Do YOU have the proper internal parent calluses necessary to parent effectively? Let's try a short quiz. Answer NO to any of the below and you've got an XL Pain and Suffering Pizza soon-to-be-delivered in 20 minutes or less.

     Da-da's Internal Callus Parenthood Test

1. Can you hear Force Five crying and screaming for hours and remain calm and effective? 
2. Can you hear other children's Force Five crying and screaming for hours and remain calm and effective? On a plane? Flying to Asia? (That's a 15-hour flight, Maurice.)  
3. Can you catch barf with your bare hands without batting an eye? Howbout fielding projectile vomit?
4. Can you remain calm and effective when you're changing a diaper and poop suddenly SHOOTS from the baby's business end fifteen feet across the room? (Yup, it happens.) And catches you in the eye? The mouth?
5. Can you be dispassionate when said poop shoots a ten foot brown line across your $25/sq. ft. wool berber carpetting? Howbout your walls? Ceiling? The cat?
6. Can you remain calm and effective when you discover a small child permanently tattooing a 40-foot scratch across your $50,000 white oak floor with a heavy toy he's dragging?
7. Jeez, six is enough.
   

Extra credit: You're at the beach with two screaming children, a toddler and a 3YO. Both have just barfed on you, and are now hungry, tired, one needs to be changed and the other has to go to the bathroom. You haven't slept more than two hours straight in three years and you haven't eaten anything all day. You suddenly notice a mile-high tidal wave curling toward you at 500 miles an hour. What's your first thought?

1. "Oooo, PRETTY!"
2. "RUN RUN RUN!"
3. "OMIGOD! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!"
4. "Mm, wave."

The answer, of course, is obvious to any parent who's had the duty for too long. Sounds callous, but once that callus is firmly in place, you can hear crying and screaming for days and days, be barfed on and hit in the head with ejecta, see poop fly through the air (and all over your precious belongings), pick up 10,000 toys and be largely unaffected, because you're officially Da-da Braindead. Welcome! Da-da's always at the meetings.

Feels so good when it stops hurting.

Breaking News From Da-da's Head

Is that "Outer Limits," or "Bowling for Dollars"?

Crap. Must be Tuesday. Either that or Bronko and Nagurski have been playing with the remote to Da-da's head and tuned him to a dead channel again. Huh. It's kinda like real life, but more compelling. Wait, is that a chicken up there? No. It's just the way she's holding the grapefruit.

Da-da Welcomes You to the MANCESSION (Already in Progress)

You've heard of the Mancession, o'course. Well, it's true. Now that the U.S. has fallen to the ranks of Second Empire service economy, middle aged men are officially obsolete as women of all ages (and some younger men) are cheaper and better looking at providing service than old broken-down (yet stylish), bearded male veterans suffering from kid-induced Mr. Mom mania. So, grab a seat, Mr. Mom-dude, and sit with me at the back of the bus, resigning yourself to shopping for the cheapest organic spaghetti (should be $1.99), raising screaming hellions alone in the trenches, watching your beard grow ever whiter, and feeling your brain less and less (I think this is where I parked it), while your spouse careers it through delightful lunches PREPARED BY SOMEONE OTHER THAN DA-DA, trips abroad, advantageous bonus structures, and brisk, funny chats with intelligent adults. The funny thing about all this is that women are by nature better, in Da-da's humble opinion, at being BOSS MOM than most men are, excepting the odd Da-da Fezziwig, o'course.

BUT there is a bright side: a whole new career path in police Santa line-ups! (Hm, which one is Da-da?)

Ok, none of them are Da-da, BUT HE'S JUST AS FOXY. And MAN, Da-da's alien hair transplant worked with a vengeance.

Foxy Da-da is always foxy. And redundant. And foxy.

Words That Make Little Kids Laugh

Since there's nothing that can match the sound of little kids laughing like mental patients (hey, Da-da does it), here's this. Mix any of the following words with the below sub-list and watch what happens.

1. UNDERPANTS (or PANTS)
2. BUTT
3. POOP

The above three (i've omitted BOOGER and some of the more nefarious words) usually draw a cheap snicker, but the real silliness is in combining them with the below sub-list -- or anything nonsensical -- the combination of which sends Small Beings into Paroxysm Land. So, in no certain order:

10. SQUIRREL (e.g., SQUIRREL UNDERPANTS)
9. RUTABAGA ("RUTABAGA TRANSPORT" is also good, esp. as a Midwest band name)
8. SUCCOTASH (say it with great conviction and relax: it's just lima beans and corn)
7. AARDVARK
6. CHICKENHEAD
5. VAMPIREPANTS (no idea why this got a laugh)
4. OOGEY-FLABBER-BINGBALL-BISQUITOON
3. ROBO-anything
2. BAJOOBIE
1. NINCOMPOOP

To reiterate, add BUTT, POOP, PANTS or UNDERPANTS to any of the above, say them with a funny voice, and you've got the makings of a guaranteed knock-out kindergarten graduation speech. Make a song of it and you've gone preschooler platinum. These words can also occasionally STOP tantrums, as Small Brains will LOCK and CENTER on anything ridiculous, if only for a moment. (Kinda like Monty Python's, "Confuse a Cat.")

Of course, the social earthquake word UNDERPANTS (from the German olio of, "UNTER-DAS-PANTS-HEIL" and "SUPERAFFENGEIL") stands alone as the consistent laugh-getter, across all alien 3-6YO demographics. UNDERPANTS are just funny, Giotto. Like Chevy Chase calling out the ghost town bartender, "HEY, UNDERPANTS!" (though note that that was mostly funny because the bartender then mock-blew Chevy away with a double-barrel shotgun). You might as well enjoy this brief tyke apercus of mirth, because by the time they're 8, they'll be wearing all black with black shoe polish around their eyes and then NOTHING'S FUNNY ANYMORE -- except Da-da falling down the stairs, which is always funny. So, strike while the iron's on top of the chicken.

Images courtesy of one of Da-da's favorite sites, Archie McPhee. And the plug's for free, hee hee.

By the way, speaking of subnomenclature chicken, you geeks might enjoy playing with The Torpoleximatic, seen here in it's corruptible mortal state.

Uh oh...

SQUIRREL!

McCartilage Sandwich is Back (GMO Shark Cartilage Never Tasted So... Glue-y BBQ-y?)

Ew. Yes, all that shark cartilage rotting on docks can now be shoved into your papa gullet, along with copious amounts of salt and red foodie BBQ-y chemicals that are bag and baggage of this, the NON-FOOD DIMENSION. I'd make fun of this silly '80s BBQ-y contraption till the hogs cried home, but the guy at Ludic Despair did such a better job. Da-da checks to the power.

If lightning strikes this thing, we're all hosed.

You Know It's Monday, When...

...Mr. LOUD is suffering from ABCBCI (Auto-beanbag Clothes Basket Cranial Inversion)...

...baby tiger has the spins...

...and da-da's brain is in a bag. Does that make sense? I can't tell, my brain's in a bag. Hey, I suddenly feel like running for Congress! Or maybe an anchor on FOX!

"You can either frolic and revel in this month's ritual phonebook burning -- or you can talk to the clown."

In response to the potential (silly) book-burning of the Quran in Florida on 9/11, AcmeVaporware today announced...

============================================

ACMEVAPORWARE TO BURN PHONEBOOK ON 9/11

AVW Annoyance Response Section to Immolate White Pages (No Offense) to Protest People Who’ve Lost All Sense of Perspective

JUDGMENT CITY, Florida -- SEPT 7, 2010 -- AcmeVaporware today announced that highly trained AVW shock troops from the company’s supersecret Annoyance Response Section have successfully infiltrated various parts of the world to burn phonebooks (in fireplaces, we’re careful alien step-ins, c’mon) to protest people protesting without proper cranial pressure levels. Angry villagers -- who aren’t that angry and who are very very careful with fire ­ are asked to burn their own (old) phonebooks, but only if it’s cold and you want to keep warm. The fearless onslaught will feature some of the most advanced and frightening pyrotechnic iterations of the company’s Physical Layer de-routing solutions ever assembled in the confused state of Florida.

“Few -- if any -- of us at AVW can stand people getting excited about dumb things,” said Dr. John Smallberries, chairman of AcmeVaporware, from inside a giant tub of bubble bath at AVW headquarters, his big toe caught in the tub faucet. “This action, while overly dramatic, really captures the terror and absolute chaos that surrounds any sudden, Physical Layer, De-res Un-naming Scenario.” A fireman on scene asked why he was in a tub of suds in his office. “Oh. I like to be clean, ok? Besides, we at AcmeVaporware ARE VERY CAREFUL WHEN IT COMES TO FIRE. WE SERIOUSLY ADVISE ANYONE WHO WILL BE SHARING IN OUR WHITEPAGE BURNING TO DO SO RESPONSIBLY, FROM INSIDE A TUB OF WATER, OUTSIDE, IN A VACANT LOT, FAR FROM GASOLINE OR DOGS OR SMALL CHILDREN OR NUCLEAR WASTE OR UFOS OR THE WHITEHOUSE. What was the question?” Dr. Smallberries later stated that, since we’re all basically one giant spirit, anyway, we might as well do away with silly things like individual names, religious intolerance, and phonebooks.

"AAAAUUGGGHHHIIIIIIEE!!!!" screamed someone at a local church when informed of AcmeVaporware’s future actions, pocketing their $20,000 check from CNN. Prior to being flash-frozen, the entire congregation in question chanted, en masse, that they fully support AcmeVaporware’s De-res Ontological/Individual Initiative, as well as: “THE NEW PHONEBOOK’S HERE! AND IT’S JUST ONE PAGE! YAY!”

The congregation, along with many many others of all denominations and divisors, will be stored in AVW’s Area 52 CEO Proving Grounds & Mass-name Storage Facility near Groom Lake, Nevada. The company’s specially designed cryogenic storage facility already features such notables as: Elian Gonzalez, Monica Lewinsky, Bert Convy, Scott Baio and Gavin MacLeod (thus ending any possibility of a Love Boat Reunion). The congregation was placed next to Walt Disney and the REAL Martha Stewart ; the android Martha Stewart was unavailable for comment. Charo and Fidel Castro remain at large.

About AcmeVaporware

AcmeVaporware, Inc. is a revolutionary parodic monstrosity, doling out incomprehensible OSI-model mimetics, quasi-lexiconographical de-logistics and torpolinguistic supply-chain wake-up calls to anyone caught touching their monkey within the tri-state area. Information on AcmeVaporware, its future secret projects, and its delicious, profligate amounts of finest-quality vapor are mostly classified. Regardless, it's all on www.acmevaporware.com anyway, so whatever. You can also find a bunch of it, here:

http://acmevaporware.com/_00torpo.htm

http://acmevaporware.com/acme.htm

###

Logrolling ist superaffengeil.

A Fistful of Da-da (or Da-da, You Sucker)

It's Friday, guests are incoming, and you know what that means...

Yeah, Da-da doesn't know what it means, either. Actually, it might mean some unsuspecting people are gonna get hit by Dada's Dynamite Zombie-cowboy casserole. Mmm-mm, that's good ZCC.

[UPDATE: Da-da ended up serving corndogs and everclear. It was that kinda night. At least his quick-draw garlic press saw some action. In what? You don't wanna know.]

A Sunday Drink Recommendation

A Sinister Friday the 13th

In honor of my oldest son being left handed, I invite you to drink left handed on THIS, Int'l Left-handedness Day. It's also Friday the 13th, so no tool use, please, southpaws. (Lefties have more accidents, statistically, as 99.5% of tools are designed by and for those damned right handers, but you probably already knew that.) That said, here are some lefty facts:

1. Left Hander's Day was started in August 13 1976 by Left handers International.
2. About 7 percent of the population is left handed.
3. Lefties are also called "southpaws".
4. In twins, there is a high tendency for one to be left-handed.
5. 1 in 4 Apollo astronauts were left-handed.
6. 4 of the 5 original designers of the Macintosh computer were left-handed.
7. Left-handers usually reach puberty 4 to 5 months after right-handers.
8. George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama are all left handed. Ronald Regan was left handed too.
9. Pablo Picasso, Isaac Newton, Leonardo Di Vinci, and Michelangelo were also left handed.
10. Right handed people tend to use the left side of their brains more. Left handed people tend to use the rights.
11. Left handers tend to adjust quickly to seeing underwater.
12. Right handers tend to chew food on the right side, left handers tend to chew on the left side.
13. Albert Einstein was left handed. He also had three testicles.
14. Left handed people who have higher I.Q.s tend to have an I.Q. of over 140.
15. In some cultures it is impolite to touch your food with your left hand (because they wipe with it).

[link]

Ok, I'll add one:

16. Lefties are always telling you that they're Lefties and forming international clubs at the left-handed drop of a hat.

Finally, for that one poor schmoe whose brain still works and wants to know why this Friday the 13th is, "sinister"... the Latin, "sinestre" means, "left handed." Yes, but can the steam engine do this:

Go, son.

GETCHERHANDOUTTAYERPANTS!!

So, my old friend, Trotsky -- not that Trotsky, the other one -- has called me a big weenie for having all my gray matter roasted in tasty woks in Chinatown by my two radioactive youngins, leaving my cranium an echoey blimp hangar. Sure, ok, his youngest is a piece of work, BUT I'VE GOT TWO OF THOSE. And not only that, they walk around with their damn hands down their pants 23/6. It's impossible to know just how many times I've ululated: "GET YOUR HAND OUTTA YOUR PANTS BEFORE I CALL SANTA." They are both, alas, just like their irrepressible Grampa Scotty, who has one hand in his pants at all times, the other hand cradling a singlemalt scotch. Ahh, retirement!

Vast Lifeless Plain Found Inside Da-da's Head

Welcome to Da-da's Brain, aka, "Cracked and Barren Land of Long Sign-shadow."

Years of Mr. Momming and child-screaming -- not to mention repeating the same phrases to children over and over again until they have no meaning -- have finally taken their toll: A Man Called Da-da has absolutely no gray matter left in his (a)trophied head. This came as no surprise to the good-natured bank holiday crowd in attendance for the unveiling. Indeed, the cranial deficit is apparently so great that Dr. John Parrot, Chief of Incomprehensible Brain Thingies at the AcmeVaporware School of Medical Oddities, has announced that the vast, near-extradimensional space will initially be leased for ten years to provide ample parking for the thousands of brilliant female researchers and real estate developers flocking to the (a)trophy cavity. From the press release:

"...and that's sans chicken. However, this is a prime site for studying what has traditionally been known as, 'Mommy Brain,'" said Dr. Parrot lounging on sand that used to feature the corpus callosum, "but this time, we get to study it from inside the head of a MALE who was silly enough to volunteer for the duty, what a sap. We'll also be doing tissue samples to ensure that building permits will be readily obtained for the inevitable theme park."

"We can't WAIT to break ground here," drooled Starbucks CEO, Ted Starbucks, vibrating in place after 50 morning espressos. "THIS IS THE BRAIN. BUT IT'S A WASTELAND! WHEEEEEEEEEEEE! Hold still, will you? Mommy, uh...?" After regaining consciousness, Mr. Starbucks later said that he was thrilled to bring an overpriced cup of coffee to an otherwise barren region.

Most pleased was real estate developer [redacted by Civil Order #BR263254], not to be confused with the man rumored to possess a uterus, though this has never been proven. "Besides the strip mall and casino and theme park, we've already broken ground on a new drive-in multiplex. There's all kinds of weird movies being projected in here all the time, anyway, so we thought we might as well charge admission." Giggling like a little girl, the developer later added that, apart from all the UFO landing pads, there was also lots and lots and lots of room for toxic waste disposal, conjuring lucrative long-term illegal contracts with the federal government.

Needless to say, we're all very excited, and the sound of construction equipment is (yay) drowning out the sounds of small children screaming. Long live progress!

Bet no one saw that one coming.

Currently listening to...

I'm just at the part where the cat starts gnawing on her face. Groovy!