Don’t crap in my sand pit
Well, the wife spent the weekend away with her girlfriends, pigging out on pizza and getting facials. Heh.
That meant it was a daddy-daughter weekend at home.
It was great. We ate lots of ice cream and watched Winnie the Pooh movies and made prank phone calls.
We played in the sand pit. Well, we tried, except there were a lot of disputes about whether the necessary planning permits existed to build the desired amount of sandcastles in the desired locations and D-Girl would frustratingly keep smashing them down as soon as they were built. She reckoned they weren’t up to the adequate building specifications. What would she know? I’ve built more sandcastles than she’s had hot breakfasts, Goddamnit!
We also formed a rock band called Don't Draw On The Walls, Monkey!
I was on electric guitar and D-Girl took control of an old classical guitar, playing it big bass style.
It was the little monkey’s job to count us in with the One-two-three-fours, but all she could manage was “One, two … one two ..”.
We tried to collaborate on a song about the sounds that animals make, but we got stuck with no answer to the line “But what sound does a turtle make?”.
It didn’t matter anyway, seeing as the band broke up shortly afterwards, due to “creative differences”.
To cut a story short, someone did a Pete Townshend guitar vs. floor impersonation and the living room got trashed.
Then someone got sent to their room.
Me.
So unfair.
Keep your dreams clear of the breakfast table.You flung cornflakes at my
treasured copy of Essential
New Zealand Poems, perhaps
saying you don't care for poetry
unless it is about
you, and flattering;
(Your mother is the same way).
Or maybe, seeing as your
little monster hands seem so
determined to claim my
pencil and paper, my creative tools,
you are in fact saying forget
this rubbish dad, one day I'll write
you sober words that will
fork lightning and dance in a green bay
(they will be flattering, of course)
and leave yours out on the cold
doorstep, mewing for a warm morsel.
(A bowl of cornflakes would be nice…)
You emphasise your point with another
teaspoonful of contempt.
The bib is off, it's
time to get down.
I went to a party on Friday night.
You know how there’s always that dork that actually turns up on time? That was me.Q: How do I know that I got drunker than I realised?
A: For the first time ever, me and my home brew "parted company".
Q: How do I now know that my home brew is stronger/more lethal than previously thought?
A: See previous answer.
Some of you are probably wondering what I look like.
Here’s a shot of my shadow instead:
It’s weird, but when I look at this picture, it makes me think of Golem from Lord of the Rings.
Or one of those weird-looking Abduct & Probe aliens...
