About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

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Tuesday, December 21, 2010

So I have these children, on which I inflicted upon myself

Hi There.

It's been a while since I've appeared, and even though no one has miss me, I apologize 17 times for disappearing. The last section of my existence has been somewhat of a warted sort of thing, and I have been seeking a salve to help cure my life skin affliction...

...but sadly, that hasn't happened.

It is 4 days before some fat guy that we all used to believe in is supposedly going to somehow enter my chimney-less home, and bestow magical toys and gifts upon my 8 year-old and 4 year-old offspring...the spoutage of my loins, each one having either the gift or the curse of my DNA, my habits, my mistakes, and hopefully a little good as the continue to grow like the failed grass in my back yard.

Now don't let this little soliloquy fool you into thinking that I wouldn't end my life to save theirs (even though, at least for a 1/2 a second, I'd consider sort of letting the proverbial dice of bullshit fly, and hope I don't see either of them crap out, but more than likely, yeah, I'd do the worm buffet for the boys if it meant they'd go on, and well, forget about me in a few years..."dumb ass should of just just played craps). I love my children a great deal, believe me. I have put myself in probably 10's of thousands of dollars in debt, of which I can no longer pay, to make sure that they have the illusion of what was once some white person called "The American Dream." (On an aside, I read an article the other day about how "White Middle Class Americans" way of life is dying slowly. So, the Black (wait, I thought I dropped that many a blog ago, but for the sheer sake that it's 1 am and I am lazy as hell, we'll stick with that Crayola Color), Asian, Latino, and whatever culture or race Middle class is, what, kicking that ass while those poor Caucasians are living, as they once said in the urban 90's, "phat.")

Sorry, I digressed a tad...I do that when I don't get my fill of "YooHoo", that tasty pureed bottle of duck shit that I used to like as a "yout" (Thanks Joe Pesci...where the hell did he go, anyway?)

Anywho, back to Frick and Frack, my two boys.

Well today, one of the two people that I'd consider "friend" came by w/her husband (who is so quiet, I think he was the reference point for that mouse in "The Night Before Christmas") to see us for their annual Christmas visit. It was a good visit as always, except for the fact that the 8 year-old show the appreciation of a dead man, when my dear friend presented him with a gift, as she has every year for his existence.

It wasn't because he didn't like the gift...no, it was because due to what was needed to use the gift (which was taken away as a ruse so that it could be sold and upgraded for a more modern gift to pursue his present interest in movie making) couldn't use it. From that point forward, he alternated between being an overbearing chatterbox, and, well, being a used condom discarded on some side street like when one is done with a hooker.

Yeah, that's harsh...but well, sometimes it is the most accurate way to describe his ungratefulness.

But wait...this isn't a tale of some spoiled bad boy, even though my wife and I have given him a lot, which was probably in error, especially over the past few years where our income has been cut 42% due to my lack of a paycheck.

This goes well beyond that...even though so-called "experts" (what the hell makes an expert, anyway? Someone who's lived it, even though we as human beings all have different stories, and it's impossible to pigeonhole us, short of being ultimately watching out for our own asses most of time?) say he is just a tad bit anxious. Now, if I had a father who constantly lost his temper due to his pushing his buttons, as well as, well, not having the patience for lack of logic (wait, 8 year-old's are supposed to be logical? What? Next thing u know u'll say that the media's coverage of the first Black President has been just like the 43 previous white guys before him...oops, different blog, check the past crap I've spewed), I'd be a tad anxious too.

Oh shit, I did have a dad who yelled at me continuously...damn it, it's just like bigotry...tends to be repeated throughout history.

Sad when the person in question knows that, yet he keeps doing it.

Hmm...not helping here, G.

Oh wait, forgot about the other one...the one who society has deemed "special needs." Now for the 1 or 2 people who read my rantings, my youngest has Downs Syndrome, and well, he's, um...how to I say this...

...can be difficult to handle sometimes.

You see, when he gets a little tired, he tends to...well...if you had a hot bowl of soup....wait, let's make it ethnic...look up the story of Al Green and the pot of Grits. Say the good Reverend (and legendary soul singer) was having breakfast with my youngest...and he didn't get enough sleep. Mr. Green is eating his grits, his eggs, and singing "Let's Stay Together", for no apparent reason.

Then the "tornado" hits (which would be my youngest going friggin' crazy, clearing everything off the table, and maybe, just maybe, that piping hot bowl of Grits is now all over the poor good Reverend's head), and now Mr. Green is now singing "Let my scalded skin which is falling off of me stay together" instead.

You never know it's coming. And sadly, beyond his age and his mental status, there is simply no way that either of his parents are skilled to reach into whatever Fort Knox type lock that is his brain and convince him things like this simply isn't a good idea in this current society.


So, you see my friends, I kind of sitting here like this. In less than 3 days, I will be sitting with "J-Bob Ungrateful Pants" tracking Santa on NORAD, watching him enjoy the gifts that his Grandparents, Uncles and Aunt will bestow upon him and his "Harry Houdini with the element of getting clocked by a butter-knife" mildly nutso (and yeah, I called my Downs Syndrome kid "nutso"; if you do crazy shit, don't care if u have a Coke and smile, I am calling you "nutso") brother. My wife and I will smile and give them the thumbs up, probably forgetting that between the end of this post and the moment that the wrapping is removed, they will do something shitty, stupid, and all around deserving of all their shit going on eBay to pay the electric bill immediately. At times, I truly understand why child abuse (note, I don't condone it, but I know why it happens to some folks who just can't take it) takes place all over the world.

Kids ask for that shit...the good parents just know not to give it to them, despite the partial joy you'd get from it.

So, on the actual day of Christ's birth, after my dear spouse is done being anally pulverized by her employer, we will repeat the process on Xmas night (and yeah, I shortened the name....no disrespect to Jesus, but the "X" is a cross, so hopefully he'll roll with it), and smile, take pictures, and say "Yay" as these two, despite the fact that they don't just deserve just coal, they need an entire bag of "Kingsford Match Light" in their stockings, under the tree, and shoved and lit in certain orifices due to their behavior (one due to DNA, the other, well, if I knew that, I'd b friggin' Freud).

But, we're parents. We are the people that have to say "Yeah, u're a prick/bitch/douche kid, but we brought you in this world, we love you, and well, we don't do prison foods very well."

The biggest goof that we play on ourselves?

We decided to say "let's stop having sex for fun and add to the populace."

I inflicted this on myself, as did my wife. And yeah, I search the used car ads for a Delorean, a stretch of road, 1.21 gigawatts of power, and the year 2001 when part of me would of told my partner once i arrived to my destination in the past, "Hell to the fucking no...I've seen the future, and trust me, it ain't cool...but we do get a black president though!"

Then, as all things in this underwear streak we call life, it will pass, these thoughts borne from the fact that my boys, as smart as they are, are really friggin' senseless.

But they're mine. And perhaps due to my own lack of good sense, I'd never go through with that Delorean purchase; Ultimately, they is, at times, more good in them than dumbass-ness.

Besides, Plutonium would be a female dog to find, and my credit score isn't the nearly 700 it used to be.

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