The ground hurts my feet.
These new shoes be sweet.
Just until I can get to my seat.
People bleat. Time to eat.
Everyone must Pay
We’re on the way.
Is my show on today?
People bleat. And then they pray.
What’s on your iPod?
Can’t hear you. Smile and nod.
It can’t be fraud. Feet, ears, and eyes are shod.
People bleat. It must be God.
Credible knowledge floods print.
A handy brain stint.
Arriving places. Where we went?
People bleat. They’re being sent.
Shepherds watch the flock at night.
Waging the War on Fright.
But the accommodations are tight.
People bleat. And say goodnight.
Going places hurts the pockets.
Look, he’s got a private rocket.
Don’t even get me started on the sockets.
People bleat. They won’t stop it.
Who will be bought when all are sold.
Where’s the gold?
Do what you’re told.
People bleat. Few are bold.
More Loss is More Gain.
Use this! to get that stain.
People bleat. Ignore the pain.
Sick in the heart.
Don’t upset the cart.
Pay attention to the chart.
People bleat. Don’t get smart.
The Dulling of the Sheen.
It’s your fault. Live Green.
Check out the new brand, it’s Tween.
People bleat. End scene.
Mislead. Not a lie.
The anti-drug gets us high.
Don’t be pessimistic. Don’t cry.
People bleat. Then they die.
Friday, October 12, 2007
The ground hurts my feet.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Except for the "It's a girl" part. I'm so screwed (not kidding).
There was a flash of disappointment when the technician blurted out the verdict. The velvet shell of my hopes that a massive package would blot out all else on the sonogram machine were crushed by tiny white lines and then dashed to pieces on estrogen shoals.
I may be overstating a bit.
The disappointment tried to keep speaking. "Now you won't be able to do all of those cool things that Dads are supposed to do--like tossing around the old pigskin, fighting, finding the best deal on a quality hooker, gambling, and/or being awesome in general. You know, GUY STUFF.
[insert sound of vinyl coming to a screeching halt, ala anti-drug PSA--Just Say NO, kids] What!?
Disappointment is an idiot. I never "toss pigskins" (unless, of course, I'm in the mood to embarrass myself).
As for as the other stuff....
Having a girl that can fight may be even cooler. They'll never see her coming. I won't have to threaten and intimidate prospective young men, I'll just have to make sure she's well versed in eye-gouging, tearing out thoraxes and hearts with a mighty Eagles Claw*, and testicular maiming. But I think I will go ahead with the threats, intimidation, and outright violence of my own, just because it will be a good stress reliever**.
*We'll likely start with the Wu-Tang style. Because it ain't nuttin' ta fuck with.
**Tip of the hat to BG for the naming suggestion, "Abstinence Bildergerg"--Awesome
Finding quality hookers? Ummm, Nein. If hookers get anywhere into this mix it will mean that something has gone horribly awry.
Gambling? She will terrorize poker tables, that felted land where the thoughtful and tenacious female can clean house. Thoughtful and tenacious are obviously the key things here and would apply to either sex, but more so when applied to the fairer of the two, I think.
Being Awesome, in general. I don't see that this will be too difficult. The likelihood that I'll be declaring it constantly is pretty high. At least, it will be up until the screaming and crapping everywhere begins its downward pressure on the sanity of the household (which happens pretty quickly, I hear) .
Things are as they should be, I figure. After all, I don't so much toss around pigskins. I cook and clean and hell, who am I kidding? I'm a walking talking Home Ec. class (do schools still have that? I doubt it, you know, now that sexism has been eliminated along with racism and the great many other -isms we are now At War with). There's not a damn thing wrong with knowing the importance of a good crease and why 'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter' should be met at all times with scorn and derision.
It's not what I desired, to be sure. Even so, being informed that she is healthy, with ten fingers and ten toes, I'm sure that it will be all I could ever want.
(Yes, I know. And then some.)
(Also, for the record: When I paint a beard on the baby, it does not mean that I am pining for a boy and am unable to get over it. It's because drawing beards on babies is fun and awesome, in general.)