My Son, The Bigfoot Sighting

Please realize that the title of this post is not “My Son and The Bigfoot Sighting”. My son himself is a Bigfoot sighting. Note that he is six years old. This is an important contextual clue.

Herewith I shall describe the theorem thus presented. (I know the previous sentence may be grammatically or semantically incorrect. I don’t care. It sounds good to me.)

When my son is outside, he is nothing but a blur as he runs off to complete odd missions only his unknowable mind can understand.

My son is often hard to find, but traces of him are always prevalent. If I can’t find him I start by sniffing out horrible stenches. If he is not the immediate source of a particular stench, I follow odd footprints. My son often walks or runs in odd fashions with odd things on his feet. If the footprints peter out and give way to gravel or cement, I listen for the sound of something being smacked by tree branches. I can tell the difference between a tree branch smacking a tree, a swing, my shed, my lawnmower, one of my daughters, my house or my truck. All thanks to my Bigfoot sighting son. If the tree-branch-smacking-noise stops before I find him, I follow the sound of the unidentifiable screeching. It may be a distressed squirrel. It could be a kid my son smacked with a tree branch. Most likely it is just my son being himself.

My son is a Bigfoot sighting. He is unexplainable and often hard to find. When he is found, he is sweet and inexplicable. He isn’t Bigfoot, but he is the essence of Bigfoot. Not everyone knows he exists, but those who do are delighted to be among the chosen few who know him despite his stench, noises and the messes he makes.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…find Bigfoot in your everyday life. He is a philosophy more than a creature. As such, there is much he can teach us.

A don’t…squash the quirks of your children. Life is made sweet in through such oddities.


Books and Blessings

The ultimate goal of any writer is to be read and appreciated. Accolades are paramount. Money is secondary. If you write for that sake of writing, anyway. I would certainly enjoy a mountain of money. I fantasize about buying houses and donating them to families on the verge of homelessness. I want to spend the Christmas season with my wife and children spending thousands of dollars on Angel Tree kids. No kid deserves a present-less Christmas. I want to open a gourmet breakfast restaurant that cooks and serves the most delectable early morning treats and offers them to the surrounding community free of charge. I want to be a beacon for the homeless and destitute, offering hope on the wings of my writing.

I want to help.

I want my writing to be a catalyst for change.

Please visit the following link

Read the article. Buy my book. Support the publication of my 2nd and 3rd books while also helping the community around me. I realize the my community may not be your community, but if this becomes big enough, I will be helping every community I can.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…make your decisions based on the perceived quality of my work.

A don’t…forget how blessed you are if you have a home and a refrigerator with food in it.

Oh the Humanity of the Humanities: A Terrible Title for a Touching Post

Oh irony of ironies. As I opened what I thought was a new notebook to take notes on the Humanities class I just started (a class that studies the intricacies of human expression, I must add) I was greeted by a very simple, and yet sublime, human expression.

“Princess Sparklel (*sparkle) Farts”.

I haven’t laughed as hard as I did in quite a while. My wife laughed also. This one won’t go on the refrigerator though.

Her Majesty deserves a place of honor. She shall be framed in the finest dollar store frame and hung prominently upon our living room wall.

Although I don’t know the period during which the piece was produced, I can comment on the context.

Recently, my son ran up to me as I sat in the bleachers watching my daughters cheer a football game. He said, in front of God and everybody, “Let’s have a farting party!” I expressed extreme distaste in regards to my participating in such an event. My son promptly jammed his hand up his shirt and produced several armpit farts. As my son continued to squelch and giggle, I adopted a somber expression and sternly spoke his name. His farting party came to a screeching halt as he prepared to receive a reprimand. “Do you know what happens after a farting party?” He slowly shook his head. “People have been farting all night and, as they begin to leave, they find themselves parting farty.” A strange smile lay upon his lips and he uttered a half-hearted final giggle before running off to find his mother.

I had hoped to raise a family of nerds. Instead, it seems I’m raising a family of bodily function aficionados. They art about farts, for crying out loud.

I guess it’s ok. Their passion inspires in me an emotion that results in one of the more pleasant bodily functions: laughter.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…engage in farting parties. Not literally, though. Use it as a metaphor for whatever strange, and less disgusting, activity your children may wish to engage in.

A don’t…part farty. Just don’t.

Life Hacks: A Zombie Like Solution to a Common Problem

Do you have children? Are you middle-aged and mildly out of shape? Do you have young children who fail to understand your lack of energy and motivation?

I have a solution to offer.

It is common for young children to be born to middle-aged people. It is common for middle-aged people to suffer from lack of energy. This is likely due to our lack of exercise and good nutrition due to America’s obsession with science, technology and reliance on others to complete mundane tasks for us.

My kids love to play tag. This involves running. I haven’t been good at that since I didn’t re-enlist in the Army. I was barely good at it when I was enlisted. I’ve always hated it. I puked and whined and hoped no one would notice. I was anti-addicted to “runner’s high”.

I realized tonight that there is a way to play tag with your children without running.

I am proud of this “life hack” I have discovered.

When your children tire you out with a game of tag, simply change the game…

…to zombie tag.

All you have to do is extend your arms, shuffle your feet and moan disturbingly.

Not only does the moaning and slow movement help you regain your ability to breathe efficiently, your odd noises and movements will inspire laughter in your children, creating the illusion of fun.

Life hack win!

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…find lazy ways to interact with your children. They’ll appreciate your effort.

A don’t…eat their innocent flesh like a zombie would. Such would constitute child abuse.

Defeating Defeatism: Defeatist Attitudes and The Defeatist Attitudes Required to Defeat Them

I’ve often been guilty of courting a defeatist attitude. At times I take pleasure in shooting down every suggesting I’m given that may solve my problems. Ask my poor, frustrated mother. I’m likely the reason her esophagus has stopped working. Either she’s spent too much time trying to talk sense into me or she’s swallowed back so much irritation at my defeatism that it’s killed her throat’s will to help her stay alive by allowing her to efficiently swallow food. Sorry mom.

Anyway, I just realized that everything my mom told me is a lie. Perhaps this is the real reason for her esophageal failure. Her throat just couldn’t stand to pronounce anymore falsehoods. She has uttered such gems as “Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do or die.” Great mom! Let’s all be blind sheep, following a shepherd whether or not he or she has our own best interests at heart! Let’s jump off a cliff with all the rest of the bison. Let’s follow the rest of the cattle docilely into the slaughter house. Let’s question nothing and do as we’ve been instructed. Or how about, “Just eat those mashed potatoes that I spilled beet juice in. It all gets mixed up in your stomach anyway.” My stomach has no taste buds. Plus if it tastes bad going down, my stomach is less likely to digest it peacefully.

I’ve known these were lies for a while. Now I realize that her derision of defeatist attitudes is also founded on a falsehood. Of course, a defeatist attitude can be detrimental. I know firsthand how many opportunities can be missed if you refuse to take advantage of them out of fear or doubt. But without a defeatist attitude, how can you hope to defeat a defeatist attitude? You must have it in your mind to defeat your attitude if you wish to defeat it. This is by definition a defeatist attitude. So, if you can’t defeat defeatism without defeating it, isn’t there something to be said for defeatism?

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…defeat your defeatism. With a defeatist attitude. I suppose once you’ve defeated it, you’ll have the practice you need to defeat other negative things. All thanks to a defeatist attitude.

A don’t…defeat your defeatism too soon. Without defeatism, we might as well be like my mother’s bison who fail to question why yet still do and, usually, still die.

Little Jesus: Inadvertent Blasphemy or Innocent Worship?

This morning my son banged on the bathroom door as I was in the middle of my ablutions. TMI, to be sure. Forgive me. I quickly abdicated the throne to avoid a biological mess. I then activated the Wii and inserted a Mario disc to occupy my son as I put some finishing touches on my English Composition final.

My son is fond of a certain mushroom enhancement Mario can utilize to make himself miniscule. He screams “Look I used a smally! I’m so little!” He utilized this early today and chose a water level. In the course of his game, we realized that miniscule Mario can walk upon the surface of simulated bodies of water. I marveled verbally upon this fact. My son replied by screaming “I’M LITTLE JESUS!!!”

If you are anti-religion, you may not understand my quandary and may wish to stop reading now. This is ok. Believe what you want. I simply ask similar consideration in return.¬† If you are religious, or simply not anti-religious, I ask you the following question: Should I be concerned about my son’s eternal well-being?

I ask this because Mario basically has to do shrooms to do what he does. Does my son’s reaction indicate that he thinks Jesus did drugs? Or was he simply applying what he has learned to a modern situation? He is six years old. Likely this was an innocent expression of immature excitement in an increasingly electronic environment.

That blasphemy, though.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…present your children with unique situations. Their reactions can really make you think.

A don’t…discount religion. It is as important to adherents as non-adherence is to those who aren’t religious.

The Insolvent Joke -or- The Reason I’m Not a Standup Comedian

A couple of days ago was National Tell A Joke Day. I learned of this as I listened to the radio on the way to work. I felt that I must commemorate such an event, although it is a bit late. A few highlights from the holiday:

“What do you call a computer that can sing?…A Dell.” – Some lady who called the radio station

“What do you call a deer with no eyes?…No eye deer.” – Some dude who called the radio station

I’ve long considered a career in comedy. Although I rarely consider anything funny that isn’t also rather dark, I’m attracted to the idea of standing on a stage and saying stupid stuff for a living. Actually, I’d much rather be a sit-down comedian. Better yet, I would love to lay recumbent in a recliner and spout random banalities in between micro naps for a living. This will never happen due to my personal contributions to National Tell A Joke Day which follow this sentence directly.

A man went to interview for a job at a trucking company. After answering all of the typical interview questions in stellar fashion, the man was asked about his over the road experience.

“Twenty years.” The man replied proudly.

“You seem like a perfect fit for the position!” The interviewer exclaimed. “We’ll just need to make a copy of your CDL.”

“I don’t have one.” The man replied.

“No problem. We can get you trained. Can we at least copy your driver’s license?”

“I don’t have one of those either.”

“Is it expired? Suspended?”

“I’ve never had one.”

The interviewer; perplexed: “Then how do you have twenty years of over the road experience?”

“Well, for the last twenty years I’ve worked for Channel 6 news, flying the traffic-copter.”


The next joke may be mildly offensive. Skip ahead if you’re offended by references to Nazi Germany which, by the way, I whole heartedly do not support.

The stars in the night sky sometimes twinkle, but what did the stars over Germany do during Hitler’s atrocious reign?


Unfortunately, these cranial excretions are not enough to support any sort of comedic career. So, for now, I’m stuck in a dead-end job and fighting through college at 35 in an attempt to someday feel mildly successful.

I bid you adieu…and a don’t.

Adieu…appreciate bad humor. It’s somewhat better than, and sometimes inspired by, clinical depression.

A don’t…take offense to my Nazi joke. Hitler was a jerk and his regime was egregious. I only wish I could’ve been a part of the effort to end his maniacal, murderous tyranny. Much respect is due to my grandpa and every other person who served in WWII or supported the war effort in any way.