New Member To The Mookified Compound

Look at how cute I am!

This is Gracie.  Officially her name is Sergeant Gracie Mae Lovell.  But we just call her Gracie.  She's a Yellow Lab mixed with Husky. And as I write this post, she's trying to lay on my feet... that is until I wrote that sentence, now she got up and decided to have food.  I feel she is just preparing me to go for a walk..yep, there's the singular scratch at the door signalling that I must do as I'm told before finishing what I want to do.  Just like a woman.  Speaking of women... here is proof of their craziness:



"I got it! I got it! Now what?"

Now I grew up with dogs all my life.  Gracie is the first dog I've had since leaving my parents' digs.  In all my life, the only dog I ever saw chase her tail, much less actually get it, was Odie from the Garfield cartoons and comics... until the other day.  I just assumed it was comedy on the part of animators, but it turns out this is serious real-life business.

Anyways... Last Sunday I was taking my boys up to stay the week with my parents, and the plan was to get a dog, Tucker, who had been getting nursed back to health at their local Vet hospital my mom clerks at.  It's a long story of neglect and malnutrition prior to them trying to save the dog.  On the day we were to go up, I get a call from my mom saying the dog was found dead.  Well, I had been set on getting my first adult-life dog for about 3 weeks at this point.  After doing some hunting, I found an ad on craigslist for Gracie, and she lived here in the Des Moines area.  Her previous owner had a life situation and had to find her a good home or turn her over to the ARL that same night.  So after a quick supper with my parents and saying good bye to the boys, my girlfriend and I hustled back to Des Moines to pick up this 4 month-old pup.  She's been either full steam ahead or napping it out since.

She only slowed down one day, and that was Saturday when we went back up to my parents to have her spayed and get all her shots, and then on Sunday bring her and the boys back home.  She actually rode in the car very well:

See me...I'm blond just like my new brothers!

 Oh, I was supposed to be in that seat back there?

I prefer the window seat.  Josh doesn't mind me using his lap!

The only thing about bringing Gracie into our home to really consider was The Colonel.  On night one he established himself as the top dog of the house, and asserted the difference in rank, him being an officer and her being enlisted.  As he went up to sniff her out, she moved behind a chair.  It was all over from there.  He chased her round and round the basement, him getting that puffy cat look and her running scared out of her mind with her tail tucked between her legs.  Gracie is scared of cats, and the Colonel took full advantage of his intimidation factor.  Only wish I had a video camera for that!  The basement is now been deemed solely the Colonel's territory.  He has another blue chair down there that he uses, along with the blue recliner in my bedroom he took over long before we moved into this place.  Gracie will now attempt to play assuming the "downward dog" position and trying to lunge forward a couple inches, but the cat mostly ignores her.  Unless he's in a corner, then he gets on his hind legs, hisses, and occasionally throws a couple jabs, and Gracie comes running for protection.

When outside, she is always on a leash.  She is getting better, but she is a puppy and can get distracted easily, whether its a scent trail, a moving bug, kids, people, squirrels, random sticks, trash... you get the idea.  Whenever she spies a bird on the ground, she does the classic "pointer" pose.  But she does do a decent walk along from time to time.  On the homestretch, she likes to reach back grab the leash in her mouth and give it a tug to let me know its her turn to walk me, and if I'm willing, she really loves to run along.  I don't know if that's just her thing, or the Husky side coming out.  While at my parents, who have a fenced yard, she was allowed to roam free.  At first she wasn't entirely sure what to do, but it didn't take long to go exploring.

She knows how to sit, lay down, shake, and hi-five.  I'd say she knows the STAY command, but it seems I'm not allowed to leave whichever floor we're on to go to another without her wanting to follow along...  She has grown attached to both my girlfriend and I, but she really seems to have bonded with me.  And with the Olympics on these last couple weeks, she decided to invent her own sport for us to participate in together.  I fell asleep watching TV one afternoon, as she was napping after a long hot walk.  I woke up to her having chewed a sandal, and now was trying to lick me to death.  So I got up, decided I would use the bathroom quick and then take her out for the same.  So I go to take a leak and I left the door open.  Hey it was me and the pets, so why not?  Well, she followed me over, stared at me, and then decided that her spot on the carpet in front of the bathroom was perfect to trying out her half of the "synchronized peeing" routine.  Part of me wanted to laugh, the other part wanted to cry, because I had to clean up.  That and we would've been penalized heavily on our synchronization skills since I was standing and she was squatting... We have a long ways to go if we're going to get that act into the next games down in Rio!

But anyways... She's the newest addition.  The Colonel tolerates her.  The kids love her, and she loves them right back...Josh even took her for a walk around the block at my parents.  And she seems to be quite attached to me and my girlfriend.  So I'm quite happy in how things worked out.  She got a happy home without going through the shelter system, and I finally get to have my own dog again!

And here is Gracie doing what I always wanted to do- fart on my dad!  She does me proud!!!!

Now I just need an official flag for the Mookified Compound...





My Niece's Senior Prom (along with some of my own idiocy)

Kristi and her date


This weekend, instead of taking the opportunity to rest and do nothing at home, I accompanied my buddy Stew in the limo he was driving his daughter/my niece and her friends to their prom.
Kristi and her other date. He was shared with another girl in the group
Given it was a special night for my niece, Kristi, I figured I would go ahead and use this as one of the very rare occasions in life to dress up. That and I probably would have been beaten to death by a 17 year-old girl and her mother. That is if my wife had even allowed me to escape without doing so, of which there is a 0% chance of happening. My wife understands the social implications and would not allow me to embarrass her or my niece by association by showing up in scrubby jeans and a greasy hole-filled t-shirt.

So Stew was the driver and I was tasked with being the henchman to keep all the little hormone-laden adolescent boys in check, as well as being the guy who operates the door for all these high school prom goers. We arrived at my niece's house just in time to walk into the tight confines of Estrogenville where the girls were still in the process of getting ready, along with some help from Lorri, Kristi's mom. My niece had no idea I was coming, and I sat in the back of the limo until we got there, and her dad went in and got her to bring her out to show her "a surprise he brought along". She seemed relatively pleased that I showed up.
Kristi with a very proud Mom and Daddy/limo driver

Eventually the boys showed up. Out of respect for my niece I decided to be nice. But not too nice. After all, as the henchman and uncle, it was my duty to murder any of these punks for even the slightest offense. Partially out of my natural protective nature, and partially because murdering high school boys is an area my resume sorely lacks. So I was torn when the boys appeared to be well behaved gentlemen throughout my time there.
I was supposed to watch over these young people, along with 3 others who showed up later

Once everyone was ready, we proceeded outside for some photos to be taken, and then off to the high school for some grand promenade march. All the couples went across the stage one at a time, announced by the principal, with names, parents, and random tidbits of information- some of it funny, some of it serious. All the couples looked very nice, especially my beautiful niece (and her date).

Once all the couples in our group were done, we decided to get the heck out of there rather than wait on every other couple to go through. We got the important ones out of the way. And it was as we were ready to leave that one of the random moments of moronism in The Mook's life occurred:

While Stew and Lorri waited on the kids to get out into the hallway, I decided to use the restroom before taking the drive over to another town for dinner. I saw the sign indicating a bathroom off the main corridor. I went in, and as I looked up and down the long wall all I saw were stalls. No urinals, merely sit down units. Now a normal guy would think twice about this, go back outside the door and double check to make sure he had the right gender's restroom. Not THIS guy. I merely stepped into a stall, lifted the lid and proceeded to alleviate my tiny woman bladder of its contents. In the middle of the process a lady walks in. I found it funny that she had come into the restroom I was using and snickered audibly, when she gasped at the sight of me. She asked if this was the women's room, to which I firmly and assuredly told her that it was not. She exits, and about 10 seconds later leans in the door to inform me that it IS in fact the women's restroom. I uttered something to the effect of "CRAP" as the sudden realization of my stupidity set in to my dense brain matter.
See? I can dress up, even if my wife says this picture makes me look fat. Plus, it makes for a stylish exit from the lady's room
As I walked out, I looked for the expected stare down from this lady to see just who the moron guy is that went into the women's room. I spotted her immediately, took a graceful bow, and made some comment to the effect that I apparently can't even read pictures. I have determined that the heavy bladder clouded my ability to see the silhouette of a girl in a dress next to the bathroom entrance. The room wasn't marked by words, but by these shapes of people. Stew and Lorri were a bit confused when I came out and took my bow, then noticed my social faux pas. To my credit, I did put the seat back down and took the time to wash my hands before leaving the little girls' room. The lady who had interrupted me, and another adult woman were quite amused at my idiocy. So I was glad to have provided a moment of frivolity that could be shared with perfect strangers, as well as all my friends who will read this.

But then we were on our way. We packed all the kids into the limousine, and set off for the Pizza Ranch for that nights supper. Even on prom night, it is weird to see the gender separation. All the boys sat on one side of the long tables and girls on the other side. At one point during our meal, I was having a discussion with one of the adults and did some pointing across the room in order to make a point. Something along the lines of saying if some guy went and tried to look down my niece's dress I would be able to spot it and kill him before he ever saw me leave my seat. Well, my finger ended up pointing right by my niece's head. She piped up and called me by my full first name. That name is only to be uttered when I am in trouble. As far as I am concerned, I was not to be in trouble with my 17 year-old niece at this moment. So I asked her in a very loud and plain manner if she had just cussed at me. One of the boys at the table saw the opportunity to jump in and flip her crap. I snapped my head in his direction and told him in a very quick but authoritative cracking of the whip to stay the hell out of it, and that it was a inter-family dispute. Not that there was a dispute, but I got my point across and he shut up immediately. I enjoyed the moment to flex my henchman status while being impressed with his quick nod of respect to his elder. It was nice of the young man to help me out with my ego, like that. Kristi then came over to my table and made me shut up. I failed to realize that even though she's not my daughter, she has me wrapped tightly around her little finger. I'm not sure how I got owned by a 17 year-old girl.
My Niece is a Diva and knows how cool she is!

After dinner we took the kids around to waste time until the dance started and we were able to drop them off and conclude our night. I have been told they had a god time, for which I am glad. It was nice to be there for one of those special events in Kristi's life, before she gets all grown up and lights out on her own entirely. And for her, I was even able to bear the wind and rain soaking me as I stood outside to make sure they all were able to get in and out of the limo as quickly as possible without any undue hassle. Diva or not, I still love her!


Clearly the girl knows how to have fun and enjoy herself!

And I sure hope she knows, as of this moment, she is the only girl (save my wife) that I would take the time and trouble to not only dress up for, but put up with a bunch of teenagers, and stand in the rain on demand, and anything else that might have been required to make sure her day and night went as perfectly as possible. She is after all the most favored of all my 17 year-old nieces, and can give me that special little look of hers that she knows full well can keep herself in only the best of my graces.

I'm Fat AND a Stupid Monkey

Buggy stayed home from school the other day as he was not feeling well. After work, my wife comes home, and in the process of conversation somehow the word short is brought up. I don't remember what exactly was said, but it seemed to be a shot from my wife at both Buggy and myself. So I looked the kid dead in the eye as he was in his mother's arms and said, "you hear that, Bug, you're short!"

Without even missing a beat he shoots right back, very matter-of-factly, "You're fat." The boy has a very dry sense of humor, and of course once a thought hits his brain, it generally comes right out his mouth. And to be honest, as dry and easily as it came out of his mouth, I'm not sure if this was his idea of a joke, or just a debative form of us shooting derogatory facts at each other. Either way, I was temporarily shut up, and of course his mother couldn't help herself and busted out laughing hysterically. Apparently she is amused by the fact that my boys are smart enough and bold enough to go toe-to-toe with their father. And apparently having missed school due to a stomach ache was enough for him to be feeling much better.

Generally I have a talent for sarcasm and a biting wit that usually keeps people in check around me. I have in the past used this very effectively against my wife. Yes, I am aware that this is not the best way to go about building a relationship, but it appears she is getting the last laugh via our offspring. It appears that the same gene that has allowed me to fake my way to a superior position has been passed on. I'm going to have to maintain my alliance with the Colonel to keep these kids in check and from usurping my power over the Mookified compound.

So yes, I am officially fat for sure now.

Last weekend the boys and I are wrestling around, like we do. Josh has once again wildly thrust himself in the unenviable position of being chicken-winged by me. Sooner or later we are going to have to get him to learn to focus. Too much of this power ranger/mutant ninja turtle flying around business has done in his ability to fight me effectively. Well, while I'm holding him at bay, Bug climbs onto the couch and prepares to challenge me while I have one arm occupied with holding his brother down. But he makes the mistake of leaving his arms at his side, laughing and announcing that he is about to make the leap from the couch and come choke me out. So I give him a little fatherly open-handed love tap on the cheek.

Incredulous he looks at me and exclaims, "You just slapped me like a stupid monkey!" and continues laughing his head off as he prepares to remount his attack. It took me two days to realize that I slap him like a stupid monkey does, in his mind. I thought I had slapped him, as he is a stupid monkey. But nooooo, turns out not only am I fat, I am also a stupid monkey. And this is currently his phrase of the week I guess. I called home early this morning to say hello to the boys before they left for school. After Buggy handed the phone to Josh, I hear "OW. You slapped me like a stupid monkey!" come over the phone from Buggy's mouth. I have a feeling "Stupid monkey" will be a key part of his vocabulary until he finds something new to entertain himself.

Yesterday I hit the RedBox and rented the movie Law-Abiding Citizen. It was an excellent movie. One of the Stars is played by actor Gerard Butler, the same guy who played King Leonidas in the hit movie 300. There is a scene in both of these movies where you end up seeing Butler naked as a jaybird from behind, showing off his butt. Well, I got up to get ready for work last night and my wife is watching the movie. Just as I walk in, that scene is on the TV. I made casual mention that I think Gerard Butler gets paid a good chunk of change specifically for showing off his rear end. And so my wife replies, a little too quickly I might add, "Yeah, and its a really nice butt!"

Nothing else to say to me, just enough words to let me know that Gerard Butler has a better ass than mine.

So I guess the moral of this story is that I need to start working out to sculpt my butt to look more like Butler's and maybe get a more enthusiastic response to its form; and to trim down the obvious fatness I have going on. And then, when time and money permits, I need either plastic surgery to correct my monkey-like physical features, or mental health treatment to get out of a monkey-like mindset.

Either way, I have a lot of work ahead of me!

My Sons Have Found That School Is The Easiest Way To Bleed My Wallet

I was pondering over the words of someone else, obviously a parent, that went something like this:

I wonder how it is a 6 year old can still be "starving" AFTER having eaten us out of house and home

It's an interesting thought, that I think we parents all realize, but because of its natural and constant occurrence from one generation through the rest of the generations, we never bother to really pay it any attention. More on the specifics of this later.

Within a month or two of school starting, and the boys both having equal amounts of money in their lunch accounts, I get a notice in their Monday folders that they are low. The oldest one, Josh, was not just low but negative in his account. It took me a while to think this over, and after having had a discussion with him, I found out he was taking some of the little extra "ala carte" items that cost him, or rather his parents (That'd be me and my wife), extra money, and thereby reducing the amount of lunches that can be bought before I have to go about writing another check to the local school nutrition department. So we got that straightened out...well mostly. I found out through the lady in the school office today that he still occasionally does this, but not everyday like he used to.

So I get home from work this morning and my wife tells me I have errands to run. Deposit a check from my parents into our account, and then write a bigger check for the same amount, plus our share to the school for the Spelling Contest Fundraiser. And also pick up some quarters for laundry, and also to write out checks for the boys' school lunch. On the Spelling Contest, I find myself torn.

First off, I am glad we have decent schools for the boys to go to in this district. However, on the flip side of this, I think the local PTC actually raises more money than this school gets funded by the government. Makes me wonder why I should even be paying for lunches regardless of financial ability, or school book fees, or any of that. It seems with all the fundraisers, the entire district's liability should just about break even before the FEDS and State Department of Education begin financial dispersal amongst all the schools. Well, this time around it is the Spelling Contest, and after a little work with his mother Josh goes and manages to get 50 out of 50 words spelled correctly. He got pledge money from both sets of grandparents on this, us, and one of my wife's cousins, and her husband. I have a lot of bills that could use that money, even though my share was only $25, which I have no idea how I let my wife talk me into this. My wallet is saying, "MAKE HIM MISS ALL THE WORDS!!!" My wallet is one cold-hearted individual, but then again he was made from a cow, so I'm sure emotions don't factor into his world. I try not to let them factor into mine, but my wife makes sure that I am overruled on this. Something or another about being compassionate and caring about my sons and their accomplishments, blah blah blah. In My Day...(oh dear sweet baby Jesus, I'm turning into all my older male relatives) our reward was spelling all 50 of those words right and knowing we'd done a good job and learned something. These days, its learning, some praise from mommy, and more money of daddy's going to the local PTC. I'm glad the boy is smart, and it shows when he pays attention and focuses like he did for this spelling contest. Confirms my superior genes of intellect can trump the wildly unfocused free-spirited genes his mother gave him. (Of course if you ask her, she'll blame that on me too. I of course will have already forgotten what the question was before you finish asking)

Now on to the lunch money. We got a bit behind over the month, partially because of some bills that came up unexpectedly, and partially because all these snow days they have had has thrown me off altogether. At almost $3 a lunch, EACH, it doesn't take long for them to eat through the money. And when they come home they are starving little boys, begging for more food like a couple of incarnations of Oliver Twist, only not as polite and timid about it. So I had to make sure to write the check big enough to cover the deficit I allowed to get racked up, as well as the remainder of the month plus a few days. Now, if you remember from before, Josh had his issues of taking extras...so he was always a few dollars lower in balance than Corwyn, because I had not re-equalized it as of yet. So I ask the lady to give me the deficit, and she writes down the figures for each boy. Josh was a little over $30 in the hole, but Corwyn was over $50 in the hole, for a total of $91 when all was said and done..just to bring them back up to $0 balances. So I wrote a check for $191 this morning. I was curious as to how the imbalance between Josh and Bug had occurred, so I asked. Corwyn can NOT keep a secret for anything. If anything comes into his head, it will come out of his mouth. However, we had heard absolutely nothing concerning him taking extras at lunchtime, and when asked about it, he denied it. Well, technically he wasn't lying. I was able to see the secretary's desktop screen as she brought up his records of lunchtime swipes and balances. And every other line had the word "BREAKFAST" (which is not included in extras with lunch, clearing him of committing any infractions of lying to us).

I found out that Bug is one of the staff's favorite little kids. He always comes right on into the cafeteria, all happy and smiling, and talks to everybody. And he has breakfast...a big one apparently, and eats everything. This all right after a short ride to school on the bus, which happens right after he eats breakfast AT HOME...a LOT of it. Then some classes and LUNCH. Then some classes and home to ask me for MORE FOOD! 3 full meals in less than 9 hours, and he is still coming home "starving".

Now I remember complaining for years about how the school never fed me enough at lunch...and then we finally got salad bar for all kinds of extras at no additional cost to us, with unlimited trips. I am pretty sure this school that my boys goes to offers the same amenity. Why they should be starving so much is beyond me. I mean if it was tater-tot casserole, or Chef's Surprise Leftover Day, I could see them maybe skipping the biggest portion of lunch and coming home hungry. But these boys get all kinds of good stuff to eat at school, and in a much bigger variety than we ever had. And the reports from staff say they both pretty much devour everything, barely managing to return the tray in the process.

Since having found out my youngest is a little scheister, and sneaking in extra meals, The staff is now well aware that there is to be strictly lunch with no extra items, and no breakfast for either of them. I can only afford to feed them all they can eat, or feed them some of that amount and keep a roof over their head. Both cannot be accomplished with the same amount of money that revolves in and out of my wallet. I was asked if we had applied for free or reduced lunch programs. I told them, and they verified the guidelines that say we need two more kids to qualify at our income level. I said I can make two more kids, but I won't be able to pay for them any better, even with free lunches and breakfasts provided.

I have learned a few things today as I wrote out checks for kid related activities:

Josh will punish me with his intellect. If he is slow on the uptake, it will cost me money for a tutor. If he is excelling, it will cost me money for the PTC. This boy better get a full academic scholarship to any college he chooses to go to!

Corwyn, is a sanguine little hustler. He charms the daylights out of people, especially all the women (who obviously don't realize he's playing them for his own gain), and gets stuff he isn't supposed to be getting, and no one knows the difference until its too late. Luckily Corwyn knows how to administer "face to face" (read here for more on that) so he can resuscitate my wallet in case he kills it. Most likely from extra meals at school. They think he's cute and adorable...all happiness and smiles. But I got to know that boy real well for the first 5 1/2 years of his life... He is something else. I'd blame his mother, but I'm sure there is overwhelming evidence stacked against me.

Assigning Blame For My Son's Sayings

Saying #1: Junk
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: Me
Rate of Saying: Everytime he and his brother fight, or he comes in contact with anyone for contact play purposes.

Unfortunately, it happened once when he headbutted his brother below the belt. My initial reaction was simultaneously trying to hold the laughter back (lets face it, hits to the groin are always funny unless it happens to you) and feeling sympathy. but when I opened my mouth the only thing that emerged was the admonishing statement of telling Buggy "Don't hit your brother in the junk."
And ever since then, the concept of hitting one in the junk, replays in his head over and over again. If he crawls onto my leg to latch onto me, any movement and I hear him state so eloquently, "Oh, Dad, you just hit me in the junk!"
He's overly dramatic, and I believe is actually looking for excuses to just say the word "junk" in reference to his groin. This is of course the boy who would stand outside on the sidewalk, and in an awkward attempt to amuse his father, and punch himself down there and then laugh....repeated several times, because apparently his activity overrides my authority to tell him to stop doing that.

Saying #2: Nipples
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: I HAVE NO IDEA!!! (seriously)

The other evening, prior to supper, Buggy and Josh are wrestling. Josh was getting hot, so he goes to take off his sweatshirt. Buggy, in mirrored emulation starts to take off his single t-shirt, and loudly and boldly proclaims, "OHHHH, So you want to show off our little nipples, huh?!"
He has mentioned his nipples in the past, and continues to occasionally mention them still- again, despite efforts of both myself and his mother to tell him to quit talking like that. And again, his "fun with vocabulary" is still overriding any parental authority.

Saying #3: Payback
Culprit: Buggy (yes again, its always him)
Blame: again, I have no idea where it came from, although this one saying I'm okay with him using.

Everytime Josh gets the better of Buggy when wrestling, or takes the kind of random cheap shot out of nowhere, like siblings do from time to time, Bug is insistent on paying it back. I've heard the statements come forth in various forms:

1. "Oh that's IT, Josh. You're going to get the payback now!"
2. (When Josh is still in wrestling mode and Buggy can't get the upperhand) "You're
NOT playing fair Josh...you need to come here and turn around so you can get your payback!"
3. "Dad, Josh wont let me give him his payback!!!"
4. (as he and Josh are in the middle of grappling, and it looks more like a bear hugging anywhere on the body contest) "You're gonna get it, you're getting payback! I'm gonna give you the payback you deserve!"
5. "But Dad, after I was going to choke him out, he flipped me and stepped on my arm. He needs Payback!"

Saying: For no reason...
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: I think this preface for any excuse is biologically rooted into the DNA of every kid. Kind of like the answer of "I don't know" whenever asked why they did something.

This particular saying is usually accompanied with my cat, The Esteemed Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, having peeled back ears, wild eyes, and a twitching tail. He gets a little worked up sometimes. And usually right about the time I here the words "for no reason" I also see the Colonel lunging at Buggy and try to dig claws into his torso and eat him.

The cat goes through severe mood swings....sleeping and full on Pscyho Killer Kitty. If Buggy is running through the house, and the cat is in one of his moods, he may well get chased by the cat as he streaks on by. Of course Buggy is encouraged by this, and baits the cat into doing this two or three more times. If the Colonel becomes bored, he does what cats do best: Make it quite clear they aren't going to even bother feigning interest. But then what does Buggy do in return for the snub? He goes up and starts patting the Colonel on the head, or back, or pet his belly. This is a very dangerous maneuver during the Colonel's wild moments of the day. But, since I do it, you know, to TRAIN the attack kitty, apparently buggy thinks he's as much or more of a man than me, so he can do it too. But then the Colonel leaps at Buggy and tries to eat him. Then those words, "Colonel is trying to attack me FOR NO REASON", and thats when it happens. Unfortunately, I never have a video camera ready to go, because it is quite the humorous sight to see.

Random Observations of Localized Events

First off, Ninja Kitties. Might be an even bigger threat to us than headless chickens. Not sure, but President Obama has personally assured me that he will have a team of researchers look into this. Now I know what you're thinking. President Obama and I don't exactly mesh politically, so why would he have personal conversations with me? Well, there is one really good explanation for that. I am a really really important person. My self-importance was so overflowing that it seeped out into the real world. President Obama realizes this, and has determined, through the use of well placed mobile teleprompters that my input is actually valuable on a global level to the point of conducting useless threat assessments of unverifiable and illusory entities. Anyways, back to ninja kitties...

While on the job, I pulled around to the back of the parking lot at St Luke's, to scan my babysitter strip, which can verify that I actually went to this place instead of just saying I did. I pull up about 5 to 6 feet away from the light pole that the strip is on. As I open the door, a flat-faced, fat but mean looking kitty backs away from the pole itself by about 5 to 6 feet. It stares at me, just licking its chops repeatedly. I approach the pole to scan the strip and I look down and see a lifeless squirrel laying in a depression behind the pole. Neither the evil ninja kitty or the squirrel were there on my previous stop almost 2 hours prior. The ninja kitty gave me my room, but showed no signs of fear. He just stared me down, still licking away at his chops in some sort of OCD-like manner.

Now, being in full Rent-a-Cop battle rattle, I had no fear of this kitty, ninja or not. I turned away and walked the 5 or 6 feet back to my car. I closed the door, and I looked back towards the cat. But Ninja Kitty was GONE!! I walk back to the pole and the squirrel...ALSO GONE. This was by no means a small squirrel, He had been plenty healthy in the girth department, and quite long. I wouldn't call the squirrel fat, but he was definitely husky, maybe big boned. Removing him from sight with no sound or sign of removal is quite a task. Either Ninja Kitty is one helluva ninja, OR....there was an entire squad of ninja kitties waiting in the tree branches above and in the treeline at the edge of the lot. All I know, is I saw a squirrel, and then I didn't see a squirrel. Spooky stuff, those ninja kitties!

THE TALK READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED HERE for mature material and sexual undertones

So my wife has been busy all year bullying me. She wants me to give "the talk" to my 10 year old son. There are a few problems with this. A- My mom of all people attempted to give me the talk. I ignored it in favor of the current sitcom on TV at the moment. Gave her a few "yeah yeah"s and "I know"s. B- I don't have clue one how to give 'the talk', and C- its my son:

God love the boy, but he is definitely still in the "girls have cooties" stage, and he pretty much doesn't notice girls unless they are playing in the game of tag with him. And he definitely doesn't notice girls as anything other than "not boys". but either way, they are going to have the "health class" sometime this school year where they tell boys about the changes and stuff. The girls get their own. I personally back in my day, would have preferred to pay the admission to that show. It has to be clearly more interesting than speaking about my stuff in medical terms. Besides, I had already seen my own stuff. Not much interest in staring at it.

So, my wife takes the youngest to the grocery store and suggests that TODAY WILL BE THE DAY YOU TALK TO THE BOY!...I had very adeptly pushed this talk off since she learned the class was coming and didn't want the school to be the one to introduce him to the subject.

So the talk was pretty bland. "Look, you are gonna get hair in your armpits at some point," I tell him. I am informed he knows that already. Fantastic, one idea down. Tackle the easy stuff first, then move on to the more delicate stuff. "And your stuff," I continue, "You're gonna get hair down there too" His response is "EEEWWWWW". I comforted him in the knowledge that none of us are pleased with that development, but that in fairness, women get hair down there too. Again with the "EWWWW" followed by a bit of cackling. As with most things, it seems the idea of bad stuff happening to other people is funny. Even if it sucks when its you as the victim, you'll still laugh at other people's expenses. Just the way our hideous minds work. I informed him, that as a blond it may not be so bad for him as it is for say, me, a darker haired individual Then I informed him that his stuff would also get a bit bigger. Again with the cackling. Clearly this is still beyond his maturity in comprehension. Hell its well beyond MY maturity in delivering the information. we weren't going into the sex talk yet...thank god...I may have had a stroke and died if I had to go there with a 10 year old. But, I still had to go way further than I wanted to. I had to explain that he will be going through hormone changes...he will begin to get funny feelings about girls where he actually starts to like them. I was greeted with a confused look, another "EWW" and a bit of nervous cackling to boot. Well, I think to myself...at least he isn't asking technical in depth questions that will task my abilities here. I would honestly rather be caught in the middle of a gunfight than deal with this. Hell I'd rather explain the technical details of what's going on with a newly lobotomized-by-gunfire brain laying in the street next to us in the middle of said firefight. I proceeded to explain the developing nature that kids his age only know as "the pre-morning pee" phenomenon, and how it would happen randomly from time to time, and not just for peeing. I explained that this is normal, and not to worry about it. He laughs some more.

If I were being graded on my ability to give this lecture, I assure you, not only would I get an "F", but I would be permanently banned from applying for any instructional position again. WOOF! was I glad to get that over with. Anyone want to volunteer to take the BIG talk with the kid for me?

So, on a related note, Buggy, our youngest clearly gets crushes on the pretty women. I'm pretty sure his teacher falls in that category. So, somehow or another, the nature of the conversation gets focused onto the oldest one, you know, "giggle at hair on YOUR private parts, but disgusted by it on his own" boy. Somehow his mom asks him if he likes any girls in his class, or any other class or whatever. He continues to look down and deny things. Oh, we grilled him for the better part of 15minutes as he attempted to deflect the conversation away from him with the ever clever "What question?" when asked to answer a question. It has been determined as I mentioned above, that he barely recognizes a girl as anything other than "not a boy". It turns out, none of he and his other guy friends even talk about the local chicks in the school yard. these kids these days....they are either smarter than we were, or not as mature in the ways of adult life at that age as we were in my generation.

Hell, I had a girlfriend when I was in the 2nd grade. She didn't know it, but yeah, she was my girlfriend. I walked her home from school once in awhile since she was going my way. I of course had to deny liking her when the older boys come around. Don't want to let her think she's got me locked down. I was 8 and a happening dude, gotta keep my options open, ya know. When her family moved away, I was heartbroken. Probably the most devastated guy I knew. Even made me cry in front of my mom. That only made things worse. Heartbroken and humiliated. As a man, crying in front of women, mom or not, was just unacceptable. I'm sure I had to change into superhero underwear to console my manhood after that moment. Either way I survived. And of course, all us guys were talking smack about who we liked, and what we'd do with those girls. Yeah, we really were studs. Strip down to our unds, turn on the 70s porn music and watch a kid who had no idea what to even do if he got there, try to put the sexy moves on some chick.

When I was 6 I had the biggest crush on this lady named Marlee. She was a friend of my aunt and mom. Ran into her at some party or get together or something at my aunt's house while we were out in California. I found Marlee, and then I was just talking my head off, finding ways to impress this older woman. She didn't know it, but she was my girlfriend at that point. She had replaced the babysitter who lived at the end of the block, I had left back in Iowa for a couple weeks. Yeah, I was quite the little Casanova. So good at my game, that I could occupy her time all afternoon and keep her from the rest of the adults...she was enamored with me, I know it, but in the end, I had to tell her t let me go. I had to go back to Iowa and elementary school and stuff. It was definitely better for her that we end it there, and let her find a man 'more deserving' than me. Yeah, I know, who is more deserving than me, but I know how to let a chick down gently. You have to, their gentle hearted creatures, and you never know what kind of psychological things might go on in their head if you mess them up too bad!

Then there was Junior high. I was informing my son, who didn't like any girls in his grade, (after asking him if he liked the 6th graders instead) informing him that its okay to go after the older chicks. Mentioned how I had a junior high English teacher, Ms. Forbes. She was beautiful, and I almost mentioned a highly touted and admired portion of her female anatomy, before I cut myself off realizing I was still talking to my 10 yr old son. My wife was just about ready to cold cock me to keep me from continuing on down the path of THAT story. But yeah, ALL the guys thought she was the hottest teacher we'd ever met. And of course, more stories about how we'd do things to her, and she'd be all flattered by us. Yeah, we were clearly trying to bat way out of our league. Not that it mattered. She was an old fashioned teacher. You know, one that doesn't go around sleeping with her students, like all these young ones do today that keep showing up in the news and on courtroom dockets across the country. Damn shame too. I would've wooed her with perfect grammar, and then well...you know, be a stud and all that stuff....just as soon as I found my superhero underwear.

But yeah, back to the conversation at the table with the boy. I tried all kinds of ways to trip him up in his own words. Now I have broken this boy before, and made him admit to his lying ways. He hates being grilled. I even told him about how we 'tortured' Noriega in Panama before him surrendering to U.S. forces, and how I could adapt that here until he gave up the girl's name that he likes. But he held strong. One of two things is going on here. He is either learning how to use the force properly and withstand my interrogations (not likely) or he really has a bona fide non-interest in the women folk at this point. And as far as I'm concerned, as his dad, I'm okay with that. Let the boy wait longer than I did, and I'll be happy.

More from the Black Hills (SD pt 3)

The Needles Highway, a scenic byway that loops through Custer State Park area of the Black Hills. A few very narrow tunnels are long this route that only allow one vehicle through at a time, from either direction. I tried to get a picture of that, giving you a visual idea of just how narrow I really mean, but for whatever reason it just wouldn't be accepted when I tried to upload it. A couple of the pictures show the "needles" formed by rock giving the area its name. And then there is the picture of me WAY out on the rocks. It was a difficult treck with a lot of deep crevices between rocks to get that far...even more difficult trying to get back up and out of there. Then you also see the boys and I where we had scaled a rock outcropping. See? Men and boys are both really simple. Give us some rocks, and nothing else, and we are perfectly entertained. When my wife told the boys it was time to move on they were disappointed, especially Buggy who hates to let go of a good thing. Secretly, I was a bit miffed as well. Like I said...simple.




I got a picture of my wife and the boys in front of Mt. Rushmore. This was their first time in this part of the country, and here at the national monument. If you look REAL close at this upward shot of President Jefferson you'll notice he didn't get his nose cleaned out before posing for his portrait in rock. Nevertheless, Mrs. Jefferson was disappointed that it turned out too big to take back home to hang up in the parlor. She was particularly impressed with Mr Borglum's work.

Cooties and the Mass Female Gender Problems Associated Therein

By Dr James I (my alias), Senior Advisor of Life Sciences (made up title), James Medical Institute (Grand illusion of my mentalities medical research school)

Description: A short summary of the results concluded from my seminal (can't say I've ever been able to use this word in any of my writings before) work on Cooties research (my specialty).

Body:

Cooties is an inherent trait of the Human race, genetically passed on to each generation ensuring influence over certain biologies and psychologies of 100% of the human race.

I have identified that while all humans are carriers of this disease, full blown cooties infestations only affect a certain percentage of the human race. For those of you playing at home, take out a piece of scratch paper and take note. Draw out the male chromosomal representation as Xy. Now, take that same symbol, and on the lower right side, extend the short line of the 'y' to make an 'x'. You will notice this extra 'tail' is where the cooties gene lies. You will also notice that when you do this you make "XX" or the chromosomal representation of a female.

Clearly this is indicative that why all humans are carriers of the Cooties gene, that only females seemt o be infected, with some exceptions. In certain chromosomal anomalies such as XXY, there may be certain biological differences in anatomical structure. But this person would be truly infected with Cooties. Now some may argue that the XYY would merely be a carrier. But we here at the James Medical Institute disagree. In order for the body to maintain this chromosomal imbalance the second would have to be stacked on top of the other Y and flipped upside-down, thus making an alternate form of X, thereby showing definite signs of cooties infection.

Cooties, while thought to be a made up disease by young children, is in fact real. You can know this by simply looking up the word in the dictionary. And yes, you will see it is a body louse, according to definition. However, unlike most louse, who appear on the surface of the human body, this one is bloodborne and thrives on the internal body structure for its life.

This parasite, obviously affecting anatomical structure noted by the physical differences between males and females, is not the only havoc it wreaks upon humanity. As noted, certain psychologies are affected, and most differences associated with gender, from an early age on up through adulthood for the entirety of life can be in fact attributed to The Cooties Factor.

Scenarios and Causal Determinations:

- Hatred of getting dirty by girls: Cooties
- Avoiding P.E. Class in High School to avoid getting sweaty by girls: Cooties
- Inability to comprehend that male counterparts can indeed be thinking nothing: Cooties
- Emotional outbursts for no apparent reason: Cooties
- Necessity of mass amounts of pillows on a bed when not in use: Cooties
- PMS: Cootie
- Inability to comprehend basic logic and its use to solve everything: Cooties
- Anorexia and Bulimia: Cooties
- Need for expensive things, and Compulsive Shoppers' Disorder : Cooties
- Need for being held and emotional verbiage from the men in their lives: COOTIES!
- Getting pelted in the mouth by a snowball by a hysterically laughing young boy of the same age: Cooties

These are just a few mere examples of the many thousands we have uncovered in our decade of research that are linked directly to the infestation of full blown cooties. Scientifically speaking, men who later develop the ability to speak girly stuff like their emotions out in the open, or those who wish to be a woman, and SOME homosexual men have been identified in our research as having moved from simple carrier to having been fully infected by cooties.

Cures for Cooties:
None. However, Cooties vaccines are being developed as this is written. so far, they are only good for 6 months. We are hoping soon to break through to the once a year cooties shot, and eventually to a permanent vaccine which can be injected into the fetus in order to hopefully eradicating cooties altogether. Of course, careful measures will have to be taken to avoid eliminatng girls from the human race in the process. Sooner or later those girls turn into women. And all non-cooties-infected men love women.

Result of this study's official publishment: Possible death to the author from a certain someone he knows that is obviously riddled with cooties.

An Update From The Colonel

From The Desk Of:

Col. Beauregard Sterling Lovell, Mookified Army, Feline Brigade, Commanding

Well, it has been awhile since we last updated all you humans on the state of affairs within the feline world. We have, as most of you know, completely and totally eradicated the terrorist fleas in our protracted War On Pests ('07-'08)

With the weather getting colder by the minute, our other small enemy forces have died off. Besides that, catching flies and eating them became a rather dull activity to pass the time.

Christmas is coming up and the General's wife put up the annual Christmas tree, complete with their stupid decorations. I like to call this thing, The Curiosity That Almost Killed The Cat. I have successfully attacked candy canes and random artificial tree branches, and managed to escape prior to a swift death blow from the wife.

Fecal matter manufacturing production rates have gone down for unknown reasons. We have engaged ourselves in a fiber intake exercise by eating cardboard boxes, random pieces of paper, and other such items in order to keep the General from getting into a slower relaxed routine when it comes to cleaning my catbox out. Recently, the General's youngest son, Private Bug The Terrible had out a Santa Clause Coloring Book. I ate part of it, right along the spine, essentially dissembling the books structural integrity. Served the little punk right. He's always harassing me anyways.

After many instances of psychosis from the child factors running rampantly about the place, I have taken to luring the general and his wife into a false sense of security. I cuddle up on their lap and act all loving with them. This lets down their guard for when I choose to sneak attack them and bite their toes, or attack loose pieces of their clothing. It really is entertaining. And since they wont let me outside to wage preemptive war against other undesirables such as the rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks and birds, this is really my only option.

They have banned me from my practice of patrolling the perimeter of the upstairs neighbors' deck, and running rampantly through the hallways awaiting some poor unsuspecting child to let me sneak out the door when they come in. It really is a shame, and they will pay for this eventually. I do know where they sleep, afterall.

I have learned how to manipulate the General as it is, for my own amusement. It seems one of his previous cats used to make him escort the cat to the food dish and pet him in order to coax eating. I could eat on my own, but it sure is funny making the General cater to my wants, and walk me to an obviously full food dish. It really irritates him, which pleases me of course.

Nothing else to report at this time.

Sincerely,

Col. B.S. Lovell

My Son Follows the Footsteps of Celebrity Justice

Above you will see my youngest son, Corwyn, who will be 5 on Christmas Eve. If you look at his forehead, you will see a very large goose egg he received Sunday morning.
He is smiling here, but shortly after receiving his medal of boyhood, he was a soggy crying mess, in much need of his mother.

I had come home from work, and the boys were watching a movie in the living room. I went back to my bedroom to change out of my uniform and exchange communications with the wife. I heard the boys start horsing around. I am not one to tell them to stop their wrestling, as I encourage them to experience their boyish nature, within limits anyways, and have even been known to encourage it in a not so subtle manner.
Well I never heard the thump, but I surely heard the wailing crying, along with the older brother calling behind him "I'm sorry...I said I was sorry."

I'm really beginning to get irritated with the word "sorry". The oldest, Josh (age 9 1/2), has been using this word A LOT lately. Way more than he should be.

Anyways, Corwyn comes busting in the room, bawling his eyes out, and a noticeable lump on his forehead. He was obviously to shaken up to tell us what was going on besides something about "Josh threw me (unintelligible)"
Josh immediately went into his repeated incantations of "I said I was sorry." Apparently in his mind, this makes everything all better automatically. Kind of like celebrities these days. No matter what you do, say you're sorry and go to rehab, and everything will be okay!

When asked what Corwyn hit his head on, Josh started off with some story, surely trying to find a way to spin it as he spoke to make hiself seem in a slightly better light than reality might suggest. For those of you who know me well...I don't like a sotry when I'm asking a question that only requires one word to be answered. Amazingly enough, even my wife got irritated with his not answering the questions as directly and efficiently as possible. I say amazingly, because she is just as, if not more guilty of the narrative story to any question, even a 'yes or no' typer question. I'm pretty sure Josh got his way of answering questions from her. I'm convinced its genetically passed on. After finding out that Corwyn hit the wooden chair in our living room, then we got the fuller story. Just so you know, I'm fine with the filler material, AFTER my question is answered! Anyways Josh told us they were wrestling and he sort of threw Corwyn into the chair where he smacked his head, but (wait for it)..."I already told him I was sorry." He said it so matter-of-factly, as though that mere statement was the solution to his very recent fuax pas. (He even used it as an excuse for a friend who had kicked him off a slide the other day, finishing off with, "but he said he was sorry, so its okay.") He was sent to his room, after being assured that uttering a saying wasn't the key to ending his problems.

While I applaud him taking a lick like a man, and not making too big a deal out of that physical malady, I think somewhere along the line, he was convinced that apologies solved everything to the point of no further consequences. Worse, I can't even figure out where he learned that from, because it surely didn't come from his mother or me, and I don't recall him watching any TV programming with that kind of message in it.

If you wonder why their isn't a picture of Josh in this post, well, it's because after apologizing, we quickly sent him off to rehab. He should be back in 6 weeks! We're just sooooo proud.