OK Magazine is Subtle

Gaze into the dark puddles of mystery and tranquility that are my eyes. Or choose another adventure into the flawless serenity of mother's face, and be transported to a place where meadowgrass shuffles lazily, as if the wind itself was running its fingers through it. Or just notice how I flipped the bird to the Umlaut in my first photoshoot (well, the finger right next to it anyway - which means the same thing but can't get you spanked for it = double awesome). Check and mate, Umlaut. How I roll.

Image from OK! Genetic perfection from Father & Mother

As for OK Magazine's title: Life Without Daddy, I admit it was my suggestion. You see, my eventual earth-rule must be built on a foundation of existing praise. So it is in my best interest (and therefore yours) to see that Father and Mother are appropriately recognized. However, if we went with my first suggestion, "OBEY" it wouldn't sell many magazines, and might be too direct. Instead OK! magazine and I agreed to put in a headline that would still sell on news stands and grocery stores, and would also promote my rise to power. If you rearrange the letters of LIFE WITHOUT DADDY you get:

THOU WILT DEIFY DAD

The man is already a walking God, but it would be nice to make it official, wouldn't it? Although the argument can be made his latest pass to Uncle Randy supplied all the evidence needed to prove his superiority to all mankind.

By midafternoon, I expect this picture will be framed and put in a place of honor in most homes across the world. I've been told the Smithsonian has dedicated a wing to my future school pictures. Those pictures of George Washington were played out anyway.

Growth Note: The lines of my palms predict YOUR future

Tainted Titles, My Taint!

Forgive me future subjects, but I must use the space to briefly defend Father, Uncle William, and the rest of the New England Patriots Orwellinization from vicious lies, mistruths, and accusations that surely approach libel. As you no doubt have heard, petty teams and others who have been conquered by Father and Uncle William either on the gridiron or their marriage have conspired to convince the public that the team has been cheating by stealing the signs of their opponents' defensive coordinators. I assure you citizens of the world, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation:

The signals were given freely to the Patriots.

Don't you see? How do you congratulate a man for breeding pure excellence? How do you pay him a compliment worthy of his raising the world's next great savior? How do you honor his achievements both real and those still locked away in dreams? You cannot. But you can, as many do - turn your life over to that man, and submit to his benevolent rule. This 'taping of defensive signals' was less a case of espionage and more of a ruined surprise "video scrap book" meant to be presented to Father upon his 4th Induction into the Hall of Fame; a life-in-review of the many defensive calls he thwarted through the channeling of his own inner excellence, while demonstrating his merciful vanquishing of opposing defenses. But, no - you asshats out there had to ruin the surprise. I hope you're happy. You are the kinds of knuckledraggers who dip their balls in the punch at parties. Once I am crowned, you shall feel my wrath. But for now I will protest by throwing these footballs into space. Take THAT! and THAT! and THAT and THAT and THAT! I think I've made my point.

Zis punch! It haz a fameelyar flavor!
It reminds me of ze strangers I zervice in taxicabs in your American Zitees!

Growth Note: My muscle fibers support more pounds per square foot than the world's largest suspension bridges.