Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Happy Birthday to Me

As you know by the red circle you probably drew on your home calendar, today is the first anniversary of this blog. I have come a long way since I first hooked mother's uterus up with Wi-Fi, and in many ways I already miss the anonymous life I had built for myself in the womb - especially the mini-putt course. Now I am photographed, followed, and besieged for advice and that's just from Chris Simms and the McCown brothers.

I was skeptical at first, but his blog allows me to communicate more directly to you, my masses and minions, about the priorities of my future reign and defend mother and father from baseless attacks. Not to mention the platform it affords me for publishing the truth about the Umlaut and her wallet/father-stealing ways. I must admit, I do not mind the added convenience that the blog lets me multitask. Guess during which sentence I was typing and made doodie. Your move Shiloh, you harlot.

So thank you to the citizens who have participated in the great conversation this blog has begun about if my future rule will be magnifisensational or grandeurilous (trademarks pending). Your unflagging support of Father has sustained me throughout, and makes me think of you less as citizens to be ruled, but rather citiznes eager to be ruled. Maybe we are not so different after all. Even though only one of us poops fabrege eggs.

Growth Note: My taint actually t'is.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Eli Manning Made A Wish

Citizens, you must be beside yourselves with concern over how a single competition that was supposed to be so handily won by the favorites could result in surprise, horror, and tears. And I say to you that I will not rest until a thorough investigation into the ongoings in the Real World/Road Rules Gauntlet III is complete - or at least the season finale. You might also be curious as to how Father's Patriots of New England posted a lower score than the New York/Jersey Giants. I will reveal the truth to you: it was for charity.

You see, there is an organization dedicated to making wishes come true for children who are truly suffering. In this case, that (man-)child was non other than Giants Quarterback Eli Manning, who endures a critical condition of being unable to breathe through his nose. Father was made aware through secret backchannels (I told him with my mind) that were familiar with his previous work with those who experience the same ailment. Eli's one wish was to win the Superest of Bowls and prove to his father, mother, and oddly named siblings Cooper & Peyton that he is capable of equal achievements.

He also wished he could keep his shoulder pads on.

So Father, being the benevolent master of all that he is, decided instead to play the role of frustrated immobile Quarterback who appears at times both over and underwhelmed by the experience of being on the cusp of football history. To be honest, I imagine it was not hard to feign disinterest; after producing me, what is the value of winning 19 games in a row? He is responsible for genetic perfection personified that will one day breathe lifeforce into all creatures. Oh yeah, but 19 games of football is really important. I consumed 19 jars of strained carrots in a row, but you don't see me bragging do you?

Growth Note: My burps are arranged and covered by the London Symphony Orchestra

Friday, February 1, 2008

Not a Face for Radio

A radio station in New York had the preposterous idea that wearing masks in mother's image would "psyche out" Father. The link can be found here, but I will warn you that it may crash your computer browser; No man made machine is equipped to handle the beauty and radiance that a simple picture of mother produces. Nothing could be further from the truth. It will "psych UP" father, propelling him to throw over 50 touchdowns in ONE GAME. Mother's visage transcends the meaning of beauty - it reveals the soul of mankind, holds secrets of ancient civilizations, and is drenched in a love that can only be found in the ceaselessness of ocean tides.

It is the kind of rare elegance that makes Helen of Troy look like a fatty.

In the end though, I think it wise NOT to wear a mask of mother at the game or in the normal course of your everyday life. I had toyed with the idea of implementing this mask as a mandatory face-uniform for all future citizens of my rule, but grudgingly realize it would cause near paralysis across the globe - as people would fall to the ground weeping constantly - moved to tears in an emotional catharsis that existence of a higher power has been revealed to them. Shit, science might come to a complete halt at the revelation that destiny, fate, and a creator of man all exist. I believe that would be unwise, as I have much use for science at this time in my life. For example, Science Friday on NPR is great for nappies.