Wiipe Out

Here's one.

I guess…to be quite honest… I've secretly always wondered what it would feel like to be punched in the face. Hasn't everyone?

Well, let me tell you a little story.

I - got beat up - today. It was pretty bad. I haven't told many people about it. I'm kind of ashamed. My assailant got away with it. Plain and simple. And it wasn't in a dark alley…or some gloomy parking garage. Nope. It was much closer to home.

I got my face bashed in …this afternoon…by my 10-year-old son and his

WII

REMOTE

CONTROL!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, it hurt! It hurt like hell! He wasn't even boxing…he was BOWL-ing! There I am, my very first Wiixperience…. My son says, sure…I'll show you how to play. I said, cool, and there I am, strapping myself into the Wiimote, because believe me, I don't want an incident. I've heard the horror stories and seen the carnage. Just take a look for yourselves: Wii Have a Problem. I don't want to be one of those poor sons-of-a-bitches who inadvertently smashes in the flat panel because my weapon goes sailing across the room, right?

So I'm strapping in, sitting there on the sofa waiting with unbridled glee for my first Wii move, and Thomas says (famous last words)….you pull your hand back like this…and POW! Teeth-plastic-shit-gums-nose-lip-and some sort of cracking sound. I almost blacked out. I sat there stunned. Dang. My son just beat the shit out of me!

As I sat there moments later, with an ice pack on my FAT LIP… I thought…ya know what…here's the hypothetical we should all be asking ourselves. Seriously: If a hard plastic object is tightly bound to one's hand, what would happen when one's hand-remote combo then makes contact with SOMEONE'S FACE? Ooh, ooh, I know, I know! IT FUCKING HURTS.

Did I cry? Nope. Did I want to? Yep. Did I quit? Nope. I did not! I held my head up high, I strapped myself back in... I picked up my virtual bowling ball and got my ass kicked by a punk-ass kid.

Yep. Sure did. So suck it, ya'll.

Blogger's Block

Blogger's Block. Yep. I got it. I think sometimes I have no idea what to blog about. I don't always look back on my day and think of things that are blog-worthy. Maybe I'm not creative enough or maybe I just don't care. I blog like I write my plays...only when I'm in the right frame of mind, and apparently, that's equalling out to an average of one post per month. Is that enough? I suppose I could write about overflowing toilets and gas prices. Or politics. Or Britney. Who the fuck cares and I don't want to feed that machine. I might as well link right to TMZ, those mother-fuckers.

Ya'll, I just get tired of trying to find something creative to say.

Oh, here's one... is this blog-worthy? I've been very nervous about taking our new dog Cooper to the dog park. He's just so big and he doesn't have very good manners. And he pretty much tries to flatten all dogs he meets for the 1st time. But today, we finally decided to take him and I was SO proud of him! He played and ran and sniffed with the best of them. I watched him run all around the dog park, chasing a really cute black lab mix...back and forth and back and forth and then...WHAM!!! MY 85 POUND HORSE plows into this poor unsuspecting woman at 50 miles per hour (that's a modest estimate), lifting her OFF of her feet and sending her hurtling to the ground head-first into the mulch!

Holy.

Shit.

Talk about flattened. It took her five minutes to get to her feet. I felt so terrible. She had such a headache. Folks began to gather around and ask if we should call 911. I helped her to the bench, yanked my hoodlum up by his collar and bolted. Jesus Christ. What dog does that? I don't think I can show my face back at that park again. Cooper's on the list now. I just know it...the kid no one wants their child to play with.

I guess that was blog-worthy. Right?