I thought I was the only one that would ever consider selling his children.

I’m glad I’m not the only one.

I ran into this post on eBay (it’s not a baby auction), but unfortunately, eBay removes their posts after a while, so I’m copying it here and also linking to the author’s blog, Mom2My6Pack.  

I’m selling a bunch of Pokemon cards.  Why?  Because my kids sneaked them into my shopping cart while at the grocery store and I ended up buying them because I didn’t notice they were there until we got home.  How could I have possibly not noticed they were in my cart, you ask?  Let me explain.

You haven’t lived until you’ve gone grocery shopping with six kids in tow. I would rather swim, covered in bait, through the English Channel, be a contestant on Fear Factor when they’re having pig brains for lunch, or do fourth grade math than to take my six kids to the grocery store. Because I absolutely detest grocery shopping, I tend to put it off as long as possible. There comes a time, however, when you’re peering into your fridge and thinking, ‘Hmmm, what can I make with ketchup, Italian dressing, and half an onion,’ that you decide you cannot avoid going to the grocery store any longer. Before beginning this most treacherous mission, I gather all the kids together and give them “The Lecture“.

“The Lecture“ goes like this…

MOM: “We have to go to the grocery store.”

KIDS: “Whine whine whine whine whine.“

MOM: “Hey, I don’t want to go either, but it’s either that or we’re eating cream of onion-ketchup soup and drinking Italian dressing for dinner tonight.”

KIDS: “Whine whine whine whine whine.“

MOM: “Now here are the rules: do not ask me for anything, do not poke the packages of meat in the butcher section, do not test the laws of physics and try to take out the bottom can in the pyramid shaped display, do not play baseball with oranges in the produce section, and most importantly, do not try to leave your brother at the store. Again.”

OK, the kids have been briefed. Time to go.

Once at the store, we grab not one, but two shopping carts. I wear the baby in a sling and the two little children sit in the carts while I push one cart and my oldest son pushes the other one. My oldest daughter is not allowed to push a cart. Ever. Why? Because the last time I let her push the cart, she smashed into my ankles so many times, my feet had to be amputated by the end of our shopping trip. This is not a good thing. You try running after a toddler with no feet sometime.

At this point, a woman looks at our two carts and asks me, “Are they all yours?” I answer good naturedly, “Yep!

“Oh my, you have your hands full.”

“Yes, I do, but it‘s fun!” I say smiling. I’ve heard all this before. In fact, I hear it every time I go anywhere with my brood.

We begin in the produce section where all these wonderfully, artistically arranged pyramids of fruit stand. There is something so irresistibly appealing about the apple on the bottom of the pile, that a child cannot help but try to touch it. Much like a bug to a zapper, the child is drawn to this piece of fruit. I turn around to the sounds of apples cascading down the display and onto the floor. Like Indiana Jones, there stands my son holding the all-consuming treasure that he just HAD to get and gazing at me with this dumbfounded look as if to say, “Did you see that??? Wow! I never thought that would happen!”

I give the offending child an exasperated sigh and say, “Didn’t I tell you, before we left, that I didn’t want you taking stuff from the bottom of the pile???”

“No. You said that you didn’t want us to take a can from the bottom of the pile. You didn’t say anything about apples.”

With superhuman effort, I resist the urge to send my child to the moon and instead focus on the positive - my child actually listened to me and remembered what I said!!! I make a mental note to be a little more specific the next time I give the kids The Grocery Store Lecture.

A little old man looks at all of us and says, “Are all of those your kids?”

Thinking about the apple incident, I reply, “Nope. They just started following me. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

OK, now onto the bakery section where everything smells so good, I’m tempted to fill my cart with cookies and call it a day. Being on a perpetual diet, I try to hurry past the assortment of pies, cakes, breads, and pastries that have my children drooling. At this point the chorus of “Can we gets” begins.

“Can we get donuts?”

“No.”

“Can we get cupcakes?”

“No.”

“Can we get muffins?”

“No.”

“Can we get pie?”

“No.”

You’d think they’d catch on by this point, but no, they’re just getting started.

In the bakery, they’re giving away free samples of coffee cake and of course, my kids all take one. The toddler decides he doesn’t like it and proceeds to spit it out in my hand. (That’s what moms do. We put our hands in front of our children’s mouths so they can spit stuff into them. We’d rather carry around a handful of chewed up coffee cake, than to have the child spit it out onto the floor. I’m not sure why this is, but ask any mom and she’ll tell you the same.) Of course, there’s no garbage can around, so I continue shopping one-handed while searching for someplace to dispose of the regurgitated mess in my hand.

In the meat department, a mother with one small baby asks me, “Wow! Are all six yours?”

I answer her, “Yes, but I’m thinking of selling a couple of them.”

(Still searching for a garbage can at this point.)

Ok, after the meat department, my kids’ attention spans are spent. They’re done shopping at this point, but we aren’t even halfway through the store. This is about the time they like to start having shopping cart races. And who may I thank for teaching them this fun pastime? My seventh “child”, also known as my husband. While I’m picking out loaves of bread, the kids are running down the aisle behind the carts in an effort to get us kicked out of the store. I put to stop to that just as my son is about to crash head on into a giant cardboard cut-out of a Keebler elf stacked with packages of cookies.

Ah! Yes! I find a small trash can by the coffee machine in the cereal aisle and finally dump out the squishy contents of my hand. After standing in the cereal aisle for an hour and a half while the kids perused the various cereals, comparing the marshmallow and cheap, plastic toy content of each box, I broke down and let them each pick out a box. At any given time, we have twenty open boxes of cereal in my house.

As this is going on, my toddler is playing Houdini and maneuvering his little body out of the seat belt in an attempt to stand up in the cart. I’m amazed the kid made it to his second birthday without suffering a brain damaging head injury. In between trying to flip himself out of the cart, he sucks on the metal bars of the shopping cart. Mmmm, can you say “influenza”?

The shopping trip continues much like this. I break up fights between the kids now and then and stoop down to pick up items that the toddler has flung out of the cart. I desperately try to get everything on my list without adding too many other goodies to the carts.

Somehow I manage to complete my shopping in under four hours and head for the check-outs where my kids start in on a chorus of, “Can we have candy?” What evil minded person decided it would be a good idea to put a display of candy in the check-out lanes, right at a child’s eye level? Obviously someone who has never been shopping with children.

As I unload the carts, I notice many extra items that my kids have sneaked in the carts unbeknownst to me. I remove a box of Twinkies, a package of cupcakes, a bag of candy, and a can of cat food (we don’t even have a cat!). I somehow missed the box of Pokemon cards however and ended up purchasing them unbeknownst to me.  As I pay for my purchases, the clerk looks at me, indicates my kids, and asks, “Are they all yours?”

Frustrated, exhausted from my trip, sick to my stomach from writing out a check for $289.53, dreading unloading all the groceries and putting them away and tired of hearing that question, I look at the clerk and answer her in my most sarcastic voice, “No. They’re not mine. I just go around the neighborhood gathering up kids to take to the grocery store because it’s so much more fun that way.”

So, up for auction is an opened (they ripped open the box on the way home from the store) package of Pokemon cards.  There are 44 cards total.  They’re in perfect condition, as I took them away from the kiddos as soon as we got home from the store.  Many of them say “Energy”.  I tried carrying them around with me, but they didn’t work.  I definitely didn’t have any more energy than usual.  One of them is shiny.  There are a few creature-like things on many of them.  One is called Pupitar.  Hee hee hee Pupitar!  (Oh no!  My kids’ sense of humor is rubbing off on me!)  Anyway, I don’t there’s anything special about any of these cards, but I’m very much not an authority on Pokemon cards.  I just know that I’m not letting my kids keep these as a reward for their sneakiness.  

Shipping is FREE on this item.  Insurance is optional, but once I drop the package at the post office, it is no longer my responsibility.  For example, if my son decides to pour a bottle of glue into the envelope, or my daughter spills a glass of juice on the package, that’s my responsibility and I will fully refund your money.  If, however, I take the envelope to the post office and a disgruntled mail carrier sets fire to it, a pack of wild dogs rip into it, or a mail sorting machine shreds it, it’s out of my hands, so you may want to add insurance.  I will leave feedback for you as soon as I’ve received your payment.  I will be happy to combine shipping on multiple items won within three days.  This comes from a smoke-free, pet-free, child-filled home.  Please ask me any questions before placing your bid.  Happy bidding!

Check her blog out. She’s quite sarcastic. The kind of person I would love to hang out with, except the fact that she has 6 kids, so obviously, she has mental problems. 

Fucking shit! There’s a gay bathroom code?

“At 1216 hours, Craig tapped his right foot. I recognized this as a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct. Craig tapped his toes several times and moves his foot closer to my foot. I moved my foot up and down slowly. While this was occurring, the male in the stall to my right was still present. I could hear several unknown persons in the restroom that appeared to use the restroom for its intended use. The presence of others did not seem to deter Craig as he moved his right foot so that it touched the side of my left foot which was within my stall area,” the report states.

Craig then proceeded to swipe his hand under the stall divider several times, and Karsnia noted in his report that “I could … see Craig had a gold ring on his ring finger as his hand was on my side of the stall divider.”

Karsnia then held his police identification down by the floor so that Craig could see it.

“With my left hand near the floor, I pointed towards the exit. Craig responded, ‘No!’ I again pointed towards the exit. Craig exited the stall with his roller bags without flushing the toilet. … Craig said he would not go. I told Craig that he was under arrest, he had to go, and that I didn’t want to make a scene. Craig then left the restroom.”

You want to know why this scared the living shit out of me? Cuz sometimes when I’m taking a dump, I tap my fucking foot!

This is fucked up! Gay people can’t just make up rules out of their asses! Especially if the code is something simple like TAPPING YOUR FUCKING FOOT WHILE TAKING A DUMP!

This will make me paranoid. Next time I’m taking a dump, I’ll be so self conscious about not tapping my foot that I won’t be able to dump anything.

What’s next? If you hear someone reading a newspaper in the stall next to you, will that might mean that he wants you to suck his dick while he’s reading the sports section?

Jeez… At least make these gay rules public so that straight guys can be more careful with their dumping in public restrooms.

We often discuss movies at work. One of the biggest controversy lies around Titanic, one of the highest grossing movies ever.

This movie was supposed to be about Titanic and its historical tragedy. However, it’s simply another fucking gowey love story with the sinking just a background scenario.

Why do I say this? Every time a chick watches a movie 5 times in the theater and cries every single time, IT’S A FUCKING CHICK FLICK.

Let’s see how original this movie is:

• Rich girl is engaged to rich guy
• Rich girl falls in love with charming poor boy
• Rich girl is told not to see poor boy
• Rich girl sneaks out to see poor boy
• Poor boy bangs the hell out of the Rich girl
• Rich guy finds out and frames poor boy for a crime he didn’t do
• [Sausage Filling]
• Poor boy somehow ends up with rich girl

Sounds familiar to you? If it does, it’s probably because it’s the same shit as every other goooey love story. Fuck this!

And on top of this cookie cutter plot, they added:

• Poor boy gives life for rich girl

Double fuck this!

Even the director agrees with me that this movie was supposed to be a love story.

From Wikipedia:

Cameron described a love story as the most engaging part of a story.

And what about Titanic placed in 37th in AFI’s list of the top 100 Love Stories in American Cinema?

I’m disappointed. Titanic reminded more of a Dr Phil episode than a James Cameron movie. Can someone please explain Cameron what Bone and Disown means?

In quick words:

• Guy meets a hot chick
• If guy bones hot chick, the guy disappears

That’s nature. It’s in the Urban Dictionary.It’s law.

Now let’s see why this movie is so silly.

• Guy meets hot chick
• Guy bones the hot chick in less than a week.
• Guy falls in love and gives his life for her

Huh? What happened here? Did James Cameron grow a vagina?

Personally, I was glad when that fucking boat started sinking.

My second son was born last month and I spent 2 weeks at home helping out.

Worst 2 weeks of my life.

I should have learned from the first one that this wasn’t going to be easy.

I guess I lucked out with my first one. My mother in law was around to help. Not that she really helped that much, since she was only around for 30 days, but at least I didn’t have to do the dishes. My first son was an angel. He was a good sleeper and we didn’t have problem feeding him. That’s probably why I wasn’t expecting the second to be so tough. That was foolish thinking.

Don’t take me wrong. I love my kids (the second one too), but I have to thank eBay for not allowing baby sales. Otherwise, I think I would be back to having 1 kid again by now.

I also had a countdown that I had to reset. I have it hidden at my computer (for some reason the wifey think it’s mean). It was down to 15 years and 11 months, but I had to reset it last month, bringing it now to 17 years and 11 months to go. For the idiots that still didn’t understand what the countdown was for, it’s a countdown till they reach 18 years, when I’ll be able to be free again.

But let me get back to the point of this post. Why do we keep making the same mistakes over and over? Why do people have 2, 3 or even 4 kids? Some wackadoos even have 5 or more. Some crazy fuckers out there. This also raises more questions:

• Why do we keep doing keg stands and chugging beers at our company bbqs year after year, even after promising not do this again in the previous year with that hangover the day after.
• Why do we keep doubling up our bets in Vegas even after having lost the last 10 hands?
• Why do we keep voting for Republicans (this will be a subject of a future post - requiring an IQ test to vote)?
• Why do “chicks” keep dating losers (another subject of a future post - the Romance Myth)?
• Why do we keep banging “tanks” even after we promise not to do it again after we banged the last “tank” and had our friends laugh at us for a week?

It’s because we have selective memory. We can’t remember (or don’t want to remember) the bad things. Only the good.

If in 9 out of our last 10 trips to Vegas we had lost $500 in each trip, but had won $2k in just one of those trips, that’s the trip we would remember and keep us going back. Selective Memory.

That’s why we will always bang “tanks”. Because we always forget the shit our friends give us for doing it and only remember the “good” part (ugly broads will do anything for you in bed).

Last weekend I finally watched 300 and I loved it. Awesome flick!!! Great photography, great action, ancient military tactics, cheesy honor lines and sex scenes. Everything a geek would want in a movie.

I work with several geeks, one of them being a huge Lord of the Rings nerd and that’s what prompted this list.

So without further ado (aka bullshit), here are 8 reasons why 300 was much better than LOTR:

1. No midgets in the movie.

For some reason, midgets freak the hell out of me.
Whenever I run into one, I have to control myself to not stare at them.

2. No Vulcans in the movie.

Every scene with an Elf, I kept waiting for captain Kirk and Spock to show up.

3. The hot chicks didn’t have pointy years.

It felt less bestial lusting after the sexy drugged Oracle or the slutty Queen than to lust after those Elves.

Come one… Girl with cat years or barely legal drunk girl? Easy choice.

4. People actually die in the movie.

Unlike Lord of the Rings where a handful of people kill an army of Orcs and still live to tell the story.

5. There ain’t no fucking talking trees.

6. No gay love.

What the hell was up with Frodo and Sam? I couldn’t tell who was pitching and who was catching. Could as well have named the movie Brokeback Mordor.

And I’m glad I’m not the only one to think that way.

7. No sausage filling.

One hour out of each of the 3 movies was about hairy big footed midgets walking.

8. It’s not fucking 10 hours long. 

Isn’t it obvious that “cats” can’t code? If you still can’t see why a kitten can’t code, then I’ll explain it to you:

Coding is representing algorithms in a way that computers can understand. These algorithms generally have a specific purpose (to create an application), like retrieving data from a database and presenting it on a web page, processing some crazy requests from a user or transferring funds between 2 accounts. Often you need to use hundreds or thousands of algorithms together to produce a fully functional application. These algorithms require a high level of logical and procedural thinking.

It is a part of Engineering (Computer Science) and much like Electrical, Civil, Mechanical and all other Engineering subjects, “pussies” are not well adept to it. Why? Here’s a list of reasons:

• Engineering, specifically Software Engineering (coding) requires a lot of analytical thinking. “Cats” are naturally emotional creatures and it’s really hard for them to think logically when they’re crying and wondering why their date last night haven’t called them after 72 hours.
• Aesthetics are a factor in an application, but writing good code is mostly based on solid architecture and implementation of optimum algorithms. Cats are vain creatures. Dogs lick themselves because they’re stupid and cats lick themselves because they like to stay clean and look good. “Pussies” tend to overspend precious time on the design aspect of the application instead of thinking of optimum algorithms.
• “Pussies” don’t follow orders. You tell a dog to fetch something, he’ll go running and drooling to fetch whatever fuck you tell him to fetch. A “cat” will look at you with that annoying smirk and long whiskers and ask “what’s the magic word?”
• “Cats” have mood swings. Sometimes they like you, sometimes they don’t like you. They might come to work in the morning all happy, meowing and writing average code, and all of a sudden their mood change and they growl at the monitor and hiss at the mouse for some unknown reason known to most men (for some reason, “pussies” think guys can read their minds and have the duty to know what the fuck they’re thinking).
• “Pussies” are not good in math. If they were, they wouldn’t go over the limit on every credit card they own.

For the reasons above, the only “pussy” I would ever hire to code, would be a Vulcan “pussy”.

In addition to the reasons why they can’t code, here’s another reason why we shouldn’t hire “pussies”:

• Engineers (guys) are generally horny geeks and managers should be careful with PETA lawsuits. It’s not funny when you have a meeting with the legal counselor of your company because you have a rogue engineer dry humping the only “pussy” in your department. Companies have a similar problem with women and sexual harassment lawsuits.
  Unlike “pussies”, women are a race I respect and I think they should be able to code [*cough* Sorry, I think I’m catching a cold], so it might be worth the risk for a company to hire a girl.

Unfortunately I haven’t met a female coder yet, so I’ll let you know when I meet one.