Yeah, it’s almost 1 am and I have to wake up at 6:15 to get to the lumberyard. My boss, Mr. Johnson will humiliate me with his usual Wednesday morning request to wipe his ass with my tongue. I’ll do it, because seeing Mr. Johnson happy is the only thing that makes me happy. Well, that and hearing via Facebook/Twitter/text message that you’ve had a bad day. When you head out to your car after catching an afternoon showing of The Hobbit and see that someone’s keyed it, please let me know, because unlike you telling me you’ve just asked your girlfriend to marry you, that news will put a smile on my pimply face.
So I spent the better part of last week trying to find my fucking camera. Knew I’d used it over the Labour Day weekend at a local fair. Took the youngling there for some fun happy times. We did have a good time, but several carnies upset me. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a run-in with carnies and I doubt it will be the last. The carnies were condescending. Now, I’m Dave f’ing Barnhardt, and while I don’t expect the carnie world to know that, I still think my 36-inch waist and 45-inch tit-line deserve more than an average level of respect. So while trying to find the camera, my paranoid brain went through every possible scenario of the carnies managing to sneak the camera out of my pocket…
I have to digress because I just thought of a shining example of how I’m a terrible parent. On the same day we went on that Labour Day festival outing, we also went to a playground in Port Colborne. The youngling was enjoying the splashpad there, then went for a jaunt on the non-moist playground. I watched him do several dangerous maneuvers on the equipment that he saw the older kids do. I advised him not to and he advised me that he didn’t care what I thought. So I went and sat on the bench, all the while tracking him with my eyes, which I also assume constitutes “parenting.” I then remembered that there was an eBay auction for some much needed vent caps for my gas can collection that was ending soon. I dialed up eBay on my Blackberry and saw that there was only a minute left to bid. I went to bid and was asked to log in. It rejected my password. Tried again and got rejected again. I really, really wanted those vent caps. During my third attempt to log in I could swear I could hear the sounds of my son crying in the distance. I stood up and began to walk to where I saw him last. As I approached a strange woman holding my crying boy, I thought I should put my Blackberry back in my pocket so that she wouldn’t see that my negligence was due to a $2.50 eBay auction. She said, “Did you see him?” I said no, giving her a simple answer to her stupid question. She explained that he’d been walking across the top of a tube that he should have been inside and he fell off. I took him and consoled him and thanked the stranger. As I walked away, she yelled after me, “Um, he didn’t fall directly on his head. More like his shoulder.” I thanked her for the in-depth medical diagnosis. A brief lecture about doing something he shouldn’t have and I set him off to play on the swings. So there you go. How bad a parent am I? That bad. I’m that bad.
… so I could only imagine that the carnies in their carnie basement apartment were all sitting around eating heads of lettuce and laughing uncontrollably about the fat, four-eyed loser whose camera they’d stolen. I was losing sleep over it. And then Friday came along. I took my work laptop bag out of the cupboard so I could fill it with my lunch for the day and was struck by how heavy it was. Checked the front pocket and wouldn’t ya know it, there was the damn camera.
Since I know I have a large carnie following here, I must apologize to you all. You’re still terrible people, but clearly didn’t have the sack to retaliate for my poor attitude and I wrongly accused you. I win, I suppose. I need this. I’ve been losing a lot lately, in life and otherwise. Not on the scales. That’s all gain. From April to August I could see my dick, but it’s slipped behind the gut fat mountains. Wherever you are, dick, please write and tell me how things are going. Judging by the smell of things it would seem you’ve happened upon a dead body, which I pray is not the case.