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5:38 a.m. - 2005-11-29


Had a few neighbors over this past weekend for some food, fun and frivolity.

Mostly food though.

Anyway ... I was pretty quiet through most of the evening.

...Because I was waiting.

Waiting for the exact perfect moment to whip it out.

Waiting for the prime opportune time to bust out the one thing ... THE ONE THING that would turn this get-together into an actual party.

Finally, at 7:55 p.m., I knew it was time.

The energy in the air was demanding to be twisted into a party.

I went to the bedroom.

I retrieved the one thing.

I placed it on the table.



We've all seen the commercials where everyone gathers around the Hallmark Piano-Playing Snowman who guarantees a successful party with every song.

But I had NO IDEA just what a party this little snowy bastard packs!

Just like in the commercial, one guy kept yelling "DO IT AGAIN!! DO IT AGAIN!!"

Coulda been the spiked eggnog.

But I like to think it was the razzle dazzle of this mechanical showman's charisma that had excitement at a fever pitch in the room.


We holly jollied Christmas' ass off.

We jingled those bells like they were on fire.

Silent night??

Not with the Hallmark Piano-Playing Snowmuthafucka in the hizzouse.

The commercials are spot on, dude.

Bust this puppy out at your next party and watch people FLOCK TO IT and stay there as that little snowbitch tickles the ivories 'til dawn.

Thank you Hallmark.

You've made my life complete.

(The previous post was totally tongue in cheek and dripping with sarcasm. If anyone watches those commercials and actually thinks for a second that a chintzy little $13 music box shaped like a piano-playing snowman is going to make their party a success, they need to start having parties at their local mental ward where they may stand a slight chance of success while relying on such a cheap piece of shit to keep their guests even remotely entertained.)

While I don't talk about it much anymore, we have issues with Andrew eating.

He's not a "picky eater", he's what doctors call a "resistant eater".

Recently, we've been seeking therapy for this which I don't feel like going into detail about right here and now.

But ... this past weekend we had a breakthrough.

We were at the grocery store and were walking down the cereal aisle when I just casually mentioned "Andrew ... would you like some cereal?"

To my shock and dismay ... although ... I'm not really sure I was dismayed. Being dismayed isn't exactly a positive thing. This was positive. So ... rather than saying I was dismayed, let's just say I was shocked.

To my shock, Andrew said that yes ... he'd like some cereal.

We decided to let him pick out which cereal he would like to eat.

We pointed out that there was chocolate cereals, strawberry cereals, Nemo cereals ... hundreds of different types.

Here's the Catch-22 part.

While I'm ecstatic that Andrew wanted cereal, I'm not too thrilled with his final choice.



Princess Cereal

Here's the kicker ... the kid LOVES this cereal.

I'll admit ... it's tasty.

But couldn't he have picked a more manly cereal?

Spiderman Cereal?

Nascar Cereal?


Ah well.

The kid's polished off the entire box in three days.

I can't complain about that.

Well ... I can.

But who really gives a shit anyway?

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