Womb and Bored

Womb and Bored

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

L'eggo my Lego

Screw gun control...if you want to lobby for a real cause it's Lego control.

Yes, you read that right.

Those f'ing rectangular prisms are what is wrong with the world.

If you are wondering what I'm talking about, you obviously don't allow children to exist in your realm.

Have you ever stepped on one of those interlocking blocks of hell?  If so, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  I would compare it to birthing a porcupine dripping in hot sauce.  It's a fucking nightmare.

At least with needles and swords, kids know to keep those bastards off the floor.  Not that I let my kids play with needles and swords...anymore.  But with Legos, they always seem to be right where you don't want them.  And those hell blocks are virtually indestructible.  Somehow they manage to find their way to the sweet spot on your foot.  Every.  Fucking. Time.

I know, I know...  They cultivate thought and creativity.  But, fuck, truly what difference do smart kids make...really?  Honestly, if you ask any grown adult what they remember about legos from their childhood, odds are, they aren't going to recall the amazing buildings or rummaging through the box to find the perfect piece.  They are going to remember stepping on one of those inanimate pieces of HADES.

Besides stepping on them, let's discuss the many other ways Legos ruin my life.

Whenever my kids get them out to play, it means I'm going to have to help.  As much as I love my five-year-olds, those heathens can't build a fire breathing dragon out of 10 mm blocks no matter how wonderful the pictorial instructions are.  So, I am forced to take the book out and help them locate the pieces.  Building things isn't my favorite thing.  Building things with a child with junkyard breath telling me I'm not building it fast enough is DEFINITELY not my favorite thing.

And, there's always a missing piece.

The average LEGO owner has 84 pieces.  That's 84 possibilities for my children to lose something.  My kids have been known to lose jackets, shoes, each other...  so the odds are clearly stacked against me with something the size of a lego.

I truly think they should ban those bitches.

I'm okay with Duplo.  If only we could find a way to get Taylor Swift to endorse them...

Until then...

Perhaps they could make them glow in the dark.

Or maybe put an age limit.  Like 21.  Because, frankly, I'd almost rather my kids have whiskey than a lego gas station.

Or they could make them squishy.

Or each set could come with thick-ass slippers.

Or perhaps I could just rid of my children.

But, then, who would pick up the swords and needles?

Happy holidays!


Friday, December 11, 2015

F your Elf

I have been dreading Thanksgiving.

And, not just because can-shaped cranberry sauce gives me anxiety.


I have been dreading Thanksgiving because it means the return of that damn two-legged bastard the Elf on the Shelf.


Seriously.  I hate him.


Okay, to be fair, I can't even find him.  That asshole spent the last year on a shelf judging me for not moving him.  And now...suddenly...I can't find his creepy ass.


Perhaps you are wondering where he might have gone.  Obviously he didn't move himself.  Lord knows, if he was capable of that, I wouldn't hate him so damn much.  The truth is, I let my kids touch the elf.  Why, you ask?  Because, it beats having to listen to them bitch about not touching the elf.

Last year, my son became obsessed with the elf.  So much so, that all he wanted for Christmas was elf things.  He wanted clothes and books and pets for the elf.  He wanted to dress like an elf.  Essentially, he wanted to be an elf.  I don't blame him, I guess.  That elf has a more exciting life than other people claim they have on Facebook.

Snow angels in sugar...check
Fishing for goldfish in the toilet...check
Zip-lining on the drapes...check

So...why do I hate such an AMAZING specimen?  Well, the truth is, I don't necessarily hate him.  I hate what he stands for.  He stands for the bastardizing of a tradition for the sake of money and fame. Exactly what I hate about society.


Remember when people used to take pictures so they could remember a moment?  That was a lovely time.  Now people take pictures so they can Snapchat that shit, and we can all see how wonderful their lives are.


And, after Thanksgiving, it only gets worse.


Because before Thanksgiving, people were only sensationalizing their own lives...  Now, they are also sensationalizing the lives of their elves.


My elf is clearly better than your elf.  Because my elf has elf donuts and your elf just sits on the shelf.


My elf dresses in Lululemon, because pilled-felt just doesn't cut it in this house.

My elf drives Barbie's car, and yours just drives a stuffed reindeer.  Take that, bitches.


What the fuck?  And if you think I'm exaggerating, get on Etsy.  Check out what they are currently selling for that creepy fucker.  They sell EVERYTHING.  Clothes, masks, food, games.  And worst of all, people actually buy them.  I would love to think these purchases are for the children.  Maybe they are.  But it seems that many are using said props to make the other elves feel insecure about their own lives.


Speaking of insecure, I am incredibly not creative when it comes to my elf.  Again, the most creative thing I have done thus far is lose him.  However, I'm a creative person, so, many people have asked me about the fun ideas I've had for my elf.  So, I'm forced to admit that I place him on one shelf and then move him to another shelf.  And then I feel judged.  So, it's not bad enough that I have some freaky ass elf sitting on a shelf judging me one month out of the year.  Now, humans are judging me, as well.


What do I want to say to said judgers?  It's the Elf on the FUCKING shelf.  Not the Elf on the Train, or the Elf on the Moon or the Elf in the Jeep.


Let's discuss something else about the elf.  That bastard is EXPENSIVE.  $30.  That's, like 4 months of Netflix.  I'm actually paying a dollar a day to house that creepster.


I digress.


I love turkey.


I love mashed potatoes.


I love pumpkin pie.


But, honestly...  I hate that media-whore the elf.


And, with any luck, he will continue his game of hide-and-seek in my household and yours.