Posts Tagged With: comedy

The Five Stages Of Shitting Your Pants

Here’s another one that didn’t have a home….

You’re alarm goes off and as usual you don’t get up until you’ve hit snooze at least six or seven times. Now you’ve got barely any time to get ready and certainly no time to make breakfast so you settle for leftover KFC and instant coffee. You proceed to chug both down like their going out of style as you jump in your rolling shitbox and hit the gas. You manage get to work on time, but at what cost? The grease from the KFC has lubricated your colon and the coffee is donkey punching you in the bowels. You rush to the bathroom but on the way you decide to let out a little gas to relieve the pressure…..only it’s more than a fart.
Congratulations, you’ve shit your pants! Now are you going to go home like a little sissy wimp and ask mommy to get you some fresh undies, or are you going to power through the day like a fierce warrior deity and make those soiled drawers your bitch?
Well since you’re not the one writing this scenario…

Step 1 Denial: As you take the walk of shame back to your cubicle there is a good chance that anyone with a nose (or in the case of Frank the custodian a nose hole) is going to catch a whiff of your sour trousers and start pointing fingers (or in Frank’s case, nubs) at you. Your best course of action at this point is to pretend that you have no idea what anyone is talking about. Play it off like you don’t notice the mixture of feces and sweat permeating the air. “What smell? Oh THAT smell, I have no idea. My new cologne maybe? Is my new cologne made of dog turds? Yeah Tom, it is. Do you feel smart now? You feel like a smart guy?”. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you deny it after a while even the dimmest crayon in the deck is going to realize that the bog of eternal stench is localized solely withing a two foot radius of you at all times. So now it’s time for….

Step 2 Anger: Your pissed off, and rightly so! No one enjoys shitting their pants and if they do then they are probably into some weird Japanese fetish porn. You’re angry that you have to walk around with shit in your pants all day and you’re angry because you smell like you got raped by a septic tank. Don’t hold it in, let your anger burst forth like the fiery lava ejaculate of Vesuvius. Mad at your boss because you haven’t gotten a raise in years? Go give that jackass a taste of your poop fueled ire! Mad that Judy from accounting keeps turning you down whenever you ask her out? Well too bad! You’re a grown man who shits his pants at work, what do you expect? Everyone else you can yell at though. However there is a chance that yelling alone wont do anything…

Step 3 Bargaining : Most likely by now someone has called security because they are quite literally sick of your shit. In an attempt to maintain even a shred of your former dignity you’ll probably start pulling out your wallet and offering all your co-workers $10 not to tell anyone else that you crapped your pants. By the time security comes you’ll be down to the expired coupon for a free Junior Frosty that you had tucked away behind your license. You offer it to the nice security men if they will let you exit the building in a dignified manor to which they will reply by grabbing you by the arms and dragging you out into the hall and down the stairs. Once they get to the front door Security will unceremoniously throw you out onto your ass. Ass you lie there shivering from the cold and asphyxiating on smell of your own waste…..

Step 4 Depression: By now you are probably so depressed that you’re quickly scanning the ground around you for anything sharp with which to sever your own jugular. How did your life come to this? Losing your job and any self respect you had because you have the intestinal control of a twitchy toddler with a belly full of Mexican food, walking around smelling worse than Swamp Thing on free Laxative day at the park. You’ll probably forever be known as The Fool Who Shat His Pants or TFWSHP so you might as well end it right here and now right? Not so fast, don’t start sawing at your neck with that ragged spoon just yet Paul Bunyan junior. Hold your tenuous grip on reality just a little bit longer because next comes….

Step 5 Acceptance : So you shit your pants, who hasn’t? We’ve all had that night of heavy drinking or that bout with food poisoning. We’ve all had that little trickle of chocolate syrup slowly make it’s way down our crack all the while smearing itself against the back of our underpants. No one likes to talk about the time that they’ve spent on skid row but anyone who tells you that they haven’t been there is a lying, commie bastard. Having the Hershey squirts is as American as apple pie. So don’t feel bad. Sure your underwear has gone from white to Khaki but wear those downtown browns with pride! Stand up tall and fan the rotting stench of decay that’s slowly bubbling up from your backside away as you proudly declare : “I shit my pants today AND I’M PROUD!”

Then go home and wash your ass and put on some clean underpants you filthy animal. Seriously, what kind of disease addled, degenerate mind thinks it’s a good idea to walk around all day with shit stains in their pants just because a humorous piece on the internet told them to do it? You’re disgusting.

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I’m Back!

Hey guys and gals,

Long time no write. I’ve been busy trying to build up my writing resume by writing a lot of stuff for other sites and I fear that I have neglected my Dadventures duties. Worry not though constant readers, I have returned to you with new tales of child rearing!   The baby is no longer too fat to crawl. Grayson is now able to heft is gelatinous gut off of the floor and get up on his hands and knees. Unfortunately, a mobile baby is a dangerous baby. Gone are the days when I could just abandon the child on the floor with the Mickey Mouse Club and then go off and make a coffee and smoke a cigarette. Now I have to actually watch what he’s doing, what’s going into his mouth, what he’s managed to get himself stuck under. This parenting crap has turned into a full-time job.

On the older kid front, the teen and the tween cannot seem to breathe the same air without fighting about it. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Literally everything one does pisses the other one-off. “Jacob, stop singing, I hate your voice!” “Michael, stop throwing lit matches at me!”. But of course when I suggest that one of them  move away from each other they don’t. In fact, their mother and I decided that it might be good to take each kid separately for a week at a time this summer to get them away from each other. They both expressed their disdain for this idea quite vocally, “But, we want to be together!”. Brothers: can’t stand to be together, can’t stand to be away from each other.

Welp, I hope anyone following this blog didn’t leave due to lack of activity. I promise to try and write here more frequently. However if you find yourself jonesing for a ZackAttack, might I suggest you try reading some of these other articles that I have written for other sites?




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Revenge Poop

Sometimes a bowel movement is so epic it needs to be forever preserved in print for future generations to marvel over. Today I witnessed such a bowel movement.
My wife was feeding the baby, I was eating breakfast all was right with the world.
Grayson gave a little grunt and a little toot and suddenly our world was thrown into a swirling vortex of chaos. This kid somehow managed to fire his colon cannon at such an angle that it flew right through the space between his diaper and his leg and landed on the couch…and my wife’s leg….and the babies leg…and the babies other leg. This was seriously the most explosive blast of liquid nastiness that I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I quickly took the little poop monster upstairs in order to clean the feces from his person. Along the way there were more casualties. My shirt got smeared with baby shit, some dripped onto the bathroom floor. I don’t know how a child that small could hold what appeared to be at least a gallon of shit inside his little tummy but somehow he did. The worst part? The little son of a bitch was smiling the whole time. I know, I know, a child of four months old can’t just decide to crap all over everything just to screw with Mom and Dad, but if a shark can follow a family from the east coast to the west in order to get revenge than an infant can poop on purpose. Okay so using Jaws The Revenge probably wasn’t the most sound way to get my point across but it was the first thing I thought of.

This time it's personal, the other times? That was just business.

This time it’s personal, the other times? That was just business.

So what would my four-month old son possibly want to get revenge for? Well, I may have given him a small ice chip to suck on yesterday just to see what how he would react and he may have made the funniest face ever and I may have laughed at him. If I had it all over to do again, shit or no shit, I still would. The kid really did make the funniest face like “Oh my god it’s so cold! What do I do? Oh it’s not cold anymore….” a perfect mixture of horror and perplexity. I regret nothing.

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Easter, Schmeaster

I’m not a religious person. As such Easter flummoxes me. Christmas I can put in a secular context no problem: A time of year for giving and family. Take out Christ’s resurrection from Easter and you get: Time of year for candy (though it’s not Halloween) and small gifts (though it’s not Christmas). This Easter was a particularly odd one for me. Being very tight on money right now I felt like it was a waste to buy baskets and grass for my two older sons so I just kind of handed them their candy. Neither kid believes in the Easter Bunny anymore and so it felt weird presenting them with cheap baskets full of plastic grass just so that there was something to put their candy in. Then there was the baby who at three months of age couldn’t care less what day it was. We got him a couple of stuffed animals, not that he can really play with them yet.

I feel bad because I feel like I should care about Easter but I really don’t. Even as a child I wasn’t very excited for Easter. For one thing, Easter never came with any good television specials. Oh they had a couple, there was the obligatory claymation one which I barely recall, and there was a Peanuts one that was highly inferior to The Great Pumpkin and A Charlie Brown Christmas. For another, it just felt like weaker Christmas. You get up in the morning kind of excited knowing that something will be in your basket, but you knew it wasn’t a new bike or a Sega Genesis (yes I’m old). Maybe it would be a single action figure, maybe a yo-yo, who knows. You only knew that it would be something small and inexpensive surrounded by chocolate. I know that I sound materialistic and  cynical but honestly, as a child did you really care about anything on Easter/Christmas/Halloween other than what you were getting? Children seem greedy but it’s only because they can’t process the value of family, or tradition until they get older.

I know that next Easter Grayson will be over a year old and we will pull out all the stops, baskets, bunnies, Easter bunny foot prints going from the basket all the way out the front door. Hell, I’ll probably even do baskets for the older boys just to maintain the illusion. Maybe I’ll feel differently then. Maybe, but for now I maintain my curmudgeonly stance: Easter, Schmeaster.



I started writing this the day after Easter and just got around to finishing it today. In the time in between Grayson has fallen in love with the stuffed Lamb he got for Easter. Granted he usually just chews on him, but still he does it while gently holding him in the crook of his arm. It’s the first stuffed animal that he has shown any interest in and it’s so friggen cute. Maybe Easter isn’t useless after all.

lambo lambo 2

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Sick Baby, Sick Daddy

I know I haven’t posted anything in a few days and there is a very good reason for that. My baby and I are sick. I’m pretty sure it’s nothing worse than a common cold for the both of us but it still sucks. 


I mean I hope it’s just a cold and not some kind of Zombie virus…

I’m miserable so I can only imagine how miserable Grayson is. Oh, wait I don’t have to imagine it, I can see it. The poor little guy wakes up  snorting as he tries in vain to breath through his minute snout but as soon as he switches to mouth breathing the coughing starts. It’s a one-two punch of infant misery that I’m powerless to stop. Nothing makes you feel as ineffectual as watching your sick baby and knowing that there isn’t really anything you can do for him.


Except to wrap him in a towel and put ice on his head like they did it in olden times.

I’ve always been a bit skeptical when it comes to cold remedies over the counter or home. Mainly this is because we learned back in Middle School that a cold was caused by a virus and that you couldn’t kill viruses.  


I mean you or I couldn’t. Rambo probably could…Rambo could kill ANYTHING.

Ergo, any cold remedy is essentially relieving the symptoms a bit but otherwise doing nothing to the cold virus itself. That’s why NyQuil’s only real use is just to put you into a temporary coma and all the other crap it’s for is just window dressing. None of that matters anyway though because you can’t give almost anything to a child under six months and what you can is certainly not the good shit, as in the ” puts you to sleep so daddy can rest” shit. So I’m stuck just holding the little guy and comforting him as best as I can.

I know that I recently wrote about having to constantly hold the baby in, but usually I get a reprieve when he takes a nap. Not when baby’s sick. He falls asleep on me and the minute I move him he wakes up and starts crying. I can’t even make one of my usual flippant jokes about him being a whiner or needy because honestly, when any of us are sick, is there anything we want more than to just be held?  


I mean besides a mountain of gold.

And so essentially, we both sit miserably on the couch just vegging. I can’t type while I’m holding him , and I can’t put daddies little sicky down because he needs comforting. Imagine being sick and not being able to bitch about it? Imagine being a GUY and being sick and not being able to bitch about it (yes ladies I am admitting for all of us what you’ve known for years: Men are the biggest babies when they are sick)?


Pictured: A sick male.

You’d go crazy suffering in silence. So…..we sit miserably on the couch and veg. It could be worse though, Netflix just added House and I just torrented obtained legally the first three seasons of Game Of Thrones so I can finally watch the show everyone’s been talking about…for the last three years. I know I’m late on this but, can you believe how messed up those Lannisters are? The brother and sister doing all that icky stuff together? And that Joffrey kid seems like a real snot. I hope he eventually gets what’s coming to him!


That’s right you little turd! You just got Imp-slapped! RECOGNIZE!


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