2. "If I go poop in the potty for five hundred weeks in a row, will you buy me a computer? Oh, wait... [giggles] I would be a grandpa by then, wouldn't I"
Yes, you would. But you must continue to poop in the potty, whether you receive prizes or not, even for five hundred weeks in a row, or you may one day find yourself strapped to a wheelchair and shoved in front of a television, where you will only be allowed to watch The Price is Right.
3. "You know, Mommy, you should really try being a boy -- it's fun!"
Awesome. I'm so glad that you enjoy being a boy, honey. Now please take your hand out of your pants, remove your finger from your nose, stop kicking the cat, and go sit on the potty.
4. "A long, long, long, long, long, long, loooong time ago, why were white people mean to black people?"
Well, let's see...Maybe because the white people back then were assholes?
Mr. President, I believe that I heard it from the ghost of Captain Kangaroo, who, unbeknown to many, was not only the beloved host of a longtime-running children's television program, but was also a brilliant economist.
So the other night, while watching American Idol with my girls, one of the female contestants induced mass hysteria and projectile vomiting while she crucified the 1961 hit "Where the Boys Are." That was bad enough. But then Randy Jackson had to be all doggy and shit and tell the woman that she can't compare to Patsy Cline, or something along those lines. I can't even remember what he said well enough to paraphrase comfortably due to my forehead exploding when he said "Patsy Cline."
Anyone with a brain larger than Simon's left titty would know that Connie Francis sang "Where the Boys Are."
Dog. Oh, dog, dog, dog, DOGGY dog!
What's going on, dude. Seriously, I'm like, WHAT? How's it going, man. WHAT? Hey, how you feelin' dog-a-dog-a-lamby lamb, huh? Feeling good?
WHAT? How's my dog, dog?
I just had to get this off my chest, dogs. Like, man, I really, really, man-oh-man, like, really, really had to shake this bad mojo swingin' 'gainst my groove, y'all.
But then Simon had to go and embarrass himself, too, by interjecting a painfully ignorant, and utterly beautiful "yes, that song must have a bit of a twang," which I assumed meant that he, too, believed Patsy sung "Where the Boys Are."
To my knowledge, the wonderful Ms. Francis never employed a twang in any of her songs. I know this to be fact. I am Connie Francis' biggest fan. Used to take my mom's old 45s, especially "Lipstick on Your Collar" and "Where the Boys Are," and sit in my bedroom listening to them over and over. And over. While staring at pictures of Connie.
I was all of seven years old.
When I finally got to see the movie "Where the Boys Are," sometime around age ten or so, I was riveted -- RIVETED, I say -- to the television screen.
Say what you will about a weird little girl with four-inch-thick glasses who was obsessed with Connie Francis, a pop star whose fame rose well before the creepy little girl had even been born, but I'll have you know that that little creep with four-inch-thick glasses would not have embarrassed herself on national television by confusing two of America's greatest female singers of all time.
How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
Congratulations! If your mission in life is not already to preserve the English tongue, it should be. You can smell a grammatical inaccuracy from fifty yards. Your speech is revered by the underlings, though some may blaspheme and call you a snob. They're just jealous. Go out there and change the world. Take this quiz!
Unfortunately for me, while watching this, I bit into my forearm so hard, my right hand is now lying in a pool of blood at my feet. And it's twitching.
