My daughter playing Marriage Counselor. Pause Daddy. Mama got your point, mid breath.
Every night, my daughter asks, “Daddy, what do you after you tuck me in. Last night I snap, and say, “I squeeze in me time alright.”
What’s it like being an unplanned father of 3? Drinking alone, is no longer an issue.
I actually gave up drinking beer last summer. I felt terrible spending so much time hungover, recycling, endless, empty reminders of my lushyness, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC passed me by.
6 million hits later, I learned the national pot smoking holiday 4/20 is Hitler’s birthday. I haven’t felt this duped since Sly Stallone snuck Mel Gibson into Expendables 3.
Has anyone tried Snoop Dog’s new red wine? Wine Advocate says it tastes like mouthwash used in Porn Hood Hell.
This is Ziggy Marely being interviewed by High Times Magazine. Ziggy, how did your dad have 7 kids? Doesn’t excessive ganja use drain your life blaster dry? Ziggy Marley says, “Fake News Man.”
I had to stop smoking weed after I thought my daughter was asleep because I’d feel like a total moron trying to answer her questions on it while trying to get her to sleep again. She says, “Daddy, if God created the universe, then who created God?” Eventually I come up with, “God went back in time in a Time Machine, made my Elon Musk.” Daughter says, “Real convincing Dad. Thanks for making me an atheist at 4.”
But God didn’t give me 3 kids to have a panic attack over it, which is more than you say for Pete Davidson, the voice of Generation Z, the rebound boy toy king of Staten Island. Plus, 4 kids would really piss my parents off because they’d feel like more ineffectual grandparents from afar than usual. But I’m afraid of getting a vasectomy because I don’t want my ball sack to feel like Edward Scissorhands face.
If my daughter’s 2 younger brothers played with her Barbie dolls, I’d think playing with my GI Joe figures way past the acceptable age was way gayer, especially when I had Gung Ho manhandle Cobra Commander like his gimpy bitch in Pulp Fiction.
One time, my son says to me, “I’ve seen mama’s vagina before. I prefer a vagina with no hair.” I say, “Big boobs compliment it better.”
Wife says, “Our 3rd child Samuel, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, get’s bored whenever he spends too much time with her.” I always knew the kid was a quick learner.
I call my son Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo because Italian grandmas flirt with the kid non-stop at Stop and Shop. They’ll say to my son, “When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriend to juggle. I say, “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates, wouldn’t be so conservative.”
Chosen’s Curl’s older brother’s name is Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. I wanted to name him Arthur Brooks Kornbluth in honor of comedian Albert Brooks but I changed my mind because I didn’t want to give him permission to be become another Jewish pussy.
The best thing about having a son is they’ll tell you whenever you’re being a slacker for you. Son says, “Daddy, why didn’t you go on the Peloton today? I say, “I got food poisoning from the Halal Guys last night. Son says, “Enough with the excuses daddy. You’re worse than Hillary.”
Dr. Seuss is racist because he drew a picture of an African in a grass skirt. I didn’t know Fubu was in fashion yet.
Wife is from Australia originally. My mom calls to shoot down our plan to marry there. She says, “Australia is a long flight from New York. And your father doesn’t love you that much.” I put my wife at ease and said, “Assuming we have a boy one day, instead of hiring a Rabbi for the circumcision. Will hire Crocodile Dundee. Just so we can hear a roomful of Jews say, “Now, that’s a knife. You can chop it all off with that thing.”
Grandparent bad manners is when your dad transfers the smell of stale cigarettes on to your April fresh daughter only 2 days out of mama’s snuggle shine snatch, which makes your 1st born smell like Don Draper’s corpse draped in Aramis.
Grandparent bad manners is your your in-laws spending more on doggy day care than what they’ve spent on their 3 grandchildren combined so far. One year for Christmas, my in-laws got my daughter a plastic, Fisher Price Toy Chest with no toys in it. I put her at ease and said, “Don’t worry Matilda. When we get back home to New York. Will fill it up with your eight thousand Chanukah gifts.
The best part of getting socks from your in laws for Christmas each year, is that you get to postpone laundry for another week. Although, if my nurse wife has to work on Christmas Eve, I won’t get any socks that year because the cost of postage cost more than the socks themselves.
Days before last Christmas, I told my wife that the Good Men Project, was going to publish 10 of my blogs like Funnier Dad, Happier Baby and she says “What are they paying you for it?” I said, “Less than what your parents give us, so nothing.”
My wife is a lactation consultant, so I call her the Boob Doctor. She also works in labor and delivery in addition to the NICU, revitalizing blue faced babies for a living, which bolsters her claims of me being a narcissist because all I ever check is for retweets. At the same time, her Irish catholic dad admits to never attending confession. So, I’m more a fake news narcissist compared to precious pops, sorry babe.
It’s also hard to warm up to your in-laws when they didn’t care for the ending of Inglorious Bastards, knowing they bolted to see Apocalypto opening weekend, booking reservations on Fandango for the 1st time, 6 million months in advance.
I’m Generation X. Kids today in Steph Curry jersey’s who’ve never stepped over shit in San Francisco in Northern call are the Bandwagon Generation.
I grew up fretting about getting AIDS before Magic made HIV disappear. As a result, I like my comedy like my coffee, dark and bitter, dark roast to be exact. Or else I’d be circumcising my happiness and my wife does that enough to me already.
She says, “I’ve sacrificed.” She acts like an aspiring comedian in his late twenties wanted kids ever.” I’m 45 now. I’ve aged well, I know. My wife hasn’t sucked the life out of my face just yet, with lines such as, “If I give the baby boob now, he’ll be on the boob on all night long. I say, “All of a sudden, your boob has more important places to be. Be happy your torn up nips are getting any attention at all. Last night, I sucked on her nips for a second, before realizing they still taste like a regrettable non-fat latte.
My wife works nights, so I’ll be out with my 3 kids plenty and random grown men will approach me in public and say, “You’ve got your hand full.” And I’ll say, “If my book, “The Great American Jew Novel scores me a talent agent sometime this century, resulting in my wife agreeing to open relationship with Jessica Simpson, sexual napalm herself. Then, my hands will be full.”