You Remember Me Promising Never to Post About My Kid on this Blog..?
…well try arranging the words ‘lying bastard’ and ‘You are a’ into a well known phrase or expression.
The fact is that there has been a recent turn of events so heinous in its nature that can no longer hold my peace. We are talking about the scandalous mistreatment of a minor here, as well as a monstrous affront to the integrity of my good self, his father. (credit where credit’s due)
As the progenitor of a strapping, boisterous 7-month old lad, I naturally dream of all the fine manly things that my son and heir might achieve in the future. All modest, realistic fantasies you understand – that he captain the first Spanish national rugby team to defeat the New Zealand All Blacks – that he find the cure for malaria – that he be the first man to walk on Mars – that he be the only kid in the class to stand up to the school bully – that sort of thing.
But it has emerged that the mother and grandmother of the little urchin like to play dress-up and they see him as the perfect mannequin for their sinister experiments. The main problem here is their taste in costumes which I can only describe as Camp Victorian Rococo. How the hell is the poor kid going to become a Judo champ if he starts life out dressed as a fucking pixie?
A couple of months ago they slipped up and I overheard the word ‘sailorsuit’. I cut that short by letting them know that, short of being kidnapped by Jean-Paul Gaultier, my son would wear a fucking sailorsuit over my dead body. When they objected I just showed them a page of ‘Spoilt Bastard’ from one of my Viz issues. That shut them up.
But now I find that in my absence my beloved CS has once again been plotting against the masculinity of our offspring. This Christmas she popped into one of the campest giftshops in Barcelona and bought him a…bought him a…..I’m sorry. It’s just too horrible to contemplate. See for yourselves below.
This just goes to prove something that I’ve always secretly believed, that women should not be allowed near children.
The fact is that there has been a recent turn of events so heinous in its nature that can no longer hold my peace. We are talking about the scandalous mistreatment of a minor here, as well as a monstrous affront to the integrity of my good self, his father. (credit where credit’s due)
As the progenitor of a strapping, boisterous 7-month old lad, I naturally dream of all the fine manly things that my son and heir might achieve in the future. All modest, realistic fantasies you understand – that he captain the first Spanish national rugby team to defeat the New Zealand All Blacks – that he find the cure for malaria – that he be the first man to walk on Mars – that he be the only kid in the class to stand up to the school bully – that sort of thing.
But it has emerged that the mother and grandmother of the little urchin like to play dress-up and they see him as the perfect mannequin for their sinister experiments. The main problem here is their taste in costumes which I can only describe as Camp Victorian Rococo. How the hell is the poor kid going to become a Judo champ if he starts life out dressed as a fucking pixie?
A couple of months ago they slipped up and I overheard the word ‘sailorsuit’. I cut that short by letting them know that, short of being kidnapped by Jean-Paul Gaultier, my son would wear a fucking sailorsuit over my dead body. When they objected I just showed them a page of ‘Spoilt Bastard’ from one of my Viz issues. That shut them up.
But now I find that in my absence my beloved CS has once again been plotting against the masculinity of our offspring. This Christmas she popped into one of the campest giftshops in Barcelona and bought him a…bought him a…..I’m sorry. It’s just too horrible to contemplate. See for yourselves below.
This just goes to prove something that I’ve always secretly believed, that women should not be allowed near children.
posted by Lung the Younger | 5:50 pm
1 Comments:
Aaah ... what a cutie. I can see why CS did it. I would've done the same. Sorry Kevin. :-)
Nai
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