Parenting 101

It has recently come to my attention that the world is a dangerous, terrible place in which to raise children. If you don't believe me, just turn on the evening news, and witness for yourself the horrible carnage that I assume to be representative of everyday life for most people. That said, I wanted to use my extensive knowledge of child rearing to help parents confront some of the tough issues facing them today. So without further ado, here are the answers to some questions that I imagine I would have received from readers if anyone actually read this.

Q: Thanks to Oprah and 60 Minutes, I fear that my children will be destroyed by the evil influences of TV, the Internet, and rap music. How can I prevent my six year old from accessing mass media behind my back?
A: Unfortunately, you can't, as today's children are simply too far advanced to control their access to media. For example, while you have trouble operating a conventional toaster oven, your six year old son is locked in his bedroom with a screw driver, a soldering iron, and a set of plans from the web for removing the V-chip from your TV. Once this nefarious project is complete, you will have no choice but to sit back and cry while he consumes all the disturbing pornography and violent rap music he likes from behind his locked door. Your only real option is to immediately put your son on Ritalin.

Q: My daughter is 14, and she is starting to get curious about boys. Pat Robertson tells me that this is an ominous first step on the road to becoming a crack whore, so I withdrew her from public school, burned all her CDs, and removed all phallic objects from my home (yes, especially the salt shaker). Despite my best efforts, she continues to ask me questions about this disgusting subject, even when I put my hands over my ears and shout abstinence slogans. Should I shout louder or just give in and buy ear plugs?
A: Both. The more your daughter learns about sex, the more likely she will be to start bringing home strange men from the truck stop. Fortunately, though, children who never hear anything definite about sex will never become involved with it, instead choosing to live clean, healthy, well adjusted lives. Remember, allowing your child to figure out what a condom is will only send the message that you want her to become a pornographic actress, a prostitute, or some other kind of feminist.

Q: My ten year old daughter constantly shouts obscenities, smokes my cigarettes, and stays up past her bedtime watching lewd cartoons on Adult Swim. What should I do?
A: You should probably check with Dr. Phil on this one. TV usually knows what's best.

Q: I was a two-time state champion wrestler in high school, but my 13 year old son is only interested in drama and music, and I'm afraid he might turn out gay. Can I beat him into being normal, or do I need to step it up a level and get him some steroids?
A: Steroids can be dangerous for a child's physical and emotional development, so you should probably save that option for a last resort (if he starts expressing interest in ballet, for instance). Instead, I recommend a steady program of painful mental and physical conditioning. It is important for your son to realize that art is for women, and that if he doesn't give up on this pansy stuff and start focusing on football, he will probably become gay, which is just a half step from actually being a woman. If all else fails, remember that you can always take refuge on the couch with a bottle of whiskey and pretend that you don't have a son.

Disclaimer: The author of this blog is not a licensed medical professional of any kind, and most of the advice in this column is based on information gathered from lifestyle magazines and cable television outlets while under the influence of drugs and alcohol. That said, it is probably safe to assume that it is all completely accurate, because that's a lot easier than figuring anything out for yourself.

Crack, Hitler, and Pacman

Ever since some asshole first mixed freebase cocaine with baking soda back in the '80s, crack has been the worldwide standard against which all addictions are judged. Just as any person who does not agree with you can be compared (by varying degrees) to Adolf Hitler, any behavior that is in any way compulsive or unhealthy can be compared to crack addiction. This scale is used by media outlets to gauge the addictive potential of an activity or item (or to measure its similarity to Hitler).


Originally, this kind of comparison was usually sarcastic, serving only as humorous social commentary. But, like all good social commentary, its literal accuracy was soon discovered, and a powerful scientific tool was born. Now it is possible to quantify precisely (according to the color gradient), just how addictive the things you do every day are. And even better, you can now live in a state of constant fear that the things you like to do will eventually seize control of your life and violently end it. Which brings us to today's topic: video games.

Before the development of the "Crack/Hitler Scale", video games were seen largely as a passtime. At best, they were considered enjoyable entertainment that could improve your hand-eye coordination and critical thinking skills. At worst, they were just a complete waste of time. Thanks to the Crack/Hitler Scale, though, society is now aware of the dangers posed by video game addiction, which, according to Mothers Against Videogame Addiction and Violence (MAVAV), is "comparable now, even to drug and alcohol abuse."

That's right, parents. More kids are exposed to the dangers of video games every day on television, at friends' houses, at school, and even in their own homes. Video gaming has risen to the level of epidemic, and there is no immediate end in sight. In fact, chances are that your child has already begun experimenting with games, venturing onto the slippery slope of addiction. But there is hope.

People can now undergo counseling for this crippling addiction, and recent research has suggested the use of an innovative, national level solution called "prohibition". This program, based on similar programs designed to control dangerous political speech in North Korea, China, Cuba, and Belarus, among others, will rescue our children from the dispicable, smut pedaling, computer programming deviants who are erroding the moral fiber of America. Soon, our country will be safe from the destructive influences of games like Hitman, Doom, World of Warcraft, and Pacman, because all video games will be illegal, just like crack.

So support your local prohibitionist chapter. It's your only hope to save your children from becoming homeless, jobless addicts who can't control their urges to commit unspeakable acts of violence. And if that doesn't bother you, do you know who else didn't care about video game addiction? Hitler.

F*@k The Black Eyed Peas

If you were born in America between 1981 and 1986, and your parents make more than $100,000 a year, chances are that you are shallow and materialistic. You probably listen to terrible music and buy into ridiculous fads (think about that trucker hat in the back of your closet before you start arguing), and you are probably borderline illiterate even though your parents are paying for that interdisciplinary studies degree from someplace you barely attend class.

At this point, you might be wondering when I'm going to stop insulting you and start on my title subject, your new favorite artist. You might also be wondering what all those funny squiggles are that your smart friend is reading to you off the computer screen.

To be honest, this isn't really about The Black Eyed Peas. It's about one particular song: "My Humps". If you haven't heard this song, you must not be in college, or you must be enrolled in a small school in rural North Dakota, in which case you should consider yourself lucky for the very first time. Congratulations, Minot State University. "My Humps" is the worst song to become popular in the U.S. since the Macarena, which was marginally better because most Americans only speak English and couldn't understand the lyrics. I'll spare you the entire thing, but here's a sample to help illustrate my point:

What you gonna do with all that junk
all that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, 8x
My lovely little
lumps,

Check it out
I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these iceies.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and then Donna
Karan, got me sharin'
All their money got me wearin' fly, whether I ain't askin,
They say they love my ass in
Seven Jeans, True Religion,
I say no, but they keep givin'
So I keep on takin'

This is garbage. Pure, triple platinum garbage. According to Rolling Stone, though, this trash is "irresistible", and it has become ubiquitous on college campuses, playing on millions of iPods, car stereos, and home sound systems. Although no one could possibly like this song, everyone apparently does, and the reason is simple: college students are sheep. No one knows anything about anything, and we all get our ideas from TV commercials and People Magazine. Our generation's best and brightest are not even bright enough to make basic decisions about what they do and don't like, and would prefer instead to have the smallest details of their life determined for them by MTV (or, for those independent-minded rebels out there, MTV 2).

That's right, I'm talking about you, my trendy friend, with your $300 designer sunglasses, your strong preference for whichever lite beer had the best ad campaign when you started drinking, and that Jimi Hendrix t-shirt you bought even though you can't name one of his songs. You like "My Humps" because it has a simple beat that you can drunk dance to without thinking about the insipid lyrics, but mostly you like it for the same reason you like Grey Goose Vodka, Paris Hilton, and $600 blue jeans: because everyone else does too.

I hope that you will read all this without feeling insulted, decide that I must go to a shallow school, and go back to listening to Frank Zappa and solar paneling your roof to cut down on your energy costs. More likely, though, you will never read this blog again because you think I'm some kind of pretentious jerk who just doesn't like to have a good time. Well, you know what? I may be a pretentious jerk, but I never payed $30 for a trucker hat. And f*@k The Black Eyed Peas.

What the Hell is Wrong with the NBA?

For those of you who watch ESPN frequently (and both of you New Orleans Hornets fans out there), you probably know that a player named Chris Andersen (pictured on the Denver Nuggets) was dismissed from the NBA for violating the league's drug policy. My first reaction to this was to think how nice it is that the NBA has a tough steroid policy, unlike baseball. Unfortunately, no one is ever punished severely for steroids in any professional sport. Not ten years ago, not now, not next year, and not if they bought commercial time during the Super Bowl and took five different performance enhancing drugs live on national television with the Supreme Court and the Senate present as witnesses.

That's right, Andersen has never failed a test for performance enhancing drugs, and he certainly hasn't failed the required four times to warrant dismissal from the league. Instead, Andersen was dismissed from the NBA for a minimum of two years for a first offense involving an unspecified "drug of abuse", a category which includes cocaine, LSD, amphetamines, and heroin.

Now I know that some of you out there (if anyone actually reads this, anyway) might be saying, "But guy who writes this blog, drugs are bad. So the people who do them must be bad too. Why should I feel sorry for a bad person like Chris Andersen?"

That's a good question, reader. Actually, Chris Andersen donated $25,000 to charities last season to buy Hornets season tickets for underprivileged kids, but to emphasize my main point (and to avoid an argument about the idiocy of workplace drug testing in general), let's pretend that your argument makes sense. The reason that you should feel sorry for Chris Andersen is that, unlike other notorious drug users in sports (Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, Mark McGwire, Florence Griffith-Joyner, half of the 2004 Super Bowl Champion Carolina Panthers, etc.), Andersen has been severely punished for using recreational drugs, rather than being richly rewarded for using performance enhancing drugs.

"But guy who writes this blog," you might say, "isn't Chris Andersen setting a bad example for those same underprivileged kids? And if so, shouldn't we burn his house to the ground and hang him from the nearest tree to set a better example for those kids?"

Another very astute question, reader, but the problem with your argument (or at least the main problem), is that while Chris Andersen may not be the best role model, the NBA's drug policy makes exactly the wrong kind of statement. The penalty for a first offense involving performance enhancers is a 10 day suspension, and not until the fourth offense can a player be dismissed from the league. Handing out a slap on the wrist for steroids (which not only set a bad example, but compromise the integrity of the sport), and punishing people severely for drugs that have nothing to do with sports, sends a terrible message: drugs are evil if you take them for fun, but it's OK to take them for a competitive edge, because winning isn't just the best thing, it's the only thing.

So remember kids, winning is a substitute for integrity, and people will overlook almost anything, including cheating, if you are good enough at something. But there's one thing that no respectable person can stand for: degenerate, drug abusing hippies like Chris Andersen.

'Tis the Season

When you go to an end-of-the-year Christmas party, all dressed up in ridiculous red and greenery, almost finished with finals, and without a care in the world, there's only one thing on your mind. That's right, kicking the crap out of someone you just met so that everyone will know what a badass you are. And then getting your ass kicked by that same person because you're drunk and he's better at fighting than you are. And then causing a giant brawl in the street because your friends see you getting your ass kicked and punch a bystander on crutches in retaliation. And then getting beaten with that guy's crutches by his friends while everyone scrambles to break up the fight before the neighbors call the police.

The scenario I just described (and which I saw last night) is a refreshing reminder that people at my school have not forgotten the true spirit of Christmas, and of partying in general. Sure, parties can provide a fun atmosphere for people to forget about class for a few hours, play some drinking games, and get to know some people of the opposite sex, but we should always remember that they are really about the violence.

So when you go out to a house party this weekend, remember why you're there. Don't let the thought of pretty girls playing beer pong in short, red and green skirts distract you from the real goal of the night: lying face down in the road in front of someone else's house and getting beaten over the head with a crutch.

Damn It's Nice Outside

For those of you who know me from home, I want to ask you a favor: take a quick look out the window at the frigid lunar hellscape that is the Midwest in November. What's the temperature? 32.1 degrees, maybe? Just warm enough that it can still rain. I bet your dog won't even go outside. Anyway, I just wanted to remind all of you that it's 65 degrees after dark here, that it was 75 and sunny earlier today, and that it must suck to be you.

Note: If you are reading this from California and getting smug, remember that there could be a devastating earthquake or a riot at any moment.

Crazy Carl and the Evil Empire

Microsoft is evil. Maybe not as evil as those fascist bastards at Apple, but evil nonetheless. Those of you who know me may know that I have a friend whose father works for this monstrosity. I'll call him Crazy Carl to avoid naming names, especially in light of his evil status. You may also know that I have expressed these opinions about Apple and Microsoft in the past, and perhaps you have heard me advocate alternatives to the degrading mental slavery imposed by Crazy Carl and the computer software Gestapo. If you haven't heard any of them before, you must not have talked to me for very long.

The first, and maybe the best, is to flee the civilized world. Burn your house and all your possessions and run into the woods carrying only a Swiss Army knife and a box of matches. Live off of gathered nuts and fruit, and make a new life for yourself among the plants, the animals, and the other fugitive readers of my blog.

If this is impossible because of your personal circumstances (family obligations, fear of insects, etc.), you can always take the militant route and fight back with everything you have. Unfortunately, unless you happen to be the head representative of a large country, the entire Walton family, or the sole possessor of some kind of horrific doomsday device, "everything you have" probably amounts to less money than Microsoft executives spend on shoelaces in a given week, and less power than their chauffeurs' butlers' assistants have. So good luck.

Among the other possible alternatives to eternal bondage at the hands of Crazy Carl: a life lived in a drug-induced haze, misguided idealistic rebellion (preferably symbolized by Che Guevara), acceptance of a job at Microsoft and the loss of your soul, and, always popular, complete denial. Better than all of these, however, and my personal favorite, is petty and childish retaliation. This requires no resources, skill, or even intelligence. Irritating behavior comes naturally to most people, and stupid pranks can be pulled by just about anyone, so get out there and make a nuissance of yourself.

Spray paint crude jokes about Bill Gates in a bathroom stall in Redmond, WA. Write an angry letter to Microsoft's customer service department, with no reference to anything specific. Open an internet-based store and sell T-shirts bearing anti-Microsoft slogans. Steal product keys to Microsoft software packages and give them out for free while you run Linux on a generic computer you bought factory direct from Taiwan for $50. And last but not least, remember to slander Crazy Carl anonymously on the internet.