Liquid and Viscosity - A Cautionary Tale

Daddy says that science can save us from many things. If we know the science, we can make our choices properly. For example, if we know that gravity will always win, we can avoid standing beneath objects that are perilously placed (like snow on a roof or large rubber balls filled with oil).

Apologies for the audio. It's pretty low here but this is the best clip I could find.



Of course, if we don't know the science involved, then we just have to go on other people's dumb mistakes. Another example, perhaps?

The year is 2006. It is a warm spring evening and Dad our hero is braving the evening alone. The adventure begins several days prior with the tragic breaking of the cord holder on the vacuum cleaner (you know, that piece that you wind the cord around). This has our hero thinking feverishly for a solution...I mean, for god's sake, the cord is just lying on the floor. But then, an idea!




What could he possibly use to fasten this piece back on to the vacuum? Ahh, yes. Crazy glue. Our hero dashes to find the solution to this horrific problem and comes back with a brand new bottle in hand. A couple of warning signs that should have given our hero pause:

1. The tube of glue comes inside another container to ensure minimal contact

2. The warnings on the label state, "If product comes into contact with skin, call local poison control"

But our hero is a brave soul and brazenly opens the outer container.

3. The viscosity of crazy glue is unknown to our protagonist

The inner tube is sealed and must have the cover pierced in order to access the liquid gold that will save us. Luckily, they have provided a "built-in piercer", right in the lid!!! Daddy The bravest soul we've ever known removes the lid and points the 'piercer' up towards the upside-down tube coming towards it.

*A small side note about the viscosity of crazy glue. It is not viscous at all. In fact, it is pretty close to water...it just pours out at a staggering rate*

Upon piercing the upside-down tube, gravity takes over. The liquid gold, quickly evacuates it's tube and covers our hero's left hand (which is holding the lid/piercer). His eyes grow wide with shock at this unexpected turn of events and he quickly drops the lid into the sink and spreads his fingers (my, doesn't he think quickly, after-the-fact). Keeping his calm, he sprints over to the container to find the emergency instructions. He grabs the container with his sticky hand, realizes his mistake and switches hands. He smacks his forehead for being so dumb but also does this with his sticky hand and it doesn't come away so quickly. He manages to pry his hand off his own forehead without any damage and proceeds to read the emergency instructions...
Hmmm, call poison control. Where the heck would one find the number for poison control? With his one good hand, he rushes to the phone books and flips to the first page...what luck!!! All the emergency numbers are right there. The glue has basically set at this point giving him a shiny, thin cast on his left hand. He bangs it on the wall to see how hard his new "cast" is. It isn't hard at all and he has bruised his hand.
Off to the phone!
"Poison control, can I please get your phone number?"
"Yeah, it's 905-460-8888"
"Can you please explain your emergency?"
"I'm dumb"
"What's that?"
"Well, I was working with crazy glue and I have managed to cover my hand with it..."
"You covered your hand?"
"You don't have to say it with that incredulous tone, you know"
"Sorry, sorry. Have you gotten anything stuck? Nothing is touching it and your fingers are apart?"
"No, nothing is stuck"
"We don't really have a solution for that kind of thing."
"Well, I'm glad I phoned, then."
"Somethings that people have suggested in the past include..."

And so our hero turns the tv on with his right hand and sits down to watch. His left hand covered in peanut butter and soaking in a bowl of vegetable oil. In hindsight, he suspects that the glue would have come off just as fast if he sat there and did nothing, but who among us is willing to take that chance?

And then the big brown shark came...

I swear to you, I couldn't believe any of the events from this evenings bath. First of all, my sister crapped in the tub...AGAIN. I don't know how many times Mommy and Daddy are going to let this happen before they put their foot down and decide that this is not acceptable behaviour. I mean, get her a cork or something. Honestly, who craps in the tub? Even dogs know better than to go to the bathroom in their cage. They are stuck in there and have good enough sense not to drop a deuce where they have to spend more time.

And not only does she crap in the tub, she always does it from a standing position. I don't know how she manages to avoid those turds hitting her calves but it always drops straight into the water. (I'm pretty sure I got some of the plop-splash-back in my eye once but as soon as there's poo in the water, nobody cares about poor me with poo-droplets in my eye).

So tonight's log hits the water and the three whistle blasts ring out so we have to clear the tub. Out of nowhere, Mom's hand reaches over, GRABS THE TURD, and asks Daddy to open the toilet. Needless to say, Daddy doesn't open the toilet right away, as he is standing there dumbfounded. He can't believe that she has voluntarily picked up a piece of shit (excuse the language but it was a shocking moment). Daddy lets out a little retch as he opens the toilet and tries to block out the intentional fecal contact that has occurred in front of him.

Now, in Mommy's defence, she says that it was easier to do that then clean it up after the water has softened it into mush and you can't even pick it up anymore.
Of course, two more 'brown sharks' came during this time (which were damn hard to see because of all the bubbles) so we just got the hell out of there and hoped they would just go down the drain.

This kind of nonsense need to stop, people.

And so it grows...

This may very well be the best thing I've watched in years...
And so I begin to emulate my new idol. Honey, get rid of the scissors...

Dickhead

Daddy has asked our opinion and we are somewhat hesitant to give it to him. After all, the vocabulary that he used when raising this issue was what Mommy normally refers to as "sailor talk".
We understand the need for warmth. We have also heard rumors of the head losing up to 75% of one's body heat...THAT'S THREE FREAKIN' QUARTERS OF YOUR HEAT FOR GOD'S SAKE!! (that's more than 7/10 but less than 4/5 to put it in simpler terms...)
Now here's Daddy's problem when dealing with heat loss through his huge noggin...

He thinks that his head looks like a penis when he wears a toque. Okay, it's out there. He comes to us with hat after hat asking if his head looks like "the little fireman" (whatever the hell that means). We try to reassure him that everything is fine but he's just such a prissy little girl that we eventually just roll our eyes at him and give up. He usually just ends up crying himself to sleep with his penis-shaped head resting on his fancy water pillow...pansy...

Everybody with a tight toque on looks like a dickhead...get over it...conserve your warmth...avoid hypothermia at all costs (that shit is dangerous!!).

The Crappiest Blog Ever - part 2

As retribution for what my father refers to as "the beginnings of my rage", he asked my sister and I to exact some form of revenge for, what he perceives were, "unforgivable slights". In other words, he wanted mom to touch poo for not helping him when my sister crapped on him.
Now I appreciate fair play as much as the next person but intentionally causing fecal contact? That's going a bit too far in my books...my sister reads different books, however. She reads books that describe how to break through, what I thought were, impenetrable locks. My sister figured out how to remove her diaper!!!!

We are both lying down in our cribs as Mommy leaves the room. We're both a bit drowsy so we are quiet and eventually, 4dub says, "Hey, sis! Look what I did...". I crawled over to the side of my crib and what do I see? She is holding one side of her diaper open.
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT???", I "loud whisper".
She just gives me this coy look as if she's not going to give away her trade secrets. At this point she says, "You should see what I did in here...it's gross". And she goes to undo the other side of the diaper.
Now, I knew full well what she was talking about but I didn't want any part of it so I just lay back down and pretended to sleep while she went about her business.
Twenty minutes later, when Mommy enters the room because of the ruckus being made by my sister, her eyes nearly pop out. Mommy utters something along the lines of, "WTF???".
Then her ninth cranial nerve kicks in and Mommy is leaning over in the middle of our room making some pretty gross heaving noises. I don't know if you've ever seen someone retching while trying to clean turd off walls, bedsheets and little girls, but this is the scene that I was forced to witness that day. My 'distinguished' sister had crapped in her diaper, removed it and rolled around for a while.
Now, we have never openly discussed this incident but I firmly believe that this was done in order to gain favour with our father. I don't know if it worked or not but from that day to this, he keeps calling her "favy" and giving her extra bananas and raisins...

I think I might have to do my part and hire a monkey to fling poo at Mom one day just to balance the scales a bit...

Lions and Tigers and...

Daddy says that we need to stop and analyze a situation before we take action. He contends that taking a second or two to assess what is happening will allow us to better judge what to do next. Case in point: Our parents took us to a cottage up north for a week. It was cold, we missed our beds and people were generally moody. Daddy got very sick one day so mommy took him to the hospital...that's when the craziness began.

While the voice of reason was at the hospital, silenced by a migraine, there was ruckus brewing at the cottage. Upon "hearing" a bear outside, everyone in the cottage went into a bit of a panic. They were all so worked up by this bear (that nobody had laid eyes on), that by the time our parents returned, they were peering out the windows like some sort of reverse peeping Toms.

As mommy and daddy pull up to the cottage, there are hissing whispers coming from the windows of the cottage (because hissing whispers are the least likely way to not agitate bears, you see).






















The following conversation is done in the aforementioned loud whispers:
Window peerers: "Guys, there's bears....hurry and run inside"
Mommy: "Should we just stay in the car for a bit?"
WPs: "No...just run inside!"

At this point we see Mommy leap from the car and haul ass for the house (considerately looking back for Daddy once she has reached safety).

Now Daddy, not one to crouch and run lest he look uncool, confidently strolls towards the house and goes inside. Once Daddy enters the house, he decides at this point that if the bear is even the slightest bit hungry for terrified people, then the whole family is already done for(we've heard that animals can smell fear, you know).

Now we hate being startled. Daddy does too. He claims that is NOT the reason he doesn't watch horror movies...he says that they are just poorly written (but we know the truth). Paradoxically, Daddy loves scaring other people (and likes to teach us words like 'paradoxically').

When a few members of the family decide to get up the courage to go outside, Daddy sees his opportunity. He makes his way to a window close to the brave souls who have ventured outside in the dark, bear-infested night and proceeds to make, what he assumes are, bear snuffling noises. Now, having never actually heard what a bear sounds like, Daddy basically made a large angry pig noise. Regardless of the quality of the noise, it had it's desired effect.



The pig-bear basically scared the bejesus out of everyone. One of the adventurers looked up to the window in terror and realized what prank had been played. The other three essentially crapped themselves trying to get back inside to safety. One abandoned her significant other in her mad dash for the door (I'm pretty sure she forgot he existed for those 20 seconds). Another started to make her way inside before being elbowed out of the way (knocking off her glasses) by the third member trying to save his life from the ferocious pig-sounding bear. The glasses go flying across the porch and she has to retrieve them before desperately tumbling inside as the door is already closing. (And we feel it pertinent to point out that, despite the fact that there was no danger, adventurers 2, 3, and 4 made sure that the door did close which left adventurer number one still outside)

Daddy and Mommy, fall over laughing at this point and the rest are slowly made aware of the gag.

Moral: Beware of bears that snuffle like pigs???

The Crappiest Blog Ever - part 1

Daddy has some rage issues. There are a couple of things that will set him off and we are putting out the public service announcement so that you can avoid being in the vicinity when he 'goes off'. We are planning to make a series of PSA's regarding the different issues (whether we get to it or not is another question...we are our father's daughters). Today's issue...fecal contact.

Daddy never realized that this was an issue until some time around the 13th or 14th of September in the year of our lord, 2008. That was the day that our kind-hearted and loving father first exhibited his uncontrollable anger (for which we have encouraged therapy or hypnosis).

Allow us to set the stage: It was a lovely fall day, although none of us would know because we hadn't left the hospital in 2 or 3 days. Some of us may have been showing minute (with a long 'U'...we love homographs) signs of fatigue (due to the odd custom of waking every 2 hours). We were somewhat dirty and it was Daddy's turn to attempt his first daughter-bathing session. Once a bowl, warm water, a towel and baby soap were procured, our father actually looked like he was looking forward to it.

The bathing of the 4dub was fairly uneventful and Daddy was already perfecting his technique in preparation for 3dub. The next steps are best told using bullets...little snapshots of each scene (like a tableau, if you will...)

-3dub is gently place in the water
-a wash-cloth is used to carefully wet the head
-3dub is lathered up with soap, at which point, the legs bend
-a confused look on Daddy's face
-a fart like you'd expect from a trucker sounds throughout the room
-a look of terror which turns to panic as it sets in what is about to occur
-Daddy's looks at Mommy, almost begging, as if she would know what to do...Mommy just gives him a grin (the sort of grin that says, "I'm glad I'm not you")

The explosion that followed was not anything that one would normally expect from a 3-day old child, but I tell you now, it's a good thing Daddy was standing slightly to the side because the force with which that feces came out could easily have taken off a limb. The crap comes out at a staggering pace, Daddy lets out a small, almost inaudible scream, as it catches the side of his shirt and pants. Witnesses claim that it actually hung in mid-air, for just a split second, before flying across the room to slam into the curtain (a good 7 or 8 feet away). There may or may not have been some retching as Mommy bursts into laughter (again, witnesses say she may have pointed as she laughed although this can't be verified). Mommy then leaves the room, presumably for more towels to aid in the clean-up (to the relief of Daddy).

Now, despite how the next part may come of looking a bit disparaging for some parties, we believe that the truth is important and so we state the facts (leaving you to judge for yourselves).

Mommy had not left to get towels. In fact, Mommy went to get a nurse. To aid in the clean-up, you ask? Nay, dear friend. Mommy wanted someone else to behold the spectacle, so she returned with the nurse that she knew would laugh at Daddy covered in crap and holding a soapy baby. We believe that this is the point that started Daddy's "issue".

If you could help encourage our father toward therapy of some sort, we would greatly appreciate it...

Grace under pressure by The Lady of the Manor

I was afraid for my life. How can I be expected to hold up under such circumstances.
So there I was, spending a lovely Sunday with my girls and my wonderful husband. 'The two' were taking their afternoon nap while Tut was 'indisposed' (using the facilities).
Before we continue, a bit of background information is needed. On Saturday, a squirrel got down our chimney and into the pipes of our wood stove. This is something that has happened 3 or 4 times before and usually ends the same way. Animal dies, decomposing body stinks up our basement, stove is moved, animal is removed, life goes on (for all but the unfortunate animal). This time however, my nature loving husband decided to see if the animal could be saved and so invented a contraption using a garbage can, a garbage bag and, of course, duct tape. By the time Saturday came to an end, there was no sign of our furry friend...the "Squirrel Saver" lay empty.
Sunday rolls around and, lo and behold, not only has a squirrel shown up, but the Einstein of squirrels has figured out a way through the "Squirrel Saver" (he used his claws to tear through the garbage bag...genius!). Now the son-of-a-bitch is loose in my basement. Being the cool, collected person that I am, I haul ass upstairs crying out for my husband.
Now, it is a good thing he was sitting where he was sitting since he claims to be mildly startled when I burst through the door. Of course, he completely mis-gauged the seriousness of the situation and was more concerned that I was going to "wake the girls". I had half a mind to wake them and evacuate the premises.
At this point, I could hear the monstrosity roaming around in the basement and, despite a mild case of hyperventilation, I managed to walk past the entrance to the basement stairs (to make sure that the front door was slightly ajar in case I needed to exit at great speed).
Close to tears, I had my heroic husband descend into the creatures den, open the back door and watch him scamper out into the backyard.
Still watery-eyed and breathless (despite never having actually seeing the demon-animal), I collapsed on the couch after the whole ordeal.
Thank god for heroes.

An artists rendition of the savage beast:

A man of the 21st century

We would like to say that we are firm believers in the evolution of Man. That is, we like the change we have seen amongst the males in our country since we were little (ha ha ha...since we were little...man we're funny). Anyway, from what we have seen from movies and all the old tv shows that we watch, it is apparent that the "man of the past" would rise early, work hard all day at some physically strenuous job, maybe pull a bullet out of his own arm, come home expecting his "damn" dinner to be ready, perhaps watch the news or read a paper, then give the wife some lovin' and hit the sack ready to start again the next day. Now if you'll take note, nowhere in this schedule was the phrase "plays with his children who love him dearly". We cannot stress enough how much we appreciate the modern man's involvement in the lives of his offspring...his future, shall we say.
So as this modern man has 'softened' in his role with his family, we think that it is completely natural for him to 'soften' a bit in other areas as well. We will not begrudge any man for a whimper or two after having some vigorous work done around the head and neck area (which are extremely sensitive areas, might we add). Now if this man were to be 'mildly' complaining two days after this so called "deep tissue massage", we say, "Kind sir, dry your tears and we will still love you". We understand that if you are not used to that kind of thing, that yes, there may be some discomfort associated with this type of treatment.
Keep your chin up, you fabulous Modern Man, you are exactly what this world needs :)

Editor's note: there have been no headaches at all since said massage was administered...and I was not bloody crying...

The Main A-track-tion (part 2)

Again...find your closest friendly Australian to read this for you. Please, for the love of god, don't sit and listen to an angry Aussie read this...it will ruin the whole experience.



Welcome back! Once again, we find ourselves looking to the train tracks in the hopes of seeing some of the wild life that tend to frequent these parts. There is quite a bit more space out there now that Travis' den tragically burned to the ground, which allows more room for these Orangevillians to partake in the favourite past-times of young Orangevillians (drinking and cursing).
Shhhhh! We can hear them coming from quite a ways away! Oh my, we are very lucky on this night. Though, we can't see them, I think it is probably best that way.
It sounds like we get to listen to the interaction of two males who, if my guess is correct, are plastered out of their skulls. What a treat!
Now, in typical teen drunk fashion, they seem to have found great amusement in bashing something. Sounds like they may be doing something very productive (hitting the train tracks with a piece of wood). Keep at it you determined, future-leaders of our world...you'll get through that track eventually.
Oh no, now they've gotten bored and it looks like our fun is done. But wait! Now they are shouting at each other. Hmmmm, that's interesting behaviour. The are using what seems to be 'little girl' voices. This is rare indeed. Now one of them is screaming like a little girl, "don't touch me, don't touch me". Definitely interesting to witness a teenage male like this. Now he's running and shouting.
Not to be outdone, the other male has given chase. It seems that the other male has a bit more speed. Oh wow, now that is inappropriate. The first male has stopped screaming like a girl and declared, "man, you're fast. FAST LIKE A HOMO!" and then run off laughing like a moron.
Well, they've run off to the other end of tracks out of our view now. What a fantastic experience. Stay tuned for next time. Who knows what can happen when drunk Orangevillians are given some space and some train tracks!

Exaggeration and Sportsmanship

Daddy has decided on two things.
One: we will win or lose with grace and sportsmanship
and Two: we will loathe media that use ridiculous sensationalistic tactics (we had to look that one up in a dictionary part way through daddy's rant)
So the headline is:

"Hockey player nearly decapitated"

Pretty catchy headline, eh? (<----we're Canadian girls). Makes you think that somebody really got messed up...perhaps there's some blood or an exposed organ or two? Maybe we get to see somebody unconscious (or at least in a semi-conscious state). Those media bastards and their over exaggerated headlines...

That is the most boring "almost decapitation" that we have ever seen. Granted, we haven't seen that many...yet...but our father watches some pretty violent movies and he said that as far as decapitations go, this one "sucked ass" (at this point mommy asked him not to use that language around us).

That being said, how the hell was this asshole (sorry, mommy...we learned it from daddy), allowed to keep playing unharmed by the rest of his team. What kind of dick takes a swing at his own goalie's head with a piece of wood. His team should have given him the beating of a lifetime and sent him home on a stretcher.

Our daddy says that if we lose, we will shake our opponent's hand, tell them they played well, and wish them good luck in their next match. He also got a bit carried away and said that it would be up to us to beat down any of our teammates that act like this turd. We're not really sure if our dad should be encouraging us toward violent behaviour but he assures us that it is warranted in some cases. And so we train so that we will be able to dish out a thrashing when needed...

The Main A-track-tion (part 1)

Please read with an Australian accent or have an Australian read it aloud to you.
Sample accent:

Now, as we look from the safety of our parents bedroom, we can see the train tracks out back. These tracks seem to attract a lot of the local wild life. If we just wait for a bit, once the sun has gone down, perhaps we may see one of the native Orangevillians in its natural habitat.
OOOOOh! Look at that! It's 2am and our patience has paid off. It seems the police have come to chat with one of the more rambunctious males of the group. He has tried to make a den in that abandoned railway building out back...he's even dragged a couch in there (must be a strong specimen). He seems to be resisting the officers' efforts to enter his den. Perhaps we'll get to see them have to "put him down". The officers are becoming more agitated that they can't gain entry. Now they are kicking at the door. It must be made of some kind of super strength polymer or something. As they continue to shout at the male to open the door, he seems to be able to just completely ignore them...we suspect that perhaps someone has fed this young buck something he shouldn't have ingested (alcohol or pot are our closest guesses). Oh, wait! It seems that it is now responding to the officers...

Cop: Open this door!
Male Orangevillian (MO): unidentifiable mumbling
Cop: Open this door, right now! This is the police!
MO: unidentifiable mumbling
Cop: What is your name?
MO: unidentifiable mumbling
Cop: TRAVIS! What the fuck are you doing?!!!! Open this fucking door, right now!

Now, I'm not one to jump to conclusions when it comes to the behaviours of these natives but it seems that the police are familiar with this Travis. As they take him away, we can't help but wonder when we might get to see such a creature in its natural environment again...

(Ed. Note: Travis's den burned to the ground a few weeks after our episode. It was quite a large blaze and extremely hot. We watched from our same perch in the bedroom. We suspect the grouchy neighbour of setting the blaze but this is pure speculation.)

Stuffing An Octopus In A Mesh Bag

Our doggy has a sprained 'ankle'. We're not really sure how a dog sprains an ankle but it happened. Mommy took him to the vet and $315 later, he has some anti-inflammatories.

One of the highlights of our day is watching daddy try to give D'Brick his medication. First of all, because dogs aren't the most cooperative patients at the best of times but also, the medication came in liquid form. Have you ever tried to give 1mL of liquid to a dog? It's a bit ridiculous, with the tongue fighting you and his mouth closing and the head turning every which way. You practically need a canine straight-jacket just to get to his mouth. Then you need a dentist's "keep-your-mouth-open" tool and then a tongue depressor to keep that unnecessarily long tongue out of the way.

So we sit and watch daddy fight to get the boy's mouth open and then to get the syringe that came with the medicine past the freakish tongue and then to hold it there long enough to get all the contents into his mouth. It seems to be some what of an ordeal and we just laugh and laugh...daddy's such a spaz.

Spider 'coon - a poem

Twas a night in the summer, when the weather was mild
Not a creature was stirring, not even a crying child (not for another couple weeks, anyway)
The garbage and compost were on the back deck
And one could hear down the street the sounds of a redneck
He's revving his engine while parked on the lawn
And listening to Iron Maiden until well past dawn
Daddy was dreaming of what's always on his mind
And thanks to the river, he got three of a kind :)
Of course mommy was there, sitting just to his right
And in that lingerie, she looked outta sight!
At this point the dream world started to shatter,
'Cause in the backyard there arose such a clatter.
Some damn varmint was messing with daddy's trash
He was heading out to put a stick up its...bum
That cursed raccoon heard my dad's angry call
And decided his escape route was up the house wall.
He soon realized he was five feet in the air
And without any wings, he climbed down from there.
The next escape plan seemed to fare just as bad
As the compost raider couldn't escape my dad
Down the side of the fence that 'coon started to climb
Of course he'd regret that move in due time
You see that deck is way up high off the ground
And dad had a hockey stick and compost all around
With a poke of the stick, Spider 'coon fell to the ground
And by the time daddy looked, he was nowhere to be found.
"Curse you, Spider 'coon", daddy cried into the night
And then shoveled rotting food until just before first light.

New for the Ipod! Get it now before it's sold out!!!

WTF??? Sometimes, you come across something so utterly ridiculous, that all you can do is laugh that somebody had the gall to do it. We submit to you, the Apple corporation. Who, with all their billions of dollars for research, couldn't predict people's reaction to...wait for it...

Baby Shaker

This wonderful Ipod application gives you the opportunity to kill a baby :)
You know you want to but you can't do it in real life so when your little digital version starts crying, the only way to stop it is to give it a good vigorous shake. After a while, the baby will stop crying. Not only that, for your added bonus, red X's will appear over the baby's eyes for you!!

Please enjoy responsibly. We at Ipod, encourage you to stretch thoroughly before shaking your baby in order to avoid pulling a muscle. Also refrain from drinking alcohol while shaking your baby as the weight transfer of your baby may upset your already tenuous sense of balance and cause you to fall over and spill your beer.

Tree, bush or crying baby (or something else entirely)

Mommy came flying into our room last night at about 3am (mildly startling daddy). My sister almost crapped herself (that would have been embarrassing). Apparently, this mad dash into the nursery was caused by 'baby-in-distress' noises which were actually coming from our backyard. A couple of cats were having a bit of a territory war near our basement steps. Upon discovering that my sister and I were both sound asleep (amazingly), mommy and daddy went to examine the remarkably 'baby sounding' noises coming from the cute little pets-of-lucifer.

Daddy decided that this was his turf and he'll be damned if some mangy animals were going to stake claim to it. After "marking his territory" (so to speak), he went to get rid of the demons and quickly discovered that one of them was not the brightest cat in the world. When daddy made the standard 'scare a cat' noise (a sort of loud hissing), one of the cats bolted for the side fence and escaped through a hole. The second cat, however, made the confusing decision to run down the stairwell to our basement door, thereby trapping itself in a dead end. This cat escaped certain death purely by the luck of the fact that our dog is a pansy and doesn't have the balls to go into a stairwell after the devil with whiskers (yes, I know it's been a while since you heard a 7 month old refer to a dogs testes).
After laughing about the moronic cat, mommy scolded daddy for peeing around the backyard (to which daddy responded that "it was dark...nobody saw" and they went back to bed to wait for our demands to eat (again). Stupid cats...

Greed and Wieners

First thing's first. Daddy says he is greedy and wants more followers on his blog. He says he is going to make his blog private so that only followers can see it...so people, sign up for a free google account here and become a follower before it's too late!!!!

Secondly, Daddy says he is glad we are not boys (until we are teenagers...not sure what the hell that is supposed to mean). He told us a little tale to make sure that we understand the true nature of the male species.
There is a small group of seven year old boys. This scenario in itself can sometimes lead to hijinx. Now for some reason, these boys are unsupervised (we aren't sure how long they were unsupervised but it was obviously too long). This compounds the hijinx that can be had and elevates it to mischief. Throw in a trampoline amongst these unsupervised male children of our species and you have yourself a recipe for ridiculousness.
Picture this: you have a trampoline...what better way to occupy the time of hyper-active 7 year old boys? Unfortunately, you have some other issues to attend to and so you quickly go inside thinking, "They are all playing nicely...I'll be right back out in a minute." Too long, sucker. By the time you make it back out, they are all on the trampoline together with one slight difference. One of the boys has convinced the others (with an enormous amount of coaxing, no doubt), that they should all remove their pants and underwear so that they can look at their wieners bouncing around as they jump on the trampoline.
You stand there in awe, not really knowing what to say. Do you burst out laughing? Can you be charged in some way for this incident? Is there some form of discipline in order? And if so, exactly how bad is this infraction? Is it a time out? Grounding? Lashes on the bare ass? Tough call. Let's start by getting them to put there clothes back on and go from there.
Daddy says that the male brain doesn't change much from this point until 40 years old and that we should just steer clear of them. He also says that those bouncing dinkys can sting us and that if we ever see one up close, we should find a knife (or at least run the other way quickly).
Thank goodness we're girls.

A Ficticious Tale of Tragedy

Our Daddy told us a wonderful, but slightly disturbing, bed-time story last night.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance of this purely fictional story to anything factual is purely coincidence. All characters and plot lines are completely from the imagination of our daddy.

Once upon a time, in far away land known as Insomnialis, there lived two beautiful princesses. (Incidentally, Insomnialis comes from the Greek words Insomnae and Cialis which loosely translates to English as, "Wtf are you doing awake at this hour?"...again, it's a loose translation).
Anyway, as the story goes, these two princesses lived with their evil step-parents (how did they have two step parents, you ask? it has to do with a very complicated plot of marriage, divorce and re-marriage...very messy business). Now these evil step-parents insisted on the princesses sleeping during very specific hours (often the ones after the sun had set, oddly enough) when the princesses thought that it should be their right to be awake whenever the hell they want. Well, this type of attitude didn't please the step-parents one little bit. In fact, they started monitoring the sleep habits of the princesses quite closely (almost stalker-like, wouldn't you say?).
Unfortunately for our princesses, this story doesn't end well for them. The step-parents were very persistent and, despite their extreme fatigue during this ordeal, they overcame the will power of the beautiful girls. Our princesses were forced to sleep long hours at times when they wanted to play and smile (which only angered the step-parents...although they concealed it well by smiling back at the princesses...clever buggers). Our tale comes to a tragic ending with the princesses sleeping for 6 and 8 hour chuncks. (...in the name of the sweet baby Jebus...amen )

Again...any resemblance to real people is purely coincidence.

This is an artist's rendition of one of the princesses at 3am with an evil step-parent.

The Laidlaw and The Hogs

Yesterday, Daddy waved to strangers on the street as we drove past them...they were very confused. But he did the wave with such confidence that they must think that we know them and they were rude by not waving back...and we fear that it is going to happen some more.
The other day, Daddy decided that he doesn't understand how it started that bikers who don't know each other and are driving in opposite directions feel obligated to wave at each other (or at least acknowledge with a curt nod). He has assigned us the task of researching who the first two people were that decided as they were driving past a stranger on the road that they had some bond with that person because they both bought obnoxiously loud motorcycles when they hit their middle-aged crisis. So off we go to the library to hit the books and the internet in search of the beginning of this great community.
As a matter of fact, we've noticed the same thing with school bus drivers who are going past each other. What a fascinating phenomenon. We have discussed it and decided that we have a great appreciation for these communities. In fact, we are going to join Daddy in waving to other Mazda drivers in an effort to start up our own community. The only difference will be that we are going to try and discourage the "curt nod" type of greeting for our Mazda-ites. Our salutes to our commrades will be very vigorous waving with an extremely animated face. Essentially, we want to greet each other in a way that the bikers and bus drivers would see us and say, "what the hell are those spaz's doing?".
We think our community will be sooooo tight. Us Mazda-ites will do anything for each other.

A Message From Tutankhamen...to his nemesis

Hello,
I have snuck in to the girls blog using a series of clever ruses and mis-directions (I shook a rattle, clapped my hands and made woo-woo noises). Now I have the opportunity to say my piece for once because apparently I have become inconsequential. Every where we go, it is almost like I am a vessel...just used to transport 3dub and 4dub to places where they can be ogled over. Well, one of these days, I'm going to put my foot down. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow (I have to take them to an appointment that they have) but one of these days...just you wait.

Today, I was called fat. I made to sit on a chair and "my nemesis" told me, "No. You're too big". It's not my fault I'm big boned. Or something like that. Yes, nemesis, I may be a pound or two heavier than my high school days (or 30). But metabolism slows as people get older. I mean, I used to eat 2 whoppers a day when the BK had a sale for a while there. Was I supposed to just switch that off as soon I became old and decrepit? Well, nemesis, I tell you now that it is damn tough. Life isn't all roses and lollypops. There are some hard parts...check that, there are some DAMN hard parts. And one of them is love handles and jiggly bellys (I guess that's two of them...shut up). Well, nemesis, you have caused me to have a bit of a 'girl-paranoid-about-her-weight' moment and I won't soon forget it. The next time we meet, I'll come out the victor. This is the last time that a two year old gets the best of me. Kids can be so cruel.

This is my nemesis and the guardian that protects her...you can just sense the evil, no?

Why Can't I Turn Off The Radio?

My Daddy says that because we just smile at him and appreciate him, he feels he can talk to us openly. He says that he can tell us things because he trusts us and we don't judge him...although we totally do judge him. He's a bit of a strange cat, but he throws us in the air so we treat him nicely (see that adverb???).
So Daddy's latest confession has to do with avoiding musical persecution...again. After he finished whining about people seeing his true colours, he admitted his love for Ne-Yo (Closer, not Matrix). Now for someone who keeps the Offspring, Fallout Boy and the Smashing Pumpkins at the top of his playlist, Daddy is concerned that he will be judged harshly for his whiny R&B singer passion.

We personally think Daddy needs to get more into Anne Murray (man that Teddy Bear's Picnic rocks) but we won't think too poorly of him for straying from his 'rock roots'.

So, Daddy, we say to you, kind giver of fun, thrilling rides, oh comforter in the night, oh he of hairy faced kisses (if he has had several weeks of not shaving built up), enjoy your secret YouTube listening of the So Sick video. Revel in your searches for Hold On by Wilson-Phillips. Be proud of your 45 copy of Lady In Red by Chris De Burgh. And if Axl Rose were in your shower with you, he too would be singing at the top of his lungs that Girls, truly do, Just Want To Have Fun .
Oh Daddy, dear, you know you're still number one.

P.S. the portuguese is a bit of a tribute to mommy and also the english version of the video was not available for use in our blog... :)

4 Brands

My dad has drawn up a petition. He says that he doesn't know who to submit the petition to but that it is definitely going to some government official (perhaps in waste management). He says that it is based on several of his days which go as follows:

-get home from work
-go to bathroom...wipe poo
-change 3dub...wipe poo
-change 4dub...wipe poo
-walk D'Brickashaw...pick up poo

For those of you who aren't quite picking up the pattern here, Daddy will sometimes in a day handle 4 different brands of feces. Daddy says that he knows that other people may have to handle more brands than him but they can "make their own damn petition".

Daddy feels that it is wrong that he has to handle so many varieties of the vaunted "Number 2" and that the government should provide funding for him to hire someone to share in some of this burden.
When I told Daddy that one of my friends said that he should stop whining and suck it up, he said that my friend was no longer welcome in our home. He's claiming that if he sees them here, we're gonna "find out the effects of a bag of dung hitting the torso of a small child" (whatever that means...what the hell is a torso?).
Have you ever lifted a garbage bag of dog droppings? Me neither...it's too heavy. I think I might invite my friend over just to see what happens (a sort of science/social experiment).
Curious minds want to know.

From 3dub and the family in Malawi

Oh boy, here we go again. My sister and I have noticed that over the course of our lives (all 6 and a half months of them), Daddy will tend to have these stretches where he...hmmm...how should I put this...he talks a lot of trash but doesn't back it up. As a matter of fact, we've discussed it and we think his smart mouth is going to get him in trouble one of these days.
His latest foray into the world of idle threats is that he is going to trade us to a family that is looking for happy kids who don't sleep. We probably shouldn't have but we laughed in his face (well, I laughed, 4dub actually spit which I thought was a bit over the line).
As he was wiping his face off, he was muttering. I couldn't here all of it but what I did catch was:
"blah, blah, enjoy your lives...blah, blah, Malawi...blah, blah, childtrader ...blah blah."

Then he turned and looked at us and the conversation went like this:

Daddy: I've already made your profiles to trade you if needed.
3dub: You have spit on your cheek.

He started talking very quickly in a high pitched voice after this until Mommy came in and asked him not to use that language in front of us.

We're pretty sure this is an idle threat.

4dub speaks

I like spitting. It's something new that I've discovered to do with my mouth and so I do it regularly. I know that some consider spitting to be gross but when you are six months old, you can pretty much do whatever you want and get away with it. So I spit. A lot.
As a matter of fact, just yesterday, I saw Daddy spit on Mommy. Granted, he doesn't have the blatant, overt flair that I do but he still spit on her nonetheless. He tried to play it off as an 'accident'. As if he got so excited to see my sister and I that he 'forgot' to swallow. And then, while he was bending over talking to us...sploosh...right on Mommy's leg. Oh how I laughed.
Needless to say, Mommy was a bit stunned. The look on her face was something. I wish I had a camera.
I think Daddy has realized that he can't quite get away with that particular act. Whereas I can just turn and spit on anyone, Daddy looks like a jackass if he spits on people.
I think tomorrow, I might wait until I'm getting my diaper changed and then see if I can doo-doo on one of their hands. Let's see Daddy pull that one off. A bit tougher to explain an 'accident' like that away.

Someone call Guiness (records not beer)

Our dad has a talent. Granted, it is an obscure talent but one he is proud of, nonetheless. First, you need to go get an exercise ball. We'll wait while you do this...

Okay, now sit on the ball and start bouncing at about 2 bounces per second. Now try to sing "You Are My Sunshine" without having your voice waiver with the bounces. Go ahead, we'll wait...

Listen to yourself...sounding like Aaron Neville with a stutter. (holy does that guy waiver his voice)



My dad does it with the smoothest of voices. In fact...yes, we'll say it...he sounds like an angel.
We must truly be his sunshine if he has perfected such a difficult art.

Daddy's cramps

Daddy says that we aren't funny enough for him to record things (what a jerk). He says that he's not sure whether he should type what we have to say for us if it is not super funny. He is typing our latest now so it should be up soon.

We are sorry for his insolence and we will have him placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds.

Eliciting a reaction from Daddy

Daddy is an extremely reserved individual. He smiles for us all the time but actually getting an audible, sincere laugh is a tough go. I've seen him give the 'half-smile-sort-of-grunt' in order to placate people that think they made a funny but the full on laugh is a rare occurrence indeed.

We asked daddy what makes him laugh out loud and his list was kind of odd for such an intelligent person. He says that one of two things needs to happen:
1) It has to be extremely clever
or
2) He must be very tired
If he is tired, unnecessary swearing and over-reactions are hilarious.
What is over the top, you ask?

In Airdrie, Alberta, in January, police officers responded to a report from the Ralph McCall Elementary School that a man was standing in the yard yelling with a portable loudspeaker toward a group of frolicking kids, calling, "Girls in the field, come over to my truck, come pet my dog." When alarmed adults nearby approached him, the man quickly got in his truck and took off. [CTV (Calgary), 1-29-09]

He also likes when people 'out' themselves and accidentally reveal just how stupid/horrible they are. Daddy also seems to find indignant people (who are indignant because they got caught and not because they are falsely accused) to be quite amusing...throw in the rage and calling someone a bloodsucker? Well that's pure comedy gold, right there.

In March, a Georgia state senator proposed punishment for the 22 members of the legislature who either owed back taxes or had failed to file returns for at least one year since 2002. The 22 were not identified, in compliance with privacy laws, but the Senate's Democratic leader, Robert Brown, outed himself as one of the 22 in the course of calling his scolding colleague a "bloodsucker."
News of the Weird...one of Daddy's favourite sites

We're not sure if we want daddy's sense of humour or not...for right now, we'll stick with high pitched voices, big facial expressions and bouncing around.

STAND UP!

Our daddy says that we are not perfect. He says that nobody is. We said, "Daddy, what about you, though?". To which he replied, "No, my lovely ladies...not even I am perfect."
When we had finished crying, he explained that everyone makes mistakes. We will be able to tell the really good people in this world by who takes responsibility for their mistakes (and tries not to make them again).
Despite being such a passive, non-aggressive and non-violent person, Daddy says that if we ever meet Toronto MP Olivia Chow, that we have his blessing to "cuff her upside her dumb head". According to her, it must be someone else's fault that her mother isn't fluent in English:

My mother's not very fluent in English but she makes a very good citizen. She's been in Canada since 1970 but she had to work in a hotel for many years to raise her family, even though she was a school teacher," Chow said. "Is it her fault her English isn't fluent? No. Does she make a good citizen? Yes, I think so.

Our father has asked us to take responsibility for Ms. Chow's mother not knowing English and we have graciously agreed. He said that we can decide for ourselves whether or not it is even a bad thing that she is a citizen but doesn't know either of the official languages but it is definitely somebody's 'fault'.

So Ms. Chow, we are sorry that we have caused you to not know English fluently and we will try not to make that mistake again. Is that good, Daddy?

4dub sounds off

My dad thinks he's soooo funny. With all the throwing around, the over-exaggerated faces, the noises (which aren't even English words!) and all the greetings (my God, how many times is he going to say hi to me in one day?).

My sister seems to have found a way to slow that smug bugger down. I have been observing closely and here is what appears to be her plan. Now bear in mind that this plan will be executed some time around 8pm (approximately 2 hours after bedtime).

1) Smile at Daddy when he says hi in that high pitched voice that he does
2) Puke on his shoulder (keep smiling)
3) Make little squeeky noises for him
4) Puke on own outfit (now Daddy has to change you)
5) Start to fuss a little bit while being changed (just until he puts a soother in your mouth)
6) Wait until he has finished changing you and has put on "the big bib" (that basically covers your entire front)
7) Puke on one square mm of space that is not covered by bib
8) Completely lose your mind while being changed this time
9) Allow Daddy to calm you down and feign sleep
10) Keep quiet while he puts you in the crib
11) Wait 3 minutes (he will usually be sitting in the chair by then)
12) Screech as if you have been hit with an axe
13) Watch Daddy spring from the chair like he's on fire (try not to giggle out loud)
14) Sit back and enjoy the rocking and bouncing
15) Repeat steps 12 and 13 until Daddy gives up
16) Sleep in Daddy's arms until hungry

After careful observations and note-taking, Daddy loses the "funny-man" act somewhere around step 8. Well done, sister. Well done, indeed.

From the desk of 3dub - inopportune clumsiness

I find that my Dad puts me to bed with the same grace and skill that Barack Obama bowls. Barack's Bowling Abilities

Being the smaller sister, I can't quite put myself to sleep yet so that job falls to my loving parents. When it is Daddy's turn, he seems to do a perfectly fine job of getting me to sleep with the rocking and the bouncing but then he tries to put me in the crib. One of four things is bound to happen at this point:

a) he will sneeze and my eyes will pop open (he takes a deep breath and goes back to bouncing and rocking)

b) he will hit his elbow on the crib (or my head on the mobile)...my eyes pop open and he takes a deep breath and goes back to bouncing and rocking

c) his hand will slip just before I'm completely down (my eyes pop open and he takes a deep breath and goes back to bouncing and rocking)

d) he won't even get anywhere near the crib before kicking my chair, causing the toys on the chair to rattle. This event will have two serious consequences. One: my eyes will pop open. But the second (and I contend, more dire effect of this action): my sisters eyes will pop open. At this point, Daddy becomes a very religious person with a lot of talk about Jesus Christ and people doing things for God's sake. This is followed by much muttering and head shaking.

When these 'rare' events occur, Daddy will begin pleading with us to go to sleep; telling us how exhausted he is (even though it is 7:45pm). At this point, Daddy will usually bump the chair again ("for good measure"). Mommy will enter the room shortly after this and politely ask Daddy not to use "those words" around us.

I suspect Daddy is getting older and clumsier with each passing day.

Parts on a pick-up truck

My dad is thinking of going into business. He says he wants to make shirts that say:

I'M WHITE TRASH... on the front
and
CHECK OUT MY MULLET on the back.

Mullet Junky Website (this whole site is awesome...especially the child and albino sections)

Either that or he will sell those testicles that rednecks hang from their hitch. He claims both ideas attract the same customer base.

Mommy tried to tell Daddy that he shouldn't try to profit from the misfortune of others. It was at this point that we were asked to leave the room but we listened at the door...Daddy told Mommy that he was going to buy her some BumperNuts for her car but it would be a surprise and it would involve her getting a teabag...

We don't know how it will be a surprise now that he has told her about it...and what the hell does tea have to do with any of this??

Daddy says that if we promise not to date a mullet or a guy with bumper nuts, we can have all the money he makes off his new venture for our college fund (YAY!!!)

Another day in paradise

Our father wants us to be "strong, confident girls". He believes that sports will help us toward this goal...well this and his tidbits of wisdom and advice.

Daddy says that we should just be ourselves, no matter what anyone else thinks. He says that if you like some of Phil Collins' songs then we should listen to Phil whenever we feel like it. And even if our friends in high school find our Phil Collins cassette tape and they decide that it must mean that Phil is our favourite musician in the world so they start buying us Phil memorabilia and making many comments about how they "wish it would rain down on me", we should hold our heads high. Excuse me, we are getting a bit emotional about this...

We try to convice him that we are going to be strong-willed ladies and that's just the way it is. But he wants us to think twice about everything and keeps making references to Phil Collins so we just back away slowly and smile...

Intro from 3dub and 4dub

So, our father tends to rant and rave to us. Expounding on his insightful views and unfathomable knowledge. He claims that it is because we are such good listeners but we just think that nobody else listens to him.

Thinking that it may be amusing to get these thoughts on record, we have started this blog. Incidentally, he thought it was a good idea since there is, no doubt, a movie in the making about his life (starring either Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise...he's "not picky") and how can he possibly be expected to remember all the superb things that he has said over the years?

And so our first foray into the written world begins. Who knew a few short years ago that a man's love for a woman (combined with a scientist, a barca-lounger and some magazines with fascinating articles) would lead us here.

We hope you enjoy.