So today I got this via Facebook from one of my cousins in response to the fact that I am having a baby:

i told my kids…and they screamed with joy as if i had just told them i was going to let them eat ice cream for breakfast everyday or something. They now want to know what the baby’s name is and whether its a boy or a girl and where babies come from and why i’m not having another baby and when we can come visit you and can they hold the baby and what will the dog-baby think of a baby-baby and do you think the baby will like lego and michael jackson. If you could get back to me with those answers ASAP, i’d really appreciate it.thanks.

Okay let’s see here, in order:

1. You’ll find out when it is born. But, for now, we are calling it Blueberry Danger del Rio
2. I think it is a boy, and so does my mother-in-law, but Rose refuses to guess and we can’t actually tell yet.
3. Sometimes when a man loves a woman, or gets drunk enough to forget a condom, or donates to a sperm bank, or scientist engage in a series of complicated procedures, or a woman makes a withdrawal from a sperm bank…and two gametes meet, magic happens and mass of cells turns into a continuingly more complicated mass of cells; until finally a baby is encapsulated inside of what used to be my remarkably fit wife.
4. Probably because your current two are such an “adorable handful.”
5. About 1-2 weeks after the baby is born.
6. That really depends on what kind of bribery they are willing to commit toward me.
7. I think she will be pretty excited. She is already acting weird and clingy with Rose.
8. Yes, all signs point to yes on the lego front.
9. I don’t think that Michael Jackson will be a huge part of Blueberry Dangers life, we are more of a Prince household.

I hope this clears up any lingering questions they have. Also, that is an ultrasound of the actual Blueberry Danger del Rio.

credit: faeryhedgehog

I find that I am at a lack for funny things to say. I’ve been building things and working on other projects. Ultimately, I think that my humor the things that I have written here fall into two major buckets, things that I find funny and things that are too self-referential for anyone to find funny.

I think the thing that is most draining on my energy for this particular endeavor stems from an accident. I was hit by a car, twice. It turns out that it is incredibly painful, I mean so painful that I considered pulling the driver through the window of the car so I could step on them. Have you ever wanted to step on someone? I imagine it is kind of demeaning, like being a dog, or a rug.

Long story short, I’m in pain so frequently that it is hard to be angry enough to be funny. You tell me who should I make fun of?

credit: *eddie

I have nothing funny to say about Sarah Palin being brought to task on the clear insanity that she has perpetrated over the last 3 years. Well, maybe, I do have something funny to say: Trig does look more like Bristol than Sarah.

Dear Sarah Palin,

Please keep it classy. From now on when you accuse President Obama of being a Kenyan bring both Tripp and Trig’s birth certificates and a picture of you having an ultrasound with on of the 1978 LA Lakers in the room and a copy of Levi Johnston’s Playgirl spread (you know something for the ladies), and, for once, enough bagels for everyone in the press corp.

Sincerely,

Me

Get this, 63%-90% of humans adhere to a religion so they probably think a human is more than a collection of atom (mostly Oxygen). So, that leaves a very interesting question: What is a soul, and what is it made of?

A soul, I guess, is that neigh unnameable quantity that separates the thing that we are from the stuff that we are made of. Whether you think that it is ashes and dust or the above linked list of electrons and protons there is still this lingering issue of what resides inside to fuel all of that stuff to be unique, and per-chance divine.

I think the best way to express my thoughts is to tell you a story about my wife.

In my life there is a lot of busyness. I think that whatever SOUL is it only really comes to me in those rare moments of true quite. When the TV and the radio are off, when the dog is calm, when my wife is sitting content (maybe unaware I’m there). That is when it happens, the transcendent moment, when I feel like I can really know her soul. There is a feeling like a bubble has popped; maybe an absence of sorts. Based on the smell I have to assume her soul is made of sardines and hardboild eggs.