DEAR DAD HOMIES: HOSTAGE SITCH

by

NB: I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ADD THIS GUY AS AN AUTHOR BECAUSE HE’S NOT IN WORDPRESS’ GAY DATABASE SO WE’LL MAKE IT A LETTER FOR NOW. THIS IS BY JOSH BOROCK (“Father of two: Isadore, age 4. Leon, age 2, going on 1.”)

delta-force

Leon has now realized that with one swing of his rubbery leg he can scale his crib. The crib that has been his evening home without exception is now just another obstacle for this child to scale. The bedtime routine that had worked with such precision for two years is now in total and complete…shambles. We used to read him exactly three stories and a song I’d make up that always ended up sounding like that “I Am Superman” song by REM (the lyrics vaguely related to his day but it never rhymed properly and I usually ended it short when I couldn’t find anything to else to rhyme with dream. Ream?). Three books and a song. That was it. He was out by 7:45. Max. Now the crib is history and so is my night/life. Black, meet white. Up? This is fucking down. You’ll totally get along.

Now, I need to get Maj. Scott McCoy on the horn, because we have a fucking hostage situation on our hands.

Ahmadinejad_alleged

Instead of the dump and split, I lie in bed waiting for this 25 pound terrorist to try and fall asleep. He seems to be enjoying his milking it moment. Every once in a while he’ll try to hold my arm or say something nonsensical (tonight it was CANNONBALL!).  His damp blanket which he inexplicably shoves into his mouth is beginning to smell like the Steeler jersey Mean Joe exchanged with that kid for a Coke and a smile. But that’s a good sign. Blanket in mouth means relaxation. Relaxation means fucking sleep, right? Right?!!! Even when this kid actually closes his eyes and you try to inch out and I do mean INCH OUT, he springs up like some home invader just entered the room with a loaded handgun pointed at our heads. Just one icy stare from this midge sends you barreling back to your home base. You’re stuck. The beers in the fridge are starting to gossip. Where the fuck is he? It’s 8:45!!! You’ve tried the slither off the bed and out. He heard it. STARE. Back to bed. You try the super quick pop up that historically has worked because it eliminates extraneous sounds. Busted. STARE. You are fucking stuck. Finally, with one last spaz from his hand, he’s out. You are LITERALLY ON THE GROUND WORMING YOUR WAY OUT OF THE ROOM LIKE A FUCKING GREEN BERET. You get up when you realize you can. Stroll out like it’s no bigs. Fuck, now we have to get him a bed…

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2 Responses to “DEAR DAD HOMIES: HOSTAGE SITCH”

  1. Wang Says:

    http://support.wordpress.com/adding-users/

  2. dtine33 Says:

    this made me cry from laughing so hard…..this is my life right now 🙂

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