The Third Day of Christmas

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: A simultaneously puking yet wild-as-shit toddler. A dual-threat if ever there was one. Puking in the place you encouraged them not to puke one minute, asking you to slam dance to “Jingle Bells” the next. I don’t know whether to shit or go blind. “I want ‘juice’!” Gatorade administered, consumed, yarmouth. All over the floor, mom, herself. “I want more juice! Daddy let’s play cars!” And so on and so forth. The dog is so riddled with worry that he too is now puking. Mom cleans up human puke while dad cleans up dog puke. Have a holly jolly Christmas, it’s the best time of the year. Fruit Punch Gatorade is the perfect beverage to hydrate small children with because it ensures that whatever they puke on will be permanently stained. Why clean up clear puke when you can attempt to scrub red dye and stomach acid out of carpets and clothes? Is it brilliant because I thought of it, or did I think of it because it is brilliant? That is for the philosophers to debate I guess. All I know is that she’s bat shit insane and has absolute authority in the house because no parent’s conscience wants to deal with disciplining a sick child who is too young to understand what is happening to them. So we administer drink we know will make them puke, we swear at the puke as we clean it up, and of course we dance. How does one appropriately dance to “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”? Fuck if I know, but I’ve got my marching orders so I do what I can. Added bonus being this occurs squarely on the weekend. Wouldn’t want to be puking on Wednesday, gotta save that shit for Friday through Sunday. Maximize mom and dad’s misery to ensure they are fucking hatin’ it by Monday morning. “Hey kiddo, do you have to throw up?” “No mommy I’m okay. Mommy I puked.” “Yes, I know, I’m washing the puke off the sofa as you say that.” On the Third Day of Christmas we have a puking, ape shit 2-year-old which is a nice complement to

A 2-day hangover at age 35 and an
Arctic blast right up the ass

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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3 Responses to The Third Day of Christmas

  1. Pingback: The Fourth Day of Christmas | What Sux Now

  2. You want holiday cheer and the spirit of giving? On Friday we all gave our baby sitter at collected 800+ dollars to go visit her daughter in the UK this next year. What did she give me in return? A two year old that also pukes like the one mentioned above.

    Yep- you have a choice as a parent, keep your kid at home all day, unsocialized and sucking the life out of the parent who is with them the entire time, or Day care. Well we choose day care, (-as an aside- have you ever met anyone who was home schooled? That shit should be illegal as those kids turn out more fucked than anyone)

    Daycare is great because all of the kids come together to share whatever shit they have, we have this one fucker who goes there and has the god damn nerve to post on FB, “My kid was puking all night, thanks Mrs ____ for taking her today” What the fuck? So you just posted publicly that you sent your fucking sick ass kid to go fuck up my seemingly healthy child. Thanks a fucking ton, glad to know my kid is getting infected while I’m at work.

    Nothing is sounds more like holiday cheer to me than a kid puking through a baby monitor, then wigging out. Cleaning that shit up is pointless too, why? Because right about when you fall asleep, they puke again, and you have to unfuck everything. Tick Tock tick tock, that’s the sound of me waiting to be puking my guts out— Thanks fellow day care parent- I’ll fucking cut you

  3. Pingback: The Fifth Day of Christmas | What Sux Now

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