Man Eaten by Restaurant Table

I don’t want to disclose the identity of the guy this happened to, but there’s a new danger in restaurants which may lead to you or your loved one being completely consumed by the table itself… and it isn’t cool at all.

This was early in the process. See the table devouring the man?
This was early in the process. See the table devouring the man?

Imagine going to an eatery of any sort at all. Your party gets a table and you hop on up into your high chair, and before you know it the downward-sliding begins. It’s innocent enough at first, a little inconvenient for sure, and before too long, you’ve been more or less swallowed whole.

Most people go to restaurants to eat rather than to be eaten. I think that’s what frustrated me the most, that I was there to enjoy my formula and kiddo-mush in a different environment. I wasn’t there to have a tree carcus try to eat me alive. I’m not sure what I paid for the experience, but I’m sure it was enough to expect something more than that.

Now be patient with me a moment, as I’ve just realize the previous statements make it sound as if the “victim” mentioned was me, which it isn’t, no really, I kind of swear. I’d go back and fix it but I still don’t know where the backspace key is or what it’s used for. So just pretend I said that it wasn’t about me but about some other vague person whom we can only imagine.

Any doubt you may have as to whether or not a table could eat a person should be dispelled by the photos. They’re horrific, aren’t they? A table, a baby, oh the (in)humanity!

So if you are a consumer and a human who is considering dining out, may I suggest that you avoid restaurants as well as places with high chairs, booster seats or tables. Oh, and also the silverware is kind of dangerous, so if you can find a nice place without any of that, I’d say you should add that to your list of critical conditions.

Above - Here you can see only the very crowl and figery tippies of the victim as the table and high chair futher conspire to consume him. It's a real danger and a growing concern among parents and childerfolk alike, me sayeth.
Above – Here you can see only the very crowl and figery tippies of the victim as the table and high chair futher conspire to consume him. It’s a real danger and a growing concern among parents and childerfolk alike, me sayeth.

Just Sure Co-worker is Narcoleptic

I’ve always been tolerant of this little noisemaker I call a junior journalist, but he’s got to start sleeping on his own time, not on the clock. This is a business around here you know.

Mama has to deal with us all day, her rest is justified, but what`s this madness with the little guy?
Mama has to deal with us all day, her rest is justified, but what`s this madness with the little guy?

Getting sick and tired is one thing, getting sick and tired of me is another, but perpetually snoozing on the job is so crazy I had to invent a new word to describe it. The word is “ridicumadness” and I hope you deduce it’s meaning.

I actually assigned him to write a report on the ridicumadness which is his falling asleep on the job, but he fell asleep instead. Are you grasping the gravity yet or must I further punctuate?

It’s not like I’m giving him a graveyard shift taking inventory of sheep by number, I’m sending him out on the latest breaking bits of newsworthy newsiness, and he’s still out less like a light and more like a dim bulb. I run a ship around here, and though it ain’t tight, it is a ship and on his watch it’s sinking.

Sure, when he naps the sum household volume drops about fifteen decibels, but peace and quiet is no peace of mind when it comes to a piece unwritten, and we’re falling behind schedule to embarrassing degrees.

My advice to business operators and would-be-successful entrepreneurs is this: hire child labor, but don’t hire newborns or infants. They’re all sleep and slobber with very little productivity and zero comprehension of deadlines. Hold off until kids hit toddling age before you conscript them into your Barbie factories or to polish the inside of your bomb casings. Take it from me, they don’t work, they just eat, sleep and do one other thing I don’t feel like talking about right now… and that’s where I leave it.

Above - Here you can see Dominic during his "walker chair toy safety" assignment, flat out asleep on the job. How can he ever expect to get a raise or even survive his first performance review with such clearly documented baby-slumbery such as this?
Above – Here you can see Dominic during his “walker chair toy safety” assignment, flat out asleep on the job. How can he ever expect to get a raise or even survive his first performance review with such clearly documented baby-slumbery such as this?

3-Footer Hosts ‘Think Big’ Seminar

If you’re little or just think you are, it’s time for you to break out and think big. This ground-quaking seminar, hosted by small-statured big thinker Brendan Alexander, is here to help.

“Do you think your height is holding you back?” asks me. “Is your smallness the biggest obstacle to your success, or is it the size of your thinking? I can show you a better way.”

Brendan Alexander is a world renowned journalist who admits he’s never finished school nor ever started it. He can show you the door but the rest is up to you (because he can’t actually turn a door knob on his own).

In a press release for the seminars, I… I mean, he says, “I can’t read or write, and even my doodles are little more than dolled up squiggles, yet I’m a[n in]famous journalist. Whether your two-feet or four, you have to think bigger than a big, big hug. The rest will follow.”

As a former two-footer himself, Mr. Alexander has designed this innovative seminar and coaching system to aid the often overlooked sub 48-inch demographic, pun intended. “I see a need for economic and social liberation in people under four-feet. No jobs, no cars, no houses. Biggies hold the shorties down and it’s time to stand up for yourself, and to the tune of a tidy profit, I’ll show you how.”

The United States census (performed in 2000) agrees that fewer than zero percent of those under the age of ten have any employment at all, gainful or otherwise. “No more,” says Brendan. “It’s time to think B-I-Q big… B-I-E, big? Sure, I can’t spell big, but I can think it.”

Whether you’re a child or a short adult unable to find work short of the “adult” sector, this seminar promises the questions to at least one of your answers, or vice-versa.

Seminars are held conveniently in my living room with seating available both Saturday and Sunday. Times are at 1:00 and 1:15, with the first presentation being much longer. Payment available on a sliding scale, and cash, candy, and allowance payment schedules will be accepted.

Oh, and as both me and him will tell you, think big… and bring cash.

 

Three-footer Hosts ‘Think Big’ Seminar

If you’re little or just think you are, it’s time for you to break out and think big. This ground-quaking seminar, hosted by small-statured big thinker Brendan Alexander, is here to help.

Front and center, live and imperson right before my 32-inch jumbotron.
Front and center, live and imperson right before my 32-inch jumbotron.

“Do you think your height is holding you back?” asks me. “Is your smallness the biggest obstacle to your success, or is it the size of your thinking? I can show you a better way.”

Brendan Alexander is a world renowned journalist who admits he’s never finished school nor ever started it. He can show you the door but the rest is up to you (because he can’t actually turn a door knob on his own).

In a press release for the seminars, I… I mean, he says, “I can’t read or write, and even my doodles are little more than dolled up squiggles, yet I’m a[n in]famous journalist. Whether your two-feet or four, you have to think bigger than a big, big hug. The rest will follow.”

As a former two-footer himself, Mr. Alexander has designed this innovative seminar and coaching system to aid the often overlooked sub 48-inch demographic, pun intended. “I see a need for economic and social liberation in people under four-feet. No jobs, no cars, no houses. Biggies hold the shorties down and it’s time to stand up for yourself, and to the tune of a tidy profit, I’ll show you how.”

The United States census (performed in 2000) agrees that fewer than zero percent of those under the age of ten have any employment at all, gainful or otherwise. “No more,” says Brendan. “It’s time to think B-I-Q big… B-I-E, big? Sure, I can’t spell big, but I can think it.”

Whether you’re a child or a short adult unable to find work short of the “adult” sector, this seminar promises the questions to at least one of your answers, or vice-versa.

Seminars are held conveniently in my living room with seating available both Saturday and Sunday. Times are at 1:00 and 1:15, with the first presentation being much longer. Payment available on a sliding scale, and cash, candy, and allowance payment schedules will be accepted.

Oh, and as both me and him will tell you, think big… and bring cash.

ABOVE - Here you can see me in mid-presentation, all atop my coffee table of power and prestige. In my hand is my notecard, you know, the one with all my wisdom gloriously adorning it.
ABOVE – Here you can see me in mid-presentation, all atop my coffee table of power and prestige. In my hand is my notecard, you know, the one with all my wisdom gloriously adorning it.
Above - These photos are from my imaginary press kit. At left I can be seen explaining "the five truths that are always in your face." Center and right I'm explaining how the entire wisdom of my many, many months on this earth are successfully distilled to a single 2x3" note card, prettily made in pink, of course.
Above – These photos are from my imaginary press kit. At left I can be seen explaining “the five truths that are always in your face.” Center and right I’m explaining how the entire wisdom of my many, many months on this earth are successfully distilled to a single 2×3″ note card, prettily made in pink, of course.

 

Dad’s Chair Running a Quart Low

I know nobody asked, and I’m sure those same nobodys are going to pay for my service, but I checked all your critical points and I’m pretty sure your chair is about a quart low.

I`m no expert.
I`m no expert.

I’m still new to my own mobility, and all of it’s just barely off the floor. I’m not complaining, just explaining. Having an 8″ center of gravity suits me well for many reasons, but there’s only so much to look at down here. That’s what led me to check out the chair, and it’s a good thing I did.

Your air filter looks okay, your transaxle is sealed, and your floor has been vacuumed; but seriously, I checked it out and you’re a good quart low. This may cause undue wear and tear on your cheap, wicker chair if you don’t take better care of it with a regular maintenance schedule.

"I'd swear I hear a noise, don't you hear that?" asks Brendan. "It's like there's someone or something banging around under my chair." Adding, "but it is very convenient.
“I’d swear I hear a noise, don’t you hear that?” asks Brendan. “It’s like there’s someone or something banging around under my chair.” Adding, “but it is very convenient.

Normally, a luber/filterer in my position would ask about a system flush and your wipers, but since I don’t have any protective gear nor appreciation for my under-carriagey vantage, I’ll pass on this suggestion. No flush, no change in wiper. We’re cool, okay?

I’m bored so I’m going to roll back bellyward and keep on moving. I’ve got so much more to discover and claim* for my own, even in this room, so I’ll let you go now. But just so you know, a quart low. If you blow an O-ring, don’t pretend you weren’t warned… Quart low, seriously.

* I crawl, I discover and I claim. You know how wolves claim their territory, right? Same deal here. I ain’t proud, I just got instincts.

 

Mobile Amazes All Except Alabamans

There’s this new invention lurking on the children’s tech horizon called a “mobile.” As world-renowned reporters, we got the rare opportunity to preview one of them straight from Japan, and it’s simply amazing. story555

A mobile curiously dangles and bobs above a crib (of unprecedented privilege, I might add). It’s got rich colors and funny, happy shapes, but it also spins, swivels and alluringly teeters in ways sure to amaze all… Except those pesky, incorrigible Alabamans.

The Alabamans, however, have painfully unrealistic expectations. Mobiles are typically huge, like maybe 11-inches across, but those madly Alabamans think Mobile is 15-miles abreast, and populated by a half-million people. Say what?

Even the Japanese can’t fashion a mobile the likes of that. Fifteen miles? My ceiling wouldn’t support it, I’m sure. No wonder they aren’t impressed with this fantastical contraption.

There’s just no pleasing these oddball, civil war re-enactors in their Mobile capital of the world, if not just Alabama.

Know what though, I can’t worry myself about people in breakaway republics like Georgia or Alabama. I’ve got a whiz-bang new distraction, and neither you guys nor your confederate buddies can convince me otherwise.

Hang on a second, have to watch it spin a minute… okay, I’m back, sorry.

Well, the south may rise again, but if they do, they’d better raise the mobile to a good two to three feet above baby heads. Mine’s in striking distance and I love it. This stuff is totally awesome. You’d have to see it just to believe it, seriously.

But I have to go now. The mobile is still in motion and I owe it to its creators to watch it wiggle precariously above my napping station. No time, very busy now, must go.

 

Perp Times Welcomes Smoochy Day

Howdy there, my name is Brendan Alexander. I’m a syndicated journalist and I fully embrace and endorse this new “Smoochy Day” holiday, much as I might like to deny it.

He should have seen it coming, he already had a heart sticker on his head.
He should have seen it coming, he already had a heart sticker on his head.

Imagine the magic of Christmas, Thanksgiving and Valentines Day all rolled into one, but without any neck ties or stupid socks you’ll never wear. Religious and familial barriers are broken down leaving only innocuous, friendly hugs and kisses of well-wishing and warmest tiding. Ain’t that something?

Forget those corporate pirates at Hallmark, this is the most floating of any calenderial holiday, not dependant on hype, but on the feeling of love deep in your own lub-dubberous heart. For me it floats to today.

If you’ve got any sort of warm, human feelings in your soul at all, you’re ready for Smoochy Day. Come on, I know you’re ready. Aren’t you? You know you are, just be honest.

LEFT - Poor little Dominic, he didn't know what day it was, he didn't even seen it coming.
LEFT – Poor little Dominic, he didn’t know what day it was, he didn’t even seen it coming.

Yesterday I woke up and, despite the lack of widespread media attention, I just knew it was Smoochy Day. If you’ve ever woken up with a perennial hangover, you’ve instinctively known it was New Years Day, didn’t you? Same deal here, but without the cottonmouth, screaming migraine and curiosity to one’s bedfellow’s identity. Perhaps you understand, though I can’t say as that I fully do. Probably for the best, though.

Bearing in mind that this is a loving, though safe and friendly holiday, let me tell you how I celebrated my Smoochy Day. It all started with mama. When I awoke and felt in my bones what day it was and I gave her a goodly series of smooches. Makes sense, right? Each one after the other and every last one seemed to make her day.

Then daddy woke up, and the real challenge of the season was on, could I kiss a dude, and a family dude at that, even on this, the day of loving smoochies? Yes I could and yes I did.

To daddy’s surprise I gave him no less than five kisses today, from forehead to cheek to hand to right on his apple-juice-soaked lips. You should have seen his joy and surprise. Guess he didn’t know what day it was, but he embraced it and the whole thing apparently made his day.

See, that’s the benefit of such a counter-commercial day. Nobody sees it coming and everybody loves it just the same.

Take today as your own chance to adorn you friends and family with warm, moist, friendly, non-committal hugs and kisses of appreciation. You owe it to them and today’s the day to repay that debt.

Good tidings to all and to all a warm, happy Smoochy Day!

ABOVE - Though all kinds of zoomed in here, and a bit sad-faced in appearance, this was a random smoochy for miss mama-lady.
ABOVE – Though all kinds of zoomed in here, and a bit sad-faced in appearance, this was a random smoochy for miss mama-lady.

‘Lact’ Only Intorable ‘Ose’

As any loyal reader surely knows, I’ll eat anything you put in front of me as long as it ain’t green. Even milk and cheese, the hosts to the only “oses” I can’t tolerate.

So many choices, so few will make me anything other than sick.
So many choices, so few will make me anything other than sick.

Sucrose, glucose, fructuse, you name your ose-ly suffixed sugars and I’ll tell you I’m here to eat it and love it. Sadly, even, if not especially, the forbidden lactose.

Slap me a stick of string cheese and I’m giddy as an infomercial pitch man, but wait a half-hour and my intestinal anger will rear its many ugly heads as sure as Medusa’s boufant at Zeus’ millionth birthday party*.

I consider myself an open-minded and forgiving person, but when it comes to standard dairy products, I just won’t tolerate ‘em.

All the other oses are my sweetest vices, quite literally. Yet the naturally occurring sugar in milk really upsets me deep down inside. Cramps, constipa-diarrhea, runny nose and general misery all abound. The whole package is an intestinal time bomb waiting to detonate, right there in the back of my poor, unfortunate kiddo pants.

I can’t explain it and I won’t even try. I don’t even think astro-physicists could explain** this gurgly-tummy problem of mine. Now my big complaint is that almost all the foods I find have tons of dairy in them by their very nature, and the parents won’t replace my lacto-moo intake with any of the other oses. Drop the cottage cheese, throw in the Pixie-Sticks by the case, I say.

Sadly, I’m alone in the hopeful propogation of my dietery dissertation. I tried to tell them that I have many years of experience in dieticianry and nutritionismus, but nobody seems to buy my ridiculous tale. They keep saying I’m only two years old and can’t be three-plus years of anything. Yeah, well, whatever.

Fine, I’ll eat this silly soy and rice cheese. It ain’t the same, but I’ll do it because I’m a real trooper. A trooper, I tell you, a trooper!

ABOVE - Seen here sorting through the myriad lact-including milks. All fit for the endrunkification, not a single fit for my poor, sorry, runny bowels in the after-the-fact sort of matter. Don't the dairy lobbyists understand that most of the world (asia, specifically) is lactose intolerant like me? Seriously, the asians simply won't tolerate it and neither will I!
ABOVE – Seen here sorting through the myriad lact-including milks. All fit for the endrunkification, not a single fit for my poor, sorry, runny bowels in the after-the-fact sort of matter. Don’t the dairy lobbyists understand that most of the world (asia, specifically) is lactose intolerant like me? Seriously, the asians simply won’t tolerate it and neither will I!

* Quasi obscurish, no?
** Seriously, astro -physicists don’t seem to have much expertise in gastro-intestinal studies, despite their smarty pants reputationseses.

Parents Detest Whine Reflex

You slap me with a plate of stewed spinach and you’ll be met by the closest thing I have to a gag reflex. It’s weak, but much stronger is my trademark* whine reflex, and it seems the parents just don’t appreciate it, oddly. story558

It’s not like I whine for no reason; I always have ample cause. Hunger, thirst and tiredness are all fine grounds, but that’s just kid stuff. I’ve relegated most of that to Dominic though I still use them myself. Mostly I whine about more complicated needs, as I’m a more complicated man.

My more grown up, perpetual, uncontrollable and common whine reflex reactions are incited by:

  • Assorted coveting,
  • Lack of candy,
  • Lack of bye-bye,
  • Lack of attention,
  • Boredom,
  • I’m awake,
  • Just because.

So you see? It’s not as if I’m being unreasonable, these are all very legitimate problems. Still, the parents don’t see it my way and their nerves are growing a bit frazzled. I’m sorry to hear that, truly, but I can’t control how they feel. Come on, I can’t even control how I feel.

Oh, and don’t try to use the above items as a checklist. Once I get going there’s very little stopping me, drive yourself batty in trying as you may. Hey, this isn’t exactly a picnic for me either, people. You have to hear the noise, but I have to make it and hear it. You just try being me!

I’m proud of my potent whine, but it’s not like I mean to unleash it ad aggravatum, I already told you it’s a reflex. Tap a mallet on my knee and I’m going to kick you square in the groin, and I can’t stop that either. These are all just reflexes, don’t blame me for being human.

The smart thing to do, whether you’re my parents, a curator, librarian or even my own pastor, is just embrace my volume. To answer your question, no I cannot keep it down. Stop trying to carpet the world and just put on some slippers already.

And don’t think for a second that your counter-whining is any less annoying. You guys are big, you should really know better.

* Seriously, trademark. You can spot me by it from thirty-yards, even with your eyes closed.

whine-reflex-wide

Reporter Shelves Rules, Himself

In case you’ve never read our Perplexing Times nor met a junior professional younger than three, you don’t know this: I may be crazy, but I ain’t crazy about rules.

Me and rules were both made to be broken. Wait, that`s not right.
Me and rules were both made to be broken. Wait, that`s not right.

We suffered a storage crunch here at headquarters, so Daddy-O got us a bunch of shelves. Sounds smart, but I’m an explorer, so my natural inclination has been to explore them, even though I keep hearing “no-no.”

My oral skills are really shoddy, so I try to pretend I don’t hear stuff about the dangers of falling, breaking or knocking stuff over on to myself… but it’s all just pretending. I hear your rules, but I choose to shelve them, and I choose to shelve myself too.

Some nooksome crannies are more comfy than others, but all of them are fun (and I’m all about fun, you see). Ignore the rules, climb in, turn around, get stuck, holler, it’s all good.

But imagine for a second I’m not a troublemaker, but a socially responsible household safety advocate. Thanks to my very own, personal bungling, the cabinets have all been secured fast to the walls. See how beneviolent I can be in your imagination?

Hey, if you want me to stop crawling in and out of shelves, put something on them, because if you don’t, I will. I’ll fill ‘em up with a couple dozen pounds of me. And when baby Dominic hits the climbing age, I’ll teach him all about it, and all your “me” discipline will be for nothing.

And if you don’t know how to fill them, might I suggest toys, cartoons, permanent markers and maybe some India ink. I’m just suggesting these things, it’s up to you, of course.

shelves-self-wide1
I don’t have to be bound in leather for a collector to see I’m a highly coveted first edition.
Before the stereo was in its cabinet, I had fun being in there myself (above left), but now I have to share space, so I stay on the bottom bunk. Not the most comfortable form of rebellion I've ever undertaken, but it holds its own.
Before the stereo was in its cabinet, I had fun being in there myself (above left), but now I have to share space, so I stay on the bottom bunk. Not the most comfortable form of rebellion I’ve ever undertaken, but it holds its own.