Nap Pre-empted by Light Switch Mastery

There is so much to get done in the course of my days and stopping at random times to take a nap is something I just don’t have time for. All these toys beg my attention, so much stuff to step on and explore. Now that I’ve got a handle on the light switch it’s a whole new game.

I’ve seen you people flipping the switch, decreeing light or dark at will. It wasn’t too tough to connect the dots and once those dots were connected it was just a matter of time until I figured it out myself.

I’ve had the theory down for some time but the practice was not only over my head but in fact quite literally beyond even the farthest reaches of my tippy fingers. It was a puzzle solved by climbing on brothers bed. Now that I’ve got that, I control the naps, I control the light switch. Not you people. Not you!

Of course I keep getting in trouble for playing with it, that pesky, enticing light-switcheroo, but it’s worth it in ways I’m hard pressed to fathom. Blink, it’s on. Blink, it’s off. Is there any amount of trouble that wouldn’t be worth that reward? I think not.

I have to go now, seeing as it’s apparently “naptime.” I’ll be in my room alright, but the znoozy Z’s may be preempted due to pressing matters in my toy box. It seems there’s a crisis involving my dog, a dinosaur and a spatula. Wish me luck and the bare minimum of trouble.


Couldn’t Work, Dominic Was On the Computer

I’m a hardened, albeit (or albe’me’) squishy senior editor. I get final say and creative authority, but I’m also held responsible for missing deadlines, missing photos, and otherwise mooked-up articles. Today I’ve got a story with a deadline but meddling brother is already on the computer.

As you can see, he`s on the computer.
As you can see, he`s on the computer.

The elders are telling me to share and let baby have his turn, but he’s not doing anything! He’s not working on an article, not surfing the web for more link partners, he’s not even playing Solitare. From what I can tell, he’s just laying their wiggling and slobbering a bit.

With my deadline weaving and looming ever nearer I’m not even sure my control, alt, and delete keys will be in place on the keyboard. Knock an A key or S key loose if you must, but without my 3-finger Ctrl+Alt+Delete salute I just don’t know how my office windows will stay open.

If climbing on the table or going outside unsupervised (despite my 19 months of wisdom) are off limits, can we try to keep the baby off the computer? I ask a lot, admittedly way, way too much but can’t I ask for this one?

Now I’ve got to work in double-time to doubly-quick, halfly-good banging out of a mediocre shtick of newsworthy blech; a lukewarm piece like this one. It doesn’t seem right and it feels unfair to me and the readers both. On behalf of me, Perplexing Times and the lackadaisical brother stretched-out upon our computer, I apologize for any gap in your reading enjoyment or unwisdomification. We mean you no harm, and please pardon the slobber.


Birthday Antics Literally Take the Cake

When I got up in the morning I was pretty excited. The birthday party fairy came overnight and left me everything I needed for my own extra party. Then, I find out it’s somebody else’s birthday, not mine. Then, to add in spit to bakery, birthday boy bit the big one, cake that is.

It’s unfortunate the presents and singing weren’t for me, even worse that he got to blow out the candles (as seen below). I know it’s tradition for the birthday guest to get the first taste of the cake, but come on man, at least wait until we slice you off your own slab.

I’ll eat pastrami off the carpet, snack on Cheez-Its of highly questionable age, or drink from a random bottle I find laying about half empty and long forgotten but do I really want to eat spittle-cake? Overspray from blowing out candles is within acceptable limits but a full-on chocolate gobble is a bit much even for me.

Ultimately I did not eat the cake. Instead, I waited until I forgot about it and saw an eerily similar cake to the one spat-all-about. The colors and everything were the same but this one had been cut to pieces. Deducing it couldn’t possibly be the same cake (especially lacking a wet, glossy sheen) and gladly helped myself to a messy plateload of it. This cake was much better for me, not so questionable.

Brother Patrick’s behavior sure takes the cake alright, and as far as I’m concerned, he can keep it. This other, remarkably identical cake, however, this one’s just fine.

Brother seen here extinguishing the "for-it's" [Huh?] fire while cake-dusting with an anti-sharing formula known as "saliva."
Brother seen here extinguishing the “for-it’s” [Huh?] fire while cake-dusting with an anti-sharing formula known as “saliva.”