You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::


View My Stats

eXTReMe Tracker

Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam

This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable

Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License


email me


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)

Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity


Vox Day



Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major





  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012

  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

    This page is powered by Blogger.

        Sunday, March 06, 2005

    She Ain't Heavy...

    ...she's her mother.

    No, I'm the Heavy. The Heavy Artillery. The go-to guy when a little ass needs whipping. This is how we maintain the balance in our small corner of the universe.

    Just a bit ago, the klaxon sounded, and I rushed stat! into the bathroom to lay about smartly with a stick on Thunderbunny, who was screaming loudly, in the tub, for "Just one more minute!" and carrying on like a Sabine Woman.

    When I heard the Bane Mate cry my name in that special tone, I had swept up the bamboo back scratcher to indulge in a little minor caning, but upon seeing the Bane Daughter in all of her chubby, sudsy Glory, I took pity, dropped the weapon, and grabbed up a large plastic cup, instead. I turned the sink on high and cold, and filled that sucker several times as I hollered "You!"SPLASH"Get!"SPLASH"Out!"SPLASH"Of that damn!"SPLASH"Tub when your mother says so!" and by this time she's clambering overboard like a pink rat fetus, howling like an exorcised demonic cherub, and her brother is huddled safely in his corner of the tub, goggle-eyed and going "fuhfuhfuhfuh" from all of the cold water collateral damage he's been taking from my precision bombing.

    No prisoners.

    I do not let the wife whip on the kids. She's not very good at it, and has long nails as well. If you're going to hit something as small and fragile as a child, you should have the skill for it. Children break easily, and now more than ever, they give you the fish-eye at the emergency room when you bring one in that you have carelessly broken.

    One of the keys to proper child abuse is to make them think they are getting it a lot worse than they are. Go all WWF on their ass, gesticulating wildly, and stomping your foot as the blow lands. If they think they are approaching their imminent death at the hands of a madman, they are unlikely to repeat the behavior for at least a week.

    That's about all I've got with Johnny. He is so fucked up everywhere, that it is difficult to find a spot to strike properly. I am limited to nerve plexii and stern rebukes, and the occasional threat to barbecue his train set or kill Barney (or whatever appropriate holiday related fantasy creature is in vogue that month).

    Regardless, do not shake a child. This does not adjust them, or actually shake anything out. If you shake your child in front of me, you will be lucky to wake up in a hospital wondering why it hurts so much to move. I will not talk to you. I will not warn you. I will just move in and give you a beating your child will always remember.

    As to whuppin on kids, remember, pain compliance is what we're after. You do not need to go to the muscle. It is not our goal to bruise or incapacitate this midget, and if done properly when said midget is small, they will fear you enough to respect you as they grow larger.

    You do not want to inspire enough fear so that they will begin to eye the gun and knife cabinets for ways to take you out in your sleep.
    No, make sure the punishment fits the crime, and that you have warned them enough so that whatever trauma they are now enduring is something that they brought upon themselves and that it is making the Baby Jesus happy to see them getting their just reward.

    I recommend a 1.5 to 2 inch wide belt, folded in fourths, and wielded to the buttocks. The child should not be dancing around, but laid out over the side of the parental bed, if possible. This has the extra benefit of the little creeps not seeing said bed as a place of comfort where they can come and wake you up at 3am for some quality time.

    Plastic kitchen utensils work well as spur of the moment kid-beaters, too. Just watch out for slot marks and cutting edges. It is not recommended that you beat your child with any pans, though a ten inch omelette pan does show promise.

    Try to not have the pan's brand name show up on the Polaroids they will take at the emergency room, though.


    Comments: Post a Comment