Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 5: Fear The Poopy)

scroll down for chapter 4
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When we finally got back to the school it was evident that class had been dismissed as there was a line of mini-vans and SUV’s wrapped around the parking lot. The sea of blue parking spaces were, of course, empty so I motioned to a lady in a 2004 Sherman Suburban Tank to move a little so I could squeeze my little car thru. She rolled her eyes and turned away, pretending I wasn’t there. Oh no she didn’t, if want to be ignored I’ll go to Best Buy and wait for help. I didn’t need this shit, not now. I got out of the car and approached her window with my hands up in the air.

“Hey lady, what gives? I just need to get thru. I know you see me in there. I can see your beady eyes through your Sally Jesse Raphael glasses”

She buzzed down her window.

“Those are handicapped spaces. And you obviously aren’t handicapped. Why don’t you pull around and park in the visitor spaces in the back.”

Visitor’s spaces? I didn’t have time to wait for the shuttle bus to take me from the visitor’s lot to the school. Who died and made her the moral majority anyway?

“Listen, Geraldine Falwell. Unless there is a Boeing 747 full of handicapped people getting ready to land in the next few minutes, I think there will be plenty of handicapped spaces left. Now would you please move aside so I can get in?”

“You know what, it’s people like you that make this country so rotten. Young punks always thinking about themselves with no care in the world, and no responsibility, thinking everyone owes them something. You make me sick.”

Yeah, it was on.

“No princess, what makes this country blow is soccer moms like you living in your little suburban bubble, driving your gas guzzlers filled with bratty uncontrollable kids, with no concern for the environment, your community, or the other people of this world…acting all holier than thou, like your shit don’t stink….”

EEEEEEEE….EEEEEEEEE….EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Our little debate was interrupted by my nephew who decided he would lay on the horn for a while to bring the attention of the entire school and surrounding neighborhoods to the developing parking lot rage that was about to take place. I was embarrassed, not by our altercation, but by my horn. I have a nice sporty car, but the horn is a little lacking in the masculinity department. It doesn’t scream “BACK OFF!!!” or “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!!!” like some bigger vehicles. No it’s more like a sniveling, wimpy, “umm, excuse me…if you don’t mind, the light is green, and well, ummm, hey we are all waiting for you to go…patiently of course...hahaha…whenever you’re ready…don’t hurt me or I’ll cry for my mommy.” Yeah, that’s just what it sounded like. Nonetheless, Soccer Mom and I tried to continue our civil conversation through the racket.

“Oh yeah well bite m…”

EEEEEEEEEEE!!!

“Kiss my…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

“You cocksuc…”

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

“What did you call me, well I oughta…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

“…and shove it up your…”

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!


Maybe the other drivers in line were getting tired of my wussy-ass horn or maybe they were just bored, but they all started laying on their horns too. With the blaring cacophony building to an annoying crescendo, my mentally outgunned adversary retreated back into her vehicle, told me I was #1 on both hands, and pulled her tank up.

I pulled into my space and got out to let my nephew out of his kiddie-seat.

“Haha, Wyatt. You and I make quite a team don’t we?”

“Yeah, me and you, we a team Unco Onionhead!”

“That’s ‘You and I” Wyatt.”

“Yeah, me and you.”

As I was unbuckling him from his seat, trying to figure out why he brushed good grammar aside like brusell sprouts under the table, I smelled something funky. And not the funky poopy smell that I had braced myself for the entire trip back. No, it was more of a funky ammonia-like smell that just took over and burned my pesky nose hairs.

“Wyatt, what is that funky smell?”

“I dunno Unco Onionhead, but I kweened up real good,” he said as he took one of the fifty balled up discarded tissues and started wiping his face again. I grabbed the tissue out of his hand, and realized my nephew had “kweened” himself with half the container of Armor All Wipes I had in the backseat of my car. In horror I grabbed the container and read the back.

“To achieve that natural low-gloss finish use directly on leather, windows, dash, vinyl, fabric and painted surfaces.” Nothing about nephews or snack cakes. Damn.

“Do you feel OK? Does your skin burn at all?”

“NO, I’m kween now. I smell good, don’t I Unco Onionhead?”

“You smell like a cheap sofa, Wyatt.”

I grabbed my freshly-detailed nephew my his hand and started walking to the school entrance. What would my sister think when she saw me walking back with her only son who had been sitting in his own congealed poo for hours, covered in spongecake, and smelling like a discount furniture outlet. I wouldn’t have long to find out as she met me at the sidewalk, along with Principal Pissypants, and an entourage of concerned teachers. She ran to meet us at the curb.

“Oh my god Wyatt, are you OK?”

“I’m fine mommy. Don’t I smell kween?” and he stuck his arm in her face, as if everybody within a 100 foot radius couldn’t smell him. She looked up at me.

“Onionhead. I heard he was in an accident. Then we heard the horns blaring out here. I thought something terrible happened.”

“Oh haha! I didn’t mean to startle ya like that. He had an accident in his pants, and I didn’t know what to do so we came back here. Then I got in a fight with this lady in the parking lot, and then Wyatt made a mess eating a Ding-Dong and used Armor All Wipes to clean himself up. And…ummm…so here we are. So how was your day?”

My sister gave me one of her looks that I remember her giving me growing up. Yep it was the same look she gave me right before she gave me two black eyes after I dissected her teddy bear with safety scissors after science class one day (yeah I was a nerd, but a safe one).

“Onionhead, if you’re not busy being an idiot, you’re just not busy are you?”

“Well, sometime I watch TV and…”

“MARCH!” she screamed and pointed back to the school. I grabbed my nephew’s hand and we both did the walk of shame into the school. I could hear Principal Pissypants and my sister’s colleagues chuckling behind us. Instead of the conquering hero returning from battle in all his glory I felt like the conquered zero who couldn’t keep a 6-year old in check for 3 hours on his own. O the humanity!

When we got into the office my sister turned her frustration on my nephew.

“And you. You are six years old now. SIX!!!! And you still poop in your pants like a widdle baby.”

He looked up at me again, eyes all watery, trying to talk.

“But…But…But…”

As much as it pained me to do so, and as much as he deserved a good scolding like I had just endured, I just couldn’t throw him under the bus. I made him a promise, and I owed it to him to keep it.

“Hey, it was an accident. I got him all worked up over this Build-A-Bear thing and it just happened. I told him that if we came back here that you wouldn’t be mad with him. C’mon he looks up to me. Help me out here will you?”

We both stared at her, still sniveling (ahem, mine was for effect), with our big blue eyes batting and begging for mercy. She just shook her head, and then eventually smiled.

“Are you sure you aren’t his father?” she said

“Ummm that would be a little sick.”

“You know what I mean. You’re like a big him and he’s like a little you. Alright, I’m just glad everybody is OK. Wyatt has a change of clothes in my classroom.”

“Fantastic”, I exclaimed with a deep sigh of relief, “I’ll just be here in the office while you’re cleaning him up and stuff. Bring him in whenever you’re done.” And with that I sat my fat ass in a big comfortable chair for a much needed power nap.

SCREECH

That was the sound of my plans coming to a halt as my sister grabbed me by the ear.

“Oh no. You got him into this mess and you will get him out. I have a meeting to go to. My classroom is open and there is a bathroom inside. Kaitlyn is in there and she will show you where Wyatt’s clothes are. Just clean him up and get him changed and then you can go back to the mall. Do you think you can handle that or do I need to get one of the 4th graders in here to help you?”

“Oh no, I got it. No problem, haha.”

And with that she went to her meeting, and we walked down the hall to her classroom. My niece was in there with another teacher’s daughter, and they had the desks moved against the walls because they were dancing and doing cartwheels all over the floor.

“Uncle Onionhead, what are you guys doing here. I thought you were going to Build-A-Bear? she said.

“Oh hey, Kaitlyn. We were but he forgot something he needed, so we came back.”

“Mommy yelled at Unco Onionhead, Kaitlyn, hahahahaha!” my nephew said about falling over from laughter. They all laughed at me. After I stuck my neck out for you, Et tu Wyatt.

“She didn’t yell at me. We were talking about adult stuff. Ummm so where are his change of clothes at.”

“Oh brother, did he poop in his pants? They’re over her in this cubbyhole. Don’t worry about it Uncle Onionhead, nobody can handle him. I didn’t think you would either. Actually you lasted a lot longer than I thought.

What was that supposed to mean? My own 8-year old niece didn’t think I could keep up with her 6-year old brother. She was smart for age, perhaps too smart. Or maybe she was still fuming about the Draw 4 I laid down on her in Spongebob Uno last night. That must have been it, sore loser.

“Whateva, Kaitlyn. Ok Wyatt, here are you’re clothes. Go change and let’s get out of here.”

“Uncle Onionhead, you are going to have to help him. He is too much of a baby to do it himself,” she said.

“A’M NOT!”

“ARE TOO!”

”A’M NOT!”

”ARE TOO!”

The cyclical pointlessness of their argument was too much to bear, so I looked down at Wyatt.

“Do you need me to help you Wyatt?”

“Yeah.”

“HAHA! BABY!” she screamed back victoriously

“SHUDDUP KAITLYN” he retorted intellectually.

My sister was right. A day with these two really was like a commercial for birth control. I don’t know how she does it. Seriously, I don’t.

I followed him into the bathroom and he locked the door. He started undressing himself so I figured I would turn away and let him have his privacy, plus I definitely didn’t want to see any poop. I don’t have the stomach for it. When my niece was born I would babysit her, and for all the hell she put me thru she never ONCE did a poopy diaper, and because of that I think we have this connection. We understand each other. She understood my fear of the poopy diaper and I understood her fear in making one because of my probable ineptness at handling it. Like I said, she was and still is, smart beyond her years. My nephew on the other hand, well he is another story.

“Unco Onionhead.”

“Yes, Wyatt.”

“Can you wipe my butt?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can you wipe my butt, Unco Onionhead?”

“Wyatt you’re a big boy, wipe your own butt.”

“I got poop on my butt, can you wipe it for me?”

Obviously my reasoning wasn’t sinking in, so I went for the straightforward approach.

“HELL NO I AIN’T TOUCHING THAT SHIT!!!”

I know I shouldn’t have cussed, after all these little kids are human tape recorders. But when I signed the contract to be an uncle it didn’t have any fine print about wiping no butts. It said I would be subject to getting stuff thrown at me, and punched at, and scratched, and climbed on, and run around until my last lung shriveled up in defeat, and answer a million questions I didn’t know the answer to, and kiss dolls and stuffed bears good night, and watch Shrek a hundred times, but never did it say anything, not one word, about wiping poop. I was protected under the law and that was good enough for me.

“Hahaha!!! You funny Unco Onionhead”

He didn’t pester me any more about it, and once he got done I helped him get changed and got him washed up in the sink. As we walked out of the bathroom, I looked at my niece who was attempting back flips, which were ending up more like back-flops on the nappy-time mats.

“Hey Crouching Platypus!” I shouted.

“”Who me?” she said after falling on her face.

“Yeah you. You and I. Spongebob Uno. Tonight. Bring you’re A-game or you will be defeated again, and great shame will fall upon your family.”

“I will be there Uncle Onionhead. I may have underestimated your prowess in the discipline of Spongebob Uno in the past, but never again. I shall show no mercy, and your end will be quick and painless.”

“We shall see.”

“Indeed we will.”

Like I said, she is way smart beyond her years. The lines were drawn in the sand between her and I. But that would be a battle for later. I had more pressing tasks at the moment, namely getting my nephew to Build-A-Bear. We walked back down the hall and there was my sister, who had gotten out of her meeting, and was waiting with a coat for my nephew.

“Wyatt, it’s getting cold out. Put on this jacket,” she said.

“HELL NO I AIN’T TOUCHING THAT SHIT!!!”

My sister stood there flabbergasted at first, then intuitively looked at me.

“Uncle Onionhead, where does he learn such language?”

“Fuck if I know.”

If my sister had a hat on her head she would of hit me like the Skipper hits Gilligan, but she didn’t have a hat on, so she reached for her purse like Aunt Ester getting ready to hit Woody, but my nephew sprinted out toward the door and started yelling at the top of his lungs.

“BIDABER, BIDABER, BIDABER…WOO HOO!!!!!”

Out of my sister's clutches, I pursued helplessly after him.

Deja vu is a bitch.

Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 4: Guilty As Charged)

scroll down for chapter 3
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Apparently the 227 in progress at the Mrs. Fields kiosk kept the law dogs at bay. In fact it appears the situation escalated to a standoff, for as we were pulling out, we were passed in the other direction by two city bicycle cops hurriedly peddling back to the mall, each with a half gallon of milk. It was nice to see two local law agencies working together, communicating, and sharing the responsibility needed to bring a tense situation to an abrupt end. I unwrapped and pulled out my Ding Dong and raised it up to honor these fearless community servants.

“Here’s to the men and women who tirelessly man the malls of our great capitalist nation everyday, preserving our rights to giant cookies, Icees, and the pursuit of corndogs.”

I turned back to my nephew to include him in this vaulted tribute but found out he had already honored our heroes in his own way, by smearing chocolate cake and hydrogenated crème filling all over his shirt, pants, face and hands. Since when did hostess start putting grenades in their snackcakes? I thought for a moment that perhaps the shopkeeper had put an exploding device in the ding-dongs in case they ended up in the wrong hands. But that would be too brilliant, no one could have masterminded such a perfect defense system. It was clearly evident by the fudgey fingerprints on my cell phone that my nephew had the etiquette of a badly mannered caveman.

“Hey Wyok, NO. Your Unco Onionok no likey you wear your food and smear it around in his cave with wings.”

“OOO OOO OOO, but it so goo...it very goo Unco Onionok…OOO OOO…me cannot help it…Wyok love cakey ”

I tried to speak his language but it wasn’t working. So I went back to addressing him like every other calm, rational human being on the planet that spends two minutes with him and started yelling.

“IF YOU IN SO MUCH LAY A FINGER ON MY FANCY LEATHER CARSEATS I WILL PERSONALLY HANG YOU BY YOUR THUMBS, DOUSE YOU IN MOUNTAIN DEW, AND LET THE HUMMINGBIRDS PECK AWAY AT YOUR SWINGING CARCASS UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BUT A PINATA OF UNDER-DEVELOPED BONES. DO YOU HEAR ME???”

“Hahahahaha! You funny, Uncle Onionhead. Hahahaha!”

Damn. Why doesn’t he take me seriously? Then I started thinking. Why doesn’t my family take me seriously? Why didn’t my ex-girlfriend take me seriously, even in bed when I talked in my best Barry White voice? Why doesn’t my boss take me seriously, or my friends, or road construction crews, or puppeteers? Why? Why? Why?

“Uncle Onionhead. I’m sorry. I won’t touch nuthin’. I promise.”

Validation. Right then and there he gave me more respect than I’ve ever heard him give anyone. You know, the kid was no dummy, he just has some excitability issues. I started reflecting on my days of falling asleep in the back of Psychology 101 and deduced that perhaps he suffered from some subconscious self-fulfilling prophecy. He came to school in the shadows of my 9-year old niece whom everybody just loves. She is a perfect student and he is, well, he is not. And all the teachers, and babysitters, and birthday party clowns are always warned ahead of time about what a handful he can be. Eureka! There’s no wonder he doesn’t settle down and act right – people don’t expect him too. They expect hell on wheels and that’s what he gives them. I decided as his uncle and his pal that I would start treating him with some respect and give him an opportunity to succeed instead of waiting for him to fail.

“There’s some tissues back here Uncle Onionhead, do you want me to clean up?”

See that, he wanted to clean himself up! He was a reasonable little human being after all, and not some tick-infested poop-flinging monkey boy.

“Yeah do the best you can champ. I’ll help you get the rest once we stop.”

The lawd really does work in mysterious ways because I didn’t remember having tissues in the backseat. The genie of the car lamp must have granted my first wish to protect my car from Ding-Dong residue. I figured it was best to hurry up and make wishes #2 and #3 before he escaped thru the sunroof. I looked over at my passenger seat several times but it remained empty. Where the hell was topless Christina Ricci holding a bottomless bucket of extra tasty crispy? Stupid fucking genie.

I snapped out of my daydreaming only to realize I was driving like Jeff Spiccoli looking for a pizza. What am I doing? Where am I going? Why are these penguins laughing at me? I had to get it together.

“Hey, bossman. Does your mom leave any of the doors unlocked at the house? We’ll need to get back there and clean you up and get you a change of clothes.”

“No, but Oscar will let us in.”

Oscar was the puppy my sister and her husband bought the kids outside of Home Depot one weekend. I wasn’t there that day, but I imagine the brother-in-law took advantage of the ad in the Sunday paper that read “Buy one laser level, a pile of aluminum siding and some deck board and get a FREE crossbred mutt with hip displosure.” Actually Oscar is a damn good dog, plus his handi-capable condition allows them to park in the premiere parking spots. But I think my nephew was over-estimating his abilities.

“Hmmm… I don’t think we should be disturbing Oscar right now since he is probably busy doing the laundry, fluffing the pillows, and cooking dinner for the family. A dog’s place is in the home you know.”

“You right Uncle Onionhead. We don’t wanna deturd him.”

“Yeah that too.”

There was really nowhere else to go but back to the school. His mom would have to figure something out because this responsibility thing was wearing on my last nerves. I decided to give her a heads-up call to let her know we were on our way back.

“Hey, I need to speak to Mrs. Checkan, please.” I looked in the rearview and my nephew was still wiping himself off, with balled up tissues everywhere, only he really wasn’t cleaning more than smearing it all over himself.

“Hey, Hey, Hey! Ok stop already with the tissues.”

“But I’m not clean yet.” he whined.

“Listen do you want a spanking?” I threatened.

“Sir…excuse me, sir!?” the lady on the line answered.

“O sorry…no I’m really sorry m’am, I wasn’t talking to you…Oh, Mrs. Checkan is busy right now…ummm…Ok, well just tell her that her brother is on his way back to school and that her son had an accident…OK bye.” Great now the school receptionist thinks I have an ass fetish. Between her and Principal Pissypants I guess I wouldn’t be getting any Man of the Year nominations from my sister’s school anytime soon.

“I don’t wanna go back to school,” my nephew whined again. “I didn’t poop in my pants. It was just a joke. Can we go back to Bidaber now?”

“Listen my little friend, I’m done foolin with you. Poop or no poop we are going back to the school. You can discuss the evidence and reasonable doubt with your mommy. This court is dismissed.”

He was silent for the next few miles. I looked in the rearview and he had little tears streaming down his fudge-smudged face. Damn. I was a bit hard on him. As soon as he heard we were going back to school he flipped his whole story around. It was obvious to me that he was scared that his mommy would be sore with him.

“Hey listen, bud. I’ll talk to your mommy, OK. She won’t be mad with you. I promise.”

“Really? You proooooomise?”

“Absolutely.”

“Pray to god and hope to die?”

“Yeah, yeah, whateva…”

“Thank you Uncle Onionhead. Hahahahaha! I did poop in my pants! POOPY POOPY POOPY, HAHAHAHA!”

Guilty as charged. No plea bargain. The deal was off. Let justice be served swiftly and severely.

Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 3: Drop the Ding-Dong and No One Gets Hurt)

scroll down for chapter 2
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I stared at the rent-a-cops putting in at the speed of sound, which sounded a lot like this, “putt-putt-putt-putt”. And although a three-legged, elderly, constipated dog could have outrun that scooter, I figured a life on the run with a hyperactive incontinent 6-year old wasn’t the life for me. So I stood there, and I waited, and I waited and waited. As the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes into hours, and the hours into days like sands through an hourglass, I began thinking about who was to blame for our current fiasco. The innocent, don’t-know-no-better, frosted side that brings out the kid in me thought that I was to blame. My nephew, Wyatt, was a product of his environment. He was an excitable youngster already and I certainly got him all worked up about this Build-A-Bear thing, and hence the problem turd was born. Then, after the said dump was produced, in a classic case of textbook denial, I refused to believe or trust him when he claimed responsibility, and this led to a vocal battle between his honest id and my stubborn ego, a battle which culminated in our untimely misfortune. However, the dried-out, crappy side that brings out the selfish dick in me thought that he is the one that brought this predicament upon us with his explosive and undisciplined bowels. When I was six I was working on finding the inverse relationship between the theory of relativity and the square root of pi. At the same age, he is trying to make it a whole day without filling his drawers with dung. Edge: Onionhead.

The mall cops finally pulled up, and after the driver lifted his sizeable belly over the steering wheel, they approached us carefully, with their hands caressing the tops of their holstered walkie-talkies.

“Well, well, well, what have we here”, said the fat one.

After all the thinking I had just done, I realized that now was the time to be truthful, to be the man in charge, and to take responsibility for my actions.

“That’s your man”, I said as I pointed my finger to my nephew.

“This little guy right here is the cause of the ruckus?” said the other fat one. (OK they were both fat. Yeah I know, stereotypical. But i ain't exactly twiggy, so it's OK cause we down like that.)

“Ruckus? There was hardly a ruckus, Officer.”

“Well, we got a report from a frantic lady about a guy in the parking lot who was yelling at a little kid to ‘take your pants off’. She said he was creepy looking with a large head and big bug eyes.”

Bitch.

“Actually sir, she’s mistaken. I said ‘pull down your pants’ not ‘take your pants off’. So you see, she’s obviously a nutjob. Now if you’ll excuse us, we are running a little late here”. I figured after pointing out the flaws in my accusers story we could be on our merry way so I tried to casually walk between them, but I was belly blocked, by dos bellies del grande.

“Not so fast mister. You got some splainin’ to do.”

“Got some Splainin? You mean ‘have some ex-plain-ing’ right? The ex isn’t silent. Check your dictionary when you get home tonight.”

I know, I know, now was not the time to be correcting people’s grammar, but it was such an awful violation of the English language that I couldn’t let it slide. Typical Southern Lazy Tongue Syndrome, and we wonder why people call us hicks down here.

“I’m da one asking the questions, mister fancypants college boy. Now you just respect the badge, ya hear.”

I looked up and down his shirt for a badge, but all I saw was a jelly donut stain and a nametag that said ‘STEVE”.

“Yeah sure thing, Steve.”

“Hey, that’s Officer Steve to you.” said the other fat one defending his sensitive comrade.

“Oh I’m so sorry, where is my mind? Yes sir, Officer Steve sir. Hey, thanks for pointing that out Bob.”

“THAT’S OFFICER BOB!”

whoops.

Since Officer Bob and Officer Steve weren’t the sharpest tacks on the board I had to sit there and “splain” the whole “sitcheeashon” to them. After storytelling hour was over I got a good lecture from these heroic men in uniform.

“Listen to me, boy. From now on when your nephew tell you he committed a 220 in his pants, do not question him. A kid just ain’t gonna be fibbin’ bout nuthin as shameful as that y’hear me?”

“Yes sir, Officer Steve, sir.”

“Cause if you do ain’t nuthin good goin’ to come from it. Yure goin to hafta frisk his drawers and to the ordinary civilian that’s gonna look like yure committing a fahv-40-fahv. Den someone's gonna call us and we goin to be up on ya, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear Officer Bob, sir”

Meanwhile back in the English-speaking world, my attention whore nephew had wandered his way to the back of the scooter where he discovered a half-eaten box of Hostess Ding-Dongs.

“Hey look at all the cupcakes, Uncle Onionhead!” my nephew squealed.

“Sweet baby Jesus those are Ding-Dongs, son!” cried Officer Steve. He turned back to me. “Your nephew don’t know the difference ‘tween a Ding-Dong and a cupcake. What are they teaching deese kids in school deese days?”

“I have no idea sir. Wyatt, you leave the nice mens’ Ding-Dongs alone.”

Officer Steve had a good point, however I don’t think they were taking into account he was only six years old. I mean the world of snack cakes was a complicated one. Sometimes the only difference between one snack cake and another may be a squiggly line of icing on the top. To totally appreciate the nuances and distinctions between each individually wrapped cake can take years of experimentation to refine. Obviously Officer Steve, Officer Bob, and myself all had those years of experience under our belts, not to mention an extra layer of blubber for the brutal North Carolina winter.

“Dontcha lay a finger on ‘em son. Dat raht dare is evidence”, claimed officer Bob.

“Evidence?” I said.

“Dats raht evidence. We busted an organized fencing ring raht hur in da parking lot, not but a few ars ago. Uhhhhh…Ain’t that that raht Officer Steve.”

"Yup, a shifty looking gang they was. Four stoned out college kids. A gay sailor, a bimbo, one of dem lesbuns, and a stinky hippy. Oh yeah they had a mutt too. Started driving away in one of dem psycho-delic van called the ‘Mystery Machine’ before we came up on ‘em and put and end to their hijinks.”

“And they would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for you meddling mall cops”, I said, disrespecting the nametag, I mean badge, again.

Before they could reprimand me I was saved by an urgent call into Officer Steve’s walkie-talkie.

“4-Adam-12, 4-Adam-12. Come in. Over”

“4-Adam-12 in. Over.”

“There’s a 227 in progress over at the Mrs. Fields Kiosk. Request backup. Over.”

“4-Adam-12 providing backup. Our ETA is less than 5 minutes. Hold your position, help is on the way. Over.”

“Omigod!” I said “Is there a robbery in progress?”

“No sir” said officer Steve. “Hot Fresh Chocolate Chunk Cookies are coming out of the oven. We don’t have time to chit-chat. Our motto is to protect and to serve. And we are about to be served hot delicious cookies. Nothing to see here, go home to your families, carry on.”

And with that they both weeble-wobbled into the scooter and putted away as slowly as they came. I looked over at my nephew and he had a big smile on his face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Look what I got”, he said as he hoisted up two Ding-Dongs he snagged out of the scooter.

I couldn’t believe it. That little shit stole from the cops. OK so they weren’t exactly cops, they were idiots, but they sure thought they were cops. I felt a lecture coming on in my mind, but I was hungry, so my stomach overruled it.

“Can I have one” I asked.

“NO!” he yelled, and he took off running and laughing. I chased him and grabbed him from behind..

“YOU BETTER GIVE ME THAT DING-DONG YOU LITTLE RASCAL!”

Just then I saw that same woman walking back to her car with her two kids in hand, frozen with that oddly familiar look of horror on her face. Déjà vu is a bitch. Once again I felt the need to explain (‘splain).

“Oh hello again. Haha! My nephew here has some snack cakes behind his back and I’m hungry and …hey where are you going…hey, hey comeback here….OH NOOOOO, not again!!!!! It’s not what it looks like…DAY-UMMMMM!!!!

She took off this time so fast that her kids were running behind to keep up. I looked over at my nephew and grabbed him by the hand.

“We’ll eat in the car. It’s time to roll dawg.”

Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 2: Bidaber or Bust)

scroll down page for part I
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It took me a while to figure out how to get the kid strapped into his carseat, but I finally got it done. I looked at him there in the back babbling away and started to wonder whether this carseat and seatbelt was enough protection - not for him but for me. I remember reading something in the news about a woman who duct-taped her kids to a chair because she couldn’t control them. That didn’t seem like such a bad idea now. I mean what was to stop him from wiggling out and then covering up my eyes on the highway or wigging out and smacking me in the head with his spiderman lunchbox. I searched the car for some kind of restraining device but my ex –girlfriend must have taken the chains and handcuffs I had in the back of the trunk. How could she, those had sentimental value? Once again I was left in a compromising position. I turned back to the one person I had less faith in then all of humanity combined and pleaded with him.

“Wyatt, I’m asking you to stay in your seat until we get to Build-A-Bear. Can you do that for your Uncle Onionhead?”

“Of course, Uncle Onionhead. I’m not a baby anymore, I’m a BIG BOY.”

He sounded sincere, and even though he’s batted .000 with his trust percentage since I’ve known him, I had to believe in him. What choice did I have?

“That’s right, you’re a big boy, mature beyond your years. Now you just stay in your kiddie seat and we'll be at Build-A-Bear in no time and you can stuff your own make-believe friend and buy him costumes to wear at tea parties and whatever other delusional fantasies your infantile mind may have.”

“COOL!”

I peeled out of the parking lot and no sooner was I thinking about how easy that just was, did I look back in the rearview mirror and see him tugging at his seat belt trying to squirm out.

“Hey, Hey, Hey! What do you think your doing?”

“I’m a big boy. I wanna drive!”

“Oh you wanna drive, do you? I got a better idea, why don’t we just tape fifty pounds of bloody ribeyes to our arms and legs and go swimming in the shark-infested Australian waters?”

“We can do that later Uncle Onionhead.”

There was no reasoning with this kid, he was set in his ways. Lucky for me my cell phone rang and the clamor took his attention away from his plans to drive us into a twenty car pile-up . Unlucky for me he had stretched just far enough to grab it off my console and decided he would answer it.

“He-wo. ..Huh…..what? ….your doggie what? Hahaha!”

“Who is it?” I yelled back at him.

“OOO…OOO…it’s some dude asking if he can speak to his dog. Hahahaha! Doggies don’t talk, they go WOOF!”

We got to a stoplight and I snatched the phone out of his meddling hands. It was my slacker friend Shawn.

“What up Dawg” (I call all my friends dawg).

"Onionhead, what are you doing man? Who the fuck was that?”

“Dude that was my nephew. I picked him up from school and we’re going to Build-A-Bear for his birthday so he can make himself a little friend.”

“Build-A-Bear? Are you kidding me? You’re gonna turn him into a sissy. Go get him a football.”

“Listen John Wayne, he’s six years old. Besides, he got a football for Christmas and all he does with it is throw it at my niece when she opens the door of his Easy Bake Oven before his cupcakes are done.”

“Oh, well shit man, that’s cool. Tell Julia Childs I said happy birthday. So, do you want to kill a case and watch the Presidential debate tonight?"

“I dunno man. It depends on what time we get done. I’ll holla back. Peace.”

No sooner did I hang up the phone then my nephew was choking himself with his seatbelt drooling like Pavlov’s dog trying to take it off my hands. I had unveiled my new cellphone with built-in camera at his birthday party the night before. My family, who are about as technologically advanced as the Flintsones, were mighty impressed with my fancy new phone. When I was taking pictures during the party my mom inquired why I had my calculator raised up in the air.

“Onionhead, can you not see your calculator? Where’s your glasses? Do you not have glasses? When’s the last time you had a check-up. You know you’re straining your eyeballs right now. Oh My! You're going to go cross-eyed.”

“Mom, I’ve been wearing contacts for 15 years, and you know this. This is a cellphone with a built-in camera. I’m taking pictures right now. See, right now I’m taking a picture of you”, I said as I took a picture of my mom with her mouth hung open in terrifying amazement. It didn’t startle me that my mom didn’t know that cellphones had cameras built-in nowadays, but I was a little worried that my mom didn’t find it the slightest bit odd that I was talking into what she thought was a calculator just minutes ago.

My nephew was likewise fascinated by my fancy new phone and played with it more than all of his new birthday toys combined. And it actually survived his wrath of destruction which is more than I can say for the Rock’em Sock’em Robots I bought last Christmas, a gift which was down for the count in less than an hour after a certain red robot suffered a mild dislocation of the neckular region. With the family snapping pictures like the paparazzi it made him feel important to also have some of that power. And I didn’t care because when he was busy with that phone he was leaving Onionhead alone, which gave me plenty of free time to do some hands-on investigation of the snacks my sister had stocked up in their cupboard for the nuclear winter. Wait a minute. That’s It. The phone. The damn phone!

“Hey pal, here you go.” And I handed him the phone. “How about you do a photo shoot from the backseat of the car commemorating our trip to Build-A-Bear. Now I want these picture to turn out good so I need you to concentrate. That means none of this babbling about whatever it is you babble about all the time, OK? Do we have a deal?”

“O Boy O Boy O Boy O Boy! You betcha Uncle Onionhead. I ‘m going to take the best pictures ever.”

“OK but I don’t want to know you’re even back there. The best photographers take their pictures incognito.”

“COOL, In-cod-needo.”

I looked back in the rearview and there he was already meticulously lining up his shots with the camera upside-down. Sweet. I wouldn’t hear another word from Ansel Adams in the backseat until we got to the mall. Sometimes I impress myself. It’s no wonder I am such an underachiever with all the potential I got. Those who have little potential can only underachieve but so much. I, on the other hand, have enormous potential and therefore consistently underachieve at a monumental level. For a moment I thought I laid a warm fuzzy egg right there in my car seat, but it was just gas, so I cracked the window, cranked up The Replacements, and for a moment, enjoyed the calm before the storm.

When we arrived at the mall I pulled into the upper level of the parking deck, and with a little help from the god of all that is slack, found a spot right outside Build-a-Bear. I turned to the backseat where my nephew was busy reconfiguring all the settings on my phone. I didn’t care though because we were finally here, and we had all of our limbs, and our bodies weren’t charred beyond recognition. It was a successful trip.

“Hey sporto, were here! Are you ready for some Build-A-Bear?”

“Bidaberbidaberbidabebidaber-yeyeyeyeyeyeyeyayayayayayaay bidaberbidaberbidaber.”

“Yo, Mariah Carey, enough with the dolphin noises already.” I unbuckled him from his car seat, and he was shaking like a prison bed on Conjugal Visit Day, not that I would know anything about that of course. He climbed out of the car and we started walking toward the entrance. I felt that this was a good time for a heartwarming "uncle to nephew" coming of age solliloqy, so I went with it.

“You know Wyatt, you have matured so much in such a short amount of time. It seems like just yesterday you were in diapers, pooping and peeing all over yourself like a stinky flea market kitty. But you know what, you ARE a big boy now, and I’m so proud of you. I can only imagine the greatness that lies before you…you…OK, where the hell are you?”

I looked back and there he was, about 15 feet away, with his head hung down staring at his feet. Ok, I know my little impromptu speech was cheesy, but it wasn’t that bad.

“Hey Captain, what are you doing? Build-A-Bear is in there, and we’re out here.”

“I pooped in my pants.”

“You what?”

“I pooped in my pants.”

That’s what I thought he said. HaHa! That kid is always playing with his Uncle Onionhead. Like I don’t know the game. My nephew and I, we tell poopy jokes, that’s what we do. It’s our repertoire, our forte, our modus operandi. Oh sure, sometimes we tell fart jokes, and pee pee jokes, but it’s the poop jokes that leave the crowds in a frenzy, wanting more. I figured I would chime in.

“Oh yeah, well I did a poopy in Principal Pissypant’s fish tank. And they said, ‘Sorry Charley, we don’t eat corn, we’re fish, and we ain’t from Iowa.” HAHAHAHA!”

He wasn’t laughing, and that bothered me, because it was really funny. Ummm OK, maybe you had to be there.

“I’m serious Uncle Onionhead. Come see.”

I was starting to get a little worried. “”I pooped” and “come see” are two phrases you should never hear back to back. NEVER. I didn’t appreciate his little trick, so I walked over to him.

“Whateva Wyatt, you are so lying right now. Now let’s go, or there won’t be any Build-A-Bear today.”

“No, I’m seeeeerrrious. Its in my pants” I knelt down at eye level and turned him around and I didn’t see anything abnormal on the back of his jeans, nothing that would have raised the brown flag at least.

“You know what, I think your trying to make a fool out of your Uncle Onionhead. I don’t see nuthin.”

No the poopy is in my pants. Pull down my pants.”

“PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS! PULL DOWN YOUR PANTS??”, and right then, about fifteen feet away I saw Soccer Mom of the Year with her two kids, frozen in time and staring in horror at what must have looked very unsettling from her angle. As I started standing back up she began inching away, like someone trying not to startle a sleeping bear. I felt the need to explain.

“O hey, haha! Didn’t see ya there. He made a poopy in his pants and I don’t believe him, so now he wants me to check and…hey where are you going…hey it’s not what it looks like!!!! OH JEEZ, HE’S MY FRICKIN NEPHEW!”

Obviously in her mind she had already seen enough to get an all-points Amber Alert out on me. She had turned around and couldn’t drag those kids behind her fast enough to keep up with the high-steppin she was doing toward the mall entrance. I turned back around and my nephew was still standing there dejected staring at the ground. I was trying to think what the hell to do now. I mean I can’t drag the kid into Build-A-Bear now, he’s got a dump in his pants, allegedly. My concentration was broken by a shrill sound and as I looked in that direction I saw a scooter with sirens blaring, closing in on us. It was the mall cops, and they had themselves a live one, and a chance to make the 6 o’clock news. Could this day get any worse?

MALL COPS, MALL COPS, WHATCHA YOU GONNA DO, WHATCHA GONNA DO WHEN THE KID GOES POO?

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Hey kids! be sure to check back for chapter III in a few days! Peace! BOH

HOW TO POO AT WORK

OK, I'm not usually one to post other people's shit, but since I'm in the middle of part II of the Build-A-Bear trilogy, and since I'm eternally slack, I decided this may me a good time for some filler. It won't happen often.

A good friend of mine sent this to me at work and I was laughing so hard I had to send it home to read the rest. I think UNCLE TED is my favorite, I love the name. I know, I know, potty humor is tasteless and juvenile, but I find it hilarious if it's good, and this was hilarious. I used to be one of those peeps who didn't poo at work, and that was a miserable time in my life. I slowly evolved into an emergency pooer, and now I just don't give a shit, when it's time to go I don't think twice (especially after my world famous Crazy For That Tuna Casserole).

I bet half of all the uptight peeps at work are non-work pooers. Why torture yourself? I think I would still be hesitant about doin the poo on my first couple weeks at a new job, I mean how comfortable can you be? Anyway, check it out. I figure if I think it's funny then the five people who read my blog might agree. And if you have already seen this somewhere before, my apologies, I don't get out much.

peace!!! BOH

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HOW TO POO AT WORK


We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POO is inevitable. For those who hate pooing at work, follow this Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.

CROP DUSTING * When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

FLY BY * The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooing. Walk in and check for other pooers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may be come suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

ESCAPEE * A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK * When forcing a poo, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH * The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poo hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poo has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME * Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOER * A colleague who poos at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooer enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooer before entering the bathroom.

THE POOING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N) * A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooing goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Pooers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS * A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooer of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR * Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poo at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH * A phoney cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE * A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooer can poo in peace.

WATERMELON * A poo that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

HAVANA OMELETTE * A case of diarrhea that creates series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using CAMO-COUGH with an ASTAIRE..

LOOK OUT BELOW * This is performed by unrolling a few feet of toilet paper and letting it fall into the toilet before a poo begins. The happy result is you can safely deal with WATERMELONS and most HAVANA OMELETTES without the annoying side effect of loud noise and the all-too shocking splash of cold toilet water back on your butt. This will need to be repeated several times, if necessary, so it should always be combined with the COURTESY FLUSH.

UNCLE TED * A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poo when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees. Most Uncle Teds are encountered in the last minutes of lunchtime and during morning and afternoon break times. Try to avoid these.

Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 1: The Last Temptation of Buttprint)

My nephew Wyatt’s entry into little manhood was a day I had been anticipating for six long years. No more did I have to worry about him guzzling a Clorox smoothie, or playing tag with a pair of garden shears, or whipping out his wiener and christening the free throw line in a pick-up game of basketball. No, he was six years old now, a kindergartener, a big boy ready to control his own destiny, grab life by the horns, and embark on a long journey that would lead him to inevitable greatness. Perhaps I was giving him too much credit.

I called my sister up a week before this blessed day and asked her what he wanted for his birthday. Instantly she relayed to me that he was quite jealous over my 8-year old niece Kaitlyn and her stuffed pals Pretty the Horse and Mopsy the Rabbit. You see, last Christmas and for her birthday a few months ago, I bought my niece Build-a-Bear gift cards where she could go into the store and create her very own personalized stuffed animal and buy them little outfits and whatnot. Quick and painless, just like Uncle Onionhead likes it. “Well, I guess that’s it, I’m getting him a Build-a-Bear gift card”, I said to my sister, holding back the cartwheels inside me that wanted to celebrate yet another effortless gift giving. When I hung up the phone I raised my arms to the god of all that is slack and pumped my fist in the air like I just didn’t care, even though I did. I immediately got on the Internet and ordered one $50 Build-a-Bear gift card and within minutes I was done shopping. DONE! No walking around the mall like a neutered dog looking for his balls, no traffic or crowds, no wrapping presents like a coked-up octopus. I had pulled it off again. “Sweeeeeeet! CHA-CHING!””

On the day of his party I arrived with gift card in hand. Build-A-Bear even provided a little birthday card with a dictated message by me so I didn’t even have to sign it and a miniature cardboard house to wrap it in so all I had to do was open the envelope and bring it on over. Complete the handoff of the card without error and I would successfully defend my title of Slackest Uncle on the Planet for the third consecutive year. When it was my turn to present my gift I handed it to the wee lad and his face just lit up. “Bidaber! Bidaber! WOO HOO! WOO HOO!” and he started bouncing off the walls in ritualistic celebration. I too felt the need to express my inner joy so I did my best Xena Warrior Princess battle cry “AYI-YI-YI-YI-YI-YI-YYII!!!!!” and then broke out into The Robot, an artistic dance I usually save for the club after about eight gin and tonics. I then proceeded to lead a party train of sugared-up six year olds around the living room like the pied piper, doing the cha-ha before I snuck off into the kitchen and started shoving Cheetos down my esophagus like it was my job. My sister followed me in and this is where the unraveling began.

“That was an awfully generous gift you got for Wyatt, Uncle Onionhead.”

“Mummmpfh”

“Finish chewing retard. Do you not eat at home?””

“Sorry. Don’t mention it. It was no trouble at all really. Anything for my favorite nephew.”

“He’s your only nephew.”

“Oh yeah, that’s why he’s so special I guess. Hey, I would walk over hot coals if it made that kid happy. I wish we could spend more time together”

“Really? What are you doing tomorrow?”

Uh-oh. I got the feeling I was getting sucked into something I didn’t need to get sucked into. I had to think fast or my day off of doing absolutely nothing would be wasted on having to do something.

“Ummmm…I’m shampooing my cat tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Oh yeah…ummm…but I’ve been thinking about getting one so I figured I would practice on the neighbor’s cat.” Smooth.

“You now what? I think a certain nephew of yours would just love it if his Uncle Onionhead, who he thinks is just the coolest, were to pick him up early from school tomorrow and take him to Build-A-Bear, don’t you?

“Which nephew?”

“Your only nephew.”

“Oh yeah. Well I...” Apparently my nephew had wandered in the room looking for me since the party train came off the tracks after I ditched. He overheard my sister’s proposal and was ready to lend 100% of his support behind it, as well as the support of his constituents from the party train that had congregated in the hall in a remarkable display of solidarity.

“Me and you, we goin to Bidaber tomorrow! I love you Uncle Onionhead!” Despite his atrocious grammar my nephew sure could be cute when he wanted to be. The next thing I knew my kneecaps became the target of an unsolicited group hug. Sneaky little bastards. Guess I should have been feeling all tingly inside after that. So why did I feel like I just got fired on my day off, “Daaaaaa-yum!”

The following morning I woke up as I always do and stared at my scary pillowhead in the bathroom mirror with my usual greeting.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall whose the slackest of them all?”

“Well Onionhead, you are, of course. But today you have a little six-year old boy who is counting on you to make his birthday one he will remember for the rest of his life. This bonding time the two of you will share will be something special that will be seared into your hearts and your memories for all eternity. Undoubtedly, it will be a most blessed and glorious day.”

I took a seat on my think tank to contemplate the words that were so poetically recited to me by that ugly motherfucka. UMMPFFHHH!! He’s right, I have a UGRRRRReat day ahead. It’s gonna be an AHHHHHHsome experience. If I can just shake this self-doubt from my…c’mon wiggle wiggle….shake…damn it break off already…ok, if I can just shake this self doubt I’ll be able to wipe away the remnants of my stinking past and FLUSH the lazy me into a place where it could never again resurface without the aid of a Roto-Rooter Special Forces Unit. Whew!

Indeed, I felt like a new man. I had a certain spring in my step that I haven’t had since Burger King did their last “Buy a Whopper Get One Free” special. I was so inspired I put on a pot of coffee, hot and black like my women, and ate a jelly donut, fat and squishy like myself. I did my best to avoid the couch, but I am weak, and the buttprint on my couch knew it.

“Where are you going Onionhead?”

“I’m going to pick my nephew up from school early and we are going to Build-A-Bear so he can make his own stuffed pal. And don’t even try to talk me out of it, Buttprint!”

“OOOHHHHH, but I’m your pal, Onionhead. Wouldn’t you feel great right now all cozied up in me flipping channels, playing video games and falling asleep with your hand down your sleepy pants?”

“Well yes I wou…wait, NO...I made a commitment, Buttprint, and I’m sticking to it. You’ll have to watch The View without me today, OK? And anyway, blood is thicker than water and you’re…feathers…so you don’t even factor in”

“But I love you!!!” the buttprint said.

“Sometimes the truth hurts”, I rebutted.

“Oh yeah, well your ass is small and flat and leaves me wanting more” my buttprint said.

“That’s not what you said last night!” I re-rebutted.

Obviously we were at an impasse, things were getting personal, and it was time for me to go. Driving to the school I must admit I felt pretty damn good about myself being able to resist the The Last Temptation of Buttprint and actually do something selfless and productive with my day off for a change. I wish back in the day I had a cool uncle who would pick me up from school for an authorized half day of hooky. My sister is a teacher at my nephew’s school so I decided to call her from the car and let her know I was on my way.

“Hey it’s me Onionhead.”

“Onionead are you on the couch? You’re not backing out are you?”

“Aww naw, hell naw, girl y’all went up and done it.”

“English please, whitebread.”

“No, I’m on my way. Say how am I breaking this kid out of there anyway?”

“You’re not breaking anyone out. Just go to the office, sign in, and in the reason for pick-up simply write appointment.”

“Well, we don’t have an appointment. We are just going to the mall. Are you asking me to lie?”

“It’s not lying. All the parents do it from time to time. It’s an unwritten code. They don’t ask, we don’t tell…do you get it?”

“Yeah, you’re asking me to lie. And I’m not a good liar and you know this.”

“Listen, just do as I told you, and whatever you do, under any circumstances DO NOT OFFER ANY EXTRA INFORMATION. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Is Wyatt down with the plan? He’s not going to blow this for us is he?”

“He knows the drill. You just worry about you, okay?” (click)

Damn, I can’t believe my sister asked me to lie. It’s not that I have a problem with lying, in fact I lie to my sister all the time without a seconds thought. But I prefer to lie under my own accord. When other people ask me to lie I feel used and pimped out, like a skanky truck stop ho. There was no way to back out now, the script was written, and it was too late to flip it. My partner in crime was a sugarcrack-headed kindergartener yet my sister was worried about me. Yeah, her confidence in me was heartfelt and overwhelming. Minutes later I arrived at the school and parked the getaway car in one of the twenty thousand available handicapped spaces. I took a deep breath, prayed to the god of all that is slack, synchronized my Spongebob watch and moved out toward the doors of Alcatraz Elementary School.

When I walked into the office I was surprised to see several warm smiling faces welcoming me in. This wasn’t like I remembered the school office being. Where were the cold heartless scowls of yesteryear? Was I in the right place? It did say OFFICE on the door didn’t it? Something wasn’t adding up.

“How are you today, sir?” the deceivingly nice lady behind the front desk said.

A-ha! Right off the bat a trick question. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I had a government issued driver’s license to prove it. Obviously she was the front-line of defense, whose job it was to sniff out the slightest inconsistency in my story by asking a gazillion and one prying questions. I would have none of her interrogation so I decided to throw her off track from her little cat and mouse game with a little game of my own called “fillibabble”.

“My name is Onionhead, Bloomin’ Onionhead. I am a Pisces born in the year of love. I am the first son of a first son of a first son, which means I’m one bad seed, dig? I am the middle of three children and was raised in South Central North Cackalacky, where the cul-de-sacs were hard, and a cracka like me could get ganked for just insinuating one of my peeps was a poopyhead. I like long walks on the beach, cuddling during thunderstorms, waitresses at the Waffle House who call me Hun and Shug, and I like my sex scattered, smothered, covered and chunked. One time when I was young I ate peas and carrots and blew them out of my nose and that changed my life forever. Some people say I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I wouldn’t do that you see, cause that’s where I blow my nose. When I twirl my penis like a helicop…”

“Sir, who are you here to pick up?”

“My nephew, Wyatt.”

“Oh you’re Mrs. Checkan’s brother. She told me you were coming but she didn’t tell me you were…um, special. Ok I’ll page his teacher and have him sent right down. Just please sign him out on this form”

Brilliant. My fillibabble worked like a charm. I held my ground and we were home free. Damn I love some me sometimes. I was pretty proud of myself right then and there and felt like giving myself a pat on the back and a little self-love, except that may have been inappropriate right there in the school office. Maybe there was a bathroom I could slip into …

A heavy hand on the back of my shoulder interrupted my impure thoughts of self-gratification. I turned around and there standing before me was most ginormous woman I have ever see in my entire life. She must have been 6’ 6” and 300 pounds easy. She was wearing one of those Oprah Show pantsuits but looked like she would be more at home in the freshly skinned hide of a wooly mammoth. It is entirely possible she ate fat kids like me for breakfast. In short, I was doomed.

I turned around and stared into a wall of breasts, which could have easily been mistaken as wrecking balls the way they were perilously swinging to and fro. If it weren’t for my cat-like reflexes, they’d be calling me Bloomin’ No-head for the rest of my underachieving life. There was no time for thinking now, I had to react.

“Ahh yes, Principal Pissypants I presume. It’s an honor to meet you. My name is Onionhead, Bloomin’ Onionhead. I’m here to pick up my dear nephew Wyatt. He has a most urgent appointment that I must transport him to right away. I say, do you know of his whereabouts?”

I was pretty pleased with my Limey accent I learned from watching Mr. Bentley on The Jeffersons, however I didn’t get the impression that Principal Pissypants was very amused.

“Excuse me?” she said with a stare she that made me want to cry for my mommy. I got the weird feeling that Principal Pissypants was not really her name at all, despite what my niece and nephew had told me. Come to think of it, I didn’t see any stick up her ass like my sister described either. Looks like I had been given some faulty intelligence, Daaaaay-umm!!! How could they hem me up like that?

“Hmmm…Mr. Onionhead …well you must be Mrs. Checkan’s brother. She never told me you were a comedian.”

“Well I got jokes you know, haha!”

“I see. Well, your sister is a wonderful teacher and we here at Alcatraz Elementary are truly blessed to have her on our staff. You must be very proud of her. I saw Wyatt this morning and he seemed fine. Is he OK? ”

“I wish I could tell you that he was OK, but I cannot lie. Alas, poor Wyatt has an intermittent inner-leprotic condition. On occasion, his inner organs will fall out. Why just last night we found his spleen being attacked by a gang of dust bunnies under the couch.”

“Mr. Onionhead. My gut feeling tells me you are in the middle of a complete fabrication.”

“I’m so sorry, can you smell it from there?” I replied as I tried to whoosh that nasty coffee & donut fart toward the door. It appeared my story was falling apart, but lucky for me I saw my nephew from the office window. However, unlucky for me he was swinging that Build-A-Bear gift house wildly in his hand as he was prancing down the hallway like a Solid Gold dancer. He was waving at me in the window, and I tried to give him some sign language I learned on Discovery Channel with Coco the Gorilla that meant to “calm the fuck down” but since communication breakdown is always the same, he apparently mistook it for “act like a spaz at will”.

“WOO-HOO! WOO-HOO! WOO-HOO! We goin to Bidaber! It’s Bidaber time, Bidaber, Bidaber, Bidaber… WOO-HOO!”, and he tore around the office like a epileptic chicken with its head cut off. I corralled his convulsing body, put him in a headlock and cupped my hand over his mouth.

I smiled up at the behemoth that towered over us.

“Looks like someone had a wee too much Mountain Dew this morning” I said trying to fake a laugh while holding back the tears caused my nephew who was busy gnawing away at my fingers like Backwoods Billy at a corn-on-the cob eating contest.

“Hmmm…going to ‘Bidaber’ are you?” she asked like she knew exactly where we were going. How could she possibly know?

“Umm…that’s right. We are going to see Doctor Bidaber. He’s great with kids. Wyatt just loves him, can’t you tell? Tell her Wyatt.”

“Hmmmpppffff”

“See, he’s just ecstatic…haha!”

“OK, Mr. Onionhead.” she said rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You and Wyatt have a fun day at Doctor Bidader’s office”, and with that she lumbered back into her office to devour whatever livestock she had rustled up for her lunch.

I escorted the rambunctious rugrat wiggling in my arms out of the office and into the empty hallway. Despite the gristle hanging off my fingers where flesh once was, I decided to keep him confined just long enough to let him know who was in charge.

“OK listen up. YOU BLEW IT!!!!” I checked myself and realized I was yelling and decided to switch to my kindler, gentler Captain Kangaroo voice to better get my point across.

“Now, before we move along with our little adventure let’s get something straight. I am the adult and you are the child. When I ask you to do something, you do it. When I ask you to stop doing something, you stop. It’s pretty simple isn’t? Now I’m gonna let you go, and I expect you to act like a big boy. Can you do that for me?”

He nodded his head in agreement, so I released him from his human straitjacket and for a brief moment it appeared he actually listened to what I said. He looked up at me with his big blue eyes and smiled, and in the most angelic voice I have ever heard said, “Uncle Onionhead, I am a big boy”. Then he took off running down the halls, banging on all the doors and lockers along the way, while screaming at the top of his little, loud lungs “Bidaber, Bidaber, Bidaber, WOO HOO!!!!”

I felt like crying right there in the halls as all the students and teachers stared at me like commuters slowing down to check out a car wreck on the side of the highway. But I maintained my composure, sucked it up and kept my cool, after all I was a big boy, and as such I had to set an example for all the little innocent bystanders. When I finally caught up to my nephew in the parking lot I grabbed him by the hand with my best GI Joe death grip and drug him toward the getaway car. I looked at my watch and Spongebob had both arms extended and I could have swore he was giving me the finger. It was noon, and on most days off I would still be in bed trying to break my own world record for consecutive snooze bar hits on my alarm clock. But today I was already physically exhausted and emotionally spent, and we hadn’t even gotten close to Build-A-Bear yet. Fuck you too, Spongebob.