I think I know this guy!!

‏SideBringing : A Simple Definition Rendered Impossibly Convoluted
‏OR‏An Exercise In Circumlocution. ‭

‏‭In order to even attempt an explanation vis: the above title, I must hurl myself, full force, into the very definition that the title decries as 'Impossibly Convoluted' Allow me to explain further.  I had a great upbringing, however, bits of it were, in fact, sideways, so yeah, great upbringing, reasonably serviceable sidebringing. Still no connection? Alright, a far better insight into what a sidebringing consists of can be realized if you will allow me to exemplify: Smoking. When Dad caught me smoking, he very properly gave  the appropriate Parental Lines, "Those will KILL you! No doubt about it, the more of those you smoke, the greater your risk of an early, horrid and painful death!". All up to CODE so far, right? Here's where Dad's 'right' takes a sharp left: I made the mistake of asking Ma if there was any truth to what I'd been told, if he was completely honest with the info he'd bestowed upon me. Her response - "Oh. Yes. Completely honest. He said that if you pinch one more pack of his cigarettes, he's going to kill you twice and then make you smoke yourself. Said you can buy your own goddamn cigarettes."

‏‭So, the meaning of sidebringing is no longer a mystery, correct?  Dad had fulfilled that particular health related Parental Commitment perfectly by the book, all the while doing so in a manner which had never occurred to any of my pal's Dads: issuing a serious warning while cleverly side-winding the entire direction that health tip originated from and tossing in his own dire warning instead. 2 birds with one stone. I wound up with a constant, panicky concern regarding my  continued well-being and vowed right then to be more health conscious by swiping all my future smokes from Ma instead. It made health conscious sense: she couldn't run as fast, hit as hard, or yell as loud as Dad, so punishment meted out by Ma was always infinitely preferable.

April 9, XLIV a.s.

Since making our decision to procreate official, I have been doing what I assume to be the 'normal' thing any rational person does when contemplating any major acquisition: I've been looking around, checking out the various makes and models, and BOY does it pay to shop around! It seems that the most common feature on all the newer models is that high pitched, siren/alarm that signals the flailing kicks. This  must be some kind of factory defect, as most of the units I've looked at seem to be locked in this mode. I most certainly don't want one of those. I did see a few that ran rather quietly and must remember to ask the owners if there is some After Market kit available that tones them down to this bearable level. It must be something to do with the newer models, as the same problems were not readily apparent in either the 'Vintage' or 'Classic' designs. I, myself, am a 'Classic' 1957 Tail-End Baby Boomer, and when we tried that shrieking / kicking shtick, all that was required to effect repairs was a sharp parental whack to the side of the brain housing, much like fixing an older model TV or radio - Smack Whack Problem Solved. Who knows, maybe we can get a retro model.

Be Safe.

Well, here's a shocker: after MsAnthropy got back from the Wild Beyond, we noticed that her biological clock was going off and the SNOOZE button, (which has worked like a charm these past 12 years) has ceased to function. In other words, the 'Biological Imperative' has kicked in and she's decided she'd like to spawn.
So, yeah.Pros and Cons time, huh?
PRO'S:

• Our genetic makeup passed on to a smaller version of one of us. Currently, the only samples of my DNA are probably either 

1. In the ocean (thanx to certain shower-time activities) so if you ever happen upon an octopus or clam with an evil/comical/conspiratory smirk, I can probably explain, or
2. Absorbed into the food chain, lunch for scavengers provided by the results of several ex's pro-choice decisions(with which I agree 100%), so if you find yourself marveling at an earthworm, crow or insect sporting features similar to mine, refer to point 1.

• 2 sets of extremely proud and doting Grandparents, plus a huge support group all anxious to see which one of us the spawn will resemble. If the egg/tadpole combo decides to be female, we have decided that it absolutely MUST  have

1. My height and Somatotype (Ectomorph), and
2. MsAnthropy's rack and facial features, although it must also possess 
3. Both our high cheek-bones.

• If it turns out male, it MUST

1. Be a Punk Rocker

• Reasonings: A female with the above mentioned physical attributes should have no problems making a very good living as either a high paid Call-girl, Geisha, or Ultra popular Porn Star. At the very least, men will do anything she asks, so she's set for life. As for the male, well, at least he'll be interesting and entertaining to be around. Added bonus: no traditional parent/offspring fights about who's music sucks and who's deaf from listening to what.

More later, as always, be safe.

Some Thoughts late at night...

My personal theory of just what's wrong with North America.  Lather, Rinse, Repeat. It has probably not escaped your attention, that, when showering, if you turn the shampoo bottle around, you will find those words. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. And that is exactly what I feel is wrong in North America today.  We live in a society so simple that the manufacturers of shampoo feel the need to include instructions on their product. A product that most North Americans have been using their entire lives. And they still haven't got it. C'mon, even a hairdresser could figure it out by themselves (or at least in a small group).  And it's not like one of those goofy warnings you see once in a while, like the blow-dryer with the warning "Do not use in shower" or the little silicone pack in new shoes that says "Do not eat". Those are there for a reason, and the reason is that someone has actually done it. True! Hair dryers never bore the warning until some idiot actually used one in the shower. A certain brand of lawn mower, the amazing 'Fly-Mo' (no wheels, it sort of hovered around like a , well, like a hovercraft) suddenly started displaying the warning "Do not use to trim hedges" because some brain-dead mouthbreather actually picked one of these things up by the edges to do a little trimming.  The only things that got trimmed were 5 or 6 of his idiot fingers.  Ah, well, social Darwinism, eh? More whiskey for the rest of us. But Lather, Rinse, Repeat? No, not there to protect the stupid, just there to direct the stupid.  And they will probably be directed straight into the nearest catholic church where they will symbolically kill and eat their own god, all of which leads me to this (long overdue) conclusion: Religion is not, as Marx claimed, the "Opiate of the Masses", it is the "Appetizer of the Unbalanced".
 

Now,

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.