Month: January 2017

Dances with Aliens

I think I would like to live on the moon.

There are less people arguing there. Mainly because there are less people. If you don’t count the secret government installation on the dark side of the moon where we conduct our business with alien races who want to farm us for meat but also warn us against nuclear war and destroying our planet while they secretly kidnap us in the night amidst super bright lights, then the moon is, in fact, lifeless.

I would be willing to spearhead an effort to colonize the large crater area to the left of the center of the moon. I would hope that statistics would be on my side, protecting me from a large meteor impact because I would be living inside a large meteor crater. The whole “lightning doesn’t strike twice” method of wishful thinking. I would bury my little habitat with moon dust for a couple of hundred feet of thickness to protect against… something I guess. I read that in a Popular Science and it sounds like a good idea.

Water and fuel would be extracted from the Moon’s ample stores of water-ice and hydrogen. Supplies could be delivered via rocket from the Earth. I would string out a huge array of LED’s and when someone donated an item on my wish-list, I would light their name up on the moon for 24-hours. Maybe I could venture out into custom messages, “Vanessa would you like to go to the movies sometime?” Stuff like that. I would make millions or the moon would be pockmarked with all the deliveries. The pristine lunar valley would be a  junkyard of rocket husks scattered across the landscape. Martyrs for my insatiable appetite for pecan pie, Coca Cola, or stone fired pizza. I would sit in my living area and wait for a ‘thump’. Then I would go check the mail.

Maybe the military would give me a cool ray gun or missile launcher. After all, I would be the first outpost of Earth. Like Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves. I would whip my little fort into shape and protect the edge of the frontier from a race of beings who are, most likely, more friendly and understanding than my own. They would watch me from the shadows of a nearby asteroid and talk in their mind reading language about how peculiar I am, running in and out of my moon hole to fetch rocket launched treats. They would wonder how big of a douche I must be to be banished from my planet. They would also wonder why the moon says, “Carla will you marry me?” and assume I am trolling women online and attempting to woo them with a moon billboard. The aliens have conquered personal desire so they will not understand my trade system that is based on satisfying ego for canned goods.

One day they would land and three of them would approach me. One would appear hostile but he would be held in check by the older and wiser leader. They will attempt to talk directly to my mind and I will show them how to make an arm-fart. We will become awkward friends. I will learn later that the hostile alien is known by a name that is loosely translated as “Asshole” but he is deeply passionate about his friends and in a space battle in the future I will win his approval by showing aggression to my former race.

The citizens of Earth will become enraged at my defection and will be scared to think what the aliens might be capable of so they will launch an attack. A fierce thermonuclear response aimed at eliminating any and all moon people. Since I am the only moon person, the attack is against me. They won’t call it genocide though. Genocide is meant for a much bigger audience. No, the people of Earth will just be trying to murder me and shoo away the alien race. Luckily, my new friend, Asshole, will recognize the feeble Earthling attempt of murder and will invite me aboard a really cool starship. We will spend a few nights teleporting onto the steps of homes of the major world leaders, lighting bags of dog shit on fire and flying off into the night, laughing. Telepathically.

My laughter will settle and I will wipe a happy-nostalgic tear from my eye. Everyone will take a seat and look out the window at the Earth. As we suspend gravity and fire a weak thruster that accelerates us to near-light-speeds, I will look back on the fading Earth and think to myself. Jesus, that got out of hand fast. Maybe leaving Earth for the moon because of political bickering was a bit of an overstep. Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  

If you are over the whole presidency inauguration and election argument v2.0, this is for you. Let’s go do some cool shit on the moon. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

2017 Face Punch

The New Year is trying to kill us. Eight days in and 2017 is trying to end me.

New Year’s Eve our stove caught on fire from a loose connection. It burned out at 7:45 and we needed a new power cord to finish cooking our New Year’s Eve snacks.


Our local home improvement store had a sign on the door that informed us they had closed at 7:00 in honor of the holiday.


I wired things back together and watched the cords for thirty minutes while our deep fried dill pickles and chicken pot stickers finished cooking. No problems and I changed the cord the next day.

We had our dryer vent tube and dryer cleaned out by professionals. For some reason the contractor who built our house made the choice to make the dryer vent pipe twenty feet long instead of exiting a nearby wall and allowing the vent to be six feet long instead. Over the last seven years the vent has collected lint and moisture creating a solid plug of lint-mache’. As the gentlemen worked to pull the lint lumps out of the vent, Supermom stood around the corner and listened to their chit chat about what they were finding.

“Oh wow.”

“What is that? Oh wait… Look. It’s Squidwerd from Spongebob. How’d he get in here?”

“A couple of socks here. That’s amazing.”

“Oh GOD.”

“They are lucky to be alive.”

The end result of this cleanout was about three pounds of lint that Supermom saved in a bag for me to marvel at when I got home. It was amazing and disgusting all at once. Par for the course around here.

Spent a day traveling to a couple different hospitals with a family member who was having some serious symptoms of losing consciousness and, after the second day of testing, found out that they have the flu. Now I am taking Tamiflu as a preventative and the side effect is that it makes you feel like crap. I always wonder who the people are that take prescription meds where the side effects are the same as the initial problem. Like taking a nausea medicine that “may cause vomiting”. Now I know, its people like me.

The weather decided to go from 75 degrees on Christmas Day to snow-magedon and temperatures in the teens for the last three days.


The kids have been begging to play in the snow but with a couple of snotty noses already and the actual snow being a layer of dust on top of frozen leaves, I couldn’t justify braving the 11 degree windy punishment. I did drive to work on Friday in the middle of the worst part of the storm and witnessed several icy road incidents.

To top it all off, I almost bled to death from a small woodland creature. We have small animals with pointy claws that like to climb all over us. It looked fun in the brochure. Most of the time, their claws only scratch the surface and leave us looking like we ran naked through the undergrowth of a forest. No big deal right. This time the little ninja assassin made a surgical strike that would impress the CIA. The sharp nailed little rat ran up the back of my leg and one of his needle-like claws poked through my polar bear sleep pants and located the one tiny varicose vein on the back of my knee. I barely even noticed until a few minutes later when my leg felt wet. I thought, “Did this little jerk just pee on my leg?” I touched it and my fingers came away red. I ended up having to apply pressure and lay with my leg elevated to get it to stop bleeding. I couldn’t even see the hole. It was crazy.

Also, one of the children spackled the underside of the toilet lid with diarrhea. It looked like someone threw a rock into a mud puddle nearby and I couldn’t figure it out until I saw it firsthand. The child in question was totally engrossed in her iPad watching Kids YouTube. She walked to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. She then placed the iPad on the floor and bent all the way over until her chest was touching her knees so she could watch the iPad closer. It was at that angle and geometry that I realized what was about to happen. She farted and sprayed a rooster tail up the toilet behind her and the mystery was solved.

New Rule: No iPads while taking a dump.

Our youngest went on a streak of messing her pants because a) she doesn’t want to use the potty because she has to pick up the seat and put it on or b) she doesn’t like her underwear and knows that ruining them gets them changed. I’m at a loss. Whatever, poop it up.

If you looked forward to 2017 but it feels like 2016.2, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.