Month: February 2018

Hitchcock Fortune and Fame

Scare Tactics

The kids are at it again. I hope. Any other explanation is unsettling.

You might recall the incident a week ago when I had the bejezus scared from within my body. The American girl dolls were standing on the stairs looking at me as I walked through the living room. Well, tonight they struck again. I left the house to get Supermom a Sonic Blast for Valentines Day because I am super thoughtful and good at Valentines. The best. You wouldn’t believe how good. I know several Valentines experts and they ask me, “How do you do it so well?” Incredible.

Anyway, the children were in bed and the dog was fast asleep on the couch. The creepy dolls were nowhere in sight.

Twenty minutes later I returned with the prized treat for m’lady and who is ready to greet me? The same two dolls. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen. This time was even better because they had a handwritten note.



My first instinct was ransom note or death threat but, apparently, I had them all wrong. They just want to know what’s up and if we could Netflix it up sometime. Sorry ladies. I’m married and you are possessed by the devil, it just wouldn’t work. XOXO to my BFF American Girl dolls Kitt and Julie.

Jane later admitted to writing this with her left hand to confuse me. Nice.

Crappy Situation

It has been a while since I posted a rough picture. Luckily, my children are getting less gross as they grow older. No one has crapped their pants in at least a year. That phase should be passed. But as I learned last week, that doesn’t mean I wont be exposed to general grossness out in the world.

While eating Chinese buffet food I realized that I needed to use the restroom. Upon walking into the restroom I realized that someone else had used it before me. Recently. There was an odor in the air that was more intense than the usual Kung Pao backfire. As my eyes began to water and my nose to burn I looked for the source of the problem. I found it quickly.


Someone had missed the toilet completely and attempted to clean things up with a handful of recycled brown hand towels. They smeared it around nice and thin to completely stain the grout and volatilize all the odor carrying compounds. It was overwhelming. I left. No one has to pee that bad.

My fortune cookie put it all back into perspective.


If you want to go to the bathroom, you have to tolerate the feces smeared on the neighboring stall. See how that makes it all better? Such wisdom.


Three Shades of Grey?

Fifty shades freed. A good title for the movie because that is how I feel after the third and final installment of this series. No matter what happens I know that next year won’t involve a trip to a premier for Christian and Anastasia. Out of all three movie, this was the weakest premier. No lady popping pills behind us or telling us all the things the story made her feel. There were about twenty people in the theatre for the seven o’clock release party. I’m not saying the movie was a total let down but I will tell you that when we got home Supermom cleaned the drain in the girls’ bathroom sink.


What is this black garbage?

When a soft-core porn trilogy goes bad enough that you clean house afterwards it is probably time to stop making the movies.

While the movies and storyline are completely ridiculous I did find a nugget of truth. The three phases of a relationship get represented well. The excited phase where life = sex + activities. The settling down phase that has some soul searching and struggle with commitment. And the nesting phase where you are consumed by house hunting, friends getting married, and finding out your wife is pregnant and reacting badly to it. All that was pretty well on par. The thing I struggled with for the movie was the steady disappointment of meeting a good character and having a strong introduction only to waste it on the back end of the story. Don’t get me emotionally involved in a character who will only play a minor role for the rest of the entire movie. Like the real estate lady who helped Elliot buy an engagement ring. That story still doesn’t make sense. Anna should have called him on that BS but married couple phase doesn’t allow for rocking the boat and breaking bro-code.

I guess that is enough updating for now. Next time I want to include some info on Mr. Jasper and what he has been up to.

If you like creepy dolls and B-level sexy movies. This post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Brains and Bravery

The human brain is a magical thing. The way it filters a constant stream of input from our senses helps us thrive at the top of our food chain. Apex predators who can see and understand the world.

Think about the amount of information processed from your eyes alone. Megapixels of colors and shapes and shades. Your brain, a neural network supercomputer, looks at each image frame-by-frame and decides if objects are moving. Where are they moving? How fast? If you move along a fence fast enough your brain will piece together images through the gaps and let you see what is on the other side. Your brain has a buffer and temporary storage. That is about the coolest thing ever.


Sometimes the brain makes assumptions and jumps to conclusions. Loud noises. Bright flashes. Features hidden in the shadows that look like faces. Our brains are hardwired to jump to emergency mode. Fight or flight.

Or freeze in pants shitting terror.

Mine does that last one sometimes. On special occasions I make weird sounds and swear.

Last night was a special occasion. I was walking into the darkened living room. On a quest to get a drink of water from the kitchen. On my right are the stairs that ascend into the bonus room over the garage. The light in the stairwell had been left on and was casting a glow down the stairs and into the living room. In that shadow was an outline. A very human outline that my supercomputer brain immediately identified and flagged as a curiosity. I turned my head to find the source of the shadow and examine it myself. Who was making this shadow? Why were they in my house? Should I confront them or go find a weapon first?

In a split-second I had my answers. The neurons fired and told me a series of instructions.

  • Holy mother of Jesus. That is a fucking demon.
  • Oh shit. There are two of them.
  • You are going to die.
  • Shut down your internal organs and stop breathing.
  • Try to scream and warn the others. Oh wait. You just shut down your internal organs which includes your diaphragm and lungs. Oh well. Utter something unintelligent like “Meerr fuck nubly.”  They don’t stand a chance against demons anyway.
  • Wait… Those demons look familiar. Like American Girl dolls.
  • American Girls dolls have metal stands that hold them upright so they can be posed and more interactive. This helps to foster reality and make the play experience more vivid and real.
  • Those are just dolls. Take a deep breath.
  • Sorry about your pants. Restart all normal organ function.
  • Sit down for a second you silly chicken-shit. Some protector of the family you are… Disgraceful. What would you have done if that was a demon? You are useless.

Here is what I actually saw.


This is what my brain told me I saw.

It serves me right.

One of my joys in life is hiding at odd times and scaring the absolute Bea-je-zuz out of my children. I even scared the dog the other night and she screamed like a human child. It was awesome. I didn’t know dogs could scream like that. Supermom thought I stepped on her and my children thought the closet monster was eating her. It was fantastic.

So turn-about is fair play. If you have ever had a less-than-manly moment, this post is for you. It happens. Kids do some creepy stuff. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Having Pride

I watched TV tonight and feel like I needed to write this blog as a letter to my daughters.


Dear Children,

Don’t ever go on a reality show. Do not ever participate in a show that claims to capture reality for the amusement of others. Especially if that show is about love, dating, or partying. I am not aware of a single-one of these shows that benefits mankind. In fact, there are fewer sure signs that humanity is screwed than The Bachelor. (Not to mention, solid evidence of which side will win the gender wars.)

Women are battling for equality in the workplace. For respect on the dating scene. The women of history fought and protested for basic rights and considerations. They are our mothers and wives and leaders and doctors. They dominate the field of nursing because of a compassion for people and compulsion to nurture. Their patience helps mold young minds through teaching in primary education in much greater numbers than men. They have guided advances in science and mathematics. If they knew their true power and influence the world would be a different place.


But here… on television… they are sold as little more than feral cats circling the leg of a lion. Purring and rubbing him trying to win the prize. They are crying over this random man. They are hanging their life happiness on being chosen. They are snipping and stabbing each other in the back. I’m 100% positive that if nine of the ten women were choking on a pretzel the last one would be straightening her dress and working on her sad face to convince Mr. Bachelor that she was deeply affected by the sudden tragic death of her new friends.


Spoiler alert. He picks all of them. 

The producers are telling a story. Take note of the message but only to remember how shitty it is. Watch this show once and keep count of some things.

In a two day span he made out with each and every one of the women. They were fully aware of what was going on. The only thought was winning and how they could go farther, faster to gain the edge. I’m also certain that they would voluntarily carry his child to win. If any of them picked up the flu or stomach virus, production of the show would have to shut down while the wave passed. I hope they pre-screen for STD’s.

Maybe it is a lofty goal to hope for anything better. Biology is strong medicine. Attraction and hormones are nearly unstoppable. Fight the good fight. Do what you do and if you mess up don’t carry around any guilt you accumulate. Let it go. But for the love of all that is good and holy… don’t whore yourself out on Season 37 of The Bachelor.

There. That is my advice for the day.


Take it with a grain of salt because I am taking your mother to see the premier of the third Fifty Shades of Grey movie. It is basically a porn with a little better story line. Not much better but somewhat. And it is a best seller. A large percentage of people who are smart enough to read words chose, of their own free will, to read three of these novels.  A novel series that is based around a woman being dominated by a physically fit, young billionaire with good intentions and a desire to shower her with riches. A fucking best seller.


You have your work cut out for you. Good luck.