Judy Cornbread

A Case of Cant-Evens

I’m thankful for many things in life. I have one of the most blessed, first-world, placid existences that anyone could hope for. My girls are wonderful people. My wife is my beautiful partner in crime. We don’t worry about where our next meals come from or if we can afford medical care for our children. Our sink produces some of the best quality water in the world. These things make us extremely lucky in the game of life.

I only mention these things to preface the fact that I want to spend a few minutes bitching about small pointless things. Things to which I cant even…

  • TGI Fridays: We were greeted by a ho-hum staff of three sixteen year old hostesses who were training each other in the art of taking people to their seat. They giggled about seating a particular server five times in the last thirty minutes. Hilarious joke because we would be receiving poor service. I’m quite certain that I had to clean a booger off my chair before sitting down. I went to the bathroom to pee and possibly vomit from the booger incident and our server was talking on his cell phone. It didn’t even sound important. His conversation could have been mistaken for middle school yammering with that cute girl who has you in the friend zone. I know what that sounds like buddy and you are in the friends-zone. My tea was old. The food was weak. Then to top it off our bill had a suggested tip of 18% written in bold right under the total. I’m a consistent 20% kind of guy but I barely got 10% service and for my receipt to make the assumption that I should just fill in the blank with a “calculated” tip is insane. Congrats TGI Friday, your effort to alienate me at every opportunity has borne fruit. Your skillful combination of fast-food quality meals coupled with five-star dining prices has ensured I am done as a customer.
  • Cat: My cat has become entirely too comfortable with personal space. She tries to sleep on Supermom’s face sometimes. When we are eating nighttime snacks she has been progressively encroaching on us. Tonight we enjoyed some nachos. My favorite part is rounding up the crumbs and little bits of cheese. Not tonight because some asshole ruined it.Cat Nachos
  • Laziness in Manufacturing: In the past week I have noticed some laziness in my processed foods. My elbow shaped Macaroni and Cheese had a Velveeta Shells and Cheese noodle in the mix. Then, in my bowl of mini-ravioli, a stray Spagettio. What’s next? These may seem like small issues but the implications are large. How does something from one process end up in another? There is just an air of apathy to it all. Then, to top it all off, I went and got a Nutty Buddy because my nacho crumb snack was ruined and what did I find? More half-assed snackery.

    Nutty Buddy

    Tapered edge cheats me of delicious wafer and peanut butter enjoyment. Once again the little man pays in the name of profit! (I still love you guys. At least you aren’t TGIF.)

  • Judy Cornbread: This goofball of a dog is killing me. She got into some kind of stinging insect in the backyard and enjoyed an allergic reaction. She looked like Popeye for a couple of days. We spent a few hours making pirate jokes. They are even funnier when you know this dog and the fact that she is scared of cardboard boxes and bed sheets.


    Arrgh matey. Curiosity kills the cat but just makes me look silly. 

If you have little things that annoy you despite your best efforts to be thankful, this post is for you. You’re welcome. We got school photos in this week. They are ever bit as funny as last time. Just so you know to keep a lookout.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Serpentine Thoughts

I need an escape from stress from time to time. Tonight wasn’t all that stressful but it had a few fun moments. Blogging helps. I am a little on edge. I am attempting a low-carb assault on my body in an attempt to enjoy my fat-pants once again. I am trying to keep my mind occupied. I could snort a Reese’s cup whole at this very moment. Maybe mainline some Coca-Cola. Maybe television could help.

We watched Dance Moms. Don’t ask me why. Every part of this show is orchestrated right down to the brunette lady with the wandering eye. I try to remain above the fray when it comes to physical afflictions but someone has to call mercy on this poor woman. The camera man keeps the zoom on full tilt while her right eye is darting around like a kid on look-out duty during a middle school drug deal. She has to be 50% chameleon with that ability to control each eye independently. Start showing her in profile or something. Not cool guys.


Science tells us that Subject A (left) would likely be a prey animal because of her wide field of view and nervous nature whereas Subject B would be more predatory due to a more focused field of movement-based vision. Fascinating. 

During this horrible-person moment I heard a lapping sound coming from the bathroom. It was one of those moments when you slowly put the mental puzzle together and have a terrible realization.


A) That is the sound of the dog drinking from the toilet and B) The girls never flush and C) We finished dinner about twenty minutes ago so someone has had a spaghetti induced BM. I jumped from the bed screaming, “NOOOOOO.” It was too late. The poor dog thought I was coming to claim her soul. She ran into the bedroom with stool water dripping from her chin. Supermom knew the risks of Judy Cornbread and her chum-chin. Now the poor dog thinks two people are going to kill her. She bolts into the living room to her box. Her safety zone. I locked her inside and went back to clean the toilet.

How long should you leave a dog alone while you wait for their mouth nastiness to clear?

A week?


I’m not sure science has an answer.


Donna Threeto lost her front tooth tonight. She ran into the room giggling, “Prima pulled my tooth out of my head. Hahaha.” Somehow Prima has managed to pull three teeth by snatching something out of her sister’s mouths. I don’t even know what they have in their mouth in the first place. Oh God… don’t let it be the dog’s chew toy. Moving on. She is so proud of losing her tooth in a hardcore way. She is walking around like Fire Marshall Bill. Her gums will need moisturizer if she doesn’t start putting her lip down soon.


We went to the exotic pet fair this weekend.

Let’s have a quick show of hands by everyone who thinks we made it through without buying something.

We brought a Gecko. A Crested Dalmatian Gecko is what the magic marker on the Tupperware said.


Meet Hermes Vanderwaal. His feet feel really cool when he walks on you.

If you are having a good week this post is for you. Mine is going well too. No really. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Indoor Fishing

I am happy to report that Don Threeto has learned an important lesson in personal responsibility. First though, I have recently discovered that the female form of a mafia Don is Donna. Heretofore Don Threeto shall be known as Donna Threeto or still DT for short. If you are asking “Who is Don Threeto?” then click the link and come back here when you are done.

Okay, so I came home the other day to find Donna happily playing with a yellow bouncy ball that she got from school. Lady Bug was following her around as they bounced it into walls and down the hallway. Jane was giving orders on where to bounce the ball and how hard. After a few moments of giggling I heard a splash followed by a few moments of pregnant silence that eventually gave birth to “Daaadddd!” I walked to the rear of the house and found three children in a semi-circle around the toilet, staring into the depths of the murky water.

It might be worth mentioning that in the world of toilet training the only step that none of my children have mastered is the art of flushing. Just yesterday I came home to find the dog drinking from the toilet. I knew the water might have been tainted so I chased Judy Cornbread from the bathroom and flushed the toilet for good measure. I wasn’t prepared. There was a mountain of milk-dud turds rising from the dark yellow toilet water like a mid-sea volcano. A driftwood line of toilet paper was the only evidence of the previous water level. Judy stood in the hallway licking her lips. Apparently, pee-turd-tea is a canine delicacy. Now back to the story…

Luckily, when the bouncy ball fell into the toilet it found a much cleaner environment. I looked in and the smiley face was sitting on the bottom of the bowl looking up at the four of us.

“Get it daddy”, urges the Donna.

“Oh no. If you want your ball then you have to get it out. I’ll just flush it.”

“But I got it from school! It’s my ball!”, she pleads.

“Exactly. Your ball. Not mine. If you want it then you get it.”

The pleading gets redirected to her sister, “Get it for me Jane! Help me!”

At this point I stepped back and watched the negotiations between the children. I could have just as easily have been watching three superpower countries discussing nuclear disarmament. In the end, all the nations reached the same conclusion; The ball belongs to Donna Threeto so she should retrieve it. I was proud at their learning progress and realization of what skin-in-the-game looks like. I was doubly proud when DT rolled up her sleeve and closed her eyes before plunging her hand into the toilet water. She was not prepared to lose that ball and I was fully prepared to flush it.

We washed the ball and her hands. Her sisters stood silently in awe of her bravery. Donna added to her already impressive list of street-cred.

If you are tired of putting up with crappy situations, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

January Ended Nippy

I fear my relationship with my dog may be forever altered. She crossed a boundary yesterday and I don’t think I can be comfortable anymore. Also, I should have handled the situation better because I think the kids now think I am psychotic with a hair trigger between fun-normal dad and shoe throwing lunatic.

Everything started around dinner time which means all of the girls and I have our seats on the couch while we watched The Thundermans and Henry Danger. Judy Cornbread was feeling extra puppy-like and trying to play with her extra-long-used-to-be-stuffed fox. She would try to play and I would shoo her away. We repeated this every five minutes. On the last round of Judy’s offer to play she laid the sad limbless fox on my lap. I was distracted by the clever antics of Max Thunderman and Judy Cornbread thought better of leaving the fox unattended in my lap.

She grabbed the fox and in the process managed to clamp down on a rather sensitive area. In about 50 milliseconds, I had what could be described as a “stress reaction”. Something about my vibe, and demon-possessed rise from the couch, signaled to Judy that she should probably leave the country. I’m not sure of the obscenities I slurred or how it must have looked for me to be running across the room while looking into my pants to make sure I had the all-clear but somehow they bought the story that Judy had nipped at my leg and I was merely angry at her.

Luckily there was no problem beyond an uncomfortable pinch and a lingering awkwardness. I haven’t set out to write much lately and it is odd that this story makes the cut. I feel weird even typing it but one day in the future I might have forgotten this transgression and perhaps I can smile.

If your dog has accidentally bitten your junk, this post is for you. You’re welcome. I’ll explain the smiley-faced ball that I used for the cover photo in my next post. It was unrelated. I didn’t figure I could post any image that would be relevant.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

The Art of Pinching A Loaf

I think repeatedly, “Don’t kill the dog. Don’t kill the dog. Don’t kill the dog.”

What is it about potty training a puppy that is so infuriating? Our new puppy is sitting around 50/50 for shitting in the house versus outside. I swear she stores it for the forbidden parts of the house. We follow the rules; crate-outside to pee – eat – go back outside after 20 minutes for poopy – playtime – nap time – potty – eat dinner – go back outside after 20 minutes for poopy – free play – pee before bed. Wake up if she is whining and go outside again. This is the routine. It is reliable. It works.

Except when it doesn’t. Which is 50% of the time. The primary problem is my dog and the fact that she is a yellow-bellied-Red-Badge-of-Courage-scared-of-her-own-shadow textbook pussy.

We will walk circles around the backyard looking for the perfect blade of grass to shit on and her butt hole will be puckered into a bag of hemorrhoids. A half opened airlock from a sci-fi movie. This is happening. Awesome. The perfect storm for a speedy dump which is good because the mosquitoes are usually eating me alive.

Just as the turtle head is starting to crown she will hear the whisper of a dog barking from seven blocks away. Probably the smallest dog on the Earth. Suddenly, the emerging turd sucks up like a landing gear and the tail locks down between her legs as she runs to the door, begging to go inside. She refuses to go back out but I can’t trust her to walk around on shore leave with a loaded gun. Five minutes later she is sniffing and circling in the living room so I take her back outside. Again something barely louder than a mouse fart spooks her into a panic constipation. At this point I lean down and talk to her like Americans talk to people who don’t understand English, I say “GO POOP!” loud enough that my neighbors can hear me through the fence. She looks at me with a blank stare.

We go back into the house and I am defeated. Supermom and I have a conversation about the pooping dog.

SM: Did she poop.

UD: No. She saw her shadow so six more weeks before a bowel movement.

SM: Maybe she doesn’t have to go.

UD: She was almost finished. She just needed to pinch it off and call it a day and she pulled it back up. Like a fucking snail retreating into its stinky shell. I swear if she shits in the living room I’m going to beat her until my hand hurts.

SM: She doesn’t know.

UD: Oh she knows…

She starts circling again. I grab the leash again and we go outside. Again.

This time the stars align and she has complete reverence from nature which allows her to poop. Suddenly I am very proud of her and want her to be positive about pooping outside. We celebrate and confirm how good of a girl she is. Judy Cornbread is totally excited about her accomplishment and races into the house to get her poop treat.

UD: Tell mommy how good you are Judy!

SM: *talking to the dog* Did you go poopy!?

UD: She did!


And we wait a few hours and do it all again.

If your dog has a shy anus, this post is for you. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.