The lady (her name is Kimberly) works at a private school for little (rich) kids. Often times, she comes home from work and shares with me these stories of hilarity. Mostly involving the weird and silly things kids say. Kids of the younger persuasion are the best types to hold a conversation. They really do say the craziest things. The other day, she told me of such a conversation. Continue reading “Stuff Your Kids Say: The Dinosaur Kid”
My friend Bridget was in Target the other day when she overheard a conversation between a mother and her daughter.
Little girl at Target:
I farted in my butt!
Little girls don’t talk like that.
Just kidding I did it with my mouth!
Alright, let me get this straight. It’s not okay for girls to talk about farting in their butts but it is okay for them to talk about farting from their mouths? Check. But how does one exactly fart in their butt? I understand how one farts out of their butt… but inside it? Perhaps that mother should talk to her daughter about the art of fart; then explore the manners of feminism at a later date.
But I’m still confused as to how one farts in their butt. So I drew this chart. I really think you need another person to fart in your butt. It’s virtually impossible to do it on your own.
Fart Chart (8/2010)
My eyes have recently been opened to a phenomenon I’ve never given a single thought to: children and the interesting conversations they have. I often forget how ignorant children are of the world and all of its awful splendor. Having a conversation with a child is pulling the cord of a See ‘n Say. You pull the chord hoping for, “The cow says, ‘Moooooo,'” but instead get something completely random. But when you speak with children, it’s a lot more interesting than an animal sound (sometimes anyway).
A good friend of mine recently discussed a conversation he had with his daughter during that whole BP oil splendor. Rarely can a kid say something that makes me smile. Despite my completely uncaring nature towards the BP oil spill of doom, I was a little troubled by the thought of this kid not being able to make sandcastles with her daddy. It was the only time during that almost 90-day Gulf of Mexico massacre that I slightly cared.
With that conversation, however, came inspiration for me to do something… for me to take action now. Because as Zack de la Rocha once said, “If we don’t take action now, we’ll settle for nothing later.” I’m not a very smart man but I’d like to consider myself a man of action.
“Cool man, you’re going to do something about the oil spill?”
Whoa dude, you’re seeing the wrong point. Of course I am not going to do anything about BP except fuel up my car there. What I meant by action is that I’ve found a new calling. I’ve decided to start a new series called, “Stuff Your Kids Say”.
This first entry is said conversation with the little girl about her feelings towards sandcastles. Remember that scene in Knocked Up when Paul Rudd said, “I wish I liked anything as much as my kids like bubbles.” I don’t know why but this conversation completely reminded me of that. Here is the conversation:
Daddy where does the oil go?
Right now it’s just floating out there in the water, moving, and some of it will wash up on the beach.
But not on our beach right? Not where we make sand castles!
Is that not the most precious thing ever? Seriously… that conversation almost made me want to drive through the Gulf and suck up all the oil with my Shop-Vac.
Sandcastles for Ally (8/2010)
This picture is for you JD. Don’t be offended by its badness. I drew it without a mouse… and that is a super challenge. Enjoy. -M
So fellow readers, do you think you’ve had a conversation with your child that is worthy of a picture? Maybe you’ve even heard a child say something interesting while shopping at a store (that was for you Bridget… you’re next). If you think you have something for me that is worth my time, then why don’t you go ahead and e-mail me the conversation in dialogue form (see above) at:
Perhaps someday you can see your fine words in a post with a pretty terrible amazing picture to go with it. Full credit of course.
Back in late 2001/early 2002, I wrote and illustrated a fine children’s tale, entitled Rabbit and Future. It was about a Rabbit and his robot friend Future. They were the best of friends. But one day, Future malfunctioned. And he was an out-of-date robot, so Rabbit had to travel the lands to find the one person/thing with the part he needed to fix his good friend Future.
But the only person he could find with said part was a shady character named Fat Grady. Grady agreed to fix Future but only if he could eat Rabbit as payment. Rabbit didn’t want to be eaten but he wanted his friend Future to live onward. He loved his friend that much.
So Grady fixed Future and when he awoke, Rabbit told him about his impending doom. “What?” said Future, “You can’t do this.” But Rabbit had to, as he was a man of his word. So Grady ate him, against Future’s protest.
Don’t get sad yet though, because the story had a happy ending. Future got pissed and shot lasers out of his eyes at Grady, and Rabbit came back to him and they were friends till the end.
The sad thing happened a few months later, when a film by Curtis Hanson called 8 Mile came out. In that film, Marshall “Eminem” Mathers plays an upcoming rapper named B-Rabbit. His friend and mentor? Well, his name was Future. Rabbit and Future. How could this be? A big Hollywood film, starring one of the world’s biggest rappers and directed by an Academy Award winning filmmaker, has an odd similarity to my little story.
Regardless, the story never saw the light of day. I tried and tried and tried to come up with new names for my characters but these two names were simply perfect. Just look at them.
Rabbit and Future (3/2008, based on works created in 2001/2002)
What else could I have named them? I’m not quite sure. Maybe when I am 75 and compile an anthology of my works, Rabbit and Future will present itself. Until then, this is all I can show.
I was driving someplace today to pick up lunch when a dirty white van, covered in rust, pulled up next to me. The driver was a familiar sight – oddly large glasses, big round head, messy hair, dirty fingernails, and badly maintained facial hair. Further inspection of the van proved what I already thought to be true. He was an Ice Cream Man. There were stickers upon stickers of various icy treats covering the van. It had a large generator on the back, making some awful ruckus.
I thought to myself, “Shit, who the fuck allows their kids to get ice cream from this guy?” But then I thought back to my childhood and realized that I bought ice cream from this guy. Hundreds, if not thousands, of times. They are all the same. All ice cream men look as if they just got done serving jail time for fucking little boys, like Jesus in The Big Lebowski. Yet we continue to allow our children to get close to them and suck on their ice pops and lick their cones. The world is an interesting place.
Want to lick it, little boy? (12/2007)