How I cherish the little ones...Part Two

Well ladies and gents, the 2 devil children (in case ya missed my last blog, I had my nephews ages 10 and 6, stay with me for a week) are now back in their cave they call home. One thing I noticed immediately...holy shit it's quiet. I mean a scary kind of quiet...like these two are still here, but hiding somewhere ready to spring out to give me a freakin coronary. Their father (my brother) is a fucking piece of shit, but you didn't hear that from me. The bastard shows up at like 9:20am all ready to pick them up. Cripes, the kids hadn't even got their shit ready to go yet, and here is this non-phone using asswipe all in a hurry to skip town and shit. Oh wait, he DID use the cell phone alerting me he was coming...from my driveway, the little fucktard. So now we have these 2 unkempt children, scurrying all over the house, throwing shit into their bags all willy nilly, and rushing into every damn room looking for their loose shit. I swear, I'm missing a few pairs of shoes, some of my watches, a damn bicycle, my wife's jewelry, my stereo, and I haven't been able to find our two cats anywhere. Who knows what fuckin treasures they escaped with. I swear this was all a ruse to rip me off or some shit. Then the wife brings me back to reality and reassures me they didn't steal shit, and I slowly agree, well, after I do a room to room item check.

Let me tell ya about my brother for a sec. Ok, when we were kids, he loved dogs and cats. Since my mom was deathly allergic (and I mean DEATHLY) to cat dander, we could never own a cat. Not that it mattered to me, I wasn't really a cat person anyways, but he sure was. We traveled to my aunts house, and of course, my mother told our crumb snatching asses to go outside and play. I think we were about 4 and 9 at the time (I'm the elder of us). Within 2 minutes of being outside, my brother has this cute as can be kitten following him everywhere. Of course, after 1 more minute, the damn kid has it named, and how it's gonna spend the rest of it's days with him. Why I can remember this so clearly is beyond me, but this cat was grey, with a bit of black on it's chest, and he named it "Smokey". So Smokey and him were inseperable for the entire day. He shared his lunch and dinner with him, gave him water, and pretty much held the poor thing for 12 hours straight, since he didn't want him to run away. When we were about to leave the next day, good ol' Smokey was waiting for us on my Aunt's front porch, purring like crazy when my brother picked him up, only to be yelled at for touching a cat by dear old mom. So anyway, the family is hugging each other goodbye, and all those niceties are going on, when my brother is found, sitting nice and neat in the car ready to go home. He wasn't talking at all, and my mom figured he was mad since he had to leave Smokey behind. I tolerated my little brother, since he was such a pain in my ass, but I felt bad for him too, since all he did on the way home was stare out the window...the poor little titbaby.

About halfway home, my mother starts gasping and wheezing like she was dying, and then all she was saying was that damn cat this, and damn cat that. I mean, my mom is literally all red, and wheezing like a chain smoker and shit. She had to pull over into a gas station so she could "wash all the cat off" of my brother. So they are in the bathroom for a few minutes, when all of a sudden, I hear this damn noise. It was like a muffled baby cry or something. About 10 seconds later, I heard it again, but just thought it was some teenagers messing around in the car parked next to us. Anyway, mom and the bro are heading back, and again, that same noise hits, and the teenagers had already pulled away. I start looking around, thinking something is wrong, and of course mommy dearest wants to know why I'm crawling all over the back seat and shit. Then, the sound goes off again. My mom hears it plain as day, and asks me, what the hell is that?? I freak out because I have no fuckin clue. All this time my mom is yelling at me to sit down, in between her coughing and breathing jags, when the noise starts again, and this time, it doesn't stop. My mom literally freaks the hell out, then we freak out, and then she orders us out of the car, there's a damn rat in there or something! Lucky for us, there was a California Highway Patrolman at the gas station, and my mother, looking like she just finished a marathon, was going bonkers because there was a damn rat in our car, and asked the cop if he could help her out. The cop says no problem, and he starts going through the car, and he can hear the sound, because it has been non-stop now for about 5 minutes. The cop starts taking our bags out of the car so he could look through the interior better, when all of a sudden, he picks up a suitcase, and the noise is coming from INSIDE the damn thing. The cop asks us to step back, because he knows this fuckin rat is inside, and he don't want us getting bit. He slowly opens it up, and looks inside, and sees....nothing. All of a sudden, one of the shirts starts wiggling, and the cop steps back a bit and grabs it, whisking it onto the blacktop. Bigger than shit...guess who? SMOKEY! Yes dear readers, my brother loved that fuckin cat so much, he packed the poor bastard, into an already too full suitcase. I swear to god, how that thing survived is beyond me. Of course my mother and the cop are in fits of laughter, my brother is in tears because he thinks he's going to jail, and there's me, knowing after all is said and done, I'm probably gonna get an ass beating for this shit. Don't fret though...the cat was given to a family friend, and it lived a long and prosperous life with them, thank goodness. Good ol' Smokey, that was one toughass sumbitch of a cat baby!!

So anyway, back to the present. After scanning the house to make sure we weren't missing any cars or microwaves and shit, I sat back and started asking the wife if she wanted to have them over on their next break. I shit ya not, we paused, and then just started laughing, like fucking insane asylum inmates and shit, not even knowing wtf was so funny. I believe I left you readers on last Thursday, if not, I'm gonna start from friday am anyway, because I don't feel like going back and checking since I'm a lazy POS. Ok, so let's see...Friday, and the kids wake up...oh yea, start with the dream sequence thing, 'cause here we go.

Friday early am the wife gets back in town from her vacation, yea!! I get to sleep finally, YEA! (YEA! my ass...evil spouse wretch)

Friday am. This was a bit odd, the young one decides to sleep in today!! Yippee!! Right? Meh, yea right. This am the freakin older one decides to wake up at the ungodly hour of 4:45 mudda phreakin AM. Now, after being awaken at these ungodly early hours is getting the better of me, and as he stares lovingly at me, wanting to be fed (of course) and squared away, I decide enough is enough. I stare at him for what seemed like an eternity, and then muttered in a raspy ass morning tone..."Why don't you ever wake up your goddamn aunt in the morning??!!??". He replies, because you make breakfast better. Well fuck me, ya hear that world, I make breakfast better than my wife!! Hallelujia, I must have the magic fuckin milk pouring touch, since all I have fed these damn kids since they arrived is Pop-tarts and cold cereal every freakin day. When I told the little asshat this, and then asked why are my breakfasts so much better, he gave the all so perfect answer..."I don't know, they just are". After stating this little gem of wisdom, my wife rolled over, still asleep, and grunted. I just looked over at her, and as I was pulling the covers off of me, "accidentally" knocked every damn bed linen on the floor. Oooops, clumsy me. I then proceeded to run out of the bedroom like a little beeyotch before she woke up. I told my nephew that if he ever woke me up before 5am again, I would break his legs, and then do something to hurt him really bad (and he then thinks that's some funny shit....oooooo if he only knew how much I feared jail....muwahahahaha). So he's munching and crunching happily, as I sit there with my eyes half shut, semi-drooling on myself, when right on cue, the little one makes his appearance. What does this little shit say to me? Was it Good Morning? Nope. Was it, nice to see you Uncle PUN? Nope again. It was, and I'm quoting here..."Why did you guys make so much noise? You woke me up." My arms instantaneously starting acting on their own, and I started shaking imaginary children to and fro for like 5 minutes. Again, the fear of a cellmate named Big Dick Bubba got the better of me, and I calmed down before I did anything drastic to these damn Hellspawn. Four-mudda-farkin-forty-holy-shit-I-can't-believe-this-five AM.

Friday PM. Dinnertime. The want of shaking children violently has been going through my mind on and off all day, but at dinnertime, a time where MY kids were taught to chill out and actually eat their meals, went a bit shitty. Now, I'm sitting there, cooking up some chicken nuggets and fries, when the little one is practicing a damn dance move or some superhero flight trick and shit. He starts off by kneeling on the chair, when I tell him to sit down correctly. I guess in 6 year old language, that means stand on the chair before sitting on your ass. He stands up, and then it happens....boom! He falls off the chair, and since the table was in my way, I can't see how he lands, but it made this massive "thud" sound. Now, I don't know about you, but anytime a kid does some shit like that, and you know it's gonna be serious most likely, your damn heart sticks in your throat as you rush over to them. I make it to him in like 2 gigantic leaps, and see him heaped in the fetal position on the floor. Oh fuck, this kids gonna have to go to the hospital, I know it. Oh my god, my brother's wife is gonna shoot me in the kneecaps. I musta thought out 15 scenarios of doom, when all of a sudden, the kid looks at me, then starts laughing. Holy FUCK! I shit you not, I think I aged like a minimum of 7-8 years on that one. I lifted the demon child from the floor, planted his ass on the chair, and said, if he moved one inch, I was gonna feed him to the neighbors big assed dog. I think he knew I was uber pissed/relieved, because he pretty much didn't say too much during the rest of the meal. Little bastard.

Saturday am (also known as the "Day the kids go home" day!! Weeeeeeeeee!!). The kids wake up at a decent hour today, if you call 7 am a decent hour on a Saturday. We are doing great this morning, and for some reason I am unusually cheerful. I mean I'm almost skipping around the house and shit. Hmmm, I wonder why? Anyway, after the breakfast meal was done, and cleaned up, I tell the kids to get their shit together, because their dad is gonna be there pretty soon. For some reason I start singing and shit, I wonder why? The kids are looking at me funny this morning, maybe it's because I am not growling for some odd reason. They finish picking up and packing their shit, when I decide we may as well get some gaming in before they head back home. We just sit down to start, and the phone rings. I do a pirouette or two on my way to the phone, again, singing as I answer. Helllllllloooooooooo! Then, I think it happened about 3 seconds into the call...but I believe I grew a fucking tumor in record time when I heard my brothers voice. Now, why would I get a tumor upon hearing my brother's voice? It was due to him sounding like he had fucking Malaria or the Bubonic Plague and shit, the lying cocksmoker. He then goes on to tell me he feels really bad, and that he doesn't think he can stay awake because of these meds he had to take and all sorts of other doombringer shit. I then hear the words I knew were coming all along..."Hey bro, would you mind if I picked up the kids tomorrow?". Well batter me and fry me in fuckin hot oil...I knew it!! I tell him that his "cold medicine" is probably whiskey, and his so called "sickness" is a fuckin hangover from the day before, the uber assed POS. Of course I agree, and when the kids hear this, they go ape shit, and start running through the house. My tumor grew like 3 times larger by the time I hung the phone up, since I was wishing bad shit on my brother...like a damn voodoo witch doctor and shit. If I knew how to make a voodoo doll, I woulda done it baby. In hindsight I shoulda just hit the web and Google'd voodoo doll. The bastard.

So anyway, I shake off the call, and then ask the kids what they wanna do for their final day...AGAIN. The 10 year old now says he wants to play Gears of War on the "Insane" setting. I think about it a second, and then tell him, that it may take like days to finish it, since it was a lot harder than the casual setting. Like that was gonna change his mind, heh...he says no problem Uncle PUN, can we play now? Cripes, I'm thinking if we don't finish, I'll probably be stuck with him until we do, so we go at it. The first level was a drag, he was seeing fiorst hand that I wasn't bullshitting when I said it was a lot tougher. We were dying all over the joint, again and again. He started getting it, and we were starting to really gel as a team by chapter 2. We had to stop for lunch, and all through the meal, all I heard was Berserker this, and Berserker that, and who can kill who, and yadda yadda yadda. For those of you who have played GoW on the Insane setting now, it's pretty tough...admit it, it IS pretty tough bitchass. So after lunch we are nopw working like a super team on steroids. We are rolling through the damn game pretty good now, and the teamwork concept is really working great now. I was pretty amazed at this kids skill, even though this is the third day he has ever even heard of this game, let alone play it. We roll through and make it to the train station at around 6 pm or so, and break for dinner. Again, berserker this, and that and oh shit, please, I was in GoW Hell baby. We get cleaned up, and head back to our battlezone, primed to kick major ass. By about 8pm or so, we are now on the final battle with General Raam. As veterans of this setting know, this is a bitch of a battle. Hell, I have played through this level probably about 5-6 times with various friends, and each time it took quite a while to kick his ass. Sometimes hours!! So we get into it with the top dog, and we put up the good fight, but were decimated by some Kryll on the first run. Then we hit him up again, and I shit you not...we owned that bitch...killed that mofo on the SECOND RUN THROUGH! This was a first for me, and of course my nephew. So what does he do after beating him? After a couple high 5's, he says..."CAN WE PLAY HALO 2 NOW??!!??". I think my tumor grew again after hearing this...shit whenever I beat the dude with other friends, we would damn near bust a hemmerhoid celebrating just how badass we thought we were. This kid just looks at me, and I start LOL, and tell them they need to go to bed, as I put band-aids on my ego and shit. Little bastards.

Sunday am (This better be the day, or I'm gonna have 1 less brother methinks). The kids remind me of just how nice it is waking up at 7 am, by waking up at 5 am, and getting me out of bed. I "accidentally" nudge the wife as I hobble my ass to the kitchen yet again to feed these fuckin bottomless pits. Then this horrible looking thing enters the room and says..."Why did you elbow me in the ribs, you asshole?". I said, good morning to you too honey, care for some Cocoa Puffs? She replies with a loving..."Asshole"...then makes coffee, and then leaves the room. The kids are telling me they hope their dad calls again, and has something wrong with him so they can stay another day. Well aint that sweet, wishing pain and disease on your father so you can play video games...damn Hellspawn children. We end up playing some...what else...Halo 2 for a bit, then, we go about cleaning up for them to head home, but still, there was shit to be done, but screw it, we needed to Halo 2 baby! As told above, my bro shows up at 9:20 am, all hyper to get back home. After we get them packed and loaded up, I go to say goodbye to the kids. First, the 10 year old thanks me, and wants to come back as soon as possible. I just say, "we'll see buddy, whenever you get another break from school, and your mom and dad are ok with it, alright?"...and then I move onto the 6 year old. Now, of course you can only be an asshole 99.9% of the time, well at least that's my personal breakdown. The other .01% happened to me when I got over to the 6 year olds side, and he starts crying, throwing out the puppy dog look, and turned up lip, saying how he is gonna miss me. Awwwww...fuck, that shit was too cute. That made up for the rash of shit he gave me during meal times, and plus it got me a bit sniffly too....the little bastard. As they drove away, I stood there waving, and as they rounded the corner out of sight, I headed back into the house. I walk inside, and I''ll be damned...it was just too quiet. My little buddies were gone, and how I thought I would enjoy some silence, turned out to be just the opposite. Aint it a drag how kids can get under your skin so easily, and quickly? Heh, dammit...now I really miss 'em. The cool little bastards. Well, except for my brother...he's still a POS...wait, he's more like a TOS (Tub Of Shit).

PUN

Quote of the day: "What's another word for thesaurus?" - Steven Wright