Economy devistates children all over the world: The Toothfairy files Chapter 13


The Tooth Fairy Tats 2000

Image via Wikipedia

Well, well, well….times sure are tough folks.  Here is a great example of just how tough they really are:

My son lost his first tooth this week and boy was he excited.  For once, we did not have to coerce him into going to bed.  We didn’t have to tuck him in or turn out his lights or read him a story.  Nope, not this time.  This time, he hit the sack like a champ.  Lights out, tooth under pillow, and a gapped grin spread across his sweet little face.  This was pay day-Tooth Fairy Day!

Our son is only six, but he knows quite a bit about life and it’s guarantees.  He knows that if he cusses, he gets a spanking.  He knows that if he is good, he gets to play Xbox.  He also knows that the Tooth Fairy pays top dollar for bottom teeth!  Unfortunately, our son woke up rather disappointed on Friday.

I heard him rummaging around in his room early Friday morning.  I could hear him talking to himself and I could also hear him tearing through his sheets looking for something.  Not one to miss out on his strange antics, I got up and made my way to his room.  He looked very disturbed; angry even.  I could tell that he had something on his mind, so I asked him, “Son, what’s the matter?”

“I got stiffed Dad,” he said.

“What do you mean, you got stiffed,” I asked.

“The Tooth Fairy…she didn’t leave me any money,” he shouted.  He lifted his pillow to lay proof to his claim and sure enough, there was no money to be found.  The only thing that lay under his spittle stained pillow were broken dreams.  The tooth was missing, and so was the money.

Shocked, I tried to muster up some encouraging words of wisdom to offer my sobbing child.  I had nothing.  Never in my 30 years on this earth had I heard of such an egregious circumstance.  The Tooth Fairy failed to make good on payment due!  There had to be a logical explanation.  So, like any good Father, I looked to Google for advice.

A quick search for instances of Tooth Fairy misconduct yielded astonishing results.  I clicked on the first link and found that a young couple in South America had suffered through a similar experience.  Dios Mio!  To add insult to injury, the tooth was not the only thing missing from their young Daughter’s room.  It seems that someone had also taken the poor child’s Ipod.  Despicable.

I checked another link…same story.  Tooth gone, no money, and items stolen.  Alarmed by the eerie coincidence, I rushed to my son’s room for a quick inventory of his belongings.  Sure enough, it seemed that he too was the victim of a looting.  His prized copy of Halo for the XBOX 360 was missing.  In it’s place, there was a note.  It read:

“Dear Young Man,

I regret to inform you that due to dismal returns on my investment portfolio and a string of poor choices of a personal nature, I am unable to reimburse you for your lost tooth.  I have, none-the-less, taken said tooth; as it is my inherant duty to ensure that it finds it’s way to it’s final resting place.  It saddens me even further to inform you that I have had to take the liberty of ascertaining one of your video games.  I do hope that I chose one that you don’t often play.  I pray that you hold no ill feelings towards myself or any other variety of fairy.  Our people are in dire financial straights, as we do not qualify for governmental assistance or any social recovery programs.  I did, however, petition President Obama to support a program entitled ‘Cash For Molars,’ but he laughingly declined.  Do not discount the resilient nature of fairy folk.  We will prevail through these difficult times.  My uncle, the Toenail Fairy, has already seemed to have  had some luck in emerging markets.  On a final note, I hope that you are not overly fond of the upcoming holiday, Halloween.  I hear that the Pumpkin King has been incarcerated for selling bootleg DVDs.  It seems that he is unable to make bail.  Best Wishes.  The Tooth Fairy.”

I hope that the economy bounces back soon.  I couldn’t live without Peeps!

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Freshly Pressured


Wow…what a weekend folks. I survived another rejection notice, I went to the circus with my wife and kids, and one of my posts was featured on Freshly Pressed! I cannot tell you how excited I was (and still am) that the “Powers that Be” chose one of my posts to be featured! I felt like a rock-star. Still do. I know that my wife and children are probably tired of hearing about it. Thank you to all of the folks out there who visited my blog and all of those who left a comment. I truly enjoyed reading each of your remarks and I hope that you all come back soon for another visit.

There are some definite benefits to being featured on Freshly Pressed. You get the satisfaction of knowing that your blog will be reviewed by more readers and you get a big boost in confidence. On the contrary, there is also an often overlooked consequence to being displayed on the WordPress homepage; pressure. I’m now lumped in with those who belong to the seedy underbelly of the blogosphere; the one time wonders of Freshly Pressed. I now feel super pressured to post better content. I know that quality trumps quantity, but what if I make a spelling error, or even worse, what if one of my blog post falls flat on its digital face? What then? I now know how the primates at the local zoo must feel about their situation. I feel terrible for all of the acclaim and recognition that I have lavished on those simple apes. How pressured they must feel to consistently outdo their last performance…what a shame. In the future I will be mindful of their strife prior to boasting of their over-the-top showmanship and their humorous antics. Perhaps that will allow them a fleeting moment of relief, at the least.

I guess that about does it for now. Again, thanks to those of you who read my blog, even the ones that did not like it. I know who you are, by the way. I hold no grudge, but next year I may forget to remind you of the dreadful day! In the meantime, stay classy!

Friday the 13th meets Cupcake Wars


You know folks, I didn’t even realize that today was Friday the 13th until I read through a few blog posts on the WordPress dashboard. Thank goodness that I have managed to survive. I consider this an amazing feat since I had no forewarning. Thanks FOX News. Thanks CNN. Thanks for nothing! Luckily I have escaped certain death and, being in Japan, I have already weathered most of the evil storm that you all in the states are going to go through over the next 15 hours. As long as I am able to hold it down for the next two hours over here, I should be good to go.

It would have been nice to have known a lot earlier today that somewhere out there lurks a masked killer poised to lob off my head at the drop of a fedora. That is the kind of information that I am looking for when I watch television, but there was absolutely no mention of this ominous date in the media today. Again, this could well be the fact that I am 13 hours ahead of EST, but that doesn’t excuse the media’s lackadaisical attitude towards the most notorious day of the year; not to mention their total disregard for my safety. Perhaps they should issue some sort of “Crimson Alert” type of thing when crazed psychopath killers are out on the loose, but instead of a cutting edge early warning system for serial murderer celebratory days, when I turn on the television, I see Cupcake Wars. Yep, you heard me folks; Cupcake Wars! I flipped on the tv and that is all I got. No warnings, no news, no political banter. Just Cupcake Wars.

For those of you who have never seen this ‘amazing’ television show, it goes a little something like this:
The audience is introduced to four sets of pastry chefs from all over the United States. Occasionally, the viewing public is surprised by an interesting import such as a French pastry chef or a Cambodian cupcake cook. Almost always, there is a contestant who is all tattooed up and is running an edgy bakery somewhere in Southern California. Probably pot cupcakes, but I digress.

These blowhards get all worked up competing against each other to create unique cupcake recipes that revolve around various themes, depending on the week. Unfortunately, there is only so much that one can do with a flipping cupcake. These “chefs” usually come off to me as self-indulgent windbags, especially the moron covered with tattoos that thinks that he is bringing something raw to the world of cupcakes. Newsflash dipstick. There is already something raw about cup-caking. It’s called eggs! Give me a break. You are an overrated caterer for children birthday parties and company potlucks. You make miniature cakes for crying out loud. You don’t even make big boy pastries!

The big shots that run network programming need to get a grip. How the hell is a cinnamon ginger jalapeno cupcake going to stop Jason Voorhees? Perhaps he is a sucker for red velvet, but I highly doubt it. The only red that he wants to see is the blood that he squeezes out of your jugular!

2010 Name That Twin Contest


Well folks, today marks the day for the first annual Name That Twin Campaign. The rules are simple. You must tag my twin brother Jeremy and I each with a fitting nickname. Sadly, most of you out there do not know us. In actuality, this is a post that is none-to-covertly aimed at getting under my dear brother’s skin. Either way, if you would like to play, please feel free to chime in. The contest will run for seven days and will be open to anyone who can bang out a coherent entry on their keyboard. I will announce the winner on my blog in seven days.

I have come up with my own entry to start things off. Don’t worry, I will try not to be biased when judging, but I am fairly certain that my entry will win.

Here is my entry:

Me: The Professor

Jeremy: The Chimp

***Disclaimer-my brother is not actually a primate, but in some circles I am considered a professor.***

What do you folks think? It is kind of catchy, huh? I imagine that it will make conversations regarding my brother and I much more interesting. For example:

“Wow, did you see the pictures that The Chimp took this weekend at Vikki’s wedding?”

“What? Vikki hired a Chimp to photograph her big day? I knew that she and Bill were struggling, but jeez louise.”

or

“Did you hear that The Professor is now living in Japan?”

“I did. I also heard that The Professor and his wife are expecting their third child.”

“The Professor is awesome.”

“I know. He is, isn’t he.”

I tell you what folks, nicknames sure can spice things up. I am looking forward to some interesting entries. Good luck and hope to hear from you soon. Let the fun begin!

Brother, this one’s for you!


I figured that I would tell you folks a little about my twin, Jeremy.  He, after all, inspired the name of this blog.  There are many stories that I could tell, but I’ll just share one today.  First, a little background information…

Twenty-nine years ago, I shared a tiny room with the young fetus that I now call my brother.  For nine long months, our budding elbows and knees fought turf wars in the womb of our dear mother.  On a glorious night in October of 1980, I bid my womb-mate farewell and entered this world, leaving him to his own devices.  One hour and twelve minutes later, he followed, stealing the spotlight for the first of many times.  It seemed that his arrival was much anticipated, even the doctors cheered as he emerged from hiding.  A side note:  I have always been a practical type and cannot quite understand why our lovely mother bears no ill feelings towards him for procrastinating so, while she lay miserable, on a hospital gurney.  He can be quite charming, I guess.

Throughout our younger years, Jeremy and I were practically inseparable.  We didn’t even call each other by name.  We simply called each other Brother.  Cute, huh?  He was, I admit, a little bit smarter than I, though I was no dummy.  I just seemed easily suckered into his penchant for mischief and tomfoolery.  Jeremy has a devilish twinkle in his eye that, to this day, could lead me straight into the oncoming traffic of trouble.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Jeremy is not evil; not even close.  He just inspires that little red dude on your left shoulder to prod you with his minuscule pitchfork into doing things that you know could end poorly.  Here’s an example:

When I was about six, my brother and I saw a show on television that was all about the space program.  It had astronauts, moonwalks, space shuttles; things that would excite any kid.  I remember wanting to be an astronaut so badly that I could taste the moon rocks.  I would sit in my room at night and pretend that my bed was a space pod.  I spent hours zipping past alien planets, rescuing little ladies from moon bandits, and doing all kinds of cools space stuff.  My brother had gotten pretty keen on my infatuation and he decided to twist it to fancy his amusement.  He convinced me that the dryer, which I didn’t even know existed in our cramped family laundry room, was a tiny space shuttle, one of the Kenmore fame.

“Just look at the air tight space hatch on this baby.”  My brother was smart.  He pulled the square door open.  “There is no telling where you could go in something like this.”  He was one heck of a salesman.

“You know what Jeremy, ”  I said.  A dim little light bulb flickered over my cow licked head.  “I’m gonna take this thing for a spin.”  How true that statement ended up to be!

I donned my space helmet, a vegetable strainer, and tumbled into the dryer.  Before my brother sealed the air lock, I reminded him to give me a proper countdown.  “That,” I added, “is very important.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…” Jeremy counted very well for a six year old.  “six, five, four, three, two, one, BLASTOFF!”

Nothing.  I heard him fumbling with the controls on top of my shuttle.  Finally, something began to happen.  I could feel gravity shifting all around me.  This is amazing, I thought.  Very quickly, it began to get hot inside of my exploration vehicle, probably from breaking the sound barrier.  I remember getting very dizzy.  Moments later, limp as a sock, my mother was pulling me from the dryer.  I remember getting a spanking as my brother explained that he tried his darnedest to stop me.  He also mentioned that he feared that I was ‘slow’ and should be held back a year in grade-school.

Thanks for that one Jeremy.  I still get nervous around laundromats.

I won a contest! Woop woop!


While picking through the writing Tag page on WordPress today, I received quite a surprise.  I clicked on a blog called Catch the Rush and was greeted by my name in bold font!  You can check it out here.  I can’t tell you how excited I am right now.  I submitted one of my older blog posts for the ‘Make Me Laugh Contest’, and it won.  I’m riding high today.  First I had some terrific Indian food and now I am a winner.  Luckily winning the contest doesn’t upset my stomach like the Indian food likely will.  Thanks Lynn Rush, for picking my story.

Have you ever googled the word google???


Beware the Google monster!

Being a card-carrying, publicly professed Google addict; I use Google for almost everything.  To my wife’s growing dismay, the words “google me” fly from my mouth with little disregard of consequences, especially during Jeopardy.  I find myself arguing with that urbane Alex Trabek on a fairly regular basis.  Who does his fact checking anyway?  We always take his answers for gospel, but I’m getting off track here.

Lately, “google me” has become a personal mantra of sorts when I believe myself to be correct.  On the other side of the shiny penny, I even use this as my battle cry when sure that I’m full of malarkey.  Nothing says ‘he’s mighty certain of himself’ more than throwing down the Google gauntlet.  Alas, my wife, all-knowing and not-to-be-trifled-with, normally accepts the challenge….she googles me.  She calls to carpet any unusual claim that I make or any downright lie that I tell; whether it be for a laugh or simply to prove a point, she always calls me on it.  Sometimes, I am right.  Other times, I am completely wrong.

Today, I made a laughable claim to some co-workers (mind you this was in jest).  I proclaimed that if you googled the word Google, it would cause a catastrophic world-wide web disaster.  The internet would suck itself into a digital black hole.  It would be the equivalent of traveling backwards through time to your childhood and smothering yourself with a pillow as you slept (kind of a crude analogy, but you get where I’m goin’).  Of course, no one believed me.  Why would they?  I was simply making a joke.  But…my addition is strong and my willpower weak.  As soon as I clocked out, I ousted my laptop from its fancy Swiss army bag, called up my beloved google, and pressed the following keys: g..o..o..g..l..e.  I then pressed enter.

A low hum began to emanate from my HP.  Shaken, I tried to exit my web browser.  It froze.  The familiar google webpage remained locked on my desktop, menacing in its omnipotence.   From the top of my display, I noticed a bright blue light.  My web-cam had sprung to life, seemingly by itself.  I tried to free myself from the relentless pull of the vast white background surrounding that familiar empty rectangle of power.  My eyes remained transfixed on the screen.  My grip tightened upon the sleek body of my laptop.  I watched, frozen, as the screen filled with dizzying blurs of codex, digital daggers ripping at the fabric of the internet.  Before my watery eyes, Google died a Cesarian death, impaled on the floor of the twenty first century Senate.  As I watched the glorious web fold into itself; I wondered what had I done.  Then, my webcam shot a laser beam into my left eye and I passed out.

Seriously, true story.

Google me.