On a recent sojourn to a local church for reasons that will remain undisclosed to protect your virgin eyeballs, I stumbled across a treasure trove of untapped psychic resources.

CHILDREN’S HAND-DRAWN ARTISTRY.

At first, I regarded them as mere scribbles, the manifestations of an immature mind, fraught with logical fallacies, garish colors and an unprofessional hand with a Magic Marker. But after staring at them for five hours straight they became something more. A portal, to a bizarre dimension where logic and reason are immaterial. Where the only law… IS YOUR OWN IMAGINATION.

Welcome, gentlemen, to the TODDLER ZONE.

The first portrait I espied was… this.

I title it “WHAAAAAAAA THE I DON’T EVEN KNOW”. At first glance it seems to be a pink zebra, with the head of a green bulldog, enjoying the sun in a field of “Flower” and “Tree”.

But with a bit of creative interpretation, the truth appears. And it is oh so truthful and crunchy.

The greenmaroon zebradog represents US. As we stare complacently into the horizon, thinking blankly about Pop-Tarts and that thing, that happened, Nature stalks us. The flower & tree represent Nature’s unrelenting march towards the extiction of the human race. Volcanoes! Tsunamis! Justin Bieber! Nature’s artillery is inexhaustible, and we are powerless to resist, as we recline on a bed of green scribbles, with a pink throwing star emerging off-frame. Perhaps the pink star is attempting to extinguish the life of this unnatural creature, the product of a zebra and a bulldog both having intercourse with a watermelon as a blood red moon hangs in the sky.

Secondly, this monstrosity caught my eye:

A happy group of limbless, gender-neutral organisms cavort and frolic in the yard of a poorly drawn house, while a giant spectral head and a malevolent sun stare, unblinking, at their folly. Upon this painting I bestow the title of “AAAAAIIIIIEEEE! MAKE IT STOP DEAR LORD”.

Truly, these pink fetus-blobs are the avatar of the human race as a whole. As we gambol about in the yard of our home, the Earth, a giant ghost-head and a shining, nasty star study us without pause. As we eat, sleep, drink, relieve ourselves and procreate, a horrible face and a flaming ball of gas stare, stare without remorse. Repent! REPEEEEEEEEEENT! Lest also a wide-eyed giraffe eye us on our private moments!

I was beginning to break down a little, both mentally and literally (as in breaking chairs on and in the wall) when I noticed the third painting. Upon this hideous scroll I give the moniker “I Accept My Fate, Behold the Noble Servent of B’Thagllyth Knu’Thanrle”.

Ah, this painting certainly looks a little happier. Beneath a warped ladder supported by two sticks to serve as a fragile roof, a happy couple celebrates the birth of their baby, Little Limbless Blob, or Limblob for short. But what ho! What horror lurks behind this domestic celebration! A sacrificial altar, on which to burn their offspring to Lallaqprtys, the God of Chili Sauce and Curly Fries, in return for immortality, or perhaps pointy witch-hats! Noooo! Is not a limbless plank of flesh’s life worth more than a pointy hat??

With my mind broken by this pure insanity and my head broken by a billy club after I assaulted a pack of wild four-year olds in the street demanding to know the location of their hideous spawning, I bequeath my findings unto you, noble reader. Do not fall into the wayside! Hurry! E-mail this to all two of your friends, or surely you, too, shall be rent in twain by that horrifi eldritch defender of the children, Momm’Eeeeh. Haste!

A wise fellow (he had a beard, if that doesn’t exemplify wisdom I don’t know what does) once proclaimed “Man is only as powerful as the tools he uses”. About thirty seconds later the cops tackled him in the middle of the street and made him return the sack of power tools to Home Depot.

But that hobo with the bag of stolen belt sanders had sparked something in me. What IF a man’s physical prowess is ranked depending on the amount of hardware in his possession? Because if that’s true then I am only as strong as a broken hammer, a Salad Shooter, a key used to wind up a cuckoo clock and a nail file.

I decided I needed to fortify my fortitude with some fresh appliances. After walking into the local Ace Hardware and walking out again, very fast, the memories resurfacing of being laughed at because I didn’t know the difference between a Phillips and Standard screwdriver, I steeled my mind and prepared to purchase some steel implements.

Ten minutes later I was the proud owner of a new hose nozzle, the only tool of which I did not have a bad childhood memory. Plus the only other thing I could’ve afforded was a refill of Weed Whacker cable, and my Weed Whacker was obliterated in an unfortunate accident involving a crystal ball, a sentient shrub, some vinyl siding and a tanker truck full of YooHoo.

After arriving at home and Googling, for the fifth time, “Differences Between Phillips and Standard Screwdrivers”, I opened up the plastic sarcophagus that contained my new hose attatchment and was mildly bemused when a 1/2” thick instruction manual popped out.

Chuckling to myself about how stupid some people must be to warrant a chapter book-sized manual for a garden tool, I adjourned to the yard and prepared to introduce the neighborhood to the Tsunarricane 2078XX Double Six Gold Milennium Edition. MUHAHAHGAASPORGLTHGNAQLSPLOOOSH

Sixty soaking wet disgruntled seconds later I opened the manual to find naught but “YOU TRIED TO SCREW ON THE NOZZLE WHEN THE HOSE WAS RUNNING, DIDN’T YOU?” printed on the pages in 327 different languages.

Well played, Hatshimorinara Yard and Bathroom Tools For Goodtime Enjoyment And Life Fulfillment® LLC. Well played.

Upon installing the attatchment on my hose, I realized that it was the same kind I used as a kid; a rotating disc with different-sized holes that the water shoots through. By turning the disc, the style of drenching one wishes to bestow is selected.

I was so excited by this discovery I promptly decided to review each of the spray styles. Which is what I am doing now.

Jet: Aw yiss. You remember this one: a super-thin, super-pressured stream of water with a deceptively long reach. This is what I used to use to rupture water balloons in midair, sharpshoot wasp’s nests, knock birds off telephone poles and cause the mailman to change his route. And it’s as great as I remember. My UPS guy throws my packages at my door from the street now. Score: 5/5

Shower: A bunch of tiny holes in a circular shape basically make a minature version of that showerhead above your bathtub. Great soaking capabilities; but mostly used by grandmas to water their violets. I could test its use as a literal outdoor shower but I’m not THAT committed to this review. Plus my neighbors are still recovering from the birdbath incident. Score: 4/5

Flat: A mere slit through which water doth flow. Boring. Used to turn your yard into a swamp. Causes an excess of mud and belligerent toads. Score: 2/5

Mist: OK what is this. A cloud of vapor? Come now. Seriously. Used to make rainbows and have politically correct nonviolent water fights. Score: 1/5

Soaker: This option is just one giant hole. When I saw this option I immediately visualized a torrent of pressurized water erupting from my palms, driving my enemies asunder before me and causing their women to lament most lamentably.

I pulled the trigger and with a mighty SPLOOOFGGGHJJLSH something that was basically the equivalent of pouring out a bottle of water sideways happened. STRIKE THREE, NOZZLE.

I returned it to the store and got that Weed Whacker cable instead. I’m feeeling optimistic about the chances that a satellite might knock my old Weed Whacker out of orbit.

f-ckyeahheadlines:

German Giant Says US Workers Lack Skills

Submitted by: Juan Lopez

Screw you, giant. I have great skills! You know, like nunchuku skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills..

“Jack and the Beanstalk as told by a two-year-old”

OH MY GOSH.

oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

Dear Dalton: You are my new favorite storyteller. And you’re only 2 years old!! You are getting a head start on life my friend.

“she w-was veeery AAAnnngrYYYY!”

I lied.

i regret nothing

Budget cuts have taken a little bit of the magic out of Ms. Frizzle’s teaching methods in recent years.

Attention people who know me: Be prepared to see this design on my body in the form of a t-shirt in the near future.

In related news: Merry Summer.

via Threadless

Presenting the Annotated Weekender.

That is all.

citationneeded:

A boy with wisdom and courage known as the Climber, one day, sets out on a training trip to the Block Mountain where the Blockmen live to become warrior. On the way, he meets Lord Meiji who grants him a pair of special boots which will enable him to jump very high, an armor to break ceilings and a…

I became a Blockmen once. I quit after I kept getting migraines from the Armour of Breaking Ceilings with the Head Bone.

Aw yeah, I got my If You Watch It Backwards entry approved. I’m internets famous!!!1! Check them out!