Digital Cowboy

I’ve been almost completely unable to use my left arm for nearly two days now.

I never should have taught my daughters Cus D’Amato’s peekaboo boxing technique and then shown them all those first round knock-outs Mike Tyson got with it. I thought it was safe because they’re girls and they’re small. It never occurred to me that they would then want to box with me from sun up until sun down every day and tag-team me doing it.

I also had no idea how hard a forty pound, 5 year old girl could hit. I don’t think even Mike could take them both at the same time.

Daddy’s learned somethin’ the hard way. I’m beginning to wonder if this shoulder is ever going to stop hurting enough for me to lift my left arm again. And even after I told them they had already hurt me, they didn’t back off for long.

They smelled blood. It was like Mike’s corner man sayin’, “He’s cut. Go finish him off in this round.” Maybe I should have cried. They seem to understand that.

Although, in addition to the pain in my shoulder (and a couple of very sore kidneys), I also have a big smile on my face, too. Any concern I might have had about boys has been temporarily quelled. To paraphrase Mr. T: I pity any boy that messes with my girls.

I won’t even need the shotgun or the menacing looks. I can personally testify to their ability to hold their own…. even if it requires some bobbing and weaving.

What I want to know is where do I call to report to the government that I’m a Daddy being abused by his little girls? Surely there’s an agency for that.

It’s not even a fair fight. I pull my punches and they don’t.

UPDATE: I found a solution. I showed them the Tyson-Douglas fight in its entirety and replayed Buster’s brutal 10th round knockout of Mike Tyson a few times. Then I said, “If I taught you how Mike Tyson fights, don’t you think I know how to fight like Buster Douglas, too? Better back off!” They laughed at me, said, “Daddy, you’d never do that to us!” and ran off to play. But they haven’t attacked me since, so I guess it worked.

I’m no big fan of Hannity or Colmes. Every time I see either of them, the first word that comes to mind is “insipid.” But Neal Boortz was on tonight.

Could this get better? Yes. It did. He was paired against Bob Beckel. (Who’s not so bad for a leftist. He’s wrong, but he’s honest.)

At one point, Alan asked Neal a question and Bob interrupted, before Neal could answer, to start a fight over who was more liberal, him or Alan. Neal patiently laughed at them for a few seconds and then said, “When you’re done licking each other, I’d like to answer the question.”

I laughed out loud then and I’ve laughed about it twice while typing this post.

UPDATE: I’ve laughed out loud at least three more times rereading this, since I first posted it. I used to just admire Neal. After tonight, he’s a hero to me.

As I look up at the sky,
My mic starts trippin’,
A tear drops my eye.

My body temperature fallin’.
I’m shakin’,
And they breakin’,
Tryin’ to save the doe.

Thumpin’ on my chest
And I’m screamin’.
I stopped breathing,
Damn! I see demons.

Yeah, God, I wonder,
“Can you save me?”
“I can’t die!”
“My Boo-boo’s ’bout to have my baby!”

I think it’s too late for prayin’
Hold up!
A voice just spoke,
And it was slowly saying…

The lyrics are over for now. The rest was something about him always bein’ the ‘G’ that he wanted to be and eternal life meant that they couldn’t ever “shrink him.”

Forgive me if I don’t shake hands.

What’s a “boo-boo” and how does it give birth? That negro needs a daddy. Unfortunately for him, no one’s allowed to be a Daddy, anymore. Mommies run the show.

A world run by women is an ugly place. If you don’t believe me, just take a look around.

But it’s never too late for praying. Then, again…. what do I know? I fold deuce three when the flop’s about to come Ace, five four.

I know y’all think I’m “all angry, all the time.” But you wouldn’t recognize it if ya did see it.

Just try to tell me that you’re from the government and here to make sure I’m not hurting my children. I don’t think that nice woman understood my sense of humor and my mother admonished me that I should be more sensitive because not everyone she deals with is like me. This also wasn’t the place for the government to train an intern.

I really hope that Mary (the intern) learned something in spite of the conversation. She did say that both of my kids were as cute as she’d ever seen. I can agree with that, even though I know how to recognize flattery.

Mom was right. No one she [the government chick] deals with is like me.

Was she wrong to ask me if I could leave the room so she could talk to my daughters alone? I would never allow that, without monitoring, to anyone. Ever.

Was I wrong to ask the kids, in front of her and her intern, if they’d told her I tried to kill them last night? (Maybe that comment about punching them in the face was a little over the top, too. But my daughters laughed. The government lady didn’t. It was an inside joke about Mike Tyson.)

My job is protecting them. Please stop trying to tell me how to do that. And stop thinking you know how to do it better than me. You don’t.

But, if you can’t do anything but work for the government, at least get a sense of humor. You’ll need it when you look in the mirror.

“Do you qualify for food stamps?”

“I doubt it, but I have no idea. I’ve never checked because it’s not necessary.”

“Why not? Ya know that you can apply for those over the phone these days?”

“Because I have principles. Nothing I’ve not earned is mine.”

I managed to get that out before I puked. And I didn’t even smack her for being a pusher.

Unless you’re willing to die for my kids, you probably ought to just shut up.

I am.

Willing to die for ‘em, I mean.

I’m adding Morgan of the Lake to my links because she’s not quite as bad as she seems and I’ve always had a soft spot for hippy chicks. Especially the ones that get Python.

I tease because I love. There’s a whole lot of parents that could learn some stuff from her about how to love their children. Just keep the pajouli away from me please. It makes me gag.

She names her trees, loves bees and alludes to a Terrible Incident with a monkey. But it’s all good. She’s no crazier than the rest of us. She’s just doing it in different ways.