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GenePool
Humor
SEX SEX SEX
I recently found out that my son Tim has been visiting web sites on the school computer that he has no business visiting. Specifically, my web site.
It all started with my wanting to know how tall he was. In the last column I gave measurements for both of my children, which required finding out that information first, because "about yea high" doesn't translate well in print. So I did one of those Random Daddy things: walked into the living room, measured them, and walked out again without any explanation. Both of my children are accustomed to Random Daddy, so it wasn't a big issue. I finished the column and published it to the site.
The next night Tim came home and said "you wanted to know how tall I was so you could write 'Play Ball!'"
I completely forgot they had internet access at school. Sure, I signed the permission slip, but I figured they'd be going to important educational sites, like Encyclopedia Brittanica and Lusty Leather Coeds.
It's all my fault, of course, because I gave him all the tools he needed. A few nights before I wrote 'Play Ball' I posted another column called 'How to Deal With A Cat Infestation' and while I was busy uploading it Tim walked into the study. So I read it to him. Inexplicably, he thought it was so funny he wanted to take it to school and show it to his friends. This was a bit of a dilemma, insofar as the column was basically a step-by-step instruction on how to catch and kill a housecat, and it struck me that this might be a bad thing to send my nine year old to school with. It also struck me that I could always use more readers. So I printed it up. (He also wanted to take 'How to Jump to Your Death' but I drew the line on that one.)
Then there was the matter of my new cell phone. For a few days last week I was officially the only Certified Adult Person left who was still available to care for the kids, as my parents were away on a trip and so was my wife (albeit a different trip.) Usually when there's a problem the school just calls numbers at random (we've given them a lot of numbers) until they reach someone who sounds like an adult and recognizes the names of my children. But since that someone is inevitably my father, and he wasn't available, I thought it prudent to arm the children with my cell phone number, which I did by taking two of my business cards and writing the number on it. (Incidentally, the number came in handy almost immediately, because Timothy is the world's strangest child. I got a call from the school nurse last week-- we talk a lot about him-- because Tim complained that he could only see the color purple. I can't make these things up.)
My business cards, of course, have my web address on them. They also have joke headlines, which meant I sent Becky and Tim to school with cards that read "Terrorist Attack Thwarted By American Flag Wind Sock" and "Keanu Reeves Develops New Facial Expression." I expect someone will be taking the children away from me fairly soon.
With the computer access and my web address, Tim had all he needed, and he has been freely browsing my web page since. I'm not sure how to deal with this. For one thing, it makes writing new columns all that much harder, because I know he's going to be reading them.
I am therefore left with no choice but to write about sex. Big, loud, hot animal sex, SEX with big capital letters that just jump off the page so that nobody who reads this can do so without seeing the word. I do this because every time Becky or Tim see the word 'sex' they act like they fully intend to gouge their own eyes out. (I had the 'sex talk' with them myself. Did a good job, didn't I?) They once saw a license plate that had the letters S and X in it and screamed so loudly I nearly drove off the road. And don't even talk to me about the supermarket tabloid headlines near the checkout counter. So I figure generous repeated use of the word SEX will force Timmy to stop reading. SEX SEX SEX.
There is, actually, a great deal of HOT ANIMAL SEX being attempted in my home right now. We have two female kittens in the house named Moki and Pepper, and neither of them have been fixed. They apparently hit puberty this spring, and don't know exactly what they're supposed to be doing, except that whatever it is, they haven't done it yet. To compound matters, we have two male cats-- Zeke and Tine-- who are both eunuchs, and who both have only a vague idea of what they could be doing were they not already consigned to a life of high notes in the choir.
It's actually sort of entertaining watching Moki and Pepper walk around the house looking for a fully functioning male without knowing that this is what they should necessarily even be looking for. There's been more sexual experimentation in our home than in a Turkish bathhouse. First they tried each other out, but once they discovered both had slot B and no tab A, they started fighting. Pepper is turning out to be the bull dyke of the pair but neither are particularly satisfied by this arrangement. (Tim: a dyke is another word for a dam to hold back water, and a bull is a male cow.)
They've tried enticing the local feline castratos, but this has not worked out particularly well either. Moki seems rather good at this. She's spent hours walking around the house with her hind legs crouched down in preparation for the arrival of the appropriate mount. One night she did this for so long Becky called me upstairs to make sure the cat didn't have a broken leg. I picked up the cat to make sure she was still working. She was, and I think I excited her, so I put her back down again. Lately Zeke has taken it upon himself to try and satisfy her. I've now twice walked into the dining room to find him on top of Moki, happily gyrating away with his nonexistent Magic Johnson to the satisfaction of nobody in particular. (Tim: Magic Johnson was a basketball player for the Los Angeles Lakers.)
I'm pretty sure they've also tried something with the dog. Penny is a female, and she is also fixed, so aside from being the wrong species and sex, she doesn't even have the constituent elements to comprehend their problem. Also, she's a bit crazy. I don't know if you've heard this before, but we always adopt the most insane animals available. Penny's insanity manifests itself whenever there is poop in the cat box. She likes to take it out of the box and present it to us like it's something we would award her for. We think she also gnaws on it sometimes. I'm relatively certain this constitutes abnormal canine behavior. So given the dog's clearly unstable state of mind, she might misinterpret a feline come-hither look to mean "please fetch me some more feces."
Unfortunately, since we don't let Pepper and Moki outside for any length of time-- and since we are too poor to have them fixed at present-- they are going to have to learn to cope somehow. Right now coping means going onto the enclosed back porch and wailing dramatically for most of the day, and then meowing in my face at three in the morning. Hopefully, when spring is over they'll forget about the whole thing.
Until then, Tim: be careful. You and I are
the only guys they have left, and I'm pretty sure they can't overpower
me.
© 2002, Gene Doucette
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