Throbert's Theatre of Thinkologizing

I am dismayed to learn that the U.S. Scrapbook Industry is run by a cabal of bigots who totally ignore gay parents of adopted mutant children!!! Just look at this all-too-typical example. You've got a Frog theme, a Christmas theme, a freakin' Playing In The Sand theme; where oh where are the flocked self-adhesive die-cut figures depicting toddlers with venomous dewclaws and serrated fangs? Actually, come to think of it, the bias is rampant in the soft-sculpture and candlecrafts industries, too.

posted by Throbert | 5/31/2002 07:12:00 PM | (0) responses

30 May 2002

So, anyway, I'd left my foundling child Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.) chained to the radiator and watching Zoboomafoo on PBS while I went to the market for ground beef. As I was standing at the meat display, I began to wonder whether I should try to sneak some vegetables into the baby's diet, so I went off to find a jar of capers to make steak tartare. Then I remembered reading one time, in a Cheerios ad, that finger foods (such as Cheerios) help infants improve their eye-hand coordination.

"But," I thought, "Throbert Jr.'s (or Throbertina Jr.'s) lethal, velociraptor-like talons might have trouble managing those dry little loops of cereal -- kind of like me trying to pick up ball bearings with chopsticks." Chuckling at that memory, I threw a couple trays of chicken hearts into the shopping basket instead, since they were on special. I also bought some cheese pierogies and broccoli for myself.

When I got home, I was surprised because my dog Poochy didn't run to meet me at the door like he always does.

"Poochy! Here, boy," I called out, and as soon as I saw the gnawed remains of the Kryptonite bicycle lock by the radiator and Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.) nowhere in sight, I instinctively reached for the broom. It only took a few seconds to find both baby and terrier, behind the black vinyl loveseat in the living room.

"Hiss," said Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.), and as he (or she) opened his (or her) mouth, I could see Poochy's sad brown eyes looking at me as though to say Why, master, why?

"Bad mutant baby! Bad, bad, bad," I said in my firmest voice. "You spit that out this instant." My first thought was to try poking the child's soft spot a few times with the end of the broom handle (I'd seen in a TV documentary once that you can make a shark open its mouth by jabbing it in the gills, which are supposedly very sensitive), but apparently his (or her) cranial bones had already fused solid, because even when I started putting some muscle into my swings, it had no effect.

Finally, though, I managed to wedge the broom handle into the baby's jaws and sort of pry Poochy out -- I guess Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.) had merely been tasting him (I also saw in a TV documentary, though not the same one, that infants have a natural urge to taste objects in their environment), because, thank God, Poochy was unharmed and only in need of a bath. The sole casualty was, as I mentioned earlier, the broomstick -- but even that turned out okay because I mixed some syrup of ipecac in with the chicken hearts and the entire thing came up fifteen minutes later.

You know, being a parent is a challenge sometimes, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world!

posted by Throbert | 5/30/2002 08:03:00 PM | (0) responses

My first full day as an adoptive gay parent of a special-needs child is going really well after a minor scare this afternoon: Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.) bit off and swallowed a two-foot section from a broom handle, and I was worried that some of the splinters might lodge in his (or her) intestines. Granted, of course, he (or she) was able to pass most of that Rottweiler from yesterday, including a studded collar and what appeared to be an intact femur, but anyone who's ever been a brand-new parent can probably understand what a panic I was in.

Anyway, what happened was that I'd gone to the supermarket for a family-sized pak of ground beef, rawhide chews, and diapers, leaving Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.) tethered to the radiator with a bicycle chain. I wasn't sure if this was strictly necessary, as he (or she) is totally into Zoboomafoo and seemed content to sit quietly in front of the TV -- tracking every onscreen movement with those adorable ruby-red eyes, foamy saliva collecting in the corners of his (or her) mouth. But I haven't had time to baby-proof the apartment yet, so the tether was really just a safety measure.

"Be a good baby, Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.)," I cooed. "Daddy will be back very soon and then we shall play patty-cake."

"Hiss," said Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.), slowly extending a set of retractable secondary jaws from deep within his (or her) throat to snap at the empty air...

[To be continued!]

posted by Throbert | 5/30/2002 06:18:00 PM | (0) responses

29 May 2002

Exciting news... I've become an adoptive gay parent, just like Paula Poundstone!

Maybe I should begin at the beginning. Earlier this evening, I started to feel parched while looking for topical links that I could add to my warblog, so I went to the liquor store to buy the ingredients for this great drink I recently invented called a Young Virgin Auto-Sodomized By Her Own Chastity (equal parts Liebfraumilch, grain alcohol, and ouzo; slowly pour in layer of grenadine and top with dash amyl nitrate).

As I was returning to my apartment, I heard the unmistakable cries of a baby, followed by the savage and frenetic barking of a feral dog, followed by a bloodcurdling shriek of physical distress abruptly terminating in a sort of liquid slurping thud, followed by a deathly silence. My mind immediately flashed to that movie with Meryl Streep -- you know, the one where she's exposed to radiation in a workplace accident and they're pushing her under the emergency shower, because that's exactly how confused and scared I felt just at that moment. Silk Stalkings, I think was the title.

But then I realized that the noise has seemed to come from the alley behind my building, and my heart leapt into my throat as I noticed that the iron security gate -- normally locked tight -- was wide open. Without losing an instant, I ran up to put the ouzo in the freezer and then immediately returned to see what had happened in the alley. As I trepidatiously crept around the corner, I felt something soft and wet under my foot, and swinging the beam of my flashlight down (I had gotten the flashlight while upstairs) I recognized the Rottweiler owned by a guy down the street.

"Dang," I said, "it's been turned inside-out just like a sock, it has." (In retrospect, that wasn't really accurate, because the fur was still on the outside, for the most part, but I wasn't thinking quite clearly.) Then the burbling sound of a contented infant caught my ear, and I noticed one of those plastic handbaskets that you get at the supermarket, from which the noise seemed to issue...

I think it's an Inuit baby, or at any rate from one of those cultures where they still swaddle children, as it was wrapped from neck to feet with motorcycle bungee cords, and under that, baling wire, and under that, duct tape. (I eventually had to soak it in acetone for a while to get the adhesive residue off.) I'm a little worried because the baby's genitals don't appear to have grown in yet, but other than that, he (or she) seems the very picture of vigorous health.

I've decided to call him (or her) Throbert Jr. (or Throbertina Jr.).

posted by Throbert | 5/29/2002 08:29:00 PM | (0) responses

28 May 2002

I haven't quite worked out a mission statement for my blog relaunch, but word on the street is that conservo-libertarian "warblogs" like Little Green Footballs and NRO's The Corner are getting just tons of hits. So I'm definitely hoping to drive my traffic up, up, and UP and eventually turn this into a must-visit site for Blogosphere denizens by adding a generous helping of warblog sensibility, though perhaps without the obsessive focus on U.S. anti-terror foreign policy, the Palestine/Israel conflict, and the prospects of a 9/11 encore, because who wants to read about war all the time? It's depressing!!!

But hey, here's something related to the Middle East: a political cartoon from a state-run Saudi newspaper. If you're reading this in a Unix text-only shell with Lynx, the cartoon depicts a man with a grotesquely deformed head brandishing his shoe at the television set, apparently in the belief that a teeny-tiny Ariel Sharon lives inside. I'm pretty sure I once saw an Archie Comic where Big Moose did exactly the same thing.

posted by Throbert | 5/28/2002 02:45:00 PM | (0) responses

It was recently brought to my attention that the large number of animated gifs on Throbert McGee's Blinkin' Blog have been triggering undesirable reactions among some readers in the crucial epileptic Japanese schoolchild demographic. Therefore, I've decided to overhaul the page's design and take the content in an exciting new direction! A few selected essays from the blog's previous incarnation will be moved to a permanent new residence on my home page.

posted by Throbert | 5/28/2002 02:06:00 PM | (0) responses