Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Just the Tip of a Very Naughty Iceberg

I, Tarquin Thomas Churchwell, am ready now to clear up the mystery of The Three Rhinestone Buttons.

First, I was so unimpressed with the guesses. I read all of them and answered a few. Some of you had a harder time than others. I was lucky, since I actually knew what the buttons meant.

(flashback)
"Daddy! Daddy!" they cried, and I skidded on the linoleum, and did the mambo around the Thomas LEGO Train that I swore their mother put in the toy box just an hour ago. "I'm coming," I yelled like Ralph Cramden. Who would have thought that becoming an unmarried father would be like this -- a life full of dangers? When I entered their room, Tommy Jr. was playing on the floor, and Tommy the third was still wrapped in his blanket that has my picture on it, his finger extended, showing me a "boo-boo."


My friend Bob entered the room, interrupting the flow of my story.

"Master, what are you writing?" He looked over my shoulder at the monitor. "Do you have two sons?"

"Do I? While I was cleaning my closet, I found this."

Bob squinted at an old snapshot on the table that showed me sleeping. "Not that," I said impatiently. I held up a crumpled old jacket. "I used to wear this jacket in the 90s. See, it has three rhinestone buttons...Do you believe in repressed memories?"

"Hmmm...no."

"Is it possible I had two extra children and I forgot?"

You mean like you went shopping and forgot where the subway is?"

"I do have a habit of forgetting people's ages...but this..."

Bob clapped a hand on my shoulder. "If anyone would forget they had two extra children, it would be you..Where's that hard drive you said you couldn't find?"

"I found it." I smiled at my hard drives stacked on the table beside the picture of me snoring with my mouth open.

"Oh, well," Bob said, "maybe this is one of those things that seems real, but isn't."

"I still have the jacket, though. Wait, I remember. I told everyone the three buttons symbolized my three kids!"

Bob was staring at the jacket. "I could use that as a rag, if you ever want to part with it."

"In case anyone asks, do not blab."

"Asks about what?"

"About my two extra children!"

"But why are you writing your post like a father?"

"I read on MySpace that one of those parenting blogs is looking for a writer. I think they pay, and it would be a way for me to get some attention. But I'd have to write about topics such as "Daddy Lost His Prozac."

"Oh, yeah? Write away, Dad."

Bob seldom makes jokes. I taught him to be respectful. He was still chuckling, and beginning to irritate me, when I had a thought. "I wonder why there aren't any "Men Who Hate Women" blogs that pay bloggers?"

"I don't know, master. I suppose they have no appeal."

I shrugged. "Every day it would be the same article -- "New Ways To Hate A Woman -- Part 82." I probably should just stick to the Daddy Chronicles. Except I don't know anything about kids. I'll just write something else today."

"Why?"

"Why? Why? Why so many questions?"

"Just curious."

"I don't know why. Something in here (I tapped the side of my head with my finger) wants me to do it and I follow like a sheep. That's why!"

"What can you write about every day? Do you have that much to say?"

"I write about my life. My SUS turmoil. The people I hate. My female readers are always curious about what I'm like in bed."

"I think this photo of you sleeping might give your readers some idea."

And with that, we laughed and laughed.


Note: I want to thank my old girlfriend, Miss Nipples, for telling the world that I have three children. Without her, this post couldn't have been written.

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