I'm Not Saying Your Kid's A Brat, But

Is he always this full of energy?


Do you let him have a lot of refined sugar?


Does he always scream that piercingly?


Did his prescription run out today?


Is his father currently incarcerated?


Did you lick lead paint when you were pregnant?


Could you ask him to please get his fist out of my daughter's face?

Little Bear and His Friend Emily

LITTLE BEAR
Oh, Emily! Summer is almost over!

EMILY
I know, Little Bear!

LITTLE BEAR
And soon you will have to leave your Grandma's house in the forest!

EMILY
I will miss you, Little Bear!

LITTLE BEAR
I will miss you, too, Emily! Will you come back next summer?

EMILY
Oh, no, Little Bear. I fear I cannot return to the forest next year.

LITTLE BEAR
Oh! Oh! Why, Emily,why?

EMILY
Well, let's see...A) My Grandma's nuts, B) I'll be at cheerleading camp in San Dimas and C) I'm a 10 year-old girl and you're a carnivorous bear.

In This Month's Issue

Why Everyone Else Is A Better Mom Than You!

Perfect Toddler Fashions For Those Of You Stupid Enough To Buy A $70 Cashmere Sweater For A 3 Year-Old!

Does It Feel Like Your Playgroup Hates You? It's Because They Do!

Is Your Toddler Headed For Early Military School? Take Our Quiz!

Yummy Summer Recipes To Tear Out, Put In A Drawer and Never, Ever Make!

The Season's Hottest Drawstring Pants For You Fatasses Who've Let Yourselves Go!

Our Baby Photo Contest Winner! (Trust Us, It Wasn't Your Little Troll!)

Baby Still Not Sleeping Through The Night? Maybe It's Because You're A Pathetic Loser!

The 10 Warning Signs You Should Never Ignore About Ignoring Warning Signs!

Slim Down By Your Baby's College Graduation! (Hint: Put Down The Pork Chop, You Hump!)

Mom-Tested Wine: Quantity Beats Quality!

The Hidden Dangers In String Cheese!

Cool Crafts That Nobody Will Enjoy Doing and Will Take You Two Hours To Clean Up!

Celebrity Babies: Just Like Yours, But With Looks, Brains and Talent!

Think You're a MILF? Good God, Are You Wrong!

Let's Go To The Movies

Good--we got here just in time. I know it's your turn to choose the movie, but I hear that foreign one's really wonderful. It's about an orphan and a Clown who discover a magical root vegetable in the forest and...oops! I forgot, it's your choice. I'll be happy with whatever you pick.

How about "Transformers"?

Good God, are you insane? "Transformers"? Do I look like a 14 year-old boy who's been sniffing model airplane glue all day? Do I look like I want to have every one of my five senses violated in Dolby surround sound? Come on. I'd rather spend two hours in Spencer's Gifts fondling fake diarhhea than go to an action movie based on an old cartoon and a plastic toy. I mean, what's next? "Pez Dispenser: The Movie"? "The Adventures of Slinky"? No, thanks. Besides, it's directed by Michael Bay, the genius behind "Armageddon". I think my brain is still bleeding from that one. Only movie ever that made me wish I'd brought along some arsenic to sprinkle on my popcorn. And did I ever tell you that he kind of hit on me one time outside of this club in L.A.? Of course, it was 2 a.m., so his choices were a little limited--me or the toothless tranny on the bus bench--but still, I'm counting it. Not like that time I thought that guy who played Donna Martin's rapist on "90210" was coming on to me. I was wrong that time. Really wrong. So very, very wrong. Hey, do you think that security guard ever got his job back? He was a nice guy. Not very alert, but that became obvious when the dogs started to...what's wrong?

Well, we just missed the beginning of "Transformers".

Oh, really? Was I talking too long? But the good news is it looks like we can still make...

"Live Free or Die Hard".

Crap. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I thought Bruce Willis was following me around the Burbank Costco? Or at least I think it was him. Could have been "The Commish". Anyway, his cart was just loaded down with double A batteries and fish, cod maybe, and...hey, where are you going? Can I at least get some popcorn? Nachos? I promise not to talk anymore. Unless they show a trailer with Kevin Costner in it, because then I might have a few things to say.

Witty Names For My Freelance Writing Business Should I Ever Have One

Write On!

Snow Write

Write, Write Baby

The Write Supremacist

Basic. Human. Writes.

The Average Write Band

Brochures By Divine Write

The Write Shadow

What You Lookin' At, Writey?

The Ship

MOMMY! COME TO DA BATHROOM! YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!

What, did you dismantle the toilet paper holder again?

No, come and see my ship!

Your WHAT?

My ship, my ship! My ship in the toilet!

That is not a nice word, mister.

Ship?

Yes, that word. Nice people like you and mommy don't say that word. Unless we slam our hand in the dishwasher and lose a few fingertips and then have to pick them out of the Cascade and put them in the fridge until we can get to the hospital to have them reattached. Then it's OK. But otherwise, we never say that word, got it?

Yeah. (pause) COME TO DA BATHROOM TO SEE MY SHIP!

Stop it! Who taught you that word, anyway? Was it your babysitter? That dirty kid at the playground? I bet it was him. He looked like some rough trade, man. I'm not sure, but I think he even had some jailhouse tats and...

MOMMY! COME TO THE BATHROOM AND LOOK AT MY SHIP!

OK already! I'm here. Now...what's that?

My poop in the toilet. See? It looks like Darth Vadar's ship!

Oh, for the love of...OK, sweetie. Can you flush the ship now? I think it needs to go fight the Rebel Forces or something.

Sure, mommy. Bye-bye ship!

Yeah, bye-bye ship. Give my regards to R2D2.

Why I Am Disappointed In My Bikini Boot Camp

"Drill Instructor" is a petite blonde named Tiffani, not badass Louis Gossett, Jr.

Despite repeated requests, nobody calls me "Maggot".

"Drop and give me 20, shithead!" is instead "Um, could you guys, like, do some push-ups now?"

Never once forced to scrub a latrine with my toothbrush.

Other recruits more concerned with getting in shape than building strong Bikini Army.

"Full Metal Jacket" soundtrack voted out in favor of Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" as training music.

Cadence is lame, "I don't know, but I've been told. You got to fluff your sheets before you fold".

Chanting "This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine" while holding yoga mat, not really as awesome.

Attempt to give other squad members hardcore nicknames like "Joker", "Mississippi" and "Doggy Style" met with disapproval.

Nobody else interested in playing War Games against the One-Piece Swimsuit Boot Camp.

Only weapons issued are 5 pound free weights and elastic bands.

Summertime and the Livin' Is Crappy

It’s a Saturday afternoon in the middle of the summer. Looking outside, I can see that it’s another gorgeous, sunny day. The neighborhood is alive with families riding bikes, splashing happily in backyard pools or lovingly tending to their flower beds. The delicious smell of hamburgers sizzling on barbeque grills wafts through the air. Everywhere I look on this balmy summer day, people are enjoying themselves and relaxing in the warm, gentle weather of the season. Idiots.

I hate summer. Hate it. I know it’s a shameful thing to admit. Second only to telling someone you actually text your votes in to “American Idol”. But each year when June rolls around, my mood instantly darkens. There’s the heat. The humidity. The constant fear of contracting the West Nile Virus at a backyard weenie roast and leaving my kids motherless. I just don’t see what the big deal is. “Summer fun”? “Summer lovin’”? My ass. Call me in September when I can wear long pants again.

I haven’t always felt this way. I actually liked summer when I was a kid. Of course, this was mostly because I grew up in North Dakota, so being able to play outside without the risk of losing body parts to frostbite was a nice treat. Also, no school. Even a nerd like me could appreciate sleeping in late and watching “The Price is Right” every morning. But as I got a little older, my hatred of June, July and August began in earnest. After all, there’s nothing a bookworm likes to hear less than “Stop reading and get outside! It’s summer, for Crissakes!” I can’t imagine how many books I sacrificed so I could instead increase my chances of getting into Harvard by jumping through a sprinkler. No wonder I’m not a doctor.

What I like is fall. Winter. Spring. The all-business seasons. People act responsibly in these seasons. They go to work, wear clothes and contribute to society. For nine wonderful months, the world is mind-numbingly boring, quiet and gray. Just the way I like it. Then suddenly, that smug little bastard Summer blows into town and within minutes, everyone’s dancing on tables and drinking tequila out of someone else’s belly button. “Oh, look, it’s June! Let’s go on vacation for weeks at a time! Let’s start dressing in big, floral prints and flip flops! Let’s waste hours of time shaving our legs and self-tanning ourselves orange! And let’s only drink things that start with the word “iced”! Quick! To the Le Baron convertible everyone! We’ve got some beach volleyball to play!” For the love of God, just kill me.

Unfortunately, the only escape I can think of is to perhaps get deported to Siberia. Which, given the current administration, is probably as easy as wearing an Al Jazeera t-shirt to the post office, but who wants to go to Siberia? They don’t even have a Banana Republic. No, I now realize I have to just deal with the fact that for three months each year, there’s no structure, no schedule and no way for my thighs to not be stuck together. Therefore, I’ve put together a list of the summer indignities I now vow to accept, no matter how painful:

I accept that the best thing to watch on TV on any given night is Bassmasters.

I accept that I look like serial killer Aileen Wournos when I wear a tank top.

I accept that I lose a layer of skin off the backs of my thighs every time I sit on my scorching hot leather car seats and that somehow, that layer of skin never seems to include my cellulite.

I accept that it’s 100 degrees outside, but 60 degrees inside, so every time I enter or leave a store, my ears plug up from the change in air pressure, rendering me temporarily deaf and I therefore had to teach myself to read lips.

I accept that the people in my neighborhood go absolutely bat shit for firecrackers and that their nightly pyrotechnic displays give my cats anxiety attacks that manifest themselves as incontinence problems on my shoes.

I accept that by the end of March, the only camp still available for my kids to register for was Soccer Bible camp, where they bless the ball before each game and call the goalies “St. Peter”.

So that’s it. That's my list. Next year, maybe I’ll take on pool parties, shirtless, fat men playing Frisbee and heat rash. With all this effort, I hope summer will be a little easier on me this year. A little less taxing. But as a wise, wise man once said, “Ain’t no cure for the summertime blues.” Let's see if he's right.

7 Ways To Have A Hot Beach Bod!

1. Don't have children.

2. If you've already broken step number one, call plastic surgeon and immediately schedule "The Kitchen Remodel".

3. Begin the "Brown Food" diet, which includes chicken nuggets, french fries and chocolate milkshakes. Warning: If brown food touches any other food on your plate, it is no longer non-fat and healthy.

4. Get a good tan to make you appear slimmer. Do this by filling bathtub with RIT dye #49 (Burnt Sienna) and soaking until your legs look like Kate Moss'.

5. Find a heavyset friend to take to the beach with you. Bonus if they are also male, hairy, shirtless and eating a hotdog.

6. Invest in a cute swimsuit with a flirty skirt to hide problem areas. Wear as many as needed.

7. If bod still isn't hot, book summer beach vacation to Homer, Alaska. Pack a sweater.

Little Bear and the Big River

LITTLE BEAR
Oh, Duck! This river is so wide! How will we ever cross it?

DUCK
I don't know, Little Bear!

LITTLE BEAR
Maybe we could try to walk across on that log!

DUCK
Oh, we could certainly try!

LITTLE BEAR
Or maybe we should walk across these stepping stones!

DUCK
We must be very brave, Little Bear!

LITTLE BEAR
Yes, we must get across this river without falling in the water!

MY HUSBAND
You're a frickin' Duck and a Bear. Swim, you morons.

Fourth of July Observation About The Neighbors Who Live Behind Us

Them crackers loves thems some 'crackers.