Crazy Genes

Before you give me a hard time for posting more Dad Wrecks, you should note that:

a) It's really *your* fault for not submitting these earlier, and

b) See point 'a'.

Besides, it's not like there's anything here that really screams "Dad", you know?

Ok, well, except for that plastic thing.

And maybe the golf clip art.

But the actual cake? That's just screaming, "For the love of Sweet Duncan Hines, WHAT AM I?!?"

If only I knew, little Wreck. If only. I. knew.

Here's how you tell Pop you're on to all those Christmas shenanigans of his:

Yeah. Watch your back, "Santa."

And then there's the weird stuff.

"I do the weird stuff!"

For the record, there is no combination of the words "king, fish, dad, dad" that makes even the remotest hint of sense. None. King fish dad dad? King dad fish dad? Dad king fish dad? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!?

[patting down hair] Ahem.

Actually, I find it oddly comforting that the yellow fish/dad/king/thing looks just as confused as I am. It's like he understands my pain. Yeah. So thanks, fish/dad/king/thing.

Say, here's an aspect of father/child bonding you don't see often:

A shared love of cycloptic mutant bunnies.

(Yes, I *did* just make Cyclops into an adjective. Trust me, it's going to fill a void in your vocabulary you never even knew was there. You'll see.)

And finally, the most horrifying Father's Day Wreck I've seen all week, hands down:

You know, something about that icing seems off, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Well, maybe the Wreckerator was all thumbs, and so decided to just slap on a digit-al design. In that case, you gotta admit: s/he nailed it.

Wanda W., Clint R., Laura M., Heather L., & Katie T., high fives all 'round.


TOUR REMINDER: Hey, Salt Lake City, for a good time be at The King's English Bookshop tonight at 7pm (or a bit before). We've got all kinds of goodies in store for you. [saucy wink]

Update from john: Did you know that apparently, little boys are made up of Y chromosomes and Epcots? Neither did I...