I guess you'd call that daddy style?

First, a bit of post pimpage: my latest contribution to the wonderful world of Dadcentric concerns breastmilk and the perversity that it inspires. Also, it is very mildly NSFW, as is this very post you are reading, for it features this fine illustration:

So go. Look. Find out why in the hell I drew such a thing.

And speaking of perversity, it seems that even the most innocent child's toy can conjur up the most salacious thoughts in our young people. You see, we have this toy:
It affixes to the refrigetor by means of magnets, and comes with a series of small magnets that make up the front and back of different animals, such as the cow shown above. If you match the front and back of a given animal, it sings a little song about that animal, concluding with the sound that the animal makes. However, if you mismatch the front and back to create some ungodly monstrosity, the toy will still sing a song for you. For example, if you put the duck's head with the pig's ass, you'll get to hear that happy little frog sing this:

You put a duck in front,
You put a pig behind.
Put them together
And what do you find?
A duck-pig?
That's silly!

Well, our children have heard these songs several million times now, so that little tune is emblazoned upon their memories, or at least that of my eldest, as evidenced by the song that he sang for us this evening:

You put a mommy in front,
You put a daddy behind.
Put them together
And what do you find?

I'm not sure how he concluded the verse, for I and The Ash were howling with laughter at our son's unwitting Yanchovichization. Three years old and already he's singing dirty songs. That's my boy!

An advanced sense of humor

It was a mystery, see? I couldn't understand what was going on, and yet in a way, it made a sort of sense.

See, one day a few weeks ago, I was playing with Henry in the living room, and the music was on shuffle, and it landed on none other than Bill Hicks. Henry stopped what he was doing, turned toward the speaker, stood up, and started clapping his little hands together. Had a hidden camera been tucked away somewhere, it would have captured the sight of my jaw hitting the floor. Could it be, I thought, that the spirit of Bill Hicks is speaking to my child? I groped for some sort of explanation to make sense of this impossible sight. Henry looked up at me with an enormous smile and clapped some more. He clapped through the whole damn track.

And then it happened several more times. Music on shuffle, lands on Bill Hicks, always something wildly child-inappropriate, but I don't, I can't stop it because my son is totally captivated! Who am I to interrupt whatever communication is going on between this dead comic genius and my impressionable young son? I'm just imagining how I'll brag about this one. Oh little such-and-such is walking, huh? Wow that's really great. Did I tell you Henry has developed the sense of humor of a cynical adult? Yes, we're very proud.

And then one day the answer made itself clear. It was the clapping. Bill tells his jokes, the audience laughs, and it all gets recorded for the folks at home to hear 13 years after the man's death. And my little GooGoo was responding to the clapping.

Thank God, I thought. As much as I love Bill Hicks, I'm not quite ready for my son to be able to understand what he's got to say. Not just yet.

Watch this and smile with me.