Not Again

Once again I have subjected myself to young kids.

I went to volunteer at a kids triathlon, this morning. I run triathlons, and love to see youth getting involved in these types of sports. But, like all sports, there are the overbearing, pseudo-athletic parents who have raised a little turd kid that thinks he/she is the next L. Armstrong etc.

I was watching as the majority of the kids, with their ill-fitting equipment, ride by at the very end of their abilities. It was great to see these little kiddos pushing themselves. Then here comes Lance Jr. in his little leotard, emphasis on "tard", whipping the shit out of all these kids. Well, Lance Jr. wins of course and is prancing around the finish line in front of the onlookers and other little kid athletes in their tiny horn rimmed glasses and crooked bike helmets.

And then a miracle happens: God (or whoever) sends Lance Jr. my way. I was just standing by the water/powerade with my wife and he sauntered over with his little medal and trisuit. Did I mention that he was the only kid in a trisuit? The others had on, what appeared to be, the same clothes they wore to kindergarten that day.

Tour de France kinder says to us, "Yea, I think I won. I was second out of the water, but on the bike, pfttttt..." and gestures as though there is no way any of those lesser humans could have come close to his Excellency.

At this point I added, "Yea, you kicked the crap out of that four year old girl on the Schwinn." He looked at me very puzzled and wondered off. I actually felt good about that one. I was sure no one ever smacked his ego in the ass like that.

Guess I should be banned from kids' triathlons as well.

Surrogate Killer Parent (a day at the aquarium)

I love going to visit my bro and his family. He lives in the greatest cities and usually has jobs that I can only describe as surreal. But I digress, this is a short little story about my last trip to the freaky state of California to see my Brother, his two twins, and his very patient wife. I do not have kids, therefore I am more or less a caveman when it comes to being around them. This was seated firmly after I introduced the 3 almost 4 year old twins to the concept of violence and death while watching Star Wars (my idea, of course, even though their dad watched it with us).

The real fun began when we took a little jaunt to the aquarium together (minus mom). It had been one day since the Star Wars incident, and I was feeling more like a good uncle again.The twins looked in awe together as I explained the different types of sea life we were observing. I actually felt like a normal uncle, and not like "Kindergarten Cop" or some type of commando-esque baby sitter. I was eventually entrusted with one of the twins, all on my own. My little brother went to the restroom with one, and I took the other to pet the small sharks and rays. It was great. She was laughing nervously as the rough skinned (non-man eating) sharks would come up to her to be stroked with two fingers while I watched to make sure she didn't fall in etc. She really loved it, and I was having fun with her. Then there was an incident.

A little boy, about her age, decided that he did not like the fact that she was having so much fun and getting all this aquatic attention. He (four eyed freak boy) reached into the water with a cupped hand and threw it on my niece. This set off a chain of crying, which would last for one hour. Not before she whacked the kid in the chest for dousing her. I don't deal with little kids at all. I watched as the freak kid reached in for his second scoop of water and then pounced on him like a lion in wait. I said, "Hey, little freak, don't even think about it!" It just popped right out. I didn't even think twice that I was talking to a 4-5 year old. I actually had a little mini dream, while I was berating him, about shoving him into the shark tank. It was a beautiful thing, but a dream all the less. He looked at me like I was from outer space and started to cry.

Well, his mom (idiot freak number 2) decided to show up and said, as though she had just woken up from a long sleep, "what's going on little fella?" Now we were talking. I definitely know how to deal with stupid adults. I was just about to leap for her throat when my brother appeared and whisked me off while I was telling this lady to get control of her little tardo kid.

I definitely need to be kept away from the children for at least 15 years.

Story Time:"Bum Caked"

This is a funny little story that happened a few years ago that I thought might be mildly entertaining.

I decided to meet my little brother, who was coming in from NY, in Austin where our mother works as a housemother. We took her out to this great little steakhouse for dinner. The food was great, brother was funny and mom was happy. All was good. We ordered dessert which ended up being too much. The chocolate cake was so good I just had to take it with me. We decided to walk to our next destination, which was also downtown, when I spotted a homeless person, also known as a "crackhead", walking on the sidewalk toward us. Instead of being my normal paranoid self (big mistake), I decided to be kind and offer this man my wonderful chocolate cake leftover. I handed, with charitable hands (palms up full extension), the delectable dessert to the seeming wanting street person. The tall skinny disheveled man stared down at the polystyrene container and began to open it in a way I can only describe, as a zombie from one of those crappy movies would when ripping open your skull to reveal the brain. My "spidey sense" began to tingle as the zombie erupted into a frenzy state. My brother, being a seasoned bum watcher from NY, saw what was coming next as if he was in some type of "Matrix" sequel. The container was ripped open and the contents were pummeled in a death grip which seemed primitive to me.

As the urchin raised his cake-laden hand above his head screaming in a perfect street bum accent, "What da fuck am I gunna do wid sum mutha fuckin chocolate cake" I was frozen. My brother, on the other hand, became my mother’s secret service agent and dove in front of her as the beast brought his hand down in an uncoordinated attempt to toss the cake back at the generous person that donated it to him, ME. The cake impacted a passerby, who delivering soda to a restaurant. Shrapnel peppered my pants and shoes. We were just "bum caked". I did not have time to waste, my brother quickly grabbed up my mother, who was also going for cover while I stood in wonderment of what was unfolding. I guess I wasn't impressed with the killing power of a loaded three-layer fudge cake. I soon followed behind them, tending to my wounded pants and shoes, still in awe of what happened. Don't give zombies cake!

The Uncomfortable Gaze

So, how long is too long? What happened to these people in childhood that caused their stare timer to get all fucked up? Could it be that this person just slipped through the "ass kicking" cracks of society? I really want to know.

Give me some answers, because I think it could be a self correcting problem prompted by some constructive confrontation. Like, what the fuck are you looking at turd nugget?