Bring Your Daughter to War Day
(posted by josh golden)
Yeah, that ain’t bad kid. But I saw an eight year-old in Kenya who did it in twenty-three seconds, and that was in the heat of battle! Sure, he was on a steady diet of cocaine and gunpowder mixed into Coco Puffs, but he’s not the one on trial here. Dads, please approach the bench.
Is this a selection of fathers who want to teach their daughters how to protect themselves?
Is this radical feminism?
Wasn’t there a scene in Forrest Gump just like this?
Holy shit! Is this an international trend!?
Chilling, just chilling.
Fathers, there has never been an abduction or assault on a young child that could have been prevented if only someone would have known how to properly and quickly break down their military-issued assault rifle, clean it and reassemble it before performing a function check.
I applaud progressive parenting in most cases but these are impostors. Just because you take a Barbie out of a little girl’s hands and replace it with a gas-operated AR-15 does not mean you are blurring the lines in the battle of the sexes. All you have done is trained your daughters in preparation to join nineteen year old girls across the states (southern), field stripping, reassembling and firing guns, in bikinis.
I get it: It’s impossible to get that world record with those large sausage fingers you got. If only there was someone in your family with small dexterous hands that could handle the intricacies of a firing mechanism. But Dads, I find you guilty of vicariously living through your children and putting high powered weapons in the hands of a fucking eleven year old. What are you thinking!? I sentence you to death by little girl firing squad. Don’t worry; it will take under a minute.
My name is Josh and I am going to go watch The Professional.
Happy Birthday, Big Prezzie
What’s the big deal? So maybe he was born in Kenya. Are we not celebrating the birth of Kenyans now? Is this because of their monopoly on marathon victories? Whatever. I’ll let it slide this time. But when Jomo Kenyatta’s b-day rolls around, I’m observing that shit.
I was lucky enough to get some face time with Obama on his birthday. Here is the transcript from our encounter:
Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Mr. President.
OBAMA
Don’t call me that. I’m not working today.
BEN
You’re taking the day off from being the president?
Can you do that?
OBAMA
Hell yeah I can do that. Look…Nobody should have to work on
their birthday. That should be a law. I’m going to make
that my birthday wish and then, tomorrow, when I’m
president again, I’ll grant it. I make my own luck!
BEN
Fair enough. So can I ask you presidential questions?
OBAMA
Nope. Only birthday questions.
BEN
Uh, okay. How old are you today?
OBAMA
48. 48 years strong, 48 inches long.
BEN
Oh, 48…wait, what? 48 inches long of what?
OBAMA
You know what.
BEN
There is no way you have a 48-inch long penis.
OBAMA
There is no way YOU have a 48-inch long penis.
BEN
True.
OBAMA
You’re more like four to eight inches. Closer to four.
BEN
Alright.
OBAMA
You got a jewy dick. I’m a mu’fuckin’ Kenyan.
BEN
Enough already.
OBAMA
I’m gonna pee out my candles. From four feet away. You watch.
BEN
I don’t wanna watch. That’s going to be disgusting.
OBAMA
You’ll still eat it. When your president pees on a cake
you eat it.
BEN
Well good thing you’re not president today.
OBAMA
Touché, Ben Axelrad. You’ve been pardoned.
BEN im
Thanks, Mr. Presi…How should I refer to you?
OBAMA
B-Bomb. That’s what my friends call me.
BEN
Happy birthday, B-Bomb.
OBAMA
Thanks, blogger. Now go fuck yourself.
Can you guys believe I met the President? I know. He’s different than you’d imagine. Dropped a couple F-bombs. Has a giant trouser snake. I’m not saying better or worse, just different than you’d imagine.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised B-Bomb I would go fuck myself.
My name is Ben and I blogged this.
My Name is Ben
