Vol. 11, No. 2,646 - The American Reporter - May 16, 2005

Make My Day

by Erik Deckers
American Reporter Humor Writer
Syracuse, Indiana

SYRACUSE, Ind. -- Yaay, morning again! TV and breakfast and milk in a sippy cup! And I love waking up to a really good poopy. That means Mommy has to change my diaper. She makes such funny faces when I do that.

Hmm, something smells funny. I'll just open my eyes and - gaah! It's that Daddy guy. What's he doing home today? Oh wait, it must be - what do they call it? - Satter Day? Daddy always wakes me up on Satter Day.

What are these things on my head? Oh wait, I remember. What did Daddy call them? Die Odes? He said they'll read my mind and transfer my thoughts to a computer - whatever that is - so he can write his column. Lazy hack. Get your own material!

I remember he put these on me last week. I tried to run away and nearly gave myself whiplash when I reached the end of the wires. I think he said these are wireless.

Dude, put me down, I just woke up! Give me some space. Your morning breath would kill a horse. Ha, take that! How's that for a right hook? Next time don't stand so close. Good thing you had your glasses on.

Aw, man. He startled me so bad I can't even make a good poopy. Hey, you! Daddy! My diaper is wet. Get this thing off me. That's more like-- Put it on! Put it on! It's cold in here. Look, it's making my-- Oh, jeez, I hope that's not permanent. I look like a one year old.

My day is going from bad to worse. Now I've got one of those stupid Die Odes in my hair. I hope that cute little diaper filler from next door, Stacy Something-or-other, doesn't see me. I look like a complete dork. Ha, take that! Stupid glasses. Just stick me in my high chair and bring me some breakfast.

What's this crap? I don't want Cheerios, I want bacon and eggs. Bacon. Bayyyy-kunnnnn! Do I have to draw you a map? Bring me some stupid bacon. Let's see if I can get my point across a little better. I'll just throw the Cheerios on the floor and throw a fit.

Waaaaaahh! Ooh, milk in a sippy cup. It'll do for now. But I want BLTs for lunch today! Hey, Grover's on my cup. Hi Grover. Are you on TV today? Huh? Say something. Stuck up little monster. Every day I try to talk to him, but he doesn't say a word. When he's on TV, he's all cute and fuzzy and talkative, but get him alone, and he just clams up.

Later... .

Huhhh? What happened? I must have fallen asleep in my high chair again. I hate it when that happens. What's Daddy laughing at? Put that camera down. What are you-- Oh man, I've got Cheerios stuck to my cheek. Take that! Dang, I missed.

Dude, turn on the TV. No, not Pokemon. Not Dora the freakin' explorer either. I want Sesame Street! Sesame Street! Seeeessss-- Ooh, it's Hometime with that sexy Robin Hartl. She can build me a new crib any day.

Forget it, I've seen that one before. Turn on Thomas the Tank Engine. You know, the talking train. No, not the talking plane. The talking train. Hey, that reminds me. Where's' my Thomas?

Waaaaaahh! Tama, Tama." Thanks, Daddy dude. Daddy found Thomas. I guess he's not so bad after all. Now I can watch the show and drive Thomas around on my high chair.

But yuck! 'Tama, Tama?' What the heck was that all about? I distinctly said 'Thomas the Tank Engine.' What's all this 'Tama' business? Stupid cognitive development.

Hey, where's my breakfast? Oh yeah. I threw it on the floor. That was stupid of me. I better not do that any-- ha ha ha! I knew I couldn't say that with a straight face. Hmm, let's see. Where was I? Oh yeah, breakfast.

Waaaaaahh! Cheechos!"

Cheechos? I said Cheerios, not Cheechos. I think I'm losing my mind. Something's going wrong here. It's these stupid Die Odes or whatever it is Daddy stuck to my head. I've got to get them off. They're ruining my brain. I'll just get this-- Ow, my hair! My hair! I forgot about that one.

Almost done. These Die Odes are making me stupid. I was a bright, intelligent two-year-old, but now I'm starting to sound like a punch drunk 18-month-old. Just one more Die Ode and I'm--

Transmission ends.

Copyright 2005 Joe Shea The American Reporter. All Rights Reserved.