Kevin Clash resigned? How did I miss this yesterday? It is too tacky to make jokes about him, Elmo or pedophilia. I'll say this though...
What the hell is going to happen with Elmo? The people at Sesame Street are too smart to not have a line of succession already established. The minute the first person got shot for a Tickle Me Elmo they had five people auditioning to replace Kevin Clash one day. My question is will it work. Elmo is a god, Elmo's World is his televangelism and Sesame Place is the Vatican. Whoever takes that job better come correct. The first missed inflection or first-person slip up (Elmo never says "I") and heads are going to roll. I bought a Sesame Street book that came with an audio CD that was not voiced by Clash. My daughter looked at me like "Who the hell is this?" That thing is in a landfill now. I can see an army of toddlers descending on Sesame Place in Pennsylvania. That place is gonna look like Iraq in '03 with statues of Elmo toppling over.
I don't know what's going to happen, but if they're smart they'll just keep running the same reruns of Elmo's World like they've been doing.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Beating Free Zone
Not much to talk about today. Feeling kinda sick. The child got on my last nerve yesterday to the point that I had one of those headaches that I only hear about in Tylenol commercials. In reality, I've never seen someone have a headache that's so bad that they start rubbing their temples while looking constipated, but that's what I was doing yesterday. I'm old school. I'm from an era where whenever a kid does something that you don't like, you just yell at them until they stop. Half the time the kid doesn't know what you're talking about or why you're angry so they keep doing whatever it is that they're doing which causes you to either keep yelling or switch to asswhipping mode. That's where I'm from. That's not where I live now.
I live on the other side of Asswhipsylvania. Over here we're still waking up with night terrors from our own childhood beatings, so we're a little more cautious about breaking out the Hot Wheels tracks and extension cords. I'm thirty years old and I STILL remember the last two beatings that I got. There was the Thrilla in Manila of Summer 1986 and then the Rumble in the Jungle of Spring 1987. That's right. The last beating I got occurred when I was only four years old. Most "urban" children have at least one beating that took place in their teens. They look at me and say, "Oh you must have been spoiled because you didn't get a beating anytime after pre-kindergarten." Nope. Don't assume I was spoiled just because your parents were entry-level ass whippers. My grandmother mastered the craft and my mother was her apprentice. Obi-Wan and Anakin all day everyday.
I've written about this before I think, so there's no need to go into a long detailed story. The first one happened outside of a church. My grandmother was singing as part of the guest choir at a church and I was sitting in the audience standing up on a pew trying to climb out of the window because apparently I was bored. My grandmother came down out of the choir loft, walked me outside and beat the hell out of me with the same cat o' nine tails that they beat Jesus with at the crucifixion. And just like Jesus...I wept.
The next and final beating took place in Brooklyn. You haven't lived a full life until you've been beat down in Brooklyn. We were at my great-grandmother's house and my mother decided to go hang out with her cousins. I wanted to go, she said no and I don't know what the hell was wrong with me but the word "Why" came out of my mouth. "Why" is a curse word in black households. The next thing I knew she was taking the paddle ball that I was playing with and beating the hell out of me (while still maintaining a rhythm to keep paddling the ball). I screamed and hollered to the smooth percussion of my own beating. It was so bad, that just the memory of it stopped me from doing anything beating-worthy for the rest of my life.
So anyway, with all of that said, my daughter got on my last nerve and if I were my mother or grandmother, then she would probably be pulling Payless 'Highlights' women's shoe rubber out of her behind. Because I am not them, she lives to sit normally another day, while I have a blinding headache that's been going on for two straight days. What's so hard about laying down the hammer is that I can tell when she's acting out on purpose and when she's just emotional, frustrated or unaware that what she's doing is wrong. I just know. Nothing she did yesterday was 'demonic.' It was just her being a kid. Her job is to ask me to read Fox in Socks 54 times. My job is to not try and paper cut my wrists with the book.
It's okay. I'll be avenged one day. When I show up to her high school wearing combat boots, a tiara, a too-too and long fur coat and then walk around making sure that everyone knows I'm her father...she'll cry and ask why. I'm going to point to this day.
I live on the other side of Asswhipsylvania. Over here we're still waking up with night terrors from our own childhood beatings, so we're a little more cautious about breaking out the Hot Wheels tracks and extension cords. I'm thirty years old and I STILL remember the last two beatings that I got. There was the Thrilla in Manila of Summer 1986 and then the Rumble in the Jungle of Spring 1987. That's right. The last beating I got occurred when I was only four years old. Most "urban" children have at least one beating that took place in their teens. They look at me and say, "Oh you must have been spoiled because you didn't get a beating anytime after pre-kindergarten." Nope. Don't assume I was spoiled just because your parents were entry-level ass whippers. My grandmother mastered the craft and my mother was her apprentice. Obi-Wan and Anakin all day everyday.
I've written about this before I think, so there's no need to go into a long detailed story. The first one happened outside of a church. My grandmother was singing as part of the guest choir at a church and I was sitting in the audience standing up on a pew trying to climb out of the window because apparently I was bored. My grandmother came down out of the choir loft, walked me outside and beat the hell out of me with the same cat o' nine tails that they beat Jesus with at the crucifixion. And just like Jesus...I wept.
The next and final beating took place in Brooklyn. You haven't lived a full life until you've been beat down in Brooklyn. We were at my great-grandmother's house and my mother decided to go hang out with her cousins. I wanted to go, she said no and I don't know what the hell was wrong with me but the word "Why" came out of my mouth. "Why" is a curse word in black households. The next thing I knew she was taking the paddle ball that I was playing with and beating the hell out of me (while still maintaining a rhythm to keep paddling the ball). I screamed and hollered to the smooth percussion of my own beating. It was so bad, that just the memory of it stopped me from doing anything beating-worthy for the rest of my life.
So anyway, with all of that said, my daughter got on my last nerve and if I were my mother or grandmother, then she would probably be pulling Payless 'Highlights' women's shoe rubber out of her behind. Because I am not them, she lives to sit normally another day, while I have a blinding headache that's been going on for two straight days. What's so hard about laying down the hammer is that I can tell when she's acting out on purpose and when she's just emotional, frustrated or unaware that what she's doing is wrong. I just know. Nothing she did yesterday was 'demonic.' It was just her being a kid. Her job is to ask me to read Fox in Socks 54 times. My job is to not try and paper cut my wrists with the book.
It's okay. I'll be avenged one day. When I show up to her high school wearing combat boots, a tiara, a too-too and long fur coat and then walk around making sure that everyone knows I'm her father...she'll cry and ask why. I'm going to point to this day.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
And in Other News...
I'm sitting here reading the news and I gotta say that DC never fails to disappoint. I remember my first day of college. The breaking story was an overnight burglary at a furniture store. I remember thinking to myself, "That made the news?" The entire first week of school I listened to local residents caution me about how dangerous Durham, NC was. "Be careful out there. There are gangs in Durham." I used to respond with, "Really? That's it? DC is so bad, I expect pigeon or a squirrel to pull out a gun and shoot me one day."
So anyway let's see...
Stabbing at Woodley Park Metro. Two guys got jumped and robbed in Adams Morgan and instead of reporting it, they say that they followed the robbers to the subway and confronted them. The robbers pulled out a knife and stabbed the two guys, killing one of them. This goes to show that standing up for yourself in is the last thing you want to do in this city.
Speaking of robberies, somebody robbed a man at an ATM machine while the victim's four year old daughter was standing right there. No church in the wild, I guess. You would think that with a kid present that maybe someone's heart would grow two sizes too big and they'd leave you alone, but that's not the case in this place. Personally, I find that people (drivers mostly) see me and my daughter as moving targets that earn them bonus points should they successfully take us out.
On a lighter note, a new study shows that eating fish out of the Anacostia River is a really bad idea. Not sure who in their right mind would eat anything that comes out of there, but it's good to know. For those unfamiliar with the Anacostia River, it's a moving body of liquid...I guess you can technically call it water. It doubles as the runoff for our storm water and sewage overflows. So basically whenever it rains for more than ten minutes our sewers back up and all of that "stuff" feeds into the river. I don't think people catch fish so much as maybe the fish are willing to take their chances on land and thus see baited hooks as a better alternative to staying in there. If you've caught and eaten a fish from there and are still alive, I invite you to drop me a line. You don't have to comment on this site. Just use whatever telepathic powers you've gained since consumption and send the message to me using your mind.
I'm done reading the news for today. That's just the first three articles I saw. I'll save the rest for tomorrow.
So anyway let's see...
Stabbing at Woodley Park Metro. Two guys got jumped and robbed in Adams Morgan and instead of reporting it, they say that they followed the robbers to the subway and confronted them. The robbers pulled out a knife and stabbed the two guys, killing one of them. This goes to show that standing up for yourself in is the last thing you want to do in this city.
Speaking of robberies, somebody robbed a man at an ATM machine while the victim's four year old daughter was standing right there. No church in the wild, I guess. You would think that with a kid present that maybe someone's heart would grow two sizes too big and they'd leave you alone, but that's not the case in this place. Personally, I find that people (drivers mostly) see me and my daughter as moving targets that earn them bonus points should they successfully take us out.
On a lighter note, a new study shows that eating fish out of the Anacostia River is a really bad idea. Not sure who in their right mind would eat anything that comes out of there, but it's good to know. For those unfamiliar with the Anacostia River, it's a moving body of liquid...I guess you can technically call it water. It doubles as the runoff for our storm water and sewage overflows. So basically whenever it rains for more than ten minutes our sewers back up and all of that "stuff" feeds into the river. I don't think people catch fish so much as maybe the fish are willing to take their chances on land and thus see baited hooks as a better alternative to staying in there. If you've caught and eaten a fish from there and are still alive, I invite you to drop me a line. You don't have to comment on this site. Just use whatever telepathic powers you've gained since consumption and send the message to me using your mind.
I'm done reading the news for today. That's just the first three articles I saw. I'll save the rest for tomorrow.
Friday, November 16, 2012
4:59AM
It is 6:07 Friday morning. I'm running away. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm gonna sleep when I get there. You can't make this shit up. First off, the "child" (and I use that term loosely) woke up Thursday morning around 9 AM. The only reason she woke up at 9 is because she went to sleep around midnight the night before (don't ask). So she woke up at 9. We began our broadcast day with some breakfast and a few songs for morning devotion: "I pledge allegiance to my daddy, the coolest mofo in America, and to his Republic, which isn't likely to stand. One daddy and a mommy, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
Sometime after that we watched the Clockwork Orange shows on Disney Junior and then we went on our field trip down to the National Mall. I let her run free from the Tidal Basin all the way to the WWII memorial. We did a few laps around the Washington Monument and then ran up to the American History Museum where we looked at the big trains down in the basement and sat in the replica of the Chicago 'L' for a while watching the little movie on the wall. Then we ran all the way back to the car.
Two hours of that was enough to make me tired, but I'm old compared to her. She got home and ran around the house like the Tazmanian Devil that she is and pulled every doll, toy and mega block from its place and methodically laid them out on the floor like the little sharp pointy landmines that they are. Then she ate about $20 worth of groceries and bounced around the house some more. Other stuff happened that isn't interesting enough to write about, but was loud or destructive enough to etch across my soul and around eight o'clock when the normal two year olds of the world were winding down to go to bed, she was crushing up some No-Doz into a powder, spreading it out in a line on a mirror and snorting it through rolled up play money.
10PM came and went and she was still wide awake. The natural assumption is that she had a bunch of sugar or something throughout the day. Nope. She doesn't like sweets. Not cookies, not candy, not juice, not anything that would explain this nonstop energy that she has. She didn't have a long nap during the day. In fact, she didn't have a nap at all. She was up from 9AM until 1AM...taunting me. She's like Puffy. When she was a baby she used to hum, "I thought I told you that we won't stop, I thought I told you that we won't stop."
So anyway, around 1AM she figured that most of the clubs were closing and there was nothing else she could get into, so she went to sleep. Just to fuck with me, my wife gave me this false hope..."Since she went to sleep so late, you can probably bank on sleeping in tomorrow. There's no way she's gonna get up early." The devil is a liar.
4:59AM--I was dreaming that I was asleep. That's how tired I am these days. When other men are dreaming about God knows what (or who), I'm dreaming that I'm laying in a king-sized bed in a quiet soundproof room. So anyway at 4:59 my dream is brought to a halt by what I assume is the song that plays on the elevator ride down to hell:
"We're going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship, zooming through the sky. Little Einsteins!"
My daughter has an Eastern European Immigrant's grasp of the English language EXCEPT when it comes to one of those damned cartoons. Then, all of a sudden, she's an audio CD of Webster's Dictionary. At 4:59 and zero seconds she was standing in front of our bed singing that song. "We're going on a mission. Start the countdown! Five, four, three, two one!" (I'm thinking to myself, "If this isn't a dream, you're going on a mission to an adoption agency.")
If you read my posts often then you know that I have serious problems with insomnia. If I wake up, I'm up. My wife can go to sleep running up a mountain, so don't think I'm insensitive in this case, but while trying to keep my eyes closed and not wake up completely, I started kicking my wife. "Get up. She needs you. Where's your maternal instinct to protect? She's about to be placed into foster care. Save her!" My wife rolls over like she doesn't hear shit. My daughter starts lifting my eyelids. "We need you! Little Einstens, YEAH!"
At 5:01 AM and twelve seconds, I got up and kept repeating to myself "She's just a baby. She's just a baby." I walked her to the bathroom. She went. I tried to explain to her that it was 5 in the morning and that she'd only slept for four hours, but she wouldn't go back to sleep. So for the last hour or so we've been watching Little Einsteins and eating Cheerios. I've been keeping myself entertained with the thought of either running away or building a tree out of Mega Blocks and hanging myself from it.
...sigh
Sometime after that we watched the Clockwork Orange shows on Disney Junior and then we went on our field trip down to the National Mall. I let her run free from the Tidal Basin all the way to the WWII memorial. We did a few laps around the Washington Monument and then ran up to the American History Museum where we looked at the big trains down in the basement and sat in the replica of the Chicago 'L' for a while watching the little movie on the wall. Then we ran all the way back to the car.
Two hours of that was enough to make me tired, but I'm old compared to her. She got home and ran around the house like the Tazmanian Devil that she is and pulled every doll, toy and mega block from its place and methodically laid them out on the floor like the little sharp pointy landmines that they are. Then she ate about $20 worth of groceries and bounced around the house some more. Other stuff happened that isn't interesting enough to write about, but was loud or destructive enough to etch across my soul and around eight o'clock when the normal two year olds of the world were winding down to go to bed, she was crushing up some No-Doz into a powder, spreading it out in a line on a mirror and snorting it through rolled up play money.
10PM came and went and she was still wide awake. The natural assumption is that she had a bunch of sugar or something throughout the day. Nope. She doesn't like sweets. Not cookies, not candy, not juice, not anything that would explain this nonstop energy that she has. She didn't have a long nap during the day. In fact, she didn't have a nap at all. She was up from 9AM until 1AM...taunting me. She's like Puffy. When she was a baby she used to hum, "I thought I told you that we won't stop, I thought I told you that we won't stop."
So anyway, around 1AM she figured that most of the clubs were closing and there was nothing else she could get into, so she went to sleep. Just to fuck with me, my wife gave me this false hope..."Since she went to sleep so late, you can probably bank on sleeping in tomorrow. There's no way she's gonna get up early." The devil is a liar.
4:59AM--I was dreaming that I was asleep. That's how tired I am these days. When other men are dreaming about God knows what (or who), I'm dreaming that I'm laying in a king-sized bed in a quiet soundproof room. So anyway at 4:59 my dream is brought to a halt by what I assume is the song that plays on the elevator ride down to hell:
"We're going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship, zooming through the sky. Little Einsteins!"
My daughter has an Eastern European Immigrant's grasp of the English language EXCEPT when it comes to one of those damned cartoons. Then, all of a sudden, she's an audio CD of Webster's Dictionary. At 4:59 and zero seconds she was standing in front of our bed singing that song. "We're going on a mission. Start the countdown! Five, four, three, two one!" (I'm thinking to myself, "If this isn't a dream, you're going on a mission to an adoption agency.")
If you read my posts often then you know that I have serious problems with insomnia. If I wake up, I'm up. My wife can go to sleep running up a mountain, so don't think I'm insensitive in this case, but while trying to keep my eyes closed and not wake up completely, I started kicking my wife. "Get up. She needs you. Where's your maternal instinct to protect? She's about to be placed into foster care. Save her!" My wife rolls over like she doesn't hear shit. My daughter starts lifting my eyelids. "We need you! Little Einstens, YEAH!"
At 5:01 AM and twelve seconds, I got up and kept repeating to myself "She's just a baby. She's just a baby." I walked her to the bathroom. She went. I tried to explain to her that it was 5 in the morning and that she'd only slept for four hours, but she wouldn't go back to sleep. So for the last hour or so we've been watching Little Einsteins and eating Cheerios. I've been keeping myself entertained with the thought of either running away or building a tree out of Mega Blocks and hanging myself from it.
...sigh
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Nyquil Will Help You Get Your Zzz's
I hope to post something 'real' tomorrow (it's 11PM Wednesday) but I just took some Zzzquil and I'm looking forward to seeing my mistress (sleep) tonight. I haven't slept in like three days. I don't wanna get an actual prescription for Ambien because I remember what those lunatics were like when they'd call me on the (Health Insurance Company) phones. "You people declined my prescription for Ambien. I can't sleep without it. I'm gonna kill your entire family!" I don't want to become that. Those people were just a step below the Viagra men. "Why can't I get 30 pills?" Because it was originally a heart attack drug and it might kill you. "Well I'm willing to take that risk! I'm gonna kill your whole family!" To avoid becoming a druggie I try to spread my Zzzquil habit out so that my body doesn't get hip and develop a tolerance for it.
So anyway, that's what's going on in my world. I feel the need to explain myself because I am now at like 20 regular readers. Not exactly enough to throw up ads and retire off the revenue stream, but it's more than the two I used to have a year ago. I'm *this* close to blowing up.
A.D.D. Moment...
Did Mitt Romney just come across my television screen and say that Obama won because he gave 'gifts' to his voters? Why Mitt? You were doing so well with the classy disappearance from public view. I actually respected you for that. Per a brief scanning of a CNN article, apparently R-Money made a call to his top donors this morning thanking them for their support and explaining that Obama won because he offered incentives that equate to real money aka gifts. Example: Obamacare. He says that for some people that is adds up to a $10,000 gift.
Healthcare is a gift now? What the fuck is being sick? A blessing in disguise? Dude, I've been in the hospital a few times. I had almost a $200k bill for heart surgery. At no point did I equate my deductible with a birthday present. I get what you're saying...it's a financial burden lifted and subsidized by the government and thus you see it as a gift. Wow. Okay. You need to answer some phones at a health insurance company.
What else did he say? (Scanning...) You raised $900 million? Daaaamn! He said that he feels special because he only expected about half a million. You know who I feel bad for? Those little kids I see in front of Dick's Sporting Goods trying to raise money to buy cheerleading uniforms to go to Regionals. Tell rich people you're gonna make them even more money and you get almost a billion dollars. Stand in the hot ass sun selling nasty melted chocolate bars and you get $43. Wow.
It's a strange world we live in. You give a billion dollars to help someone else get a job. Imagine if every time you logged into Monster.com somebody handed you a check for $50.
So anyway, that's what's going on in my world. I feel the need to explain myself because I am now at like 20 regular readers. Not exactly enough to throw up ads and retire off the revenue stream, but it's more than the two I used to have a year ago. I'm *this* close to blowing up.
A.D.D. Moment...
Did Mitt Romney just come across my television screen and say that Obama won because he gave 'gifts' to his voters? Why Mitt? You were doing so well with the classy disappearance from public view. I actually respected you for that. Per a brief scanning of a CNN article, apparently R-Money made a call to his top donors this morning thanking them for their support and explaining that Obama won because he offered incentives that equate to real money aka gifts. Example: Obamacare. He says that for some people that is adds up to a $10,000 gift.
Healthcare is a gift now? What the fuck is being sick? A blessing in disguise? Dude, I've been in the hospital a few times. I had almost a $200k bill for heart surgery. At no point did I equate my deductible with a birthday present. I get what you're saying...it's a financial burden lifted and subsidized by the government and thus you see it as a gift. Wow. Okay. You need to answer some phones at a health insurance company.
What else did he say? (Scanning...) You raised $900 million? Daaaamn! He said that he feels special because he only expected about half a million. You know who I feel bad for? Those little kids I see in front of Dick's Sporting Goods trying to raise money to buy cheerleading uniforms to go to Regionals. Tell rich people you're gonna make them even more money and you get almost a billion dollars. Stand in the hot ass sun selling nasty melted chocolate bars and you get $43. Wow.
It's a strange world we live in. You give a billion dollars to help someone else get a job. Imagine if every time you logged into Monster.com somebody handed you a check for $50.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Say It Ain't So, Elmo
Damn. On the same day that I post my rant about Sesame Street taking advantage of me with their live performance prices a report comes out that Kevin Clash (Elmo) is taking a leave of absence following allegations that he had a relationship with a 16 year old boy. The accuser is now 23, and apparently Clash doesn't deny their relationship, but he insists that nothing happened until the boy was of legal age.
I don't know if it's true or not, but why put yourself in that situation in the first place? I had a teacher in school that everyone suspected of sleeping with his students. There was no proof that he was doing that, but he came into my theater one day on a date with one who'd just graduated. Again, why put yourself in that situation?
It's stuff like this that makes me nervous whenever little kids come around and show some type of interest in me. I don't mean in a sexual way, but just period. I'm silly and I've always been good with kids. Perhaps it stems from my being the family babysitter starting around six or seven years old, but for whatever reason kids always seem to find me entertaining. Unfortunately, there are too many pedophiles in the world and I refuse to be mistaken as being one.
Kids on the playground try to play with me and my daughter because I'm an enigma to them. Half the nannies sit around talking to one another while the kids eat the sand in the sandbox. If their real parents are there then they sit around on their phones doing work. Kids see me army crawling down the slide behind my daughter or hanging upside down off the monkey bars and they quickly gravitate towards the fun guy...and I quickly fling their little asses right back out of our orbit.
"Mister, can you put me on the monkey bars too?"
"Absolutely not. Go find your real parents."
"Can I play with you guys?"
"In this little toy house with me, a grown man, that's just out of sight of your father? Hell no. Go finish licking leaves or whatever it is that you were doing."
Maybe it's paranoia or overreacting, but if Michael Jackson had been half as paranoid then things would've gone completely different for him. If I were famous and it was a kid's dying wish to meet me, then I'd meet him at a Popeyes or something, buy him a two-piece and throw in an extra biscuit. That's it. We're not climbing trees together and you're sure as hell not spending the night at my house. I don't care if your family was homeless. I'd visit you at the shelter and the press could take pictures of me presenting you guys with a space heater.
You won't catch me slipping.
I don't know if it's true or not, but why put yourself in that situation in the first place? I had a teacher in school that everyone suspected of sleeping with his students. There was no proof that he was doing that, but he came into my theater one day on a date with one who'd just graduated. Again, why put yourself in that situation?
It's stuff like this that makes me nervous whenever little kids come around and show some type of interest in me. I don't mean in a sexual way, but just period. I'm silly and I've always been good with kids. Perhaps it stems from my being the family babysitter starting around six or seven years old, but for whatever reason kids always seem to find me entertaining. Unfortunately, there are too many pedophiles in the world and I refuse to be mistaken as being one.
Kids on the playground try to play with me and my daughter because I'm an enigma to them. Half the nannies sit around talking to one another while the kids eat the sand in the sandbox. If their real parents are there then they sit around on their phones doing work. Kids see me army crawling down the slide behind my daughter or hanging upside down off the monkey bars and they quickly gravitate towards the fun guy...and I quickly fling their little asses right back out of our orbit.
"Mister, can you put me on the monkey bars too?"
"Absolutely not. Go find your real parents."
"Can I play with you guys?"
"In this little toy house with me, a grown man, that's just out of sight of your father? Hell no. Go finish licking leaves or whatever it is that you were doing."
Maybe it's paranoia or overreacting, but if Michael Jackson had been half as paranoid then things would've gone completely different for him. If I were famous and it was a kid's dying wish to meet me, then I'd meet him at a Popeyes or something, buy him a two-piece and throw in an extra biscuit. That's it. We're not climbing trees together and you're sure as hell not spending the night at my house. I don't care if your family was homeless. I'd visit you at the shelter and the press could take pictures of me presenting you guys with a space heater.
You won't catch me slipping.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Dear Big Bird
As a stay at home parent in a downtrodden economy I'd like to say, on behalf of all broke people everywhere, Elmo, Big Bird and any of those other people at Sesame Street Live can kiss my ass! $90 for floor seats? Not total, but $90 each! Really? Talk about forgetting where the hell you came from. Didn't you muppets start on PBS akaPublic Broadcasting Service?As far as I'm concerned, every building on Sesame Street is public housing aka the projects. How dare you project dwelling bastards ask me for $90 when I've given so much to keep the lights running on Sesame Street. I bet if Mitt Romney had won you would've been humble and come up here with some sensible prices.
For $90 my daughter deserves more than just a folding chair down on the floor. She deserves to ride into the arena on a snuffalupolous' back and then sit in an arm chair stuffed with 100% Big Bird down feathers. She better get a free autographed program and the last page better have a map that tells me how to get...how to get to Sesame Street.
Since that's not what we're gonna get, we're not going. I refuse to pay you that much for floor seats and anything cheaper will probably require us to look up at the screen to know what's going on. If I wanted to watch Sesame Street on a screen I'd stay home and do it for free.
For $90 my daughter deserves more than just a folding chair down on the floor. She deserves to ride into the arena on a snuffalupolous' back and then sit in an arm chair stuffed with 100% Big Bird down feathers. She better get a free autographed program and the last page better have a map that tells me how to get...how to get to Sesame Street.
Since that's not what we're gonna get, we're not going. I refuse to pay you that much for floor seats and anything cheaper will probably require us to look up at the screen to know what's going on. If I wanted to watch Sesame Street on a screen I'd stay home and do it for free.
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