My 11-year-old son just used Google Translate to make the joke that the motto on our family crest should be the Latin for “I see your point, but…”
My son takes afterschool classes at the local maker nerd center. For his first 3-D printing project, he designed and printed Hellboy’s right hand of doom.
It has a place of honor on my desk. Nothing this Christmas could possibly top it.
Burst-to-GIF* is my new favorite shortcut.
Squarespace still won’t let you use the embed block via their app, so apologies to Jerusalem Greer for the image of her tweet about her son’s baller-as-hell protest move.
You want to punish me? You gotta hit me. God bless him. And may Greenbrier’s phone circuits be overloaded.
The 1976 Bicentennial Orgy Barbie Playset, a Target exclusive, $69
Checker at Lowe’s: “That’s a sweet dog you have. Is he a terrier?”
Me: “Yeah, we think he’s some kind of ter—“
Jack: “He’s a Bearded Orwellian Snatchhound.”
The lies I tell my children may be catching up to me.
Honestly, I should have just posted this picture instead of the letter.
I think we can all agree: My wife needs to calm the fuck down
While his little sister gets pound-for-pound stronger than both of us combined.
My son had his birthday party today. He wanted to have a Nerf war.
I owned so many little-ass kids today.
Baby girl learned her knife skills during a rained-out daddy/daughter campout.
She wanted a whittling chip like the Cub Scouts earn, so when I go pick her up from sleepaway camp today, she shall have it.