All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth, and a Robotic Dinosaur the commune's Steve Kepple has an early Christmas request
Monday, Oct. 15, 2001
Every year when Christmas rolls around, kids everywhere are treated to
the months of anticipation and hours of fun that only a really awesome
Christmas present can bring. Unless they get a robot dog that’s
retarded.
Last year for Christmas I got a retarded robot dog. It doesn’t do
anything cool. I was hoping that my robot dog would have heat vision
or at least be able to curse in French, but all it does is eat puppy
food and pee on the couch. I told my mom and dad that we should check
the instructions, because they probably put the batteries in backwards.
That happened one year when I got the Hot Wheels Detailing Shop for
Christmas and it started smoking and caught the drapes on fire. That
wasn’t such a big deal though since Billy Doogan down the street got
the same thing and his Hot Wheels always looked lame after that, he
could never get the paint to go on smooth and all of his cars looked
like they were fresh out of a burn ward. But last year I was excited
about the robot dog so I thought we should check the directions. My mom
and dad said that Santa hadn’t brought any directions but I think they
were just afraid of being wrong again, like the year I wanted the
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers video and it turned out dad got confused
and got me Nightly Muff’n Pussy Rangers instead. Dad thought we should
just keep it but mom made him take it back and get the right one.
So last year I was stuck with a retarded robot dog that probably had
the batteries in backwards. Or maybe it’s just deflective from the
factory, but something’s definitely wrong. My friend Carl Washbaum got
a deflective Poo-Chi for his birthday one time and all it would do was
rub it’s butt on the floor while it made the noise from electronic
battleship, and mine is at least ten times more screwed up than his. I
even think that mine’s getting bigger, which is definitely not supposed
to happen. If it keeps this up, pretty soon I won’t be able to close
the lid on my toybox.
At least Carl’s deflective Poo-Chi was fun for a while. We used to hide
it under his older sister’s bed and she would run around, looking for
her cell phone every time it went off. Mine just makes whining noises
and chews on an old tennis shoe. And if you thought a Tamagotchi had to
be fed a lot, you obviously have never owned a retarded robot dog.
My parents thought I might have fun with my robot dog if I taught it to
do some tricks. Billy Doogan has a robot parrot that he taught to say
“Fuck You Asshole” just like in Terminator so I thought my robot dog
might be able to do some cool tricks too. But unless you consider
crapping on the kitchen floor to be a real special trick, my robot dog
just plain sucks at tricks. No “Simon Says”, no adapter to connect to
my Nintendo 64, nothing. I did see him eat a potato beetle over by the
pantry one time but I’m having a hard time figuring out how to impress
my friends with that one.
It’s hard not getting your butt kicked at school when you’re missing a
front tooth and you whistle when you say “Miss Spankenauber” in class.
Everybody thinks you have a crush on the teacher and that means serious
underwear violations. Richie Turner really does have a crush on Miss
Spankenauber, but his dad brought him a GameCube from Japan last month
so he’s pretty much untouchable.
If you think a lousy retarded robot dog is going to keep me from coming
home with snapped underwear elastic and that it’s going to restore my
status among my classmates, you’re sorely mistaken. At this point,
there’s only one thing that’s going to set things right: a robot
dinosaur.
A robot dinosaur would be bound to do some awesome tricks, and probably
could eat other kids’ robot pets alive. Maybe even other kids. And I
bet it could do my homework, too, or at least scare Miss Spankenauber
into giving me less workbook pages to do every night. And I’m sure it’s
got some kind of flashcard mode or some kind of educational thing going
on somewhere in there, easily making it a better choice than that
lame-o “LearnCo Systems Tutoring Funputer” that I know my parents have
been looking at. And I’d be willing to bet you never have to mash up a
heartworm pill into a robot dinosaur’s food every night.
That would be sweet.
Milestones
the commune's scratch 'n sniff look at last year's office potluck
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Pants a Capitalist
Free Virus Baggies
Take a Kitten, Please
the commune book selections
the commune's Bear in Rearview
the commune's Big Book of Duke
Faces of the commune
the commune 100: Leaders and Revolutionaries
the commune 100: Traitors and Noodledicks
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As you may have heard from the local townsfolk, or from those smartalec kids who hang out in front of the TruValue over on fifth and Wayne, I’ve dedicated my life to a search for Jesus.
When's God Gonna Quit Bustin' My Balls?
One thing I gotta hand it to God, that guy’s one hard-workin SOB! He ain’t laid off bustin my balls for 34 years, and just when I think he’s takin a break, my collie upchucks a canna Manwich onto my new Camaro’s suede seats.