I took my dad to the mall once to get him new shoes (he is 66). We decided to grab a bite at the food court.
I noticed he was watching a teenager sitting next to him… the teenager had spiked hair in all different rainbow colors — blue, red, green and orange. My dad kept staring at her. The teenager would keep looking and my dad would be staring every time.
When the teenager had had enough, she sarcastically asked, “What’s the matter old man, never done anything wild in your life?”
Knowing my dad, I quickly swallowed my food so I wouldn’t choke on his response — I knew he would have a good one.
In classic style he responded without batting an eyelid: “Got stoned once and fucked a peacock. Just wondering if you were my daughter.”
I’m Daddy and I Know It. (Parody of Sexy and I Know It) Video
“I’m Daddy and I Know It” video is a parody of the song “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO. The daddy in the video is Chad Morton, a stay at home dad from Utah. He originally made the video as a gag gift for his family, but little did he know…it would end up on YouTube.com and become such a hit!
No sense trying to fool an Italian Mama, or any Mama for that matter! 😉
Mrs. Ravioli comes to visit her son Anthony for dinner. He lives with a female roommate, Maria.
During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how pretty Anthony’s roommate is.
Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she started to wonder if there was more between Anthony and his roommate than met the eye.
Reading his mom’s thoughts, Anthony volunteered, “I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Maria and I are just roommates.”
About a week later, Maria came to Anthony saying, “Ever since your mother came to dinner, I’ve been unable to find the silver sugar bowl.
You don’t suppose she took it, do you?”
“Well, I doubt it, but I’ll email her, just to be sure.”
So he sat down and wrote an email:
I’m not saying that you “did” take the sugar bowl from my house ; I’m not saying that you “did not” take it. But the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Your Loving Son
Several days later, Anthony received a response email from his MaMa which read:
I’m not saying that you “do” sleep with Maria, and I’m not saying that you “do not” sleep with her. But the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the sugar bowl by now.
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also.
But at least, I wasn’t alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less–not one hour and one minute. Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn’t sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, and learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teenagers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there? I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I’d had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn’t improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, “sick” like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends’ report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You’re right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into educated, honest adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.
A man doing market research for the Vaseline Company knocked at the door and was greeted by a young woman with three small children running around at her feet. “I’m doing some research for Vaseline. Have you ever used the product?”
She said, “Yes. My husband and I use it all the time.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “what do you use it for?” “We use it for sex,” she said.
The researcher was a little taken aback. “Usually people lie to me and say they use it on a child’s bicycle chain or to help with a gate hinge. But, in fact, I know that most people do use it for sex. I admire you for your honesty. Since you’ve been so frank so far, can you tell me exactly HOW you use it for sex?”
The woman said, “I don’t mind telling you at all. My husband and I put it on the doorknob and it keeps the kids out.”