The Y Chromosome, part 1
Phips and I were in a hip cafe, surrounded by hip grad students, sporting the latest in Apple laptop technology and independent press publications. This demographic is, generally speaking, unfamiliar with breeders like me and our offspring.
A lovely woman approached and asked my adorable son: “Hey, is that a fireman in your little truck?”
Son: “Ya”
Hipster: “Does he have a name?”
Son: “Ya. Fyeman has name.”
Hipster: “What’s his name?”
Son: “Hiss name Fyemen Fawt.”
Hipster: “What is his name?”
Son: “Hiss name Fyeman Fawt. Fawt, like wit poop.”
Hipster, in disbelief: “Fireman Fart?”
Son: ”Ya.”
Some days, it feels like I am raising a wild boar.
I introduce to you, Fireman Fawt, fighting raging infernos everywhere.
Tags: fart, fireman, hip cafes
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October 15, 2008 at 11:16 am
That’s hilarious. And I love that he seemed almost indignant that the hipster didn’t immediately understand and appreciate the fireman’s true identity. Genius.
October 15, 2008 at 3:59 pm
Your writing is great….hilarious stories!
October 16, 2008 at 4:46 am
God I miss that boy.