Fackin Truth Blog

Overheard in the Family Van - A Song of Race, in D-Minor

I had a moment this week that left me wondering if my 15-year old son was really mine. Seriously. If I hadn't been the star witness and Principal Groaner at his birth, somebody would be swabbing his mouth... as we speak... for a DNA test ala Maury Povich.


I took him to apply for a passport since he's leaving to get his first taste of the International life. As he watched me go through identifying myself for his application, he asked why he had to show-up for the event. I went into some monologue about potential fraud blah-blah-blah and figured the issue was closed.


Later that day, I happened to see the written clause requiring minors to be present during the application.


"Hmmm. Maybe I should show him this little nugget to solidify my original answer."


Yeah. Right. It sounded good. And then this happened:

"Minors?!?! I had to be present because I'm BLACK?"

"Honey, you had to show up because you're a kid."

"Oh. Because back in the day, blacks were called minors."

"Ummmm. No. My-nor-eh-TEES."

"Does that mean I'm a minority minor?"

Will the missing real mother of this child please stand up?

Overheard Between a Couple Whose Love Clearly Knows No Bounds

Ever get the feeling that some things just shouldn't be overheard?

As I blog the alphabet and reach the letter "O," I must share a quick exchange between a couple. I wish I'd covered this back when I first heard it so I could share more detail:

Him: [some rude comment I can't remember]

Her: Damn. Did both of your lonely brain cells have to fire to come up with that one?

Him: [pausing, then...] I really want to have sex with you.

Her: Sounds like your third brain cell... the one in your other head... is firing now.

Him: [pregnant pause]

Her: Do you realize with 2 brain cells in your head, and 1 brain cell in your other head, one third of your brain is in the seat of your pants??

If they hadn't laughed and walked off together, I would have started to wonder what kinda love-hate mess they were into.

Overheard From a Small Voice in the Back of the Mini Van

As I drove my son to school, this request echoed from a tiny voice in the back of the van:

"Excuse Me."

"Please put the window down."

[pause]

"It's awful back here."

You know it's bad when a 7-year old can't live with his own flatulence.

And how was your commute this morning?

Overheard During the Morning Commute

As the boys and I were on our morning commute, the 7-year old shared an interesting monologue. Can you guess the real subject before getting to the bottom?

"I like Stephen's balls."

"They're nice."

"And he has two of them!"

"Like mom, only his don't have any holes."

"He let me play with them!"

Ah, the innocence of a child. This monologue was triggered after Lil Z's bowling buddy came to the final game of the summer bowling season with two brand new 6-pound balls that hadn't been drilled (since he doesn't use the finger holes to bowl).

The lost-innocence of my adult brain kept thanking God that nobody could walk-up on the conversation and totally misunderstand - especially since the actual monologue was longer and with more references to Lil Z's joy of playing with Stephen's balls.

And how was your morning? May it be filled with humor in unusual places.

Overheard Ghetto Ed-Jumacation

Overheard as a radio DJ explained the instructions for entering a contest:

"Text the word 'balls.' That's B-A-L-L-S, not B-A-L-L-Z. Don't send the G-E-T-T-O spelling."

If you're gonna request correct spelling and knock the ghetto - should you not first strip off your own ghetto ed-jumacation?

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