Sunday, September 27, 2015

five toys that will change the way you play with your children and you won't believe what happened next!

There's one toy and you'll believe everything, but nobody is capable of writing a headline that doesn't make them look like a weenie, so I'm jumping on the bandwagon people, from now on, expect NOTHING BUT LINKBAIT.

That opener sounded a lot funnier in my head, but it's staying on here folks because I am down to business and I reserve every night at 2:00 AM as my special time to lie awake and re-think every single decision of my life and now is not that time.

Legos are the best toy ever invented, hands down. There's not even a comparison with any other toy. Let's list out all of the toys that I have given Jack and compare them to legos:

Sticks: All around solid, but lacking in ability to spark imagination
Cheese picked up off of the ground: Disappears into the abyss too quickly
Old boxes: Also good, but lack color. Watch out for staples.
Empty water bottles: Fun to chew on momentarily, quickly lose entertainment value

We're so bad at getting Jack toys, and so known for being terrible, that our friends gave Jack a toy for his first birthday, along with a card apologizing to him for his stingy parents. It was easily the second best card ever given to our family.1

In keeping with this tradition, a co-worker gave Jack a set of Duplo bricks from her daughter's old collection, which I'm counting as Legos. This co-worker is super nice and also way more organized than any actual human because not one single piece of the full set was missing: like every tiny little thing is in there, including the siren to the police car. I say was missing because we lost five pieces in seconds after opening it, but that's okay because I'm sure they'll show up with the rest of Jack's toy collection2 someday.

Jack loves those Duplos. He plays with them for longer than any of his other moldy socks, and for at least half of the amount of time mommy and daddy play with them. I'm not saying that you should only buy Duplos, but you should only buy Duplos because you know what'll make you stop having children? Reading "Goodnight Moon" one more time with that creepy ghost bunny who magically apparates into a chair and stares at the kid. No wonder he can't freaking sleep, THERE'S A DEAD BUNNY STARING AT HIM.3

Buying your kids Legos will also make up for the magnolia leaves that substitute for a toy collection, and if you randomly decide one year to stop buying them Legos and declare they will never get another Lego for the rest of their life, even though their older brother who is two and a half years older got Legos up until that same Christmas and therefore had WAY more Legos which is a very substantial injustice, they will probably resent it for the next 23 years and write snippy blog posts about why they're the best because they just picked up some second hand Duplos and they will never take the joy out of their son's life as was done to them.

Also, Legos are superior to all other toys because the paint doesn't come off when they're eaten like pretty much every other toy ever made for children which I do not understand because do they not expect that? THE TOYS ARE GOING TO GET EATEN, YOU ROTTEN DESIGNERS. Stop covering them with scrapable paint.4

1. The first best is legendary from Caleb, and for another day.
2. read: a bunch of empty cracker boxes
3. It's really clearly not a live relative because she is referred to as the "quiet old lady whispering hush" which is exactly how I'd describe an unknown ghost who is haunting me with knitting needles.
4. The most egregious example was the freaking teething ring we got: it is made to be eaten, and PAINT CHIPS OFF OF IT WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD.

Sunday, September 13, 2015


I loved going to dances as a teenager. If there are four things I'm good at, it's first impressions, non-toxic breath, interacting with humans, and anything close to functional coordination.

Dances are the best way possible to meet women. They get to see how few friends you have, without the months-long constant interaction required of anyone to understand how funny you are.1 This can obviously only result in things you see in historical dramas like Better Off Dead, where you end up dancing with the cute French girl.

The best thing about going to a dance as a hopelessly forgetful and optimistic teen is that every time you think this is going to be the dance you don't stand in the corner trying to pretend like you're by yourself by choice.

That said, the Perry men were quite legendary in their performance at dances, and we all independently developed and rigorously adhered to the following set of rules:

  1. For the first slow song, go get a drink
  2. For the second slow song, go to the bathroom

This is because, like losing WWI generals learned everywhere, the frontal attack is suicidal. Going up and speaking to a woman? If you manage to make it through the machine gun fire of competing men and wade through the mine field that is her friends, the light just isn't dim enough to give you enough time to tell sophisticated jokes before she realizes you're funny looking and you drive a Volkswagen Vanagon.2

No, as they learned in the Brusilov Offensive and at Vimy Ridge, and as you've learned over the years, your only chance is in using infiltration tactics! Write snippy blog posts. Milk all the self-deprecating humor you can. Build up a repertoire in the area you move to over the course of six years. Gradually extend your network of acquaintances so your name is known for miles around. Some poor unsuspecting law student is bound to get caught up in the (over) hype, stumble across the blog, laugh once, maybe twice, meet you briefly at a party where you fein disinterest, and...

Then, four years ago this October, you can approach her at the dance and coolly seduce her with witticisms carefully crafted and honed, trading off of your reputation, and with a smooth collection of her phone number you've broken through the trenches into the great unknown country beyond.3

1. One of my earliest memories in Elementary School was getting assigned to sit next to one of the cutest girls in class, Sadie, and realizing that this was my big break, knowing that it took months of sitting next to me in class for someone to think I was funny. To this day, I mistakenly presume this is the result of an extremely sophisticated sense of humor, and not just overwhelming pity.
2. Which, in the greatest of ironies, would turn out to be the absolute coolest car anyone at high school drove. I don't pray for much, but I pray for them to release a throwback version of that car pretty much every day. I would buy it immediately.
3. But, and I mean this in the strongest way possible, so many many horrific crash and burn failures brought you here. Let us try and forget.

Saturday, September 5, 2015


Swimming is the world's best recreational sport.

Here are a few things I love about swimming:

Swimming is just like taking a bath, except more fun. Baths are fun because you get to scrub your filth off of yourself, and then wallow in it like swine. Swimming is fun because you get to do the same thing, except add the filth of everyone else you know plus some questionable strangers, and let it sit in one place over an entire summer, sort of like bathing in the middle ages, back when they had chamber pots and outdoor human excrement storage.

Swimming is fun because you get to enjoy the expansiveness of ten by forty feet of human-filled filth water. It's like going for a nice afternoon walk and pacing back and forth in the electronics section of Walmart on Black Friday except the other customers get to pee on you whenever they want.

The fun of swimming is compounded by awkward social interaction. Remember how you spent your entire youth getting dunked by your brothers every time you came within a football field's distance of a puddle? Now you can re-live your past and have people who don't harbor violent repressed rage try to push you under and then sue you for the assault and battery that is guaranteed to follow.

The other great thing about swimming is how good you look while doing it. Everyone else loses ten pounds when they put a swimming suit on their evenly-colored, beautiful and healthy skin covering taught, toned muscles, but you gain thirty pounds and every fat cell in your body makes a panicked dash to your gut, while you grow hair on your back and lose about six shades of color whenever you even consider removing your shirt.

Oh, but Chris Perry, you're talking about swimming in a swimming pool, and swimming in open bodies of water is totally different, you might say. Oh yes, yes it is.

The great thing about swimming in open bodies of water is now instead of maybe swimming in pee, now you're guaranteed to be swimming in fish pee. That's what the ocean is. Did you ever closely inspect the charts depicting the water cycle in your elementary classrooms? Fish pee, that's the ocean.

Of course, there's other great news about swimming in open bodies of water, which I have done on two occasions,1 and on which occasions I had my near-lifeless body drug out of the water by my father.2 CPR wasn't required in either case because I have superhuman powers that do not include propulsion through water, but whatever you get the point.

Swimming in open bodies of water means you get to experience the rush of an elemental force trying constantly to kill you. The ocean wants you dead. Why does it pull at your feet? Because it wants you dead. Those are the pulls of Poseidon as he seeks revenge on land creatures.

Swimming is also the world's best recreational sport because more people die miserable while in water than in any other environment. This statistic is obvious because you only ever die miserable in water, while it's possible to die in peace in other places: like running, for instance. Get a heart attack while running? You died doing what you loved. Drown? You perished in the most incomprehensibly nightmarish way possible and now you're being eaten by a shark.

Summer is over, and I couldn't be happier. Bring on running weather.

1. Okay, not just two, I'm being melodramatic, but THOSE ARE THE ONES YOU REMEMBER.
2. Another lie, he only mostly drug me out the first time, and the second time was his fault and I swam out of the frozen river by myself after our canoe capsized.