Things My Son Is Trying To Teach Me – Part One.

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A little while before my son was born a friend of mine told me, “Good parents will learn as much from their children as the children learn from them.” Initially I thought that this statement was meant to cause me to reflect on the impermanence of life and to cherish learning to see the world from a child’s perspective where everything is new again. I,however, took this completely literally and over the course of his first year of life I studied him with never ending scrutiny and soon came to realize that he had some amazing skills to teach me. As these developments came to light I began jotting down notes and in the first weekend after his first birthday I set out to scientifically test my findings. Below are the results of my first test.

Observation: If my son screams for long enough my wife will breast feed him to quiet him down.

Theory: If you scream at women for long enough they will take their top off.

This theory seemed a little far fetched but seemed extremely important to the development of boners everywhere. Normally in order to get a woman to take her top off I had to do one of the following:
1.Get her drunk.
2.Slip her a minimum of $50.
3.Promise her a role in my up-coming directorial debut – A.K.A lie through my teeth.

But if my son’s technique worked it was something that I could package and sell for north of four GOJILLION dollars on the internet. And it was with this in mind that I had set out to find a suitable variety of women to test my theory out on. It was time to head to the mall.

I came too as I was walking through the doors of the mall. Last thing I remembered was sitting in my car, chain smoking Camel Non-filters and drinking my science juice straight from the bottle.

Pure, unadulterated, casket aged science.

I knew that my endeavors here were science related because I was wearing my Dr. Bunson Honeydew lab coat and a thong with E=mc2 emblazoned on the crotch; proving that, for most of these peple, my wang was the most scientific thing they would see all day. I walked straight up to the woman at the information booth and slyly slid my business card across the counter.

“My name is Travis, I’m from the internet, and I am here to science the ever-loving SHIT out of this place.”

Not waiting for her awe inspired reply I marched right the fuck past her into my publicly accessible proving ground.

“Security, we’re going to need a lot of men down here at the south entrance,” she yelled into her walkie talkie, obviously concerned about a man of my stature walking into their work environment unannounced. Her actions were perfectly understandable considering that this mall had likely never seen a scientist, or drunk, of my caliber. Grabbing a bottle of drain cleaner from the nearest janitorial cart I took a deep and cleansing swig, “No need for security my dear lady, as you can see I am a man of unquestionable scientific and sexual prowess and am completely capable of defending myself,” I said pointing at my crotch and making several inappropriate gestures towards her and her coworkers. I waved them off with a dismissive hand and carried on about my business. A business I had completely forgotten the purpose of thanks to my reliance on mind altering substances. Fortunately I had taken time to jot down a note in my palm pilot.

Get it? Palm Pilot?

With my goal firmly established I consulted the mall directory to locate an isolated environment to conduct my experiment. But where, in a North American mall, would I find an a group of women who would be both susceptible to the screams of a child and likely to expose their boobs? Ah yes; Victoria’s Secret.

I strode valiantly towards the escalator only to find my blocked by mall security.  I could have sworn that I explained that this would not be necessary.  As they attempted to surround me I did thing the only thing I could think of:I exposed myself.

“Sweet mother of shit!” One of the guards scream at the glory of my naked form.  As they reeled in the presence of my magnificence I made like a college lineman and burst through their defensive grid.  As my labcoat flapped in the breeze, and I attempted to perform a move that I patented called “trying to put my junk away while running from the authorities”, I sprinted towards the land of panties, susceptible women, and science magic.

I burst through the open doors of Victoria Secret and approached the first woman I saw.  Mustering up all of my scientific might I screamed at the top of my lungs. Strangely this did not have the desired effect. She swung at my like Mike Tyson swinging at Robyn Givens, oddly making me the woman in the situation. I wailed like an abuse sea otter as she struck me with her purse and attempted to reconcile how this experiment could have failed me?  This woman was of birthing age, in an environment over flowing with estrogen, and yet here I was being clubbed. She was perusing the panty section and as I screamed with all of my might she didn’t even bother to put down her selection, let alone expose her breasts to me. After a few moments of scientific observation, this made sense. A woman looking for underwear was nowhere in the right frame of mind to take her top off.

Security entered the store in a Hitler like fashion; so very determined to stop the pursuits of science. Ducking and dodging security like a Heisman trophy winner,I made my way towards the dressing rooms. “Heretics!” I screamed as I slid across the floor passed them. “Would you have tried to tackle Albert Einstein, or Michael Angelo or those guys from Stargate SG1?” Instantly thrown off by my recitation of some of the great scientific minds of history the guards stopped in their tracks. I clearly heard one of them say, “Did he say Stargate? Wasn’t that a shitty Kurt Douglas movie?” Ahhh, the laymen, they have no understanding of scientific inquiry.

My head surreptitiously slid under the door of one of the dressing rooms and before the woman could even speak I screamed at the top of my lungs, just like my son had taught me. Enthralled by my replication of the wails of a young child the woman recanted with her own squeal and dropped her top, exposing her boobies. “SUCCESS!” I screamed. “Thank you young lady for proving my theo….” my thanks were cut short. Apparently in her delight at being apart of a successful scientific proof the young lady had mistaken me for a common peeping tom. The sensation I was feeling could only described as the minty freshness of mace. A taste I was sadly all to accustom to in my scientific endeavors.

As I writhed in pain on the floor,completely dumb founded by the young lady’s lack of scientific understanding, security began closing in on me.

“Don’t fear, gentlemen, this whole situation is under control. I am a scientist after all and this experiment has gone exactly as…” once again my monolouging was interrupted by another feeling I’m all to accustom to, the tender caress of a police issue tazer. As I writhed in place on the floor I was comforted by the fact that my theory had, eventually,been proven. Though, sadly, as most of my scientific experiments it had ended not in an epic confirmation of my original theory but rather lying on the floor, unable to move and pissing myself.

ahh science you tantalizing yet cruel mistress

with feelings of triumph and remorse


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