The sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate

Shit My Kid Does – Volume Three

Actual phone call from my fourteen year-old son’s middle school Vice Principal:

VP: (Can’t speak because she’s laughing too hard).

ME: “Uh…hello?”

VP: (she shushes the giggling going on in the background) “Yes, hello Ms. Ellis?”

ME: “Oh God this can’t be good.”

VP: “Mr. D was speaking to Junior in the hall when the new female student teacher walked by and said hello to Junior. Mr. D was surprised that Junior had already met her, since she’s only been at our school for a short while. When Mr. D. asked Junior how he knew her, (VP loses it for a moment before she composes herself and says), Junior raised his hands in the air as if under arrest and said, ‘DUDE! I SWEAR SHE SAID SHE WAS EIGHTEEN!'”

ME: Since none of this is new to me I ask, “Uh…what is it you’d like me to do?”

VP: “Nothing. He’s just funny. Someday we’ll say we knew him when.”

23 responses

  1. I have GOT to hang out this kid more often.
    I could learn a thing or two.

    September 30, 2011 at 8:26 pm


      September 30, 2011 at 8:26 pm

  2. Ok ok THAT I agree with. BUT can he introduce me to the New teacher ?

    September 30, 2011 at 8:30 pm

    • You’re an ass.

      September 30, 2011 at 8:31 pm

  3. Speaking of…. nevermind is junior in?

    September 30, 2011 at 8:32 pm

    • I never should have told you to get a blog.

      September 30, 2011 at 8:35 pm

  4. You can not undo what has been done. Insert evil laughter here.

    September 30, 2011 at 8:43 pm

    • Spoken like someone who’s never pissed off an Italian.

      September 30, 2011 at 8:46 pm

  5. All i have to do is hold your hands and you cant yell at me. Hahaha

    September 30, 2011 at 8:48 pm

    • I have to follow Jeb. This exchange is hilarious.

      October 5, 2011 at 9:38 am

  6. Yeah, but I can still kick you in the balls. Now cool it on the comments. You’re harshing up my white…uh…marbley, swirly brownish space.

    September 30, 2011 at 8:50 pm

  7. Your kid and I need to chat…shit if he’s 14 picking up 18 year olds…that kid has a bright future.


    September 30, 2011 at 9:16 pm

    • His buddies call him “Clooney.” Not sure how to feel about that.

      September 30, 2011 at 10:02 pm

  8. Excellent. I told you.

    You’re wicked smaht.

    September 30, 2011 at 9:39 pm

    • Thanks, ya pissa.

      September 30, 2011 at 10:01 pm

  9. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier, said the random-brained Mr. Hotspur, but the first girl I ever kissed, at age 7, was half Italian. Anyway, your son is a riot, and he probably makes everyone around him cry tears of laughter out their faces.

    September 30, 2011 at 9:50 pm

    • Oh yeah? Which half? Top or bottom?

      September 30, 2011 at 10:01 pm

  10. TheIdiotSpeaketh

    I got my 14yr old running around saying that he want’s a HAREM like mine…. 🙂 I think it’s funny as hell….. the wife….not so much…… 🙂

    September 30, 2011 at 10:50 pm

    • I think it’s funny as hell too, but only because he’s not my kid.

      These posts are funny now, but when they happened I very nearly cried (But I’m too much like a man so of course, I didn’t).

      October 1, 2011 at 1:32 am

  11. One I think they should hang around with me more (sorry Jeb) because I am a girl yet … I fear I could be a good influence!

    October 1, 2011 at 3:49 am

  12. HILARIOUS! This should be Freshly Pressed. What are the FP executives doing in life?!
    OMgosh. This is too great. I need to email this to everyone I know in this life. Ahahahahaahhaa

    October 1, 2011 at 9:09 am

    • Or the next the life too, if you swing that way.

      By the way, I lived for a while in Florida and I looove conch salad!

      October 1, 2011 at 9:13 am

      • You had conch salad in Florida?!
        Listen… I’ve never had it there, but I’m welling to bet (but not much!) that it’s better in The Bahamas. (Oh, dear. That’s The Bahamas’ slogan and I didn’t mean to have a double meaning, but anyway…)

        October 5, 2011 at 9:36 am