Posted tagged ‘berenstain bears’

A Kid’s Book I’d Like To See

June 26, 2011


“Caillou Meets the Berenstain Bears”.a

How to Suck all the Fun out of your Kids’ Childhood.

November 17, 2008


Forbid all TV, thus depriving your kids of their popular culture.   Now they can feel totally left out when their schoolyard pals talk about Hannah Montana and Sponge-Bob.

If they MUST watch cartoons, only permit milquetoast morality plays like Arthur, Caillou and The Berenstain Bears.    It’s important to teach kids that entertainment always comes with a price:  you can’t just be amused for amusements’ sakes; you also need to LEARN something.

No junk food in the house…EVER!  Not even as a treat.   Only serve carrot sticks, raisins and hummus.    And God Forbid should any child come within 50 yards of a Trans-Fat molecule.   They could DIE.

Never mind that WE were raised with Barbie dolls and toy guns, and WE turned out okay…  No, these toys are  EVIL! EVIL! EVIL! and should NEVER be given as gifts.   They perpetuate sexist and violent stereotypes and are causing the downfall of Civilization as We Know It.  (Did you know that Barbie Dolls alone are responsible for the Iraq War, Global Warming and Sara Palin’s hair-do?)

Keep breast-feeding your babies, even when they’re old enough to play computer games and  order their own Happy Meal. (Rest assured, their playmates would NEVER tease them over that…Goodness, NO!)

No witch costumes for Halloween.   It’s an affront to all the innocent women who were persecuted and burned at the stake 400 years ago.    No death-related costumes like vampires or ghosts either.  Instead, let’s encourage the children to Treat-or-Treat  wearing UniSex earth-toned jumpsuits made of organic fiber.

And don’t give out candy either…give out carbon-credits instead.

Eliminate all those awesome retro jungle gyms and replace them with retard-proof plastic play forts where there isn’t the remotest chance of getting hurt.

Keep the kids restrained and buckled in those special car seats until they’re old enough to drive.

If a box of Lucky Charms somehow makes its way into the house, remove half the marshmallows, and righteously preach that there’s already ENOUGH sugar.

Give the kids arts-and-craft projects with Bristol Board and construction paper, while providing them with lame-ass safety scissors that can’t even cut warm butter.

Fairy Tales are EVIL EVIL EVIL, and should never be read as bedtime stories.   They only serve to teach children that ugly people are evil, and that women are helpless creatures who need a Handsome Prince to rescue them.  Read Caillou, or a Urinestain Bear Book instead. (Now, wouldn’t THAT be more fun?)

When decorating the Christmas Tree, make sure they wear glasses and bike helmets, and wear certified fall-arrest safety harnesses.

If a child is delightedly popping bubble wrap, tell them to  “Stop it…I need to save that for later!“.

There isn’t a kid on the whole planet that doesn’t love squishy white Wonder Bread.   So naturally, it’s your duty to BAN IT from the household at all costs. Only serve Dempsters Ultra Colon-Blow Fibre-Bread, made with 28 kinds of grain, including chunks of actual hay, topsoil, and un-shelled sunflower seeds.

While you’re at it, make sandwiches using only natural peanut butter (peanuts only).   Sure, it tastes like oily nut-shit, but at least it doesn’t have that nasty SUGAR in it…not like those tasty store-bought brands that everyone likes.

Don’t ever allow your kids to just loaf around, and do nothing.   Teach them to be workaholics like Mummy and Daddy.  Make sure EVERY HOUR of their day is scheduled with organized activities.

Convince your five-year old that he WANTS to take karate class, swimming, yoga, bag-pipe lessons and Junior Origami.   (And that’s just for Monday night…).

Someone, somewhere…will pretty much be allergic to ANY kind of food.  So ban ALL snacks and foods at school recess and lunch.   Only permit triple-distilled de-ionized water, and Nabisco Gluten-Free Cracker-Like Edible Wafer-Discs.

Prohibit any games with any hint of aggression, like Dodge Ball or British Bull-Dog.  It’s important to stifle little boys’ rough-and-tumble antics.   Try to emasculate them by encouraging them to play dancing games wearing beanbags on their head.  Medicate them as necessary.

Remove any sense of competition, as we don’t want our little darlings to feel stressed out.   Have them only play games where “Everybody Wins”.   It’s important to learn that we must all abide by the lowest common denominator.

Replace all wooden playground swings with those heinous pelvis-crushing rubber straps, and shorten the chains from 20 feet to 5 feet.  This way, nobody will ever know the joys of touching their toes to the sky and jumping off into space and feeling weightless.

In case anyone chokes on a small toy, remove any fun prizes from CrackerJack or cereal boxes.  Replace them with cheapo-stickers and lame-ass games.

Show your children that Mommy and Daddy care.   Buy them humiliating “Time-Out” accessories.

Drag your toddler to a protest march.   Because there’s NOTHING a three-year old likes better than to hold a sign they cant’ read and stand outside for hours with screaming grown-ups.

Bodily functions, or any mention thereof, are highly discouraged.   We just don’t DO THAT HERE.

Playground Merry-go-rounds?…Tree-forts?…Homemade Go-Karts?…Slingshots?…Water rockets?…Potato guns?…Army men?…Cap Guns?…Setting fires with Magnifying Glasses?…Fire crackers….?

PS: One more thing:

Hold a candle-light vigil to protest this blog post. 😉

Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

August 21, 2008

There’s this meme going around, where you’re supposed to describe yourself by answering simple questions.

I don’t know who started it.   But the first I heard of it was from Steph.   Then Monika.

Of course, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.   I had to make my own version:


I am:      Olaf the ThunderFröck, son of AelFrùd the Horrible.
I think:   It’s time to invade England.
I know:  Those Englishmen have a stash of booty hidden in their church, somewhere.
I have:   A broad-sword, and a battle-axe.  (Who among you, shall challenge me ?)
I hate:   Englishmen
I love:   Thumping and pummeling Englishmen.
I miss:  The Vinland
I fear:    (???)  I don’t understand.   What’s this word mean?
I hear:   The battle cries!….HNYARGGH!  Excuse me.  I must go burn and pillage now.


I am:      Caillou, that whiny little cartoon character.
I think:    I’m an accident.
I know:   Mommy has a drinking problem, and Daddy’s been having an affair with the social worker.
I have:    A remarkably spherical head.
I miss:    Riding the Little School Bus with my Special-Ed classmates.
I hate: Making boom-boom in my Pull-Ups (like I just did now).
I love: Sippy cups, cheerios stuck up my nose, and cartoon characters even more obnoxious than me.
I fear: My lack of hair.   (Why am I bald?  Is it chemo?  Am I going to die?)
I hear: Mom and Dad arguing in the next room, over who gets stuck with me in the custody battle.


I am: Tippy, a hyper-active Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever.
I think: I’d like to retrieve a BALL right now.
I know: There must be a BALL stashed around the house somewhere.
I have: A nose that can detect the odor of a rubber BALL, to within one part per billion.
I miss: When nobody is around to play with me and throw the BALL.
I hate: Cats, vacuum cleaners, and fireworks.
I love:   Swimming, and retrieving.  (Did I tell you I like to retrieve?)
I fear:    I have lost the BALL.  Wherezit?  Where?  Where?  OMG!  I must FIND IT FIND IT FIND IT.
I hear:   My masters’ car, ten miles away.  He’ll be here soon.  Maybe he’ll throw the BALL.  YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP! YAP!


I am:       Old Man McGillicuddy, the cranky old guy down the street. (That’s MISTER McGillicuddy, to you!)
I think:    Today’s young folks have it easy.  Not like WE had it, back in our day….
I know:   That I’m smarter than all you young folks think you are. .
I have: Way too much time on my hands.
I miss: MattLock.  Big Band Music.   Getting it up.
I hate:    Today’s music.  Today’s values.  Those damned kids who won’t stay off my manicured grass.
I love:    Hosing down my driveway.  Old-man hats.  Werther Originals.  Canary-colored golf pants.
I fear:     ATM’s.   Anything electronic.  And especially, driving more than 30 mph.
I hear:    Eh?   What’s that?  EH?


I am:      Chinese Olympic Medalist.
I think: I better just do what I’m told
I know:   I would be in the salt mines, right now, if I hadn’t have won.
I have:    A gold medal.  Anything less would be unacceptable.
I miss:    My family.  But they promise I can see them again, now that I’ve won.
I hate:    Failure.   Like getting Silver, and being second-best in the world.
I love:     My country and winning and representing China (at least, that’s what I tell them).
I fear:     My coach.
I hear:    They’re looking for gymnastics coaches in the U.S.


I am:      A Canadian Olympic discus thrower.
I think: I should just enjoy this while it lasts.
I know:  Nobody will remember me, after this is all over.
I have:   A positive attitude.  After all, isn’t the Olympics about doing your best and having fun? (I keep telling myself this).
I miss:    Tim Horton’s.
I hate:    Coming in 38th.   (Last Olympics, I made it at least as far as 36th).
I love:    Being able to get away from the crummy summer we’re having in Canada, and experiencing some warm weather for a change.
I fear:     That if talk too loudly about wanting to win, my fellow Canadians will scold me and accuse me of flag-waving.
I hear:    They’re hiring at Tim Horton’s.


I am:      Fallopia Moonchild
I think:   Like, if we would just stop judging everyone, and accept each other’s energies and karma,  the world would be a better place, you know?
I know:  That the Republicans are large corporations are conspiring together to create global warming, to cause the extinction of the whales.
I have:   Multiple tattoos and face piercings.   And lots of free time on my hands.  (Even more than Old Man McGillicuddy).
I hate:    Stereotypes, racism, and negativity.   And also spiders in the bathtub.
I love:    All of humanity.   The vibrations of the Universe.  And granola.  Sweet crunchy granola.
I miss:   The sixties. (Too bad I was born in ’82).
I fear:    Having to shave my legs, and getting a job.
I hear:   The sound of my own inner drummer, beating to the pulse of Mother Earth.


I am:      The Friar:  full-time engineer, part time smart-ass (or is it the other way around?)
I think:   I’m hungry.   When do we eat?
I know:   Shit floats,  you can’t push a rope, and water flows downhill.  Aside from that…not much else.
I have:    An attitude problem. (Seriously…someone ought to give me a good talking to.)
I miss:    Playground swing-sets before they got all fucked up and were made too “safe”.
I hate:    Lima beans.   Asshole squirrels.  And the Berenstain Bears.
I love: Red meat.  Southpark.  Large-mouth bass.   And making hamburger out of sacred cows.
I fear:    Evil Cirque de Soleil clowns (Shudder).

Friar’s Random Rants (Part III)

August 2, 2008


Rent the movie “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang“.   And try to watch the scene where the little maggot-children sing “Truly Scrumptious” without vomiting.

Go on.  I dare you.


Circus clowns with faces in white grease-paint.  With bright flaming makeup applied around the eyes and mouth.  Made to look like grimacing demons.

Seriously.  Who’s the asshole who came up with the idea that this what small children LIKE and find FUNNY?


I was skiing once, and saw someone smash into a wall in the Ski Terrain park.

As he lay on the ground, I came up to him and asked him if he was okay.

He just lay there on the ground, and started laughing like Beavis.


Turned out he was a snow-boarder.

Big surprise, there.


Getting back to the creepy circus clowns…

I hate them.   I f#$%cking hate them.

And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Otherwise, why are the only clowns on TV nowadays portrayed as serial killers, and/or child molesters?


Guys.  If a women asks you “Does this dress make me look fat?”  there is NO CORRECT ANSWER you can give.

My advice is to cover your ears, jump through the plate-glass window, and run into the street, screaming:

LALALA…I can’t hear you!…LALALA!…“.


Next time you’re frustrated at work, perhaps listening to some bozo drone on in a boring meeting,  just imagine circus music playing in the background.

Do-do-Doodle oo Doop-Doo Doo-Doo…..

You’d be surprised at how much this helps.


If parents are worried about high-fructose corn syrup, then maybe they should restrict their childrens’ access to those sugary-sweet goodie-goodie cartoons.

If a kid watches too many consecutive episodes of Caillou or the Berenstain Bears, they risk a diabetic coma.

C’mon, folks.  Let’s give our kids’ pancreas a break.

Bring back the cartoons with falling anvils and cats swallowing dynamite.


If you were raised Catholic,  at least once in your childhood,  you were probably asked to give up candy during Lent.

And if you had asked “How does giving up candy make me a better person?

an adult would invariably answer “It’s good for you.  It builds character“.

It builds character.

For Chrissakes.

That’s their lame answer for EVERYTHING.


Driving a car, late at night, and fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel.

It’s quite amazing, when I think about it.

Despite the fact that I’m controlling a 2-ton cage of steel hurtling along at 70 mph,

my body is telling me that right now, it’s more important to take a nap.

I swear, my brain is trying to kill me.


I am not ashamed to admit, I have never read a single Sherlock Holmes book.  Not a single one.

It’s been done and re-done so many times on TV and movies, I’m just so sick of it,  already.

If I see ONE more person in the double-billed hat, with a pipe and magnifying glass, I’m gonna hurl.

I think I reached my saturation point when I saw Data from Star Trek dress up like this.

Right there, that pretty much killed any desire I had to ever read anything written by Arthur Conan Doyle.


Notice how women dressed in the old movies in the 50’s and early 60’s?    Their breasts were pointy, like torpedoes.

I think this was caused by radioactive fallout.

Because this coincides only too well with the time period during which the U.S. and Russia conducted atmospheric atom-bomb tests.

Anyway, that’s my theory.


A strip club in Montreal called “Le Gentleman’s Choice”.

If they had just called it “Gentleman’s Choice”, it would have violated Quebec’s Language Laws, and people would have gotten upset.

But adding “Le” to the exact same words apparently makes everything kosher.

And Quebec still wonders why the rest of Canada doesn’t understand them.


Hey, I got nothing against handicapped parking.

But when there’s a parking lot in the middle of nowhere, with nothing else around for miles, except a HIKING TRAIL….

…well, that’s where I draw the line.

Come on, people.  You’re going to a HIKE.   Do you REALLY need to park that extra 30 feet closer, at this point?


When you’re at Wall-Mart, and there’s a screaming kid in a shopping cart, here’s how you mess with him.

When Mom isn’t looking,  mimic the kid and pretend to have a tantrum just like he’s doing.

Confuses the hell out of them, it does.   They’ll stare at you in shocked silence for a few seconds.

Then quietly sneak away before the little rug-rat starts screaming again.


If you don’t understand the subtle difference between the English and French cultures in Canada, maybe this can help explain it:

When Peanuts cartoons are shown on English TV,  Charlie Brown and Lucy’s voices are provided by actual children of the same age.

But when the same cartoon is shown in French, their voices are provided by adult actors speaking in squeaky voices, pretending sound like kids.

Dunno why.   It’s just the it always is.


“Save the women and children first…!”.

Me being a single male…well, that’s just DANDY!.


People constantly make fun of the Professor on Gilligan’s Island.

They’ll ask:  “If he can make a working radio and internal combustion engine out of palm leaves and coconut shells, how come he can’t fix a boat?”

Think about it, for a minute.

Slaving away in academia, applying for research grants, and marking papers till all hours of the morning.

Or being stuck on a tropical Island, with two gorgeous babes who crave male compansionship.

Which would YOU prefer?

Hmmmm…..maybe the Professor just didn’t WANT to fix the boat.


If there’s one thing I can’t stand in fast-food places, is picking the shortest line, thinking I wont’ have to wait long.

Only to have the Mommy/Daddy in front of me inevitably place food orders for their entire litter of kids, each one requiring special dietary needs.

Now it’s suddenly the equivalent of having 12 people ahead of me.

“Uhh…I’ll have a happy meal, with no pickle.   Another happy meal, but can I have a space Ranger Toy, but this time, the green Ranger, not the red one.    I’ll have a burger, with 3/8th ketchup…and…uhhh….a cheeseburger with 10% more lettuce, and slice the bun diagonally…Ummm…do you have sarsaparilla? ..etc.

I say there ought to be a law:   One person in line, for each food order.

Hey, I don’t care if your rug-rats will scream and act up.

Make the little beggars wait in line with the rest of us.

It will teach them patience.  It will teach them about the real world.

And it will help build character! 😉

Discussing Popular Culture with a Nine-Year-Old

June 28, 2008

NYO:   Uncle Friar, what do you think of the Berenstain Bears?

Friar:   Oh!  Don’t get me STARTED!   I HATE THAT SHOW!  

NYO  (egging me on, singing):  Momma Bear, Sister Bear, and Brother Bear too…

Friar:   ARGH!  That show is so GOODY-GOODY.   If you watch it, check out how long it takes before they start preaching to you, and telling you to do your homework and share.  You’ll be lucky if ONE MINUTE goes by where they don’t try to teach you a lesson. 

Plus the Mother and Sister are always the smart ones…the Dad is always the idiot.  It’s a feminist conspiracy!   I hate that show.   The Berenstain Bears NEED TO DIE!

NYO:    What about Caillou?

Friar (singing sarcastically):    I’m just a little brat, I shaved the neighbours cat, Mommy please smack me, I’m Caiiii-You.

NYO:   (Giggling).

Friar:   Whiny little kid.   I cant’ stand him.   Plus his head is spherical, like a light bulb.  They should make a hot-air balloon out of his head.   Caillou also NEEDS TO DIE!

NYO:  Who else needs to die, Uncle Friar?

Friar:  Little Bear.   

NYO  (now totally amused):   What about Max and Ruby?

Friar:   ESPECIALLY Max and Ruby!!   They need to DIE!  DIE!  DIE!

NYO:   What about Arthur?

Friar:   I’m on the fence with that one.   I don’t like him.  But he doesn’t necessarily eed to DIE.   I’d let him live.  I just wish he’d go away.   

NYO (laughing):   What about Dora the Explorer?

Friar:  Oh, Geez.  That….that is SO GAY, that’s in a category by itself.   I can’t even comment on that!   ARGHH!

NYO (pleased with herself for getting the Friar all riled up):  What about Strawberry Shortcake?

Friar:   Wow…they still have that on the air?  That’s basically a toy commercial from the 1980’s.  Dumb.

NYO:  What about Pokemon ?

Friar:  I don’t even watch that.  That’s just plain STUPID.  Pika, Pika…SPEAK ENGLISH, for crying out loud!

NYO (giggling again):  What about Tweety and Sylvester ?

Friar:  Now, THAT I like.  Bugs Bunny Cartoons are the best.  But I’ve always felt sorry for Sylvester, though.  He’s a cat, he’s hungry, he wants to eat Tweety.  That’s what cats do.   

And by the way, what’s up with Tweety’s head?   It’s so big.  Why would Sylvester want to eat that ANYWAY?  There wouldn’t be any meat.  It would be all brain and skull.

 NYO: What about Batman?

Friar:  Batman‘s all right.  At least he’s not a goody-goody wimp!

NYO  (deliberately stirring up the pot):  Uncle Friar, what about BARNEY?

Friar:   Barney is the WORST!   If anyone deserves to DIE it’s HIM!  

NYO’s Dad  (overhearing):  Come on, Uncle Friar.   Barney has been around for 20 years, he’s a cultural icon.

Friar  (singing the Barney Song):  

I hate you
You hate me
Let’s gang up and kill Barney
With a great big knife we’ll slit his purple throat
They we’ll watch him rot and bloat.

NYO:  (delighted, and chiming in with her own version)

I hate you
You hate me
Let’s gang up and kill Barney
With a big shot gun we’ll shoot him in the head
Sorry kids, Barney’s dead.

So we finally reached a mutual understanding.    

With a Purple Dinosaur, of all things. 

Isn’t it GREAT when the two generations can agree on something?