i went to Malibu. it wasn't planned or anything, but Nick and i were working and it was a friday and we just got paid so we decided to waste our money on something more eventful. what's more eventful than heading to Pepperdine for the weekend to sleep on your friend's dorm room floor?

and then we missed a taping of conan o'brien because said friend is a gigantic turd.

kids make me sick.

so, Nick and i used to work together. we actually used to work together at a couple of different places, but we have shared numerous items amongst each other (paraphernalia, DVDs, sweatshop laborers) and this venture, to say the least, wasn't no thang. the only significant change was that instead of hanging out and wasting money on stupid shit like drugs, we spent our time doing the same repetitive shit together so we could get money to buy drugs. like that, our productivity undergoes a complete 180. time to put those diplomas to use.

what was amazing is that we actually got jobs at a children's daycare facility, where the two of us were placed in charge of these little brats.

you might be saying to yourself 'big deal,' but you should understand this: Nick and i, together, alone, don't belong anywhere near children.

that may sound bad, but i'll be the first to admit it. it's not like we're creeps or anything and can't be trusted. your kids are in safe hands under our watch. but like Charles Barkley used to state himself during every commercial break back in 'the day,' we are not role-models.

that should be fucking obvious by looking at me.

alright, i'm selling myself a little short here. but come on, to anyone that knows me personally, they would not trust their flesh-and-blood in my care. and i wouldn't either. my brother and sister-in-law won't let me watch my nephew alone (under mutual agreement with me, mind you--i fucking hate changing babies). but when it comes to total strangers that leave their kids for a couple of hours while they go get a work-out, i'm as peachy-keen as they are. and trust me, that is fucking peachy. 

of course, this is all under the pre-tense that they have no idea who i am and it is better off that way. at this point, i'm just the slightly-more-tan-than-normal-guy who must have an insatiable love of children and would never let anything misfortunate happen to their own. i'm probably in college, studying to be a teacher or social worker or if i'm really ambitious maybe a child psychologist. whatever i'm doing, my intentions are pure and your child is in the hands of an honest, hard-working, decent human being. right?

right?

wrong, soccer moms and over-protective dads. what you've got is a reefer-smoking, community college slacking, product of the milkman in charge of your kids. and he's not going to be helping them with their homework or encouraging fair play in the ball-games. oh no. 

he'll be instigating clique-wars, playing favorites with those he deems 'coolest', and organizing a brutal game of dodgeball (oh yes, face-shots aren't only legal, but their encouraged, bitch). if your kid starts acting up, not only will he be punished. but he'll be framed for taking crayon and coloring all over the walls, and therefore become banished from the Kidz Klub until eternity collapses unto itself.

see, the people that know me? they know me. they know that i have a strange sense of humor. they know that i will go to great lengths if only to be entertained throughout my day. they know that having a large classroom filled with every age ranging from eighteen months to 12 years at my disposal is a horrible idea.

oh, and teaming me with Nick for five-hour shifts where we are the only two people in charge of your kids is the worst idea since that Coffee-and-Coke bullshit. you deserve a medal for being that stupid.

that's not saying our boss was dumb--quite the contrary. granted, we never really got a gauge of Lori's personality (her name is Lori) but every time she entered the room our faces beamed with joy and sunshine. she was the best part of working there. there even became a routine Nick and I would race each other for the opportunity to say "Pretty Lady Alert" every time she graced us with her presence.

she meant well, but the bitch was clueless. i mean, come on, she had no idea what we were up to. more often than not, when she'd enter the room the kids would be screaming bloody murder about some nonsense that i can never decipher. seriously, i mean, i know you're only children but christ, learn to fucking talk already. it's a lot easier to communicate by saying "i think i broke my teeth" instead of jumping up and down with your arms flailing and blood pouring out your gums. it's obnoxious, it's messy, and it looks bad when your parents walk in. come on, kid, have some self-respect.

a kid could be chasing another with a wiffle ball bat, pledging to shove it through any specific orifice he choses as soon as the other is caught--hell, the kid about to get beaten could even be her own--and Lori wouldn't have a clue. she'd just tell us to have a good day, get a bit frightened by the incessant shrieking that comes with the territory, then retreat to her little desk on the other side of the observation wall where Nick and i are left to stare at her pretty face unbeknownst to her. everything about this job that pertains to us, she is totally in the dark. i've even had a parent pledge to sue the entire company i worked for at one time, and she never spoke a word of it to me. then, she got transferred and we got a new manager who totally sucked so we quit, but that's another story.

now it probably sounds worse than it was. manipulation? come on, who doesn't manipulate kids? if you ever have the opportunity, it's like creating and setting off your own personal fire works display. it's as glorious as the fourth of fucking july, alright? those little kids are more impressionable than lumps of clay. this may sound fucked up, but it's true: there is nothing more rewarding than the feeling that comes when you convince a child a monster lives in the trash can, and every time you take him near it he starts to cry like the two-year-old he is.

if that isn't an accomplishment, i don't know what is.

and it wasn't like there was a constant influx of violence going down. we maintained that shit, we kept it all on a non-existent level. sure, some kids wanted to rumble with each other over some pretty trivial shit, but we'd never let it happen. the most these kids would get to violence is syndicated episodes of Yu-Gi-Oh (and sometimes on thursdays Lost, but that's the fucking asshole who schedules me on thursday nights' problem). but sometimes, one kid would swing some pull-toy over his head. or another attempts to front flip down the slide. and occasionally, some teeth get broken

KIDS WILL BE KIDS, alright? that would happen whether it was me and Nick watching him or the whole fucking Ghostwriter squad. it doesn't matter how responsible you are when matched up against the recklessness of a child. some of these kids would dive off a bridge at a whim's notice. who's fault is that--bad parenting? fuck no, it's the god damned ADD. up the kid's dossage of ridalin or something, but STOP BLAMING ME.

just because this post started out with me saying i shouldn't be near kids doesn't mean that that's how it ends. i was damn good with those kids. they loved the two of us more than anyone else in that fucking building. even the parents enjoyed us more than half of the teenage girls that were working at that place. because at least then, they knew their kids were in the care of people who had a firm sense of self--not some platinum blonde bitch who'll get carpal tunnel from text messaging.

Nick and i were fighters of the wrong, in that establishment. a creepy dude did, in fact, start working there. he was a year older than us, he had intense B.O., and he would always hang out in the kids play zone. one time, i even caught him with two third grade girls on his lap. when i said "aren't you two a little old to be sitting on his lap?" the girls said "we're not to old to sit on Santa's lap." it was fucking july. who knows what the sick fuck was whispering in those kids ears.

but Nick and i got that fool FIRED. we were like, "HEY LORI." and she was like "Um, okay, um, hi guys, um, what's up?" and we were like "John is a CREEEEEEP. fire that fool." and she was like "Um, well, okay, but, um.... ALRIGHT!"

boom, mother fucking smelly creep was fired before he had the chance to go through with his nefarious plans of stealing Santa Claus' identity.

see? we were doing these kids a favor. not only were we protecting their innocence, but we were protecting Santa. we should get a medal if only for withstanding as long as we did. you know how fucked up your immune system gets in a place like that?

totally fucked, my friends. totally fucked.