My poor girlie. I am totally in that mode of man, I love you, but get the fuck away from me. Someone let this poor child watch the Pokemon movie on Saturday, and now all she says is “Tikka? Tikka?” and “Pikka? Pikka?” I am told that these sounds, which are now the sounds I consider to be the worst in the English language, have something to do with the movie.
She walks around the house doing this non-fucking-stop. I am usually a big fan of ignoring these behaviors, but I cracked after so many waking hours together between Sunday morning and now. I got four hours of sleep last night (okay, that was my fault) and I am about to lose it. If this keeps up, I am going to stab myself and the creators of the Pokemon movie in our respective heads.
Things I currently would rather hear than “Tikka/Pikka”:
1. Many cats being gently lowered into a woodchipper tail first.
2. My dentist: “I thought it would be best to get all five of the root canals over with today.”
3. My doctor: “Wow, SJ! I’ve never seen that STD inside a person’s mouth before!”
4. Celine Dion, following me around and “soulfully” singing the contents of my fridge and the ingredients of all my food. Actually, if she did the chest beating it would be kind of cool.
5. A shaved-n-greased Corey Feldman and Carrottop begging me to have a three-way with them for six hours. (The begging lasting for six hours, I mean.)
I need some housewife drugs, pronto. I know you can get Valium over the Internet, but why don’t they deliver fucking voddy martinis?
Hmmm… you bring up an interesting question — would a fully-shaved Carrot Top really be a ‘Carrot Top’ at all, in any sense of the word?
Or did you just imagine Carrot Top shaved from the neck down? (You sick little monkey, you.)
Or was it just Corey who was to be razored off and lubed up for the occasion? Details, dammit, we need details!!
On second thought… nah, we really don’t. I have trouble enough sleeping at night as it is. *shudder*
Neck down, baby. Neck. Down.
Aaahh, it’s bedtime. Are you there red wine? It’s me, SJ.
I like it better as the three-way lasting for six hours. I think that really gets across the painfulness of the obnoxious chanting. Sorry to hear that she’s bugging you. I find that the more tired I am the more the demon offspring hassle me. How do they know? Can they smell it? I try to not snap at them, but damn! Freaking LAY OFF sometimes, ya know? Or as Liki so eloquently put it the other night “chill the fuck out”. I can’t tell you how often that is repeated in my life. Beasts!
Generally, each pokemon can only say it’s own name, like “CHARLIZARD!” or “Squirtle!” but Pikachu has a more complex vocabulary consisting of the aforementioned “Pika Pika” (which you may be forgiven for hearing as “Tika”) OR “Pikachu” OR “Chu” OR “Pika”. Because of this linguistic savantism, Pikachu is generally worth twice as much to collectors, who promptly bugger the little bastard into submission while screaming “SAY MY NAME BITCH! SAY IT!”
Obviously, this only applies to those Pokemon collectors named “Pika”, “Chu” or (extremely rare) “Pikachu”.
May I recommend you sing the chorus to “The Thong Song” whenever your girl says “Pika”?
Loudly? In Falsetto? While holding your ears and stomping your feet?
Should work.
You can thank me later.
“Maybe it’s a tumour.”
I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the dreaded Pikachu phase lasts about 2 years in the average American child. My son went through it from the ages of 4 to 6, and he should really thank us for the fact that he is now a healthy, relatively unscarred 10 year old.
Go rent the South Park episode when Pokemon-like characters took over the world. It’s so funny…because it’s true…
i think this is why my mother sent me outside to play all the time. “don’t come home until the street lights come on!”
also, she never ever balked at letting me sleep over at another kid’s house. hmmm…