Frankelstache

Life, America, Randomness

Posts Tagged ‘Kids

Good Shabbas Video

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A new tradition emerges here on the Stache’s lair: Good Shabbas Video.

This week, we’ll learn how one wrong move can make people laugh at you for a lifetime.

Written by Frankelstache

October 30, 2009 at 12:00 pm

Why I Decided to Work In Advertising

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I was 18 years and six months old when I joined the Army for a mandatory 3 years service. I hated running, loathed ships, and was too dumb and clumsy to pass the Air Force screenings. I also had clear goals and knew I wanted to do something meaningful with my service, (i.e. 1. Kill a terrorist, 2. Fuck a female officer, 3. Get thrown into Military Prison).  So I found myself happy being drafter into the Armored Corps and was soon enough sent to Basic Training in the desert on my way to a glorious military career at the 74th Battalion of the 188th Brigade in the 36th Division. Awesome.

Time passes really slowly when you’re a soldier, but jumping forward, less than a year after I was stripped of my civilian stature, I found myself deployed in the city of Jenin as a tank driver for “The Wolfs”, arguably the toughest, craziest, funniest and haze-iest Company in the Corps. One random day while cruising the alleys we were informed over the radio that there’s some sneaky action going on inside the Refugee Camp and we should keep our eyes open for snipers (which is, in this location, like telling someone to ‘watch out for boobs’ in a Strip Club).

In any case, some 4-5 people started shooting at us as soon as we crossed a certain intersection and we were struggling to locate the exact window / rooftop that was hosting the undisclosed gunmen. Right as we figured out where the bullets were originating from, the shooters started running and we were suddenly faced with about 100 kids running vehemently in our direction. Everything happened really fast, and all of a sudden stuff was flying at us from every direction and we realized that we were surrounded. Kids emerged from every adjacent corner and burning hot oil was poured on top of our tank. Baskets of rotten cabbage and tomatoes smashed on the top of my periscope and I couldn’t see a thing. Rocks the size of a Biggest Loser prospect made awful noises parachuting from above and the mob was swiftly closing in on us.

The rotten tomatoes on my periscope started dripping and I was able to regain sight on what’s in front of me. I saw dozens of kids, barefoot, dirty and probably all under the age of 12. They were laughing, smiling and yelling at the same time. They were oblivious and naïve, not aware of how fucked up this situation is, in comparison to a normal childhood.
And there he was, little ugly kid in the corner, probably 11 years old with buds of a young mustache and olive-colored skin, hurling stones with sweet mischief, partaking in these shenanigans enthusiastically.

What struck me most about that little kiddo was his shirt. This Refugee Camp resident that probably didn’t even had a home – not to mention shoes, water, electricity or even a warm meal – was proudly sporting a yellow Nike shirt, with the famous “Swoosh” smudged across his petite chest.  And make no mistake about it, this shirt was new and clean, by no means one of those Buffalo Bills Superbowl Champions t-shirts that were never worn and shipped to 3rd World Countries in exchange for $2 and a bag of apricots. This shirt was legit, and he wore it intentionally, proud as a Castro Street resider.

What happened next is loosely described here in the comments section and besides the laughs we had after blinding ourselves with tear gas, everything ended safely; no child was hurt and we returned to base in one piece. We spent the next day cleaning and rejuvenating our tank in the scorching heat while inside my head I couldn’t let go of that kid in the yellow Nike shirt. I was contemplating how this poverty-stricken youngster who fights for his dinners and chases tanks every day desires a Nike shirt. How the hell did they get to him, too? And if a Copywriter sitting somewhere (in Portland Oregon, I later found) can make a Nike commercial that gets all the way to a Refugee Camp in the West Bank and affects its inhabitants, then maybe one day I’ll be able to do the same, and reach those kids with a different message. Perhaps something about peace, possibly something about love – who knows.

However knowing that Peace and Love will probably never be as cool as a new Nike pair, I resumed my cleaning duties, scrubbing a mammoth stain of oil from the top of my tank’s cannon and started planning my future USA adventures.

I was discharged from the army in 04’ without completing all 3 of my contingents for a meaningful service. It’s almost 2010 now, and I’ve yet to create something really meaningful in Advertising as well. But I’ll never forget that little kid in the yellow Nike t-shirt, and every now and then, I’ll try my hardest to use my power to assure that his future kids will lead a safe life somewhere, laughing at their old man’s stories while drinking a cold beer I was paid to advertise.

Written by Frankelstache

July 13, 2009 at 3:46 pm

Save a Child, Get a Pet

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Desperate Housewife

Listen up Yanks, a child is not a dog.
True, some kids are so ugly they’re a living proof that Man came from the apes, but even that animalistic resemblance does not justify such horrible treatment.

I’ve noticed these child-to-dog converters everywhere, and it seems mostly common within White, ‘apple pie’ families.  I asked around in bewilderment why do people do this to their whelps and received numerous replies, the majority of them pointing out fear of child abduction as the cause.

Now I can’t even start to imagine how it feels to have your child kidnapped, and I would gladly assist in making the kidnappers inhale their own urine for the rest of their lives if I’ll ever lay my hands on one of them. But using a leash as a preventative act is castrating, both physically, and emotionally. It’s horrible watching these little kids trying to explore and discover the world while they’re pulled from behind like a choked horse.

If you fear for your child hold his hand. Pick him up, piggyback the tot. But in the name of Miley Cyrus – Don’t use a leash as if your child is a four months old Chiwawa named Butch.

Regardless of how joyful this mother and son look like in this perfectly situated advertising photograph, shit ain’t right. Jesus would not have approved.

Written by Frankelstache

June 24, 2009 at 8:20 pm

Words of Wisdom(?) 2

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So after revealing some epic lines right here, it’s time to expose the second part of those ‘Principals To Live By’.

6. A Plum won’t fall out of an Apple tree (and a Guava won’t grow in an Orange orchard).

7. A sweet kid without a future = no chance of succeeding.

8.  Muses are mute when cannons are roaring.

9. When the mouth is silent the ass should be thundering.

10.  Life is not for kids.

I am well aware of the oddness of some of these lines, so if one of you four readers requires a clarification for either of the above, feel free to comment and I shall comply.

Written by Frankelstache

June 14, 2009 at 7:30 pm

Posted in Humor, Life, Lists, Random

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Eat Up, Boys and Girls

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I’ve commented in the past on how ridicules I find some of the advertisements on TV, especially the ones that celebrate certain things that can only be seen as pros in America.

When Pizza Hut used their “1 full lbs of cheese inside every Pizzone” as a selling point (and basically championed heart attacks), I thought it was a glitch, that although Americans eat Junk Food as often as hookers fuck, recent years must have helped them evolve and comprehend that their food culture requires immediate change.

But it turns out I was wrong. Along comes Taco Bell with new ads for their taco Salad, proving, yet again, that America’s food culture and habits are so bad, I must wonder if this country needs its kids to start getting strokes before middle-school in order to wake up. Now I already have a full stomach (no pun intended. In fact, ‘an Empty stomach’ fits better here) on how “salad” in America is code for lettuce, breadcrumbs, cheese and enough ranch to drown Hulk Hogan. so naturally, this issue bugs me very often. But I digress.

How, in the name of the people who voted for GWB twice, could one be happy when something that’s labeled “Salad” isn’t, in fact, a salad?? This campaign with its catchphrases “It’s only technically a salad” is an insult to the intellect. Moreover, what bugs me here is that salad is being treated as something wrong. Now I’m no saint, and the woman I love, together with anyone else who ever saw my beer belly will testify to my love for food, especially meats, cakes and other unhealthy goodies. But as much as I (occasionaly) love dipping my pork ribs in hot, spicy bbq sauce, I also recognize the importance of healthy food. Fruits, vegetables, water – neither mixed with cheese. I mean, who knows, I might die out of a red meat caused heart attack at age 41, while my American friends who eat corn with butter and fried chicken with hollandaise sauce will live till they’re 102. But man, being healthy isn’t a bad thing. And for fuck sakes, lettuce, bread, cheese and ranch alone does not make for a salad. Caesar was a fucking idiot, and people who buy into Taco Bell’s ‘Technically a salad’ ads are idiots, too.

Written by Frankelstache

May 22, 2009 at 4:13 pm

Things That Are Bound To Happen

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“The only certainty in life is death”, goes the cliché’. I really hate cliché’s.
I can see and understand society’s need for cliché’s, but me being insecure in my originality and individuality (the result of growing up in a commune) makes me vigorously and automatically oppose anything that’s structured and predestined. Lucky enough, back at the day Al Gore helped creating this little thing called the World Wide Web, and here we are today inside this spectacular blog platform.

It brings me great joy when I am able to refute a preexistent perception, and therefore I would like to tackle the cliché’ positioned at the top of today’s post. I might have to use other truisms in order to negate it, but nobody said that’s not allowed.

Certainty 1: The husband will always screw the babysitter.
From Jane Eyre to David Beckham, bringing a younger woman to take care of your toddlers is like going to the Cheesecake factory while on a diet. If I were a mom, I would rather let Theodore Kaczynski take care of my kids than welcoming a youthful chick into my abode. Granted, men are horrible, but even my inner-woman* knows that the only thing lamer than a slimy man is that slut who was easily manipulated to join him in the bedroom. Wives, don’t act surprised if one day it’ll happen to you, too. If you must get a nanny, make sure she’s a survivor of either Chernobyl or Hiroshima. That way she’ll be so old and damaged even Bill Clinton wouldn’t wanna do her.

Certainty 2: Asian people will always travel in packs.
Whether it’s when they’re touring a new city, dancing in a club, walking to the restroom, shopping, or their absolute favorite: standing in a random line – those little cats are always in a group. One of my good friends suggested that’s it’s because they are both small and shy, so they work better as a group. Makes sense to me, but even so, it kinda bugs me that I always encounter them on a mass scale. It’ll be nice to meet just one of them every now or then, or at least see one mingles in a more diverse assemblage. Good news is that Asian women do a good job fueling many orgy fantasies, I’ll give em that.

Certainty 3: Kids will tell jokes you will never understand.
This has recently been validated inside my head in the daycare I volunteer at. You know, I’ve met my share of not so hilarious adults, but kids are something else. They have the worst sense of humor ever. They’re jokes aren’t even jokes. It’s usually a dumb question like ‘what did the cow told the chicken?” and the answer/punch line is usually something like “Your feathers smell”. At first I thought it was only me who isn’t getting it, but throughout the years I’ve learned that it’s actually those kids who don’t.

Certainty 4: People with an accent will always appear dumber.
This is a cross-cultural, intercontinental and multilingual certainty. Hear a girl speak Spanish with an American accent and you’ll automatically assume you can convince her you’re worth a lay. Hear a guy speak English with a Southern accent and you’ll instantly be willing to bet your savings you’ll defeat him hands down in a trivia challenge. This certainty, however, does not include people with a British accent cause for some reason that makes people sound smarter. Which is peculiar, to say the least, cause most Brits are drunks who never left their hometown, or just condescending snobs who feel superior cause they have a Queen. God and tourists know why the F I should care about their queen, but oh well.
Certainty 5: Jesus will never return.
Get over it. It’s time you accept it.

Certainty 6: In every album, Beyoncé will have a mega feminist song.

Since her early days in the amazing trio Destiny’s Child, Beyoncé is a bigger believer in women power than Rosie O’Donnell. “You thought that I’d be weak without ya, But I’m stronger. You thought that I’d be broke without ya, But I’m richer.” “All the women who are independent, Throw your hands up at me.” “I can have another you by tomorrow. So don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re irreplaceable.” And my absolute favorite: “I got gloss on my lips, a man on my hips. Acting up, drink my cup, I could care less what you think. All the single ladies, all the single ladies – now get your hands up! Ho, Ho, Ho!!!
Death? clearly not the only thing we can count on.

* I’d like to think she had a rough childhood and her name is L’atisha.

Written by Frankelstache

March 20, 2009 at 6:16 pm

The Future

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Lately I started volunteering in a daycare. Kind of ironic that the same man the US authorities basically wanted out is now taking a part in molding the future generations of this fine country. Keep an eye open, and expect great things out of the Berkeley Jews in 20 years or so. After only several weeks, I  already feel partially responsible for the upcoming crimes these young citizens are going to commit when they grow up. Obviously, an NBA superstar or a Hooters girl will make me feel damn good, but if neither is a possibility, I’ll totally settle for a rapist or a mass murderer sociopath.

Seriously though, I have to say I find it extremely intriguing to interact with these kids. I didn’t imagine how watching them would teach me so much about society. I have a front row seat as these boys and girls gather behavioral patterns that will probably follow them forever, and I can’t stop thinking of some of my adult friends. It’s fascinating. I mean granted, I’m in Berkeley, CA, which isn’t exactly the prototype of classic Americana, but nonetheless, I get to witness a good enough range of tots.

America and American’s are being bashed and trashed from every angle and under every open microphone or keyboard these days. It seems like since Bin-Laden’s (equivalent of) Bar Mitzvah production back in 9/11, the slope is slipping faster than Sarah Palin’s disappearance. I’m probably not revealing any shocking facts with this theory here, but still, I can’t seem to shake the thought that those planes flew into a building, and it was America that crashed – in its own eyes, and it the eyes of the rest of the world. But I digress.

In any case, those Berkeley kids are so fucking nice to each other it’s almost painful. When I was a kid, going to kindergarten was like going to war. The minute your mom dropped you off* it was every man for himself. When I close my eyes and recall certain kindergarten days, I can almost hear Axel Rose screaming “Welcome To The Jungle” inside my mind (whereas here in Berkeley it’s probably Jack Johnson singing “Banana Pancakes”).
We had a bomb shelter in our yard, and I remember the day we all climbed on it so we can pee on a kid named Oren – just because we knew he was adopted. Don’t get me wrong, cause I ADMIRE how sweet and well behaved these kids are. I guess I’m just missing a little bit of spice. It also amazes me how I can tell them something and they’ll listen to me. The other day I told an eight year old he needs to sit quietly and think about what he did (kicking a wet ball on the wall or something). He actually sat and thought about it. Now if someone had said something like that to me 20 years ago, I probably would have told him there’s a higher chance of him banging his own grandmother than me sitting quietly to contemplate my prior actions.

Wake up and smell the Humus, because America is doing great. Really. I don’t really care if there are floods in New Orleans, downsizing in Detroit, homelessness in every major city and decrease in college graduates nationwide**.

Education, my friends, is the single most important thing in this world. Creating a better generation and making sure “our” children will grow up to be better people assures us that in the long run this country, and this world will be a better place. So that’s good news. Even if it’s not measured by a Credit Score.

This has to be the cheesiest way I’ve ever finished a written document.

* Assuming you were younger than the age of 5, when having your mom still dropping you off was cause for being tag-teamed in the showers.

** I’m totally making this up. I have no clue if the amount of college graduates have been increasing or decreasing nationwide.

Written by Frankelstache

March 5, 2009 at 11:10 pm