Walking baby to the liquor store.

Yeah, you heard right. I am, and I ain’t ashamed either.

Of course this means that the creation labs, buried deep underground somewhere inside rural Scotland (the commute back and forth to the States is a bitch quite frankly, but I am a quarter Scot and love it here so, meh.) are now in the hands of recently re-hired monkeys who, graciously I think on my part, were allowed a second chance after rioting  a few weeks back. Though we do need to chat about their diet, their poo was horrendous…

 

So yeah, Walking the Baby to the Liquor Store, part of a short fiction packet I have to review, and the only one that caught me eye. Written by Michael Van Wallenstein unless my eyes do mistake me, and they sometimes do as I can tell you about a truly humorous instance at a Megadeth concert concerning a wonderful trannie named, ironically, Steve who from the back looked nothing like a Steve and was approached by yours truly. Thankfully we became buds, mosh pitted, and parted as friends though it could’ve really gotten awkward. But I won’t tell you that story, it’s embarrassing.

(Monkey hands me a freshly printed paper, I read it, eyes bulging…)

Ok, well looks like I just told you that story. Well then…

Back to the fiction: I’ll be honest, I chose this piece because of the title. I envisioned Stewie Griffin from Family Guy being walked by Brian to the liquor store, sharing some conversation where Stewie try’s to hide the fact that he’s gay and Brian tries not to punch Stewie in the face for being  an annoying little truttle. Funny stuff. The story was, however, nothing of the sort.

The writer, a poet, needs to finish a book of proms as well as translate something from Mongolian (which instantly perked my interest, just mentioning Mongolia brings up images of Genghis Khan, hordes of well armored and armed horsemen, and the White Scars Legion of Adeptus Astartes.) but he needs to take the baby to the liquor store. No, not so the baby can open up a bottle of scotch, tip her head back and imbibe in a truly wondrous, burning brew, but because she really likes to goggle at the shiny bottles. And the writer is a good Dad.

So the story wasn’t particularly funny, but it did make me think. I wish I was a Dad.

No really, I really wish I was a Father. I would love to have kids, girls in particular. Why daughters? Honestly I don’t know. Maybe it stems from the fact that I get along with women better than men (unless the men are older or younger masculine nerds like myself; into military history, philosophy, science, science fiction, dark fantasy and Black Library stuff, usually not but those guys I can hang with) and I’ve always preferred the company of girls/ladies/women to guys. From history I can tell you that alot of guys have this strange psychological quirk, General Robert E. Lee (one of my favorite generals even though I am from the North) shared this personality trait. He always preferred the company of women to men. And who is more masculine than a military leader? Alexander the Great also liked to be around the ladies. Though not always for nice, companionship type reasons though he did treat ladies better than the men he was friends/lovers with. (In case you didn’t know, like many ancient Greeks, Magos Alexandros was bi-sexual) Julius Caesar also liked to be around the girls too…though, admittedly that was mainly just to have lots of sex. He was a womanizer so I guess his example doesn’t really count. But Churchill always enjoyed a good friendly, honest chat with a lady, as did FDR. In other words I don’t feel too alone in preferring to hang out with women. I prefer to think it helps to civilize me. Still, I want to be a Dad and I want to raise little girls. Admittedly they’d turn into little Viking girls as I am a rough sort, daughters of Fenris if you will. My own little army of Shield Maidens, raised from my loins!

(Monkey hands me a sheet of paper, then smacks me in the face before walking off.)

Well, apparently I crossed a boundary there. Fine then, here’s where I’ll end the blog then.