I was trying to call my dad, Henry on a payphone but I didn’t have change. Some girl behind us laughed and It was weird. Oh, and I was singing Payphone by: Maroon 5. Mommy said I was a mess and dirty so mommy kept yelling at me. Also before we went on the T a bee flew past my face and I got scared it was going to sting me like another dickhead bee did when I was walking home from school with my mom. And I went to Sunoco with Mark and his mom. Sunoco never had a Shake and Smoothie machine so I got a smoothie. It was a really good Strawberry Banana Smoothie. It was $3.05 and Daddy only gave me $2.21 for Sunoco. So Mark’s mom had to pay for the rest. When I got home, I told mommy that I didn’t have enough money for the smoothie so Mark’s mom had to pay the rest. Mommy gave me $2.00 to give to Mark’s mom. Because she didn’t want her to thing we are mooches. And on the T there was a little girl who couldn’t wait to sit next to me she was looking at my phone, too.

It was the Anime Convention in Pittsburgh, PA and Daddy probably had a CRUSHY on this girl in a PRETTY dress, O.O!  I was sort of bored and my legs were tired I felt like I  was going to collapse. When ever I walk for a long time my legs start to wobble.

Daddy is a misbehaved, and idiotic Dad. He goes to Ice Cream places and beer stores because he likes beer. I really don’t know what else to say about him  that’s really it.

One time on March 6, me and daddy went to Shop n’ Save  and daddy got a Pork loin and it looked like a Big Fat Cow P3n1s. I was sort of grossed out. But then he asked a guy to cut it 1 inch. The guy was like 0.0. And I was like );. So the guy cut it 1 inch. His shirt was clean but when he came out from cutting it. HE MUST OF CUT IT GOOOOOOD D:! Because he was all bloody. But we left after that and when we got home. I told mommy all about it. We laughed!

Today mommy showed me the rug she wants to get. It’s a rug that has a devil on a throne and two naked ladies. I don’t want to have it in our house but mommy does. I said what if grandma comes over. She’ll be like “Oh Joey do you approve of this! I said no B00bies until you’re 50! I’m going to spank your a$$!” That’s what grandma calls him Joey instead of Henry. Apparently because there’s already a Henry in the family so they call him Joey.

Lest anyone forget that I am a “Mommy Blogger” 1% of the time, here is an update on that male human I made with the help of sacrificial virgin blood, a full moon, and a Marilyn Manson CD 9 years ago.

1. Kitty Kat Playtime

I absolutely adore Chooch’s piano teacher for a myriad of reasons. Such as: She is adorable. She has played keyboard in various local punk bands. She has cool style. She’s an artist.

But my favorite thing about her is that she has a very laid back, non-traditional approach to teaching and somehow, someway, holds Chooch’s attention. Sure, she’s been teaching him from books here and there because it’s important for him to know the basics, but lately they’ve been branching off and doing their own things. Normally, when I come to pick him up, they’re jamming: Chooch on keyboard, Cheryl on drums. And she’s been helping him write his own songs, one of which is called Kitty Kat Playtime. (Natch.)

Please enjoy a video of Chooch practicing it and try not to cringe along at his mistakes. (This was his first run-thru at home!)

2. Chooch’s Quest For Love

Chooch always gets my old iPhones when I upgrade. He can’t really do much on it since he needs a password to download apps, etc, but he likes to use it to watch YouTube videos and play games. Kids his age having cell phones seems pretty common these days, really, and Henry and I monitor his activity. For instance, he has an email address, which is also linked to my phone so I can see what comes in and goes out. Mostly it’s just him harassing Janna when he forgets his Minecraft password (she’s the one who created his account and will forever live to rue that day),

But then Henry got a new phone. Chooch’s current phone has a shattered screen, so Henry was all, “I’m going to be nice and give you my old phone, so remember that the next time I forget to feed you or pick you up from school.”

Everything was just grand until I was checking my email on my phone and noticed that Chooch had a message in his account.

It was his “daily matches” from FilipinoCrush.com.

My immediate reaction was to freak out, of course. I asked him about it and he shrugged. “It’s probably just spam.”

I felt like this was probably a lie, but then The Real World came back on from commercial and that clearly takes precedence over investigating whether or not my son is leafing through some sordid Internet catalogue of mail order brides.

The next day brought with it a new “daily matches” email. This time, I scrolled all the way through and clicked on “sign in to your profile.”

SONOFABITCH.

He created a profile on FilipinoCupid.com!

Henry grabbed the phone and saw that he had downloaded the app for it because HENRY forgot to make sure these things couldn’t HAPPEN. Great fathering, HENRY!

Once we verified that he hadn’t actually made contact with any hot Filipino singles, Henry deleted the app and then we started cracking up because who knew Chooch had such specific tastes?!

He’s 28 and “willing to relocate,” y’all.

I’m still trying to get pictures together to be framed because it makes me sad knowing how many photos are just festering on the hard-drive.

I’m really enjoying how these look on the wall! The only problem is that I’m running out of room on our designated gallery wall and I don’t want every single wall in the house to be full of picture frames.

I fear that I’m on the verge of turning to….scrapbooking.

LOL, j/k. I don’t have the time or patience for that.

I’ll probably start making photo books again, but then I’ll just get distracted by making slogan t-shirts about obscure gospel aerobics instructors. Speaking of: I DID APPROXIMATELY 7 PAUL EUGENE WORKOUTS TODAY!  I should probably be medicated. Oh well. BACK TO WATCHING DIE HARD WITH A VENGEANCE! Henry went to bed because he was tired of me and Chooch asking a million questions about it. Action movies confuse me. I’m all WHO IS THAT NOW? and WAIT WHO HAS THE BOMB? and then BUT…WHY? and then I interrupt Henry’s long-winded explanation to state the obvious: BRUCE WILLIS IS SO FUCKING HOT.

1ST STORY: Walkin’ With My Taco and 1 Cupcake

Once upon a time, There was a Mythical Beast named Henry. He bought a taco and a Cupcake. Mommy and I saw this RARE beast. We followed him home. Once we were in the neighborhood. I screamed “Walkin’ with my taco!

” He didn’t care. I did it two more times. The 3rd time he looked Mommy and I laughed. But we kept following. I said “lets Catch Up I Will Run To Him!” Mommy said “It’s Icy!” But ME don’t CARE. Me RAN! I did not FALL! I walked beside this BEAST. I said “Walkin’ with my TACO!” He said back “Walkin’ with my taco and 1 cupcake. He got home we went in his house
he had a mask on it was HENRY! We Died! THE END

2ND STORY: YOUR SON KICKED MY SON IN THE BALLS!

Once upon a time, Me and JOSH were playing.

He was mad at me so we fought. He kicked me. So I kicked him in the balls. He started to cry like a wussy. His dad heard and said “WHY ARE YOU CRYING JOSH!” HIS MOM SAID “WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT MY SON!” JOSH SAID “RILEY KICKED ME IN THE BALLS!” JOSH SAID “*CRIES*” HIS MOM SAID “WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!” I ran home and I saw Josh’s mom running to my house. She said “Oh no you ain’t!” I tried to get in before her. But she BANGED so hard on the door. While mommy was listening to Emarosa and paiting her nails. And just heard *BANG BANG BANG* and mommy opened the door and she just started screaming like “YOUR SON KICKED MY SON IN THE BALLS!” @#!$#! So i just stood there crying. Mommy was mad at me. Even though I did it for a reason. He kicked me and So I kicked back.

Like daddy said! THE END

I think out of everything under the Christmas tree, the gift that elicited the most reaction from Chooch was the framed picture of Creepy Basement Grandma/#CookiePizza. He was like, “WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!?” and then I was all “I WENT THERE” and then we were both all, “HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA” and basically puking into our hands, because we are that obsessed with this stupid thing. Henry just sat there and tried to fit in but we were like, “Shut up, you don’t know.” DON’T ACT LIKE IT’S FUNNY NOW WHEN YOU REFUSED TO GET OUT OF BED TO WATCH THIS WITH US WHEN WE FIRST FOUND IT LAST MONTH.

God, can you imagine being in that house with all that weird doll reviewing going on?

This gift cost $1. It’s the simple things in life, you guys:

We had some people over on Friday and the fact that we have a framed picture of some random grandma just chilling on an end table for no reason made for a great conversation starter. And then over the weekend, I got the best text ever from my brother:

#CookiePizza never gets old. Never. I might get it tattooed inside my lip. But for now, I’ll just keep it as my Facebook profile picture a little longer.

Our Christmas tradition, ever since I was pregnant with Chooch, has been to have a picnic lunch in the cemetery. It started in 2005 when I was on the outs with my family (when am I not) and refused to sit around doing nothing on Christmas, crying into my hands like my mom probably hoped. I suggested that we go eat with the dead people at the cemetery, which is one of my favorite places in the world. I expected Henry to say no, but I was pregnant and he has no balls, so we packed a picnic lunch and by that I mean we swung by a CoGo’s on the way to the cemetery and bought disgusting pre-made egg salad sandwiches, plastic bottles of eggnog, and Moonpies. See? We’ve always been classy.

Then Chooch was born and it became a tradition to pack a small lunch and take some christmas portraits of Chooch before visiting whatever family hasn’t written us off that year.

Some years, the weather is decent enough that we can actually sit down for a little bit, but usually we’re speed-eating because it’s so damn cold. It was like, 60 degrees on Christmas Eve, but the temperature dropped by Christmas. Henry made Funfetti grilled cheese (Funfetti batter mixed with ricotta–might sound gross to less adventurous grilled cheese fans, but it was goddamn delicious), which we ate so quickly it was like we were trying to eliminate evidence of a drug crime.

At the last minute, we decided to buy Chooch a camcorder so that he can finally reach for the YouTube stars. I’m lucky I was able to get any shots of him without it fully obstructing his face.

Forcing him to pose for cemetery Christmas pictures is the most stressful part of the day, and always full of fights and hateful glares, with me crying, “THIS IS LITERALLY THE ONLY PART OF THE DAY THAT’S FOR ME AND YOU’RE RUINING IT!!!!!” but it’s worth it in the end. 

Something is wrong with me, I think. I’m EXCITED about Christmas. This rarely happens! Usually I’m ambivalent at best, or downright bitter and suicidal at worst. But today, the weather is really mild, almost early spring-ish, so I went for a walk on my break and stopped to pretend to care about that manger thing and then I even half-smiled at a kid. (OK, it was a grimace, but still.)

So fucking weird.

I think putting up a tree helped shoot a zephyr of Yuletide joy up my grinchy ass. We wound up snagging a surprisingly beautiful artificial at Target for 50% on Saturday, and I feel a lot better about that than pouring money into a live tree that’s only going to wind up on the curb after Christmas. Tree murder! I’m still hoping to find what I need to have my perfect Christmas tree before next Christmas, but this one will be nice to have on standby.

I think Willie (RIP) peed on our tree skirt last year, so I threw down my old Cure wall hanging. It’s better than a regular tree skirt, IMHO.

The extent of our decorations.

But I think what I’m most excited about this year is the fact that I’ve been incorporating some of Chooch’s and my inside jokes into the gifts. If you have ever had the (mis)fortune of hanging out with us, you know that we will take the smallest thing and turn it into a Kelly-Robbins Family Legend. (Please see: The Napkin Dispenser or Dawn from Eat n Park.) Two Octobers ago, we ate a diner and heard the cook call out, “FISH DINNNNNEEERRR!” and I designed an entire Valentine for Chooch out of that because we were so obsessed with mocking the poor Yankee Kitchen cook. (I have Henry, who was not impressed with our antics, on video barking, “And next time, you two can go by yourselves!”)

Our latest obsession that Henry just doesn’t understand is watching birthday party videos on YouTube (yes, still). One of our favorites is from the mother/daughter duo who review dolls and have really grating New Jersey-trash personalities. Actually, the mom is kind of Kate Gosselin-esque, which just makes the whole thing even worse. Chooch and I didn’t know it at first, but these bitches are evidently YouTube-famous somehow, and toy companies just send them shit for free. God, I hate this country sometimes.

So in this video, the annoying girl gets to have a cookie pizza for her birthday; basically just a large chocolate chip cookie baked on a pizza pan. The mom is so fucking excited about this, that she makes #cookiepizza appear on the video. This in itself makes Chooch and I cry every time we see it, but THEN the best part of the video happens: the camera pans over to the left just so, and out pops GRANDMA FROM THE BASEMENT DOOR! Oh holy fuck, our insides crumble EVERY TIME we see this, it is so fucking hilarious to us. Chooch has literally puked over this, and I usually wind up with mascara rivulets running down my cheeks. Henry gets really annoyed and leaves the room.

Sunday night, I was the last one to come up to bed. Henry asked if I turned everything off, because he knows I’m wont to leave the TV, heating pad, iron, and stove on. You know me and my penchant for nighttime chores! Anyway, I was like, “Yes, goddammit, everything is off” but then a few minutes later, Chooch came out of his room and asked, “Do you hear that?” Then he got down on all fours and placed his ear to our bedroom floor. “It sounds like the TV is on…”

“Ugh, ERIN!” Henry growled, rolling out of bed and going downstairs to shut it off. When he came back up, he said, “That fucking Mommy and Gracie show was on.” Chooch lost his shit, almost started crying, and yelled, “I PUT IT ON! I TROLLED YOU SO HARD!” I guess Chooch was controlling it from his phone, and this is just the funniest fucking thing in the world to me, knowing that Henry had to get out of bed to turn off the TV, only to see that it was on the MOMMY AND GRACIE SHOW.

Last night, after Chooch went to bed, I screenshot the moment where Creepy Basement Grandma (CBG for short) emerges from the basement (and #cookiepizza is still on the screen—best of both worlds!) and then I printed it, framed it, and wrapped it. Chooch is going to die laughing. Henry’s face became a marquee for disappointment and annoyance as he muttered, “It’s really not that funny.” BUT IT IS.

Since Chooch knows that Santa is really Erin and Henry, I’ve been having fun labeling the “from” part of his gift tags with ridiculous things, like Daddy’s Amish Beard and Summit Diner Choking Hazard.

Chase’s Slutty Grandma is from a different birthday video, you guys. Try to keep up. We call her “CSG” for short, and the really scary thing is that I referred to Creepy Basement Grandma as “CBG” last night and it only took Chooch a few seconds to figure out what it stood for.

“Creepy…Basement Grandma?!” he screamed, and then we were doubled over, in utter hysterics, while Henry sighed miserably.

And this was before we ever referred to her as Creepy Basement Grandma. We are on the same fucked up wavelength and Henry is so fucking jealous.

I can’t express enough how thankful I am to have spawned a child who finds humor in ordinary, mundane things. Being able to have inside jokes with him has made our relationship so ridiculous and I love it. AHHH, I’M SO EXCITED FOR CHRISTMAS!

***

While I was on my break today, I called Henry and said, “Remember when Chooch put the Mommy & Gracie Show on and trolled you so hard?”

“He didn’t troll me ‘so hard’,” Henry sighed.

This is about the time I went to The Mutter Museum. First, We went to Philly to visit our friends Terri and Christian. To get to the Mutter it took us 20 minutes from Terri and Christians house. We played Heads Up by Ellen DeGenerous  in the car. I won!

Next, We got to the city I saw the hockey stadium where the Flyers play I wanted to meet them so bad. They were playing the Carolina Hurricanes. Boo the Hurricanes. Go Flyers! I was so excited! I wanted to meet them so bad! If they lost I would die!

Last, We got to the Mutter. Me and Christian were pretty much partners the whole time. I went inside this What It Feels Like To Get Shot In The Arm machine and it was weird. Me and Christian were partners. Well not partners but I didn’t want to be with Terri, Goth Erin and Napkin Dispenser Forgetter. Goth Erin told me there were people making out. But I didn’t see them so I didn’t know. She was so mad because we were in a museum with gross stuff in it. They were making it even Grosser. Me and Christian saw Einstein’s Brain so I tried to see if I could see Math Answers.  Goth Erin saw drawers of everything Dumb People swallowed because  I don’t even know why people would swallow these thing. Screws, Nails, Toys, Pins, Buttons, Dentures and Teeth, Bones and that’s all I can remember. Goth Erin got sick after she saw a bunch of Eye diseases. Pink eye, Eye Cancer, Tumors, Beaten Up Eyes,  Big Eyes, and that’s is what I remember. Me and Goth Erin kept seeing Baby Weiners. Before we left we went to the gift shop. I got a Brown Liver Cell stuffed Microbe. He is so Cute his name is Sir_osis. I had a blast at the Mutter Museum!

Clearly, This about the time I went to the Mutter Museum in Philly.

PS. If you don’t know where the Mutter Museum is ask Siri. This is the response.

Sorry what is the Mutter Museum? If you want I can show every Eat n Park near you.

Chooch is learning how to photoshop. This is probably going to be bad.

Throwback to that time in 2006 when I tortured Chooch with clowns at my grandma’s house on his first Christmas. MEMORIES! (Also: DROOL! He was teething pretty badly.)

Corey & Chooch putting ornaments on my mom’s Christmas tree. I miss Chooch’s curls! And you know, family holiday dinners. I hope when Chooch grows up, he marries someone who loves to cook and they have 8 kids. I want big holiday dinners.

When I asked Chooch if he would comply, he said, “Uh…no. I can’t handle kids.”

“Neither can your mom,” Henry mumbled.

…Or “Chorey” as Henry accidentally portmanteau’d  them earlier.

Today after Chooch’s piano lesson (and a trip to Etna for the best pierogies I’ve had in some time), I met Corey at Jefferson Memorial to help him out with some updated headshots for his real estate business cards. Henry had to go craft shopping with the old ladies at the nearby Pat Catan’s, so he dropped Chooch and me off which turned out to be kind of frustrating because Chooch was straight sugar-rushin’.

I thought he had burned through some of his hyperactivity at his piano lesson, where his teacher Cheryl admitted that he’s  actually well-behaved when Henry takes him and agreed that he feeds off my mere presence.

She suggested that I sit in a different chair where he couldn’t see me!

Anyway, I’m getting too wordy as usual. I apologize. This post is meant to be just pictures that I want to share, because it’s been awhile since I got some good ones of Chooch and his Uncle Corey. (For someone who claims that they hate having their picture taken, Chooch sure is a fucking master photo-bomber.)

Random flowers on a fresh grave.

It was really cold out there in the cemetery, but totally worth it!

As far as November weather goes, we were having a pretty beautiful Sunday here in Pittsburgh. We had nothing planned for the day, and even though I was fighting an annoying cold/allergy attack, I decided it was too perfect of a day not to go out and take pictures. Nothing major, I said. Let’s just, I don’t know…go to the grocery store first and buy a birthday cake. For no reason.

Oh just a simple, cheap cake, I said, giving the false impression that this was going to be a breezy, casual, in-and-out trip to the grocery store. Except that we got there and I threw a fit because NONE OF THESE CAKES LOOK RIGHT! NONE OF THEM MATCH MY VISION! THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT! I HOPE GIANT EAGLE GOES OUT OF BUSINESS!

And then from there it was JUST FORGET IT LET’S GO HOME FUCK THIS DAY RIGHT IN THE EYE.

I know this game, Henry said out loud, and instead of going home, he drove down the street to a different grocery store, smartly left Chooch and me in the car, and came back with the gaudiest birthday cake, complete with plastic clown head whose icing body was splayed across the top in a hideous, prostrate fashion.

It was fucking perf.

We took the cake, and a “just-in-case” rabbit mask, to Henry’s workplace which has always treated me well as far as photo shoot locales go. Henry was happy because my attitude had adjusted slightly with the purchase of the cake. (Although there was a brief argument in the over birthday cake candles, or lack thereof.)

Thank god we happened to have a random paper mache clown figure in the trunk of the car, too. (Our trunk is like the Mary Poppin’s Tapestry Bag of Animal Masks, Hats, and Other Assorted Oddities. We are always prepared for impromptu costume parties or induction into the witness protection program.)

My only direction for Chooch was “pretend like it’s your birthday party and no one came.”

I can do that, he said with a shrug.

He was very accommodating and easy to work with because I promised that I would play 10 (ten!!) rounds of Call of Duty when we went home. (Mostly because I am really beginning to like playing even though my skill level is not improving.)

The stages of being blown off on your unbirthday.

Now pretend like you don’t give a fuck and just eat the everloving SHIT out of that cake, I said to Chooch, always ready to provide direction.

And then I got to smash cake in Henry’s face because who knows if I’ll ever have a WEDDING DAY. Henry wasn’t very pleased about this, but Chooch and I were laughing so hard that he eventually cracked the tiniest smile while muttering, “You just wait, little bitch.”

It’s been awhile since Chooch and I got along during a photo shoot. I think it was because I mostly let him do whatever he wanted. Plus, the cake. He got to eat cake.

I don’t always go into these things with some high-brow, art student intentions or subtle nuances suggesting a deeper message. But while I was editing these last night, my brother texted me something along the lines of how it makes him happy that even though we were dealt a pretty crappy hand as far as families go, we were still able to have a strong sibling relationship where we can go off on random adventures and laugh to the point of an ugly-cry.

So, I guess this photo series has a cheesy moral to it after all. Um….: When things don’t go the way you intended, try to make the best of what you’re given, eat some cake, etc etc.

Or just go and cut someone. Whatever makes you feel better.

Shit got real once the sun went down at Knoebel’s….

…REAL DARK. OH!

And that’s when some of the rides went from being normal to OMGHAUNTED. Like the antique cars. They were closed all day long in preparation of the sun setting, and I was excited to ride those boring things because they had haunted scenes set up, which Chooch and I could see every time we ascended the inaugural hill of the Phoenix. On the Hallo-Fun brochure, there was a warning that the seasonally-haunted cars might be too scary for kids under 13, but from what we could see, it was your typical VFW-caliber haunted house decorating.

Kitschy and adorable.

However, people started standing in line before the ride even opened, and the line was LONG, so we never got to ride it. Because HENRY was all, “You will never have time to ride this.”

So Chooch and I entertained ourselves by taking selfies on basically every ride that we went on, because we’re Those People.  One of our favorite rides is the Cosmotron, which is essentially just the Music Express but inside a DOME and they TURN OFF THE LIGHTS and then what happens next is an epileptic’s cautionary tale. I was amused because We the Kings was playing while Chooch and I were on it and I have never hear WTK outside of Warped Tour. I don’t particularly care for them, but they’re well-suited to soundtrack the Cosmotron.

We exited on other side of the building, which Henry wasn’t prepared for. When we came back around, I spotted Henry with his back toward us, waiting for us to come out of a different exit. The compulsive hider in me grabbed Chooch’s arm and tugged him behind a bush before Henry had a chance to spot us. “Let’s sneak up on daddy,” I whispered giddily and then Chooch as usual tried to hijack my well-crafted plans of sneak-uppery by attempting to creep from a different direction until I yanked him back my way, which involved walking around a building and coming at Henry from the opposite direction of the Cosmotron. I’m sure we didn’t look suspicious at all.

But then stupid Henry was waiting for us because he has a fucking sixth sense when it comes to our presence and was fully prepared for the sneak attack. I blame Chooch. Henry probably saw him when he tried to deviate from the course.

The Looper. What a piece of shit this ride is. Chooch and I struggled with it when we were there last there, so this time I flat out asked the ride operators what the secret is to get the fucking thing to flip all the way around, because I saw other unevenly-weighted pairs succeeding so I knew that there had to be a way to conquer this bitch in spite of the weight imbalance. The two guys were like “blah blah blah” and I thought that I understood what they said, it sounded simple, but then the ride started and it only worked once! Chooch was livid and kept screaming at the guys to help us and I was like, “THEY’RE NOT GOING TO HELP US WHILE THE RIDE IS MOVING, GOD!” And then Chooch was making me feel incompetent but I fucking swear I was doing it right! By the time the ride stopped, the muscles in my legs were on fire from me trying to use my body to physically flip the cage. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HELP, CHOOCH?! Nothing but run your mouth, that’s what!

Here, Chooch was mad. He wanted a caramel apple or something. Apple cider? No! A restroom. He had to pee. So Henry was like, “Erin, go take him to the bathroom while I buy stuff for myself to eat because it’s Henry Time.”

Henry’s tone implied that taking my son to the bathroom was something that A Real Mom could pull off effortlessly, therefore he was fully prepared for me to fail.

And…I did. Almost.

We headed the direction that Henry thumbed us, but I just can’t get a good grasp on the layout of Knoebel’s! This was only my second time there and it’s just confusing, OK? Chooch and I were trying to consult a map, and then we thought that we found a restroom but it was some fake-log cabin thing that was closed. So then Chooch became mad because he thought he might piss his pants, and I became panicked and started to shut down, which is what happens to me in those Rise to the Occasion moments, where Real Moms are lifting cars off of toddlers and getting out stains with nothing other than their own spit, and I’m just standing there, stock-still and comatose, while the world moves around me.

WE ARE LOST. WE ARE SO FUCKING LOST. WE ARE SO FUCKED! is what I kept muttering over and over again while Chooch flipped the map upside down and then tilted his head to a right angle in an effort to crack the code.

Tilt-a-Whirl, motherfuckers!

I’m not sure what was going on in this shooting gallery, but Chooch keeps better at it because Henry taught him how to aim but he won’t teach me, god forbid, so now I don’t even bother to ask for quarters because WHY BOTHER.

A cob-webbed Santa, my favorite kind!

This thing.

If I thought I had any friends who loved me enough to drive 5 hours in my honor, I would totally have my birthday party beneath the birthday cake pavilion at Knoebel’s next year. That thing makes me feel so festive.

Ugh, Chooch and I went on the Satellite, which we had at Kennywood way back in the day and everyone called them the salt and pepper shakers but I feel like that wasn’t the real name. Anyway, if you ever ride this son of a bitch, you’ll understand why people called it the salt and pepper shakers because it’s literally like you’re a fucking grain of salt and some fucking giant is furiously trying to shake you out onto his disgusting bowl of giant slop. This ride is terrifying and painful and I rammed my shoulder so hard against the cage that I kept waking up in the middle of the night thinking I had rolled over onto a rock but NO it was just the BRUISE on my shoulder. Chooch found this endlessly humorous, because he’s my son, and we’re both dicks.

Anyway, that picture up there is a view from when we were stuck in the air while new people were being herding into the cage below.

Creepy Henry, watching us have fun without him on the Whipper. Fuck you, Henry.

I don’t know how this started, but Chooch and I suddenly have a tradition of screaming SELFIE!!! every time we’re whipped around the corner. I’m sure we don’t sound like obnoxious pricks AT ALL.

Henry could have rode this with us but I guess $1.25 in tickets isn’t worth being smashed in a rounded car with two screaming assholes.

I was supposed to share this with Henry, so what I did was eat all of the whipped cream and caramel first and then I left him two apple slices.

This picture is kind of gross. Did the chef just splooge all over that apple and now he’s watching it drip down into an ejaculatory peak? I mean, look at that self-satisfying smirk on his face! Stop jutting your ass out!

Also: Why have I never considered using an ax to cut my apples?

The Downdraft is basically the bastard son of that No-Named Yellow Piece of Shit that sometimes makes an appearance at the Westmoreland County Fair. I thought that I knew what I was getting myself into but then the fucking started before I was ready for it to start, and I don’t mean that they engine kicked on and then the ride slowly started up. No, I mean there was literally no warning, it just fucking shot out into the air and my head snapped back in the same sort of inhuman angle reserved for exorcism movies, so that felt great.

I dubbed this the Bowel Loosener.

Henry actually bought this hat for Chooch which was crazy because Henry never buys anything for us at amusement parks, except for food because he knows better than to not feed us.

All in all, it was a great time. The only time I got super angry was when we went into the arcade to have our way with the photobooth, but some ridiculous hipster couple kept hogging it because they were consistently unhappy with their photos and kept going back in for more. Seriously? Perhaps photo booths are to advanced for you then. Maybe stick with iPhone selfies? Or better yet: go to Urban Outfitters and hog THEIR photo booth. Hipster douchebags.