The War At Home

Dear Diary …

We are at war. And I don’t mean in the world or anything with terrorism or politics or whatever … this war is much closer to home. Actually, this war is IN the home … because it is a war between parents and children. And if I’m being honest … we parents are losing.

We’re not in control. We may act like we are and say things like, “I’m the parent and I’m in charge,” but those are merely the false claims of a desperate soul who’s trying to trick their enemy into believing them. It ain’t true.

The main reason we are losing is because children are masters of psychological warfare. We might be bigger and stronger, but mentally, they are destroying us.

Take my son for example. Right now he has to take an antibiotic two times a day, every day, for … I’m pretty sure … ever. Forever. OK not forever, but it certainly feels that way because every … single … time … he has to take it, he stalls … and stalls … and stalls.

“Oh I’ll do it in a minute.”

“Oh I have a headache … I need to wait.”

“Oh I can’t breathe … hang on a second.”

“I can’t breathe” is my favorite one so far. What does it even mean? It’s sort of like when liar kids say “I can’t eat any of my dinner because I’m so full … can I have a giant bowl of ice cream now?”

So every single dose of medication is an agonizing 30 minutes of psychological warfare that I lose. When he finally does agree to take the medication, he proceeds to take it in the TINIEST little … slurp … sips. It’s one teaspoon of medicine. It would be gone in two seconds if he just swallowed it all.

But nooooo … instead … let’s turn it into 37 agonizing … slurp … sips of torture.

And here’s where the psychological warfare mastermind is truly evident. One night this weekend he stayed at grandma’s house. She had to give him his meds. And he took them. All at once. With no delays.


Cuz he ain’t at war with grandma? That’s why.

He’s at war with ME.

I’m tellin’ ya … parents … we’re losing.

“No we arent! We’re in charge!”

Yeah … said the group of people who cut the crust off sandwiches, and try to arrange carrots into weird shapes and designs in some sort of pathetic effort to get our kids to eat them.

And heaven forbid you give them something like a granola bar and … gasp! … it breaks in half before they can eat it!!!

Forget it. Game over. “I can’t eat this … it’s broken!”

But it tastes the same …

“Silence peon!!! It’s broken!!! Get back in there and bring me another!”

Which you do. Don’t lie! You do it cuz you’re losing.

It’s OK … you can finally just admit that you’re losing the war. Just take a deep breath and feel good about the fact that some day some evil little spawn is gonna rise up and put THEM in their place too. Hooray karma!!!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.

Pump Dumpers

Dear Diary …

There are some criminals in this world where it’s blatantly obvious. Murderer? Criminal. Thief? Criminal.

Then … there are those that are getting away with things that should be a crime, but they aren’t, and that’s about to change here in Zackmerica. And today, I’m talking about you … Pump Dumpers.

Wait … Pump Dumpers?

I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself, “King Zack … what the heck is that?”

Well I’ll tell ya …

A Pump Dumper is a dastardly individual who drive up to a gas pump. Fills their car with gas. And then leaves it there while they go inside to whatever the heck they feel like for as long as they feel like.

They just dump their car right at the pump without any kind of thought or concern for anyone else that may wanna get gas. Pump Dumpers.

And in Zackmerica … They are getting a direct line to jail. Do not pass “Go.” Do not collect $200. You just go right to prison you filthy scofflaw.

How have these people become so blind to the world around them, that they don’t even notice what a serious offense this is?

Oh but I’m just running in to use the bathroom and get a drink.. It’ll just take a minute.

Don’t care. Pull you car up into a parking space and get out of the way!

If you were inside at the register and you were done paying for something, would you just stand there for five minutes and block everybody waiting behind you?

Who knows, maybe you would because you’re a filthy Pump Dumper, but I’d like to think that you wouldn’t. Same rules apply here. Get outta the way! This ain’t that hard.

OK … moving on Diary …

We have so many great technological advancements in this world, and yet at the same time, there are so many things that make me think, “This is 2017 … how is this not fixed by now?”

My son is sick this week. So he had to go to the doctor and get a strep test. This is 2017 … how is it that the strep test still consists of trying to jam a stick down his mouth to swab his entire throat? There’s gotta be a better way!

And furthermore … This is 2017 … Why does the medicine he has to take still have to taste so awful? Oh it’s bubble gum! Yeah … mixed with awful!

Now I gotta spend 10 days begging him to choke down this disgusting pink sludge. Science can make a hamburger out of vegetables that tastes like actual beef … and yet they can’t make this medicine taste less horrible?

And speaking of medicine … I can’t get this kid to take the liquid version of things like Tylenol. So I gotta get the chewable version.

Answer me this … why do I have to give him two pills? Do you know how hard it is to get a stubborn sick 5 year old to take even one of them? So can’t you just jam all the medicine into that one? Of course you can! You just don’t … and THAT’S what I don’t understand.

It’s not that hard people … we should have these things figured out by now!

Till next time Diary … I say … goodbye.

Ducking Autocorrect

Dear Diary …

Look … I get it. Your kids look up to you as their parents, and deep down they respect and love you, but on a day-to-day basis … you are merely there to serve them. They don’t care about you. You’re just that human that brings them snacks, replaces batteries in their toys, and cleans up all the messes they leave all over the place.

And the television? Yeah. You don’t own that. Your shows are boring. All of them.

Pay no mind to the fact that every kid’s show is categorically awful and annoying. Doesn’t matter. That is all that is to play on the television. And I mean ALL.

And I know this because here’s what happens … I’ll be sitting in the living room, watching some God awful show about nothing … or even worse some YouTube video of annoying people playing video games … and then I realize, “Wait a minute. None of the kids are in the room anymore, and I’ve been sitting here by myself for 10 minutes watching this garbage.”

So I turn it off.

And immediately, what happens? A tiny voice rings out from upstairs …

“Hey … who turned off my show?”

You’re not even in here! Why am I being subjected to your awful shows if you’re not even around??

I’ll tell you why … because I’m The Help. The Help doesn’t need to watch television. The Help should be getting snacks or building LEGO sets or something. The Help don’t got no “me time.” Silly peasant! TV belongs to them … it doesn’t belong to me.

Moving on Diary … we are now to the point where we all have these really fancy (and expensive) smart phones with all these great features … high quality cameras, facial recognition, voice activated robots that obey our commands. And yet despite all these features and all this money being spent … autocorrect is still a giant pile of crap.

You mean to tell me that these phones can practically read our minds, and yet they still think there’s a human on earth that was actually trying to type the word “ducking?” You gotta be ducking kidding me!

Sometimes I don’t think autocorrect is even trying. For example … every morning when I set up the K92 Mornin’ Thang live video feed, I type “Mornin’ Thang” in the description, and autocorrect immediately changes it by adding an “A” and leaving me with “Mornin’ a Thang.” Mornin’ a Thang? What am I, some stereotypical Italian chef who’s “a-makin’ a spicy meatball a-here on the Mornin’ a Thang?”

Give me a break autocorrect! And help me understand why autocorrect will be halfway decent when typing a normal word, but the second you start with a capital letter, it’s like it forgets any semblance of proper spelling and grammar.

“Robot can’t understand with capital letter. Assumes you are spelling some weird first name of your random Russian friend Clovonski or something.”

Listen here smart phone people … iPhone, Droid, or whatever … at this point just give us gigantic batteries and a halfway decent autocorrect. That’s all we really ducking want in the first place!

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye

The Mayonnaise Shirt

Dear Diary …

I do not claim to understand science. I’m not a dumb person … I know a lot of stuff. But when it comes to science … I am a dumb person. I majored in Television and Radio in college for the love of God! You know how many science classes I had to take? Zilch. No science!

So maybe somebody with science smarts can help me understand why mayonnaise is an all-powerful substance that cannot be destroyed.

Let me explain … recently I was doing one of my cursed experiences … eating food. I call it a “cursed experience” because the universe has decided that I am physically incapable of eating food without spilling at least part of it on my shirt. Doesn’t matter how careful I am … something is gonna blorp right into the gut stain portion of my shirt. Not the top, not the side, but right on the big ol’ Buddha belly.

So while eating a sandwich the other day, the inevitable happened … mayonnaise. BLORP!

And here’s what I don’t understand, science nerds … I mean “science aficionados” … It was a TINY little globule of mayonnaise … microscopic even. And it stayed on my shirt for a microsecond before I quickly starting trying to clean it off. And yet … It is a guaranteed stain of shame on my shirt … unable to be removed. No matter what … that stain ain’t leaving until that shirt hits the laundry.

Water? HAHAHA! Water is no match for the all-powerful mayonnaise stain!!! I could dump Hurricane Harvey amounts of water on that shirt and nothing would change.

And that’s what I wanna know … how? How does that happen?

I get it … it’s got oil in it … but shouldn’t SOME amount of water finally win that battle? And even if I were to put some laundry detergent into that water, it still wouldn’t come out unless I put it in the mythical magical washing machine, where apparently some sort of extra wizardry occurs that zaps out the stain.

Here’s what the need to start doing … makin’ shirts out of mayonnaise. I’m serious! OK … now it’s not just one greasy white mayo outfit … but if there were already mayonnaise fibers in the shirt, nothing would stain it when the inevitable BLORP takes place, because it’s already one giant stain.

Mayonnaise shirt! Who’s with me? Million dollar idea.

Though I am thinking we’re not gonna … umm … market it as the “Magical Mayonnaise Shirt”. Doesn’t really have the sex appeal of the clothes that we’re looking for here. But I’m tellin’ ya … build that shirt outta mayonnaise and we can finally stop the stain.

You know who’s probaby preventing this? Tide Mafia. That’s right … we wouldn’t need them and thei rprecious little sytain sticks anymore if we had the all-powerful Mayonnaise Shirt.

(You know, sometimes I just wonder what’s even inside this head. I don’t even know anymore. Mayonnaise shirt? Seriously? Alright … whateevr.)

Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.