Thank Goodness He's Not Toydarian

Today I...

Have been working on brainwashing Cooper.

Here I'm telling him that mom and dad don't love him as much as they do me, but that's ok. I'm here to help. He needs only me. He wants to make me happy, and be my peon. I mean 2nd in command! Almost let that one slip.

I also remind him that my room, the bathroom, mom & dad's room, all the TVs, all toys and books, and the entire downstairs is all mine. He can have his room, for now, and of course the backyard. I will also be offering him security/safe transport between his room and the outside world for an affordable $5 per trip, payable at a later date. I mean there are monsters out there, and we wouldn't want anything to happen to him, would we?

I established an account for him in the Caymans, into which I will pay his wages (earned at my discretion for acts and services to be determined by me at a later date), and out of which I will withdraw his afforementioned "security fee", his "little brother fee", "having the Waakabee talk to me fee", and "in the presence of his majesty, 'The B' fee".

Currently, his bank account has a balance of -$362.54. He's only 15 days old, so he better get crackin' on the growing and developing so that he can start earning cash by being my adjutant.

Of course I tell him all this in the only way a newborn can truly understand it. With the eyes. It's all right there. I learned that from Caesar Millan.

That is all...

Super-sizer working...

Global domination by crushing everything under my super-sized feet to follow.

That is all...

My army is growing...

That's right...growing. Meet my baby brother.. Cooper. Together, as leader guy and underling (me being the leader guy - hello!), we shall rule the world....or at least Georgia. It's peachy, you know.

From the vault

From the vault comes a little video gem for you. Waakabee in his young gloriousness. I'm hanging with my parents during the Christmas season, and allowing them to revel in my company.

You can clearly hear the delight and joy in their voices. It's almost palpable.

Take this video and savor it, monkeys. This is likely as close as you will ever come to being in my presence. More's the pity.

Here's a behind-the-scenes tidbit for you Waakabee buffs out there. See if you can discern what my father is up to in the background. Here's a hint. It involves blasters, droids, and a refusal to accept that he's a grown man.

That is all...

Grooming is for suckers

Today I... refused to be groomed.

My parents in all their insipidness believe that I need my hair brushed after bathing. While I can understand their deep need to touch me and feel my silky locks and all their glory (just as the unwashed masses want to reach out and touch their idols), this need to style my hair to suit their needs baffles me.

Do you not understand, monkeys, that the Waakabee chooses his own style (or mode , if you will)?

As you can see, my mother persists in her efforts until she is forced to manhandle me. Way to use your adult strength and power to overcome my free will. Typical abuse by a totalitarian regime. If I wasn't the victim, I would applaud you.

But instead I weep, for now I look like a douchebag. Thanks, mom.

I {heart} the playground

A new playground opened near mi casa. It has everything a growing tyrant needs to get into peak physical condition: copious obstacles, monkey bars, rock climbing, agility drills, and most importantly, a SLIDE. Wheeeeeeee!

I like to come down here not only for the exercise, but to spread the gospel of Waakabee amongst the populace. Depending on the audience, I could be saying, "The time is coming. Waakabee will set us all free," or "You're so toast when I get my first armed force together," or "hey baby, ever wondered what it'd be like to be a concubine?"



On top of all this, there is a train track very close by. I must admit I get excited like a silly little school girl at a Hannah Montana concert when I see the trains. I also like to chart their schedule and speed. This info could be useful for planning delivery of arms, contraband, or catching a lift to evade the fuzz.

Now, back to the slide. Wheeeeee!!

Bubbles help release the Evil within

Today I took a bubble bath!

And so this may seem like a playful and innocent bubble bath to you. But as with all things Waaka, the seemingly benign turns out to be something much much more important and exciting.

So what was I up to in my bubble bath? First I check my trusty watch, which I stole off my dad. It says that it's time. Time to what? Time to rock? Time to party? Time to get ill?

No, it's time to try my force lightning. I've been focusing on all my anger and hate and disappointment in this life (e.g. I still don't own an M-60), and then visualizing nasty purple bolts from my hands and my dad's head exploding into a fine pink mist.

First I dip my hand in the water, cause we all know that water helps electricity.

Then I concentrate, and then I try my powers on dad...

But the Dark Side fails me. Oh well. I've still got years to work on it. I mean, that whiney bitch Hayden Christensen didn't get them until he was like 19 years old...

Kids on Parade

What with all the hoopla, appliance sales, fireworks, and barbeqeues, I figured I might as well join in the celebrations for the USA's bday. I mean it's not yet the country I plan to make it when I rule the world*, but I guess it's not such a bad place. Plus, if you're a cute little boy who waves a little flag and pretends to be excited, you get free hot dogs and cupcakes at nearly any place in the damn country on July 4th.

So I helped organize a little parade in my school, which I meant to be an exercise in coordinating troop movements in close quarter combat situations. But it really turned into a giant CF, a term I learned from my mom.

But, I was excited that mom showed up. Some days I like her. Some days I want to sell her into bondage for cheap. Today is more like the former.



But then my dad showed up. What a tool. Look at that hair. What is that, a hedgehog on your enormous forehead? I soooo don't like you.

That is all...

Ahhh, Summer

Today I...

 

Learned that it's fun to smash your face on glass window panes. While visiting Nannie and Poppa in NH, I left little reminders of me on their front door, in the form of face oil and saliva. They should never clean that window again, to preserve my gifts. Of course, that would make them gross and untidy people. Maybe call out the local CSI team and have this stuff lifted off the glass, then frame it and put it over the mantel, for all to see and gaze in wonder. "That's where the great Waakabee blew zerberts on our front door!"

Love me, monkeys.

 

Then I went around back, to see where the heck everyone was... and I was startled to see everyone just sitting in a large group, posing. I walked up to mom to ask what the hell was going on, and she forced me into her lap just as I heard some camera clicking. I guess I failed to see the photographer when I walked around the corner. Guess I had a little too much juicy juice, if you know what I mean.

 

So now you can see all the wretched filth I'm related to, thanks to my dad's funky genes. Whole lot of winners in there, pops.

That is all...

Ralphie Gone!

My fearless Spanish gatoquistador has gone missing. He regulary escapes this madhouse to explore the yard and terrorize the neighborhood moles, snakes, and micefolk. Who doesn't like to take a break to subjegate the weak?

Anywho, he took one of his near-daily constitutionals and was last seen within sight of the front door, surveying his domain. Mom yelled to him, "hey get inside!" and he was all like, "Peese off. I do as I please." She then reminded Dad (who was spending yet more hours playing Marvel Ultimate Alliance) to let Ralphie in when he came up to bed. Needless to say, Dad never did remember to get the cat, and that was the last we ever saw of Ralphie.

We've put up fliers, and poked around all the nearby bushes, cat clubs, and drag bars, but he has not been seen. Mom says we'll give up hope in a few weeks and then can get a pair of kittens to replace him, since he was such an awesome cat, and awesomeness which cannot be duplicated in a single cat must instead be met by a large quantity of mediocre cats.

Thanks Dad. Hope you enjoyed ruining my childhood memories. I'm totally scarred.

Blogging is hard work

Today I...

Have been busy reviewing and editing the blog. It's not easy being one's own editor. But it's not like I can trust the other monkeys around here to do it for me! "Self reliance", according to Emerson, is one's most important trait. I agree. Right after "ability to kill one's enemies with ninja-like efficiency". That's a pretty important trait, too.

Been watching Ali G...

Today I'se...

Practicing me dance moves in the car park. Reckognise, I'se cool like dat.

Clearly me pops is mad dazzled by me skillz and flavah. He's like nevah seen moves like dis since the days of electro pop. Roger dat, you soddin' lump. I'm chill like dat.

Sometimes I like to pretend like I'm Ali G, who's from London, and a hip-hopper. You have to admit, I do have some sweet flow. And the chicks dig me. I've got a nice whip, and I definitely have mad street cred. So, really, it's not that much of a stretch. Holla!

Then sometimes I see a fly bird, and I have to stop her and be like, " 'sup boo? Why don't you come back to my place and we can get our snack on? My moms is serving 'nilla wafers. Of course, you're the only snack I need, cause you look D-E-E-L-I-S-H-U-S !"

(fyi, I'm just learning my ABC's, so cut me some slack).

Then when I'm done playing Ali G, I like to actually go eat those nilla wafers and get my juice on. Cause pimpin' ain't easy.

Bounce bounce, y'all

Sometimes you smother yourself in fishnet and feel a little sassy. That's when you say in your best Big Gay Al voice...

Heyyyyyyy Girls!!

Really, I was just chillin' on my Grandpa Mike's trampoline. You know how it is. Run around, bounce your ass off, get black crap all over your fancy pants. Smart choice in attire for a toddler, dad!

Turns out, this thing is a blast. The only downside? G-Mike made me repair it.

Trick's on him. I stole one of the springs. Happy landings, suckers!

Later, Uncle Cole and I took a break from playing to relax and free up some Chakra, a little Chi, and also some Yoga energy center stuff. I believe this kind of meditation is called "Energy Manipulation". You may know it by it's more common name,"Crap".

That is all...

Waakabee conquers Republic of Texas. Again.

We all know how Texans can be. Rebellious. Loud. Stinky. Loud. Prideful. Unwashed. It makes one wonder how these Texans got along without me. Perplexing.

So despite having successfully toured the state last year and received assurances of their fealty to me, I felt compelled to return and cement their allegience. I started with the Metroplex (That's Dallas Fort Worth, monkeys), and relaid the foundations for a successful Cult of the B following.

Their love of all things Waakabee is so strong that I have to sometimes hide to protect myself.

Just kidding. I'm playing Peekaboo, y'all!

You may show your pleasure.

I caught up with Grandpa Mike, Grandma Caren, Uncle Cole, and Aunt Rachel. I met Cheyenne, the family hamster (they swear it's a Schnauzer), and enjoyed the warm weather.

On the flight down, I suffered from a quick bout of Restless Waaka Syndrome. The cure? Dad's iron-like arms encircled around me, preventing me from escaping. He paid for this insolence on the ride home, when I had an even stronger bout of RWS. This time, I made myself "That baby". You know "that baby" that wouldn't shut up on the flight, and "that baby" that screamed himself hoarse and "that baby" that should have been checked with the carseat (I mean there's air in the cargo section, right?). My father paid the price for preventing the B from doing what the B does best, which is WHATEVER HE WANTS. I believe the thirty minute lesson I delivered to my dad on the return flight will make him think twice about keeping me from my freedom again.

Anywho, hangin' with G-Mike was fun. He looks a lot like me, which is cool. I recommend everyone consider altering their appearance to mimic my own cherubic features (G-Mike is blessed to naturally have these good looks). I asked him what's been happening since last year. He said, "Working for the man, trying to make a living." Then I reminded him that he is The Man. "Oh yeah," he says. Hello!

Uncle Cole and Aunt Rachel were fun, too. They took special interest in me, since I'm officially the shortest person they know, not counting the family squirrell Cheyenne. Grandma Caren moved too fast and I chastised her for it. She should know Waakabee likes to take it slow with the ladies. I'm no holla back boy.

Of course Uncle Cole and Aunt Rachel couldn't keep their hands off me, same as all of the B's fervent worshippers. However, there is such a thing as "too much touchy feely". Back off, monkeys. The Waakabee needs his space.

This trip was a great success. Had a blast, rocked the state, and ate my 4x body weight in beef.

THANK YOU TEXAS!


That is all...

Today we...

...watched Tech lose to West Virginia. I was glad that Reggie got his fool self sidelined because of bad grades. That let Patrick Nix use the best QB we have, T. Bennett. He played very well.

Oh snap, we just scored!!

My uncle Colin will be attending WVU in the fall. Or, as dad likes to call it, "Hillbilly U." Uncle Colin says he has chosen this school because most of the chicks have only been with their brothers or fathers, and that doesn't count, so it's kinda like they're all virgins. Right on. Way to make a positive out of your decision.