Yeeeeeeee Haaaaaaaaw!

Greetings from the Lone Star State! Here we are with Uncle Cole hanging out at the Fort Worth Stock Yards. This is where they used to buy and sell tasty meat. Nowadays, that's all done at local clubs and discoteques.

There were many cows. Correction, steers. And Union sympathizers. Several groups were meeting in one of the buildings nearby, talking about strike options. The only strike options that should have been discussed were how to take out the commie pinkos in one go. Smart bomb, through the front door. There go a few more libs.



We also saw real cowboys. As it turns out, they look exactly like your run of the mill country boys. Which makes me wonder...if bumpkins' ancestors were cool people that lived rough, shot up the nights, drank, gambled, chased women...how could rednecks make the same actions look so unappealing today? It must be the Camaro. Not as cool as a horse.



This was some fine quality time, hanging out with Uncle Cole, Aunt Rachel, Grandpa Dyson, and several thousand other tejanos.



We even cut the fool with this clever cowboy cutout. It was like looking into the future for me. A future where I enjoy sunsets, bowlegs, the smell of horse poo, beans in a tin cup, and Texican whores. (Oh, is that too crass? Guess you never read Lonesome Dove.)



Note how brutish and ruggedly handsome I look. I must get myself a few of these cutouts, to see my alternate future selves. I'm thinking I'll need a samurai, a mercenary, a wrestler, an international terrorism financier, an arms trader, a despot, a pimp, a ninja, an emperor, and an animal trainer (Monkeys. Always monkeys.). I can base my life choices off of what looks best on the B.



Every kid should have to do this, so they can see their future selves. Then their parents can have candid conversations with them.

"Like eating paste, Jimmy? Then take a look at this Moron cutout. Note the mullet, the NASCAR t-shirt, and the tattoo of an eagle eating a scorpion while carrying a pretty lady on it's back. Enjoy your future, hotshot."



The Waakabee is pooped. All those steers. All those horses. The sweet smell of their crap. I (heart) Texas. Siesta time.

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Bath Time RMFO

That's right, monkeys. I enjoy a little splish splashy fun. I also enjoy peeing in the water. It's sooooo relaxing. Who can resist?

I enjoy baths because bath time is play time. Play time for the Waakabee is not only fun time, but time to hone my motor skills and strategic thinking in naval warfare. You may notice in the pic that I have laid waste to the frog and duck navies. It's all so much practice for the future.

You peasants should enjoy bath time, too. Because cleanliness is close to Waakaness. So think about getting off your dorito-crusted butts and bathing everyonceinawhile. NASCAR has commercials. Use them wisely. 

Doggie Kisses!

Even a budding genius/despot can't resist the fun in receiving doggie kisses!

You'll note the anticipation and excitement on Charlie's face as he awaits his turn. He understands the honor heaped upon those allowed to kiss the Waakabee.

Recognize.
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Bring on the sugar high!

We went grocery shopping. Seeing the plethora of foods and beverages available got me really excited.

And then I remembered that I am only allowed to have baby food. Sonofabitch.

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Conflict diamonds for sale

If I'm very careful, mom won't notice that I'm trying to steal her diamonds. They should fetch a pretty price. Enough to begin planting the seeds of my empire.

Keep your eyes on the deli meats, lady.

Norwegian Wood (This Bird has Flown)

We're on our way from the parking deck to IKEA. This should be fun.

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I think I just saw a Swede. And a sale on sofas made of cardboard and velour.

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Someone call DFACS...

This dude is crazy. Someone please adopt me. 

More hiking...

Anyone else notice that Dad is trying to hold one in? Don't be afraid to release that beast into the wild, pops. I know I just did. 

Waakabee goes walking

Here we are, Dad and me. Chillin' at the New Manchester ruins. As you can see, I am craving something tasty. Most notably, tater tots. 

I feel like I'm three seconds from being dropped by this bloated buffoon.


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Here's the Waakabee clan, paternal side. Though my dad looks like a giant, my great grandpa was once bigger! However, much like Yoda, he is shrinking with age. The force is strong in this one, hmm?

Oh, and way to dress it up, pops. Even in my pjs I outclass you, you driveling dervish.

And you may say, what's that look on my face? It's called phlem. I am preparing to share with everyone.

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Uncle Colin is putting his nasty socks on my precious sports blanket.

I am commenting on how his simian skin grafting procedure seems to have been particularly successful on the lower legs.

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Where does the "Bee" come from?

Who looks crazier in this picture? My great grandpa or my great grandpa?
All kidding aside, I am pleased to introduce him. After all, I am his namesake. This is Great Grandpa Bergiebee. He once built missiles to keep the Ruskies in line. He is a great man. If only he had used the missles he built. I will not hesitate, when it is my turn. The Waakabee rules with an tiny iron fist.


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My Paternal Side Brings the Noyz

Today I met my Uncle Patrick for the first time. Here I'm telling him how shiny his head is. See how grateful he is! The Waakabee knows how to dish out compliments when they are due.

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I am allowing Gia to test out my henchman communication interface. Each lever or button cleverly activates a holographic image of one of my minions.

I would say so far the most evil is Cookie Monster. The name inspires both love and fear, at the same time. Much like the Waakabee. And the way in which his terrible jowls crush cookies into so much dust! Much like our enemies, they are no match!

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Who's the mystery child?

My dad sporting a new Patty McIrish look. I believe that look died in the late 1800s along with most of the potato eaters.

And who there has usurped my spot in dad's embrace? Fret not, it is merely baby Gaberdoody. He will make a most excellent henchman, when he gets older.

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I've gotten so excited at the success of my henchman communication interface that I am drooling.

Here, I delicately wipe my face. One must keep appearances.

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To further help you all...

I have put together some quick examples of acceptable and not acceptable desktop wallpapers. I suggest you all pay attention.

Clearly lame.

Perfectly acceptable.

Someone should rent "Bambi".

Navy SEALs are often a good choice. But there are better alternatives.

Come on now. Seriously.

Anyone can clearly see that this is a Ninja wallpaper. Note the ninja's eyes in the lower right hand corner. Ninjas are ALWAYS a great choice.

Ah, the perfect choice. A Waakabee wallpaper. Well done.

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Let the idolatry begin...

Some of you wonder what I've been up to. Where's Waakabee, you say?

Well, since you cannot seem to get enough of the Waaka-man, I have found a way to meet your basest needs.

You all need someone to love.
Someone to idolize.
Someone to look at and say, "That boy brings me happiness and purpose. That boy brings me JOY."
And, "Yes, I will gladly be his willing servant and peon."

So monkeys, I have had some pictures made for you all to put on your "Desktops". I even went so far as to make them with different colors for your various computer themes. See how beneficent the Waakabee is?

You may ask, "What does this mean?" It clearly means that your fancy shmancy computers no longer need to have worthless pictures for backgrounds. You no longer have need of your pictures of kittens playing kissy face with puppies, of your pictures of meaningless sunsets on beaches your poor asses will never see, or pictures of your own miserable wretched children eating hotdogs at a parade with clowns (how utterly booooooorish).

Download one of these impressive and alluring wallpapers of ME. Make it your new background, and dispense with the picture of the eagle flying over the sketched image of Dale Earnhardt while clutching the American flag. Now, Waakabee can peer at you from your PC all day. Find meaning in your life as you gaze at the Rubenesque beauty of my cheeks. Search the pixelated eyes of me for depth and purpose that those floozy Desparate Housewives and that b*&^ Dr. Phil cannot give you.

Who's that behind the shortcut to Mah Jong? It's Me.

Who's that peeking around that sassy email you're typing to Janis in Accounting? It's Waakabee.

Who could that be staring at you from the background of your meaningless work life? Hello there.


Your pride and joy, your future Leader, Waakabee. Available on your desktop now.

Olive 1024 x 768



Black 1024 x 768




White 1024 x 768



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Reading is fundamental, fools.

"I am finished with this book, peasant. NEXT!"

Here I have recently finished a book which is helping to hone my skills in character and symbol interpretation. I like to call this amazing ability "Reading". Soon, my mastery of the written word will be complete, and I will be able to decipher the technical and operational specifications of many of your more sophisticated weapon systems and electronic devices, placing myself in the position to most easily subdue and rule you all.

Until then, pass me the next edition of Curious George. That whimsical primate is always causing a ruckus!

My physical prowess is increasing...

I am sooooooo advanced mentally and physically, that it makes you all look like parameseum compared to me. Perfect example: Now I can sit up. That's right. No longer satisfied to be Mr. Layonmyback all day and giggle, I have focused my energy and powers on developing what I like to call "Balance." This means I can right myself, or go hands free and sit up as shown above.

Sitting is good, because now I can practice how I will pose on my throne. Walker's world indeed. Better practice your bowing, monkeys.

In this picture, I am imitating how robots sleep. Mbllllleeeeek. 

Queer eye for the little guy...

Today I received my first official haircut. As you can see my exotic hair stylist was only too enthused to perform the work. Who wouldn't be? My hair must be worth hundreds of dollars per gram. Scoop those clippings up and buy yourself a car, honey. The King was here.

She gave me a nice style - not too Midtown, not quite frat house. I think I look distinguished. Good bye barefoot baby in a burlap sack, hello Brooks Brothers.

Here is the lovely lady, enthusiastically showing the small bag of hair clippings I gave her. Enough to buy her a condo in Buckhead. That's how famous Waakabee is. And how benevolent. Hail to the King, baby.