Carnival Of Imbeciles

Jazzy J

And I

Have taken to

‘Sucker Punching’

Each other.

I don’t hit him hard.

He’s only nine

And he is my son.

So I take it easy on him...

Trying to catch him by surprise

Embellishing

One of the classic moves

Like the ‘Indian Rope Burn’

The ‘Purple Nurple’

The ‘Wet Willie’

‘Pink Belly’

Or the ‘Titty Twister’ aka ‘The Nipple Wrench’.

Whatever’s open...

He’s getting it

As I call him

‘Buttmunch’

Or ‘Toe Cheese’

Or ‘Hog Breath’.

And he gets me right back

Not needing an invitation.

I try to block him

But he’s fast

And he doesn’t hold back

When he connects.

He’s always trying

To twist my nipples

Like the dials on a shortwave radio

Trying to receive a staticky program

From a distant land

Without interference.

It starts in the morning

As I body press him and smoosh him

Into his bed

Telling him

“Time to get up Pus Head”.

I tickle him

Until he’s laughing

Uncontrollably

Kicking and gasping

“Stop, stop!”.

I walk into the kitchen to make him breakfast

And he ambushes me

Firing giant rubberbands

At my nether regions.

It continues when I pick him up from school

As I sneak up behind him

And give him the

Ever so reliable

‘Push At The Back Of The Knees’

Making him drop

Wobbling.

He chases me

And he’s pretty quick

But he doesn’t get me

Until we’re in the car

And I go to start it up

When he gives me a good chop

To the arm.

Like Father

Like Son.

Tweedle Dum

Tweedle Dumber.

Two Stooges

In the car in the school parking lot

Giving a ‘Nose Pull’

And an ‘Eye Poke’.

Relishing

A common bond

Between us

Where we are both

Nine years old

Pulling each other’s

Finger.