Tuesday was my wife's retarded Uncle Lonnie's annual Halloween party at the Elks Lodge. I wasn't permitted to go this year because I had to watch the baby, or, as Lonnald refers to him, "that brat."
My role in the festivities was not such a good time. A few days before the party we took Lonnie and the baby to the Halloween store to hand-pick costumes for everyone in hopes of avoiding last year's Christmas card debacle, where everyone accidentally showed up in the same costume (except Benny--he marches to his own beat). Prior to going to the store, my wife put a new clean diaper on the baby and another on Lonnie. "I ain't no baby!" Lon-da-Milan protested. "No, but you shit yourself like one," she said. "Hm!" was all he could come up with. Seems that Lonnie's ding is an inny – at least that's what my wife says. And he is constantly trying to adjust it in his diaper. It's usually a funny sight except when it's done in a store full of children. Then having him pull down his pants and fish around for his pecker seems dangerously inappropriate. And he wouldn't stop doing it. I started to freak out. Half of me wanted to just watch and laugh and continue to enjoy it but the new parental side of my brain said, "Chris, people are assholes. They won't listen when you explain that Lonatello is a mentally challenged mega-man. They'll just see a grown man waving his wiener at their children and they'll have him arrested and locked up. And we know Lonnie would lose his shit if he got locked up." I quickly made Crissie take Lonnie out to the car while I paid for his Batman costume, which was a bummer since I was hoping to have him try on a bunch of costumes (realistically, they only offer about six costumes in XXXL anyway, so we didn't miss out on much). As of press time, neither my wife nor me have costumes because of Exposuregate forcing us from the store. A few months ago I was thinking I'd be Michael Jackson and the baby could wear a kerchief over his face as Baby Blanket, but then the fucker had to go and die on me and now EVERYBODY wants to be Michael Jackson. All four people in front of me at the cashier counter were purchasing Thriller jackets. GAY. Way to blow my costume, King of Pedophiles. I suggested to wife maybe I'd be a guy who is having sex again for the first time in three months. She didn't find that nearly as funny as I did. For more stupid, go to Chrisnieratko.com