Meet The Nieratkos - Busy Week

Last Friday, July 1st, marked five years my wife and I have been married. It also began a week of chaos. I'm not sure what's wrong with her that's made her stick around so long. Perhaps she has a little of Lonnie in her? In case you didn't know, my wife's retarded Uncle Lonnie loves the Beatles. He's some kind of crazy savant with their music; he knows every word to every song. So as our anniversary present I got my wife and I four tickets to a night of comedy at Yankee Stadium to watch Lonnie see Paul McCartney perform next Saturday.

My friend Todd Bratrud was kind enough to get porn star, Angel Vain to take these photos for me as an anniversary gift. She looks just like my friend's wife, Dalila.

In the back of my mind I envisioned taking the family to the McCartney show and my wife going into labor at the show, then having to deliver the baby right there at the stadium. I also pictured Paul stopping the music in the middle of "Hey Jude" (Lonnie sings Hey Jew) and bringing my wife and I onstage to help deliver the baby. In my head I was waving to the 52,000 concert-goers who were applauding our baby, Christopher III, coming out of my wife's vagina on the Jumbotron. I let Paul cut the umbilical cord (I thought it only right, since he was going to be the godfather), which he did with a swift karate chop (I'm told that's how Heather Mills lost her leg). I was blown away when I heard Lonnie ask Paul the only coherent sentence he's ever muttered, "What were you thinking in that "Say Say Say" video with Michael Jackson, you big dummy?" Paul tried to explain himself but in true Lonnie fashion he told Paul to, "Go fuck your shit."

Sadly, none of that can ever happen because, as I predicted nine months ago, my wife had our black baby boy (she says it's a rare pigment disease) on the 4th of July at exactly 7:04 AM. So as much as I'd liked to have been interviewed by the local news for my Beatle Baby (not Beatle Bailey, that lazy jerk) so that I could lie to them and say that having our baby at Paul's concert was 100 percent premeditated and we had plotted the whole thing out while conceiving the kid back in November, I am even more happy that I have a patriotic 4th of July baby to do battle with my 9/11 baby. Now I can dress one in an American Revolutionary outfit and the other in a terrorist turban and have them battle it out to the death. That will make such wonderful Christmas cards!

I don't know if you remember a few months ago when I told you about suffering through an afternoon with David Liebe Hart, whoring myself out just for a jar of pickles. Well, here's the painful video of one of the longest days of my life.

In the midst of all this week's madness I had to fly out to Southern California for an afternoon with pro skater Johnny Layton for Vans' Adventures with Chris, where I learned about how he made Ed Templeton cry. This was just hours after having the baby.

Then my eldest son started music school. He quickly formed a band with some of his classmates, saw they were untalented little rich kids with pristine Les Pauls, broke up the band, recorded a solo album alone at some cabin in the woods, got addicted to glue, then got a call from his former bandmates for a reunion tour. All in 45 minutes.

I honestly can't tell you the last time I slept.

For more stupid go to Chrisnieratko.com or NJSkateshop.com