Babyfartz

this is a really cool review I found in the Georgia Straight for this neat-o, newly concieved band 'Babyfartz':

Honesty. That is the first thing that comes to mind when you first hear 'Babyfartz' debut album 'brest/fed/def/lep'. Honesty is not a word usually used in reference to a glam or mullet rock record, but in this case, how couldnt it be? These rockers dont know how to be anything but honest, not that they know what that word means, or what any word means for that matter! You see 'BabyFartz' members are all... babies!*

(*except Poison bassist Bobby Dall, who plays lead back-up acoustic tamborine)

Lets start by going thru the lineup, who's combined age, by the way, is a meager 13 months:















P. N. Poop'd is the glammed out lead bassist (his rude attitude (or ruditude (actually, sorry, it is rude attitude, the other one's not actually a real word)) and sweet make-up skills, makes all the ladies wet their nappies)











Taking lead on vocals is G. G. Gummerzz (he's the bad boy who's 'bark' is worse than his 'bite' because his 'teeth' havent come in yet)










'N Utero is their yet to be born, Danish drummer (both parents are from Newark, N.J., but, as ultrasounds have shown, his kit's got double kicks, so he must be a Dane) (p.s. I cant believe they are the first to do this, the womb has such sweet acoustics)

and this fat drunk dude in a diaper on lead guitar (He's fat. He's drunk.Wears a diaper. Plays lead guitar. 'Nuff said!)

So, ok, they got the look, but what do they sound like? Hmmm, perhaps like awesome dressed up in a dirty diaper! (by which I mean: happy gurgling sounds set to muzak versions of your favorite eighties hair ballads!) Right out of the 'box' (pun intended: 'box' is code for the female 'vagina'. Cuz its where babies come from? Get it? Oh, come on people, we all have one.) these 1 to 6 monthers knock it out of the 'park' (pun intended: 'park' is code for the act of automobile related coitus (how most of the members were concieved) and is also the leading cause of fame among those 16 and pregnant (sloots) a la Dr. Drew) with the raunchy 'phhhhhhglllrrrrphhzzzz' which contains all the saucy, none of the vowels. Follow that with 'Pour Some Talcum on Me' and a cover of Dream Theater's 'Forsaken' and you see why 'Rolling Stone' calls these infants the 'The Rolling Stones' on exactly the same amount baby aspirin but less diapers.

In fact, any of the 26 songs on this 5 disc album could be massive hits, (except 'Poops, I Did It Again (I Pooped)' which is just plain vulgar) that is, if: A. This thing actually existed and B. Eighties Baby Metal was still in vogue! I guess these guys were just born in the wrong decade. Still, for me, these crying babies kick all the whiny crybaby top 40 bands out of the childrens pool (not literally, tho, the chlorine burns their eyes). If these kids are the future, the future is loud!

and dont forget the honesty! (why wont anyone think of the honesty!!?)

Diff'rent Strokes

Everyone knows men are from mars and women are from some super crazy planet (I will give 'em that their planet co'ordinates and smells way better than ours) so it goes without saying (though I'm about to) mommies and daddies are different, too!

I think its my duty (plus I'm totes bored) to point out these differences and show how, umm, not wrong, but (lets say) non-correct mommy's habits, policies and core values so are.

1. ok, here's one, when given the chance, for any reason at all, to not be around his child (and i'm talking about going to the store or staying home to catch a nap, and I'm not talking about going on a weekend bender or a quick (extended) trip to mexico) daddy will take that opportunity. He'll ask if his spouse is "sure" but he will not wait for a response before he's out the door. Mommy on the other hand will hum and haw before accepting the offer, then quickly retracting that acceptance, followed by many minutes of tears and holding her child tightly to her bossom, spouting promises of never, ever leaving him/her ever again. non-correct mommy!

2. Mommies read everything. They have all the baby books and sign up online for newsletters, podcasts and forums and talk to all their girlfriends about babies. Daddies will skim as many as two (as few as zero) of the books looking for pictures of boobs and gross tidbits about placenta's and new words for poop. As far as discussion of the impending or landed child, with friends, there is none. Pleasantries may be exchanged, along with stories about poop, but that is all.

3. Daddies take pictures of baby holding a beer. Mommies tell Daddy to put down the beer when she's taking a picture of him holding baby.

4. Mommies are always nurturing and loving towards their precious little bundle of joy. Daddies will take advantage of how unaware a newborn really is. Daddy knows he can call his daughter pizza face when she starts getting baby acne because he knows she's to young to understand words and is unable to develop a complex. When she begins looking like a campbell soup baby, daddy will also wear a t-shirt stating his uninclusiveness of fat chicks and force mommy to take pictures of him holding his darling (not so) lil' girl, while wearing said shirt.

5. Mommies hold baby close and gently rock her/him to sleep. Daddies will a. swing baby around the living room while listening to records. b. hum 'hammer time' and make baby do the hammer dance on the kitchen island. c. realize the kitchen island is kinda dusty and use babies bum as a dust clothe. d. hum 'eye of the tiger' and recreate the famous 'Rocky' montage, using mommies left boob as baby Rocky's punching bag (I was gonna say, as a stand in for one of those slabs of meat, in that freezer room, Rocky uses for a punching bag, but I didnt think mommy would enjoy others getting that mental picture. Yeah, that one, the one you just got. Oops!)
e. let her/him lay there and cry it out, cuz I've fucken tried everything

So, theres a few of the differences that make us all so unique and mommies so silly! Enjoy and please, please dont show this to mommy

Start wearing PURPLE

Our sweet lil' angel Makynlee has now entered the magical period of PURPLE crying! Oh, whats this PURPLE crying pray-tell? Well, PURPLE crying is when an infant (starts as early as week two) cries til he/she turns purple. and does it all day. and there's nothing you can do to soothe her/him (except shaking violently, but that's frowned upon) and goes on for months and months ( I'd like to go off on a slight tangent here for a second: ok, so you can argue naivete or lack of experience or stupidity for concieving a first child, but after going thru the shit (literally) of parenthood, people still have seconds (and thirds) like all the time, and time may prove me a hyprocrite, but... huh? I don't get it). Oh, PURPLE's an acronim:

P- Perfect, yer crying

U- Ugh, yer still crying?

R- Really? yer crying? You? Crying? Really???

P- Please stop crying, ok?

L- Liquor

E- Exactly, baby, Whah! Whah! Whaaaah!! Yer so right! Ha ha ha, but honestly, shut the fuck up

Wow, science!

Daddy Dave can't sleep.... I present you the reason why

Makynlee. Thats it, its no secret or anything. I cant sleep because Maks cant. or because she gets hungry at dumb times during the nite (who needs a snack at 2:27 in the morning? especially after you've jus had one at 12:14am and are gonna have another at 4:42am? Dumb (cute) babies, thats who) I cant put all the blame on young Makynlee, tho, her mom deserves some of it, too. She feeds her, every damn time, no matter the time or whatnot. Who's the parent here? Somebodies gotta set guidelines (mom) and restrictions (mom) and other adult things (mom) or else somebodies sleep is gonna get walked all over (dad). Give a baby a nipple and they'll want the whole boob, is what I always say* (*I have never said this) and tho I don't really know what I mean by that and maybe I should think before I type* (*thinking may result in never typing) still Mommy Marla should really put her foot* down** (*boob) (**away) and be the adult (lord knows I'm not) and let Makynlee know its not fair what she's doing to my sleep.

deliverance

so, like all those readers digest stories of survival, well you know the dude makes it cuz he's written the damn thing, this tale of daring do (done?) is the same. i got a baby in my hands rite now, so no need for nail biting, jus enjoy the journey. by friday march 25th, we(meaning marla) were 10 days overdone, it was time to take out the baby. in this way, i guess baby's are somewat like a turkey. nobody wants a dried out baby, they should be crispy and moisturized. unfortunately the hospital was completely full (thanks for nothing free healthcare) and chicks were bein forced to have their lil' chickadees in the neighboring chain coffee outlet (this could be from another story i mite of heard or wake dreamt due to lack of sleep) so we were told we werent important and to call back tomorrow (ok, i'll tell ya'll rite now that im in a very over dramaticky mood and in actuallity the staff at langley hospital couldnt have bin nicer. also id like to make a shout out to dr.mason and nurse liz and the blonde one, you were all so super) so, later on the next day, we got up at 6:30am and called the hospital at 7:00am and again were told that all the rooms were still being used (infact a couple babies were delivered in assesment rooms the nite before) but that they were evicting some moms later that day and we could come by around noon for the induction procedure. Of course we werent smart enough to nap between then and noon, not knowing what the hell we were gonna be in for. we arrived at noon and headed up to the third floor of langley memorial hospital, did our non-stress test, and got the gel. the first steps of inducement are goddamn boring. the non-stress takes atleast a half hour of baby momma lying on her back, which is followed by the gel (another hour on her back) and then a walk around the hospital for about another hour. The walked sucked because theres nothing really to see and marla made me take stairs. after the bullshittyness of stair climbing, we headed back to the assesment room and were told to hit the road and not to return til 7:15. We had a nice sushi lunch/dinner and then we went home, where marla napped and i tried to enjoy the last few fleeting hours of my freedom. i think i watched Much More Retro and cruised the internets for porn. (dear previous life, you rocked me and i miss you) before I could say " that midget doesnt look legal," it was time to head back to the hospital. During our lil' siesta, marla felt some mild contractions, but we thought they were jus da hicks. Our nurse at the time Jan, set us straight. these things were for realz. Unfortunately, marla's whoo-hoo was not yet at its ready position, so we were told to head home and wait it out a bit longer. Well, in the parking lot marla felt 3 more contractions, so we headed back in and were given our room. this was around 9:00pm and at 9:30pm (whilst i was grabbing our bags) her water busted. things progressed fairly quickly after that, the contractions were getting stronger and closer together, marla started sucking the gas and then fetinol was added later, but no need for an epidural. oh, here a list of comments marla was heard sassily remarking between contractions: - this is gonna be our only effing child - you could never effing do this - dont you effing touch me -is the room spinning? -you effing effing mother effing effing effing -im pretty sure the effing room is spinning there were a few scares along the way, the amniotic fluid had some coloring to it, meaning our baby had made a deuce, but the scary one was how her heart rate was dropping during contractions and taking too much time to return to normal (regular is as low as 120, and her lowest i noted at 67) so the doc thought perhaps the cord was around her neck. for most of the last few hours my eyes were on that number, suffering miniature heart attacks every contractraction. other than freaking out on the inside about heart rates, i was a fucking delivery room viking warrior (i think i may owe charlie sheen royalties for that sentence.oh yeah, whoever had line 53 for my first sheen reference, you are the winner of todays fake grandprize, which im too lazy to come up with. ok, how about a case of 'auntie gramma's swedish meatie-a-ball flavored lotionizer' (cuz auntie gramma knows nobody likes dry, flavorless balls) wow, shouldnt of even tried)i was right in the middle of all the super gross-out action. i fricken held her legs during the pushing portion, thats pretty bad ass. (marla did pretty swell herself) as it turns out, the cord wasnt around babies neck, her cord was jus a bit short (from marla's side of the family) and she came out perfect, crying right away. Makynlee Kimberly was born at 2:02am on march 27, 6lbs 12oz. pretty much im just so proud of marla and all the nurses and doctors that helped us out along our journey to baby, and now we've arrived here, i couldnt be happier or more tired.

Super Noise Time! 2: Super Noise Timier! Part 2: Super Noise Time w/ a Vengeance!

Wow, sorry everyone (Greg), guess its been about 10 days since the last installment of Super Noise Time....

So I left the clinic in search of a bank machine with a deuce still chambered jus within my hoop. Found the bank machine pretty easily (nearby gas station) and was back at the clinic within the allotted "jiff" that I had promised the girl friend. She was still waiting for her turn to be examined, so I took a seat next to her. For the next few minutes I pretended to focus on an article about uterus' (or is it uteri? Utereese?) that I had found in some vagina related publication, but really all I was trying to do was keep a vigilant anus (anoos? Anise?)

Then my beloved's name was called, meaning I would have to some how stand up, thus adjusting the position of my guts, and not poop. Success! I was up and not a particle had escaped! I was elated, which my lover surely interpretted as: Dave is really happy he is about to see a grainy picture of his unborn child (which I was, just not as happy as I was about not releasing my bowels) Then the nurse said this: Oh, the father has to wait, we have a few things we need to look for first, then he can come in. Well, luckily I took grade 9 drama, cuz inside I was jumping up and down, pictures of the washroom key dancing in my brain, but outside I was "acting" like I was disapointed.

So, sitting on the pot, all I could think about was how everything was beginning to work itself out (that is not a pun)(wait, actually, I think it might be). Sure, my darling hadnt publicly peed herself, but here I was enjoying a good movement, soon to see my future kid, hear its heartbeat and find out if there was or was not a penis. And yes, I did soon find myself looking down at a grainy black and white tv screen starring my son/daughter. And yes, I also heard its healthy beating heart (awesome). But, alas, that day would not be the day I saw a penis, or a vagina for that matter. Bastards said they couldnt tell us til week 21, and we were only at week 19. Shitty!

We did get a copy of the ultrasound, which I pulled from its envelope, examined it at the front desk and asked the question: "So which blotch is the penis?" Mark my words, friends, I will not rest until the day I know that answer. Goodnight! (Im pooped)

Super Noise Time! 2: Super Noise Timier!

"So which blotch is the penis?" Its one of those questions that need to be asked, consequences be damned. She stared at the paper picture and answered....

Wait lets stop for a second and jump to the beginning: It was Thursday, October 21, the day of Ultra Sound (or in the parlance of no ones time, Super Noise). The day was going pretty good, half a day off work, with an afternoon of maybe seeing my girlfriend publicly urinate herself (non-preg'd girlfriend has the bladder of a pregnant lady, so yeah, I was pretty sure after a litre and a half of water she had about the same chance as a cheese grater of not peeing out said water and making me giggle with glee)







was gonna go with standard picture of a cheese grater but this seemed funnier at the time, then between the time of trying to and failing at making a joke about cheese grater tp (Betcha Elaine wouldnt want you to "spare a square" of this brand, huh? Wonder if the mess it would make to her "yadda yadda yadda" would be "sponge worthy") I became too lazy to change it





The plan was to leave my work and go pick up my gal at her work and head over to the clinic together. The only problem was: I was hungry. Which was easily solved by me buying a gas station hotdog. Or was it? Yes. I ate my hotdog in the parking lot of my gf's work, while I waited the five or so more minutes til she got off, hoping she had been able to hold her pee inside her self or if not, that one of her coworkers had at least caught the incident on their cell phone, like I had politely bbm'd them to. Thats when it dawned on me: This delicious tube shaped meat bi product I was stuffing into my salivating mouth, was more than likely gonna make me poop my own pants!









imagine this picture, happening inside my pants

It was the only conclusion I could possibly jump to. After gleefully counting down the days til the ultrasound (with the help of the spiderman advent calender from last year i found behind my bed. I jus counted up to 21 instead of the classic 25 and replaced the chocolate with mini shots of apple juice, to represent the pee) I knew my fate was sealed (also it felt like the hotdog had found a back road, maybe thru my spleen or my appendix, that bypassed my stomach and was resting ever so delicately, right on my sphincter). As the mother of my unborn child jumped into the truck, I played it cool, never letting on that at any moment my bowels could release, knowing in my heart, it was all her fault.

Arriving at the clinic, I made a quick surveylance of the land as my child bearer talked to the nurse behind the counter. And there it was, like a lake in the middle of a desert, a desert with no where to go #2 (if you wanna know what its like to wipe with a cactus jus refer to pic #1) and now I had a lake of my own to poop in. I found the washroom! But alas there was an alligator guarding the lake or phirana's maybe (I dont think i like this metaphor) the bathroom was locked! Ha-ha, but thats no problem, I'll jus grab the key, its over here, by my gal, who, umm, is about to say something, "it costs 12 bucks for a picture, you got cash?" Ummm, nope! I guess I'll run to a bank then, dear. Whats that? Dont be too long, we should be next?!! No prob, hun, I wont take but a jiff!

I knew she wanted me to mess myself! What kind of person would take joy in anothers.... oh!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(this concludes Part 1 of Part 2 of Super Noise Time! See y'all next when we finally find out who really shot JR (dont ruin it for me, I taped it a while back and jus havent gotten around to watching it, then when i was about to, i realised i didnt have a vcr anymore and then some friends came over and.....)