#boppity boo heres content for you

[vampyrsfang]

◟    (   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐎   )    :    i just stay in my room too long, but i finally got a girlfriend and she’s the bomb    ┈┈    NUMBERS , TEMPOREX

ʚ ї ɞ  ⠀ ┈┈  ⠀ PAIRING . wednesday addams x reader

ʚ ї ɞ  ⠀ ┈┈  ⠀ SYNOPSIS . just a lil fluffy drabble about baking brownies with wednesday.

ʚ ї ɞ  ⠀ ┈┈  ⠀ WARNINGS . n/a

“so you think i can’t handle baking a batch of brownies on my own?” wednesday doesn’t respond for a moment, instead glancing at you as you give her a small pout.

“i just figured my expertise may make the outcome more gratifying,” she deadpans. you turn to look at your bowl of brownie mix, observing the heart shaped chocolate chips mixed in.

“with all your witchy woo, huh?” you giggle, and wednesday feels a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. shrugging, she uses her finger to scoop up some of the mix from the bowl.

“you have quite the assortment of titles for my powers, and yet you never refer to them as such.” she slips the batter past her lips slowly after her statement, before nodding her head in approval. “and besides, what does my ‘witchy woo’ have to do with making brownies?”

you stop leaning on the counter, instead wrapping your arms around your lover’s waist. “nothin’. i just think that they’re pretty cool.” you smile. “bippity boppity boo.” a quick kiss is pressed to her nose, and she crinkles it in response.

“you are very strange.”

“and you love it.” you whisper against her lips, before leaning in and kissing her. it’s nothing more than a chaste peck, but it has wednesday’s face going red nonetheless.

she presses her hands to her cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. “what is wrong with me?” she queries. “my cheeks are all warm and my heart is racing. i’m always like this with you, it’s as though you’ve cast some sort of spell on me.”

you giggle quietly, booping her nose. “yes, i have. i like to call it ‘the spell of love’. pretty nice ring to it, eh?” wednesday only grumbles in response, but allows you to pull her in for stiff hug, arms at her side. “you’re not the only charmer around here wednesday.”

“clearly not,” she huffs. “now, if you could kindly unhand me. at this point we’ll never get the brownies into the oven. which also means we won’t be able to eat them.”

you sigh in content, squeezing her tight. “i’ll let you go when you say the magic word.” wednesday stiffens.

“please?”

“no.”

she sighs. “fine. i love you very much. now please unhand me.”

“i love you too.”

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[babylulururu]

So I found a video of some known Tears of Themis JP VAs singing some songs for other projects. It's a common thing for seiyuus to do.

I decided since I know nothing about the JP dub of Tears of Themis I would give a vibe of some songs they have sung with a video I found here because it's late and I should be writing fanfic, but it's Tears of Themis's anniversary today (depending on the server and timezone) so I should do something for it.

Artem

I'm gonna be honest here, out of all the JP VAs of the main cast, I know his the least simply cause I don't really consume a lot of content with him in it. I know I'm doing my boy dirty, but he's just appeared as like a side character in Re Zero and this blue-haired dude in SAO and that was about it.

So when I find him singing basically happy pop idoly songs when I'm used to his CN VA singing softer stuff, my mind just kind of broke. Just imagined Artem on stage singing his little fucking heart out and possibly being forced to wear a pink frilly ass outfit to go along with it.

Wasn't really expecting that at all to be honest.

THEN I FIND OUT HE'S A DISNEY PRINCE HELLO???

He sang in Tangled. Now I'm obligated to draw Tangled ArtemRosa AU. I will make it happen. Of course this man would be a fucking disney prince. Because he can.

So overall vibes: disney princess and he can be an idol. best of both fucking worlds.

Luke

So I know his JP VA more than Artem's. By that I mean he did Pheniox Wright, was in the worst season of Pokemon, voiced a side character in Your Lie in April, and of course, even though I haven't watched it I must give him credit for Eren Yeagar.

Then I find out he did a song for Honeyworks so technically, he's touched the same universe as Fansa now and officially covered a GUMI song. Fun. His songs are more on the pop rock side, which is pretty cool. He still continues to fit the Rosa Miku phase headcanon I have.

Oh and I'm not 100% if it's a part of Disney Koe no ojisama but he did do a cover of Part of Your World. Pretty sick. LukeRosa shippers have fun with that.

Overall, kinda what I expected. Sunshine boy sings sunshine songs. Marius

First of all, before we begin I just want to let you know that he did sing Mickey Mouse March with a bunch of other VAs (including Diluc's and Zhongli's, off the top of my head), so that's a thing. Thank you Disney Koe no ojisama!

So given my background knowledge of his role as an absolute jerk in So I'm a Spider and the insanity known as Dimitri Fire Emblem, outside of...Mickey Mouse March, I was kinda curious about what other stuff he did.

Dude sounds like he just does anisong. Like all these songs outside of the one from the fucking Junglebook sound like anime openings. Are they? I don't know off the top of my head but this dude could make a living as an anisinger. Marius von Hagen, CEO of Pax and also sang the opening to My Hero Academia because he can.

That's my vibe and I'm unapologetic about it.

Vyn

Hi Vyn you're Joker Persona 5 and that's all it took to get my friend into the Tears of Themis rabbit hole.

Yeah, he kinda sang what I expected. Slower songs. Until we got to fucking Bibbity Boppity Boo and I know that shit is from the fucking Disney Koe no ojisama and I will mentally scar you with the image of Vyn singing this song with the most circus-like music because I can.

Overall traditional ikemen outside of bibbity boppity boo shit. You're very welcome my friends. But wait, there's more!

Kiki

My girl Kiki shares her voice actress with Rinko from Bandori. Or she did. She doesn't anymore, but I knew her voice from somewhere. I'm sorry she just sings Ringing Bloom better. Don't @ me.

But yeah rock girl vibes. Plays the keyboard. 10/10. Vibes I get from Kiki. Thank you Roselia.

Darius

Basically anisong as well. He can do rock and slow stuff, basically anisong.

Darius will be singing the opening of some fucking shojou anime. Those are my vibes.

OKAY SORRY FOR MAKING YOU READ THIS! I will take my leave now.

[theevangelion]

Soulmates: Chapter XV

(Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14)

She had stayed at the park some long time past ten, just standing there, thinking and not thinking, until a ranger had appeared, uniform and khakis, somewhat concerned.

As it turned out, Southview Hill Park was a suicide hot spot.

Cat had laughed when he said that. She laughed, so hard, so violently, that it took her right back to her early twenties. The park ranger clearly thought this was strange, but satisfied she wasn’t a risk to herself, he let her on her way back down the path towards the turn that would lead to a footbridge, then a stroll to the gates that went back out towards city streets.

For all the things Cat knew in this world, this fact was fond and sacred and morbid in the second-most charming way possible, learned at the precise moment she needed to learn it, perhaps if only because the universe felt some semblance of debt it needed to square away.

She now knew why it was Southview Hill Park was the second most-charming view in the city.

And, sooner rather than later, she would take it to the grave, but there was no need to dwell or hurry things along—she had spent nearly fifty years living slow, idle, in her own distinctly Cat Grant way.

Why change now?

She took a car to her townhouse in the west district. The late-night visitor huddled near her doorstep was half expected, but Cat felt no fondness or romanticism for the display. She got out of the car, rolling her eyes, shoving her purse in Kara’s arms so she could open the front door.

“One hour.” Cat hummed. “You can ask whatever questions you want, but then you need to figure out a way home, and never ask me prying questions again, because that is still very much my area of expertise that I spent thirty years building a conglomerate upon...”

“When were you going to tell me?” Kara’s voice broke her heart.

“Never.” Cat remained firm. “Next question—”

“You don’t get to do that!”

“Why?” Cat snatched and turned around, rearing up close beneath the little girl’s nose. “Why do you feel so entitled to my life? For what reason, exactly? Because bippity-boppity boo—a tattoo showed up on your ass cheek one day?” She balked.

Kara’s chin wobbled and her tears refused to fall. “When did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Cat told the truth. “I didn’t until I did. I burned my birthmark off a long time ago, kiddo, you would be surprised how quickly you forget things with some determination and years behind you.”

“So I am…” Kara nodded and fiddled with her hands. “And you are…”

“Kara. Can I level with you a second?”

“Jesus, I would love it if you did.” There was a loathing, hateful fire in her gentle blue eyes.

It made Cat feel a little warm inside.

Almost resistant to the mere idea, Cat forced it away, told it to go fuck itself, shovelled and buried it dead until a certain sense of wherewithal found her again.

“You are so bright, so hungry for life and in love with the world, so let me ask you this and please—enough with the romantic bullshit—just think about your answer.” Cat swallowed hard. “How many happily ever afters do you really know? How many have you really seen with your own two eyes, enough to trust the biggest decision of your life to something as cruel and arbitrary as the universe?”

“Everyone, Cat. Literally, you fucking narcissist, everybody on the fucking planet except you and Lena Luthor get a happily-ever-after.” Kara grew red faced, shaking, too angry to contain any of it. “Here I am, caught in the shittiest love triangle in the history of the world, the literal worst fucking romance story in the duration of forever!” Kara pointed accusingly. “I was happy! I met Lena, and you knew, Cat, you knew what was happening and you let me fall in love with her anyway—”

“Your parents.” Cat felt her eyebrows knit with accusation. “What’s their marriage like?”

“Like…” Kara twisted and thought about it. “Like a marriage? They're quiet, content, happy.”

“Your grandparents?”

“The same.”

“And that's what you want?” Cat scoffed. “The same old safe bet? You don't want to be twenty, and thirty, and forty, falling in love in different ways every day, hating in little unimportant new ways every day?” Cat narrowed in disbelief. “It's cowardly. Beyond that, I am Catherine Grant, and I am nobody's safe bet.”

Kara stood there like a fool. Largely because she was a fool, and Cat never forgot it, but in some moments it felt more distinct and poignant than others. The youth. The age difference. The levels of life experience so vastly different between them that they were playing entirely different games.

It wasn't Kara's fault, Cat understood that, but it did nothing to alleviate her disappointment.

She didn't love Kara.

But for all of her mercurial ways, Cat wanted so much better for her.

“Soulmates aren't safe bets.” Kara's lips trembled in a different way, something other than anger stuck in her throat this time. “Love isn't...quiet or content! It is hopeless, peaceful, madly in love, blissful! It's not cowardly. You, Cat. You are the coward!”

“Alright.” Cat laughed at that. “Your friends? Do they seem… hopelessly, head over heels, madly in love, blissful in their little fairy-tale lives?”

“I don’t get what you’re trying to say…” Kara knew exactly what was being said.

“I’m saying that it’s bullshit, Kara!” Cat emphasised with boisterous, exploding laughter. It was disbelief, not humour, because it felt as though for all of her life she had been the only person in on this absurd joke. “It’s your Instagram page. It’s make-believe. It’s shiny, pretty little exaggerations because everybody is so fucking consumed with this idea of instantaneous and perfect love that when it dawns on them how empty and lacking it all feels…well!” Cat scoffed. “They must feel like they’re the only people in the world who feel such a thing—who have ever felt such a thing—because everybody else is so happy, shiny, and too terribly frightened to admit it either.”

“So, the entire world is fake other than you?” Kara stuck her hands on her hips. “Love isn’t real. It’s all a lie. You don't have a Kara-shaped birthmark somewhere on your body, and this is...what exactly?”

Kara turned and slightly adjusted the waist of her jeans.

There it was on her hip.

Funny.

Cat forgot, for just the briefest moment, what it was they were fighting about.

“Do you believe in free will?” Cat fixed her most formidable, mercurial, serious of stares and stepped forward to the optimist.

Kara scoffed.

“What does that have to do—”

“Do you, or don't you?”

“Sure. Yes, of course I believe in free will. I'm not...” Kara glanced around. “I'm here on my own conviction not because I think the universe is trying to spite you!”

Hesitant, Cat remembered herself, but she nodded at Kara's assessment of things.

“Do you think the woman you are is the same woman you would be if your life had been different, Kara?” Cat reasoned. “Your whole thing is your shitty little boring rural life back home, right? How it made you—defines you in these big crucial ways you need to process your life through and compare back to—do you think you would be the person you are today if you had different influences, or if you had made different choices?” Cat suggested with a slight cock of her head. “I made a decision thirty years ago that cannot be undone, Kara, because it led me to a lifetime of decisions that I wouldn't have gotten the chance to make had I prioritised something as stupid as a soulmate. Whoever that woman is on your hip...” Cat shook her head in repulsion where none was felt. “She isn't me, kiddo, not this version of me.”

“I think you’re right, Cat, because you are being a giant cunt, and I hate saying that to you, firstly because you are sick, and secondly because you are my soul—”

“If you say that word you’re going to find out the hard way why Anne Wintour tripled her security from late 2014 onwards.” Cat folded her arms. “I’m not sick, Kara, I’m just not yours. Thirty years ago? Maybe. I see that, sure, but I’m not some googly-eyed twenty something doing my first lap around the block.” Cat felt her eyes sting and she wished, prayed, hoped to god they would not reveal her.

“It’s not too late,” Kara whispered with reticence.

She was saying it because she was young, stupid, and life had taught her that it was her line in the script. Cat just shook her head, frustrated, ignoring the thump-thumping of her chest and the strange grief that came with a natural love she felt no desire or claim to.

“Kara, I’m sorry, I was nineteen and I made a choice. It was you or it was me, and I chose me.” Cat unbuttoned the bottom of her blouse and pulled it up to her ribs, tilting to the side, so Kara could see where it had one been. “I chose me, Kara, because it’s my life too.”

There was a puckered, silvered little scar that looked like an old burn. It was where Kara’s name had, indeed, once been—some long time before she had even been born.

The scar had healed, and over it, a new name had been tattooed.

Catherine.

“You deserve to be alone,” Kara cried, heartbroken, furious and without words for the things she was feeling.

“I know, kid.” Cat pushed a small smile. “But you? That does not have to be your choice for your life.”

“Good. That's good, because Lena Luthor is twice the woman you could ever dream of being even if you had batted a thousand instead of wasting your life justifying the nasty, callous way you treat people!” Kara seemed as though she was convincing herself more than anyone else.

It was a good thing, in Cat’s books, meant this whole ordeal would be just a little easier on the crybaby when it got to where it was all going.

Kara wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, adjusted her glasses and seemed to itch for a great escape through the front door she was stepping backwards for.

“Oh no, you're going.” Cat deadpanned, expressionless behind the eyes as she extended her palm. “But wait, I was just about to recite sonnets—”

“Fuck you, Cat. I’m going to Lena’s place, to a woman who loves me, and thinks I have inherent value and worth! You want to die alone, lonely, and without love? You go right ahead but don’t think you’re dismantling my self-esteem on your way into the grave!”

“Well fuck.” Cat reached for the bourbon decanter on the table, rolling her eyes, fond despite the temper steaming out her ears. “You know for what it’s worth I think you and I really might have loved each other to death. Sorry you were thirty years late to the party, kiddo.”

[thebibliomancer]

100 Days of Comics! 084/100: Batman #237 (1971)

Today’s pull from the box of ever decreasing mystery is a Batman! From 1971!

This particular physical copy of the book is missing its cover. But I can’t be too upset. Its older than I am. I’m holding paper that is older than me. Also its a big beefy book with not only 25 pages of comic but a reprint from Detective Comics #37 from 1940. Content!

Also, this specific issue is a special Rutland Halloween story. I’ve covered Rutland, Vermont’s Halloween celebrations a couple times from the Marvel end so its neat to see how the other half lives.

We start with a dead Batman, staked to a tree. Is this Red Rain?

But on the next page, Dick Grayson and his college chums are taking in the Rutlan Halloween Parade, with one becoming increasingly fascinated by the parade floats. Granted, he’s been up three days cramming for an art exam.

Also, you may remember that on Marvel’s side of things, they use thinly veiled expies the Squadron Supreme to stand in for the DC characters that people will be dressed as at the parade.

DC just up and puts Marvel characters in the parade. There’s an off-brand Captain America, a Quicksilver mostly hid behind a float, and just Havok.

Dick and pals are headed to Tom Fagan’s Halloween party when they see some thugs beating up a fellow dressed as Robin. Dick and co intervene and Dick almost managed to beat up the thugs without coming off too Robinish but the float obsessed art major gets in his way to demand if he saw those outasight floats.

Still, the thugs are chased off. Costume party Robin says the thugs seemed convinced that he was the real Robin. But something seems fishy so on the pretext of hunting down the float maniac, Dick splits off from his friends to go investigate as TEEN/YOUNG ADULT WONDER, ROBIN.

And that’s when he finds dead Batman. Or rather, dead someone in a Batman Halloween costume.

And then the Grim Reaper bursts out of the darkness and menaces Robin with a scythe. This is less whimsical than Marvel’s Rutland stories tend to be.

While dodging, Robin trips over a rock and falls off a cliff, knocks himself unconscious, and starts drowning in a very shallow stream.

And the float maniac wanders by blissfully unaware, trying to find someone who will talk floats with him. 

Luckily the real Batman is really in the area for reals and happens to spot the hapless college-aged boy wonder. He takes Robin to the mansion of Tom Fagan to be ministered by Doctor Gruener.

Gruener is in fact the reason Batman is in town. He was once an inmate of a concentration camp run by Nazi Colonel Kurt Schloss, aka the Butcher. Obviously a real bad dude who did a lot of torture and killing.

Gruener happened to spot Schloss while shopping for a gift for his daughter. The store clerk told Gruener that Schloss had retned a pirate costume to be delivered to Rutland, Vermont. Schloss apparently really loves masquerade parties.

Obviously, Gruner alerted the authorities. Hence why Batman is here.

As for the thugs beating up Robins and murdering Batmen. Well, some of Schloss’ ex-underlings are hunting him for the Nazi gold he stole. They must be trying to take care of Batman and Robin before they can interfere.

But since Robin is too injured, now it is Batman time.

He heads downstairs and runs into Tom Fagan who praises his Batman costume and the muscles that go with it. A nonplussed Batman just stammers that he exercises a lot.

And at the party we see Havok again, claw-hammer collander-helmet variant Thor and someone just dressed as Spider-Man but calling himself Webslinger Lad.

Someone once told me that the Squadron Supreme seemed a really disrespectful way to spoof DC but at least Marvel tried to put some layers between spoof and thing being spoofed.

Outside, float obsessed art student tries asking the Grim Reaper if he digs floats and then realizes its the Grim Reaper and runs screaming for help.

Float Guy runs into Batman who examines the body the Grim Reaper left and tells Float Boy to hide somewhere but not to breath word of the murders. If a panic gets out, they’ll lose their chance of nabbing Schloss. And if you can’t bring in Nazis to face justice for their crimes then civilization is a farce. And that’s from Batman.

Batman notices that the light in the tower of Fagan’s mansion is blinking in morse code and realizes it must be the thugs. He runs upstairs, missing a man in a pirate suit hidden in a cupboard and beats up some thugs.

The thug spills the beans with Batman implicitly threatens to drop him off the roof. They observed Schloss arrive in a yellow car so they rigged it up to explode.

And before Batman can warn Schloss the car explodes.

So three people have died, including an innocent man whose only mistake was dressing up as Batman. But the case still isn’t closed. The Reaper is still out there and responsible for killing the man in the woods.

And Batman knows who it is and goes to the site where the fake Batman was killed.

Oh, hi Thor, Spider-Man, and Havok again.

Batman confronts the Reaper. The men chasing Schloss had no reason to know Batman was around, not unless someone told them. And Doctor Gruener told them after having a change of heart and deciding to take personal vengeance on Schloss.

Gruener lost his parents and sisters in the concentration camp and watched Schloss laugh as they died. He still awakes from sleep screaming even after all these years.

Batman says he has no right to judge but neither does Gruener. And there’s not enough water in that stream to wash the blood from the hands of anyone who takes a life! Better way! Etc!

Gruener swings his scythe around, smacks Batman in the chin and then runs off. A part of Batman wants to let Gruener go, seeing some of himself in him. BUT NO HIS WAY IS WRONG!

Meanwhile, Float Guy is on top of the dam telling his college chums about meeting Batman and the Reaper and he’s at least stopped talking about Floats. Also his name is apparently Alan. Which I’d probably know if I read issues before this about Robin’s college adventures.

Then Gruenereaper comes charging along and demands that Alan get out of his way. In frustration over Alan not moving fast enough, he goes to swing the scythe at him but notices a star of david necklace that Alan was wearing.

And ashamed of what he has become, Gruener involuntarily takes a step back. Right off the damn. Where he falls and dies. He’s dead. That’s how this issue ends. Gruener dead lying on the dry side of the dam, star of david necklace conspicuously wrapped around one of the handles of his scythe so its framed obviously in the panel.

Apparently this issue was inspired by two things. A real life spooky occurrence at Tom Fagan’s real life spooky Halloween party when Berni Wrightson tried to scare the other DC staffers when they were exploring the forest by positing that someone in an orange wig from the party was hunting them through the forest because he hated comics artists and writers. And then they heard rustlings in the underbrush...

The other half of it was Denny O’Neil’s friend Harlan Ellison suggesting he do a story about Nazi war criminals. Put ‘em together and what have you got? Bippity boppity boo.

I don’t want to go longer by covering the reprint. I’ll just say that Batman investigates a conspiracy to create an international incident that he coincidentally overhears when he gets lost and stops for directions at a spooky house. World’s Greatest Detective.

He also kills a man, indirectly. The guy threw his sword, Batman blocked it with a door, and later punches the dude so he stumbles into the sticking out blade part and dies. And Batman basically says ‘good, I’m glad he’s dead.’

But this reprint was from Detective Comics #37. And in Detective Comics #38, Robin was introduced. Batman probably stops murdering so much when he has an impressionable child around.

[lizardsoo]

“There is no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.”

-William Shakespeare (Macbeth Act I, Scene IV)

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: Romance, Drama, Comedy

Mario checked his e-mail as he does at 7am every day. He gasped, “Mamma mia!”

The night before, Voldemort had approached Peach’s cottage in the woods and pretended to be a beggar with tasty apples. Little did Peach know, they were poisoned. Poor, unsuspecting Peach took a bite and fell where she stood. Voldemort then went on to kidnap Peach and exclaimed in victory, “Get rekt!” He sent an e-mail to Mario, his enemy, and said mean words about his plumbing business before informing him of Peach’s dilemma.

Mario got in his bat-mobile 2.0 and took the scenic route to Voldemort’s house in haste. He arrived at Voldemort’s crib around 12:30 because he also stopped at macca’s.

Voldemort opened the doors to his mansion slowly, large and heavy they were. Once fully opened, he stared at Mario expectant and awkwardly. Mario stared back.

“Aren’t you going to fight me?” Mario asked, standing in Voldemort’s big driveway. It was perfect for an arena.

Voldemort changed weight on his feet, “Well, you know how my complexion is. The UV index is meant to reach high around now and I don’t think you’d want to wait for me to put on sunscreen. Could you just come inside?”

Mario nodded in understanding, “Yeah, alright. That’s okay with me, too.” He strolled up to the front door and exchanged a manly greeting with Voldemort. A hug.

Voldemort spoke first, “So, do you want a tour?”

“That would be nice actually,” Mario replied.

So they went on a tour of the house. It was a nice house, thought Mario and he began to admire Voldemort.

“Wow,” He said. “How did you afford this?”

Voldemort shrugged, “I used to be Britney Spears’ assistant and now I have my own reality TV show.”

Voldemort complimented Mario, “I like your nose.”

Mario smiled, “Thanks. I would say nice nose to you, too, but you don’t have one.”

Voldemort stopped walking. He stared down at Mario, “I’m kind of offended now. Let’s fight. I’m ready to fight you.”

Mario agreed, “Same. Let’s fight.”

Voldemort took out his wand. “You’re a knob.”

Mario charged his fireball, “You’re a peasant.”

Voldemort faked to the left and Mario circled to the right. The energy coming from either person created electricity and tension in the air. Their attacks were sure to be powerful.

“Watch out you scrub, might get hurt,” Voldemort taunted.

Mario fixed up his moustache, “As if I’d lose to a noob like you.”

Voldemort waved his wand around, “I’ll bippity boppity boo your moustache away if you don’t take me seriously. I’ll take your girl, too.”

Mario was shocked, “Woah, nobody talks about my girl like that. And she’s my girl for a reason. Get your own, Shrek.”

“I’m not Shrek,” Voldemort spat.

“You’re right, you’re not Shrek. Shrek has a big nose, but you have zero nose.”

Voldemort began raging and reciting a spell. It would be too easy for Voldemort to finish Mario. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done it sooner.

But Mario threw his pre-charged fireball and it sent Voldemort flying. He hit the wall with a strong force that could only come from a plumber protecting his girl. Voldemort could’ve cried it was so beautiful, even if he were the one getting rekt.

Voldemort knew he could still K.O. Mario. All he had to do was quickly whisper the last words of his spell. But he couldn’t do it for the same reason he couldn’t finish Mario earlier. He didn’t want to. Voldemort liked peace and good guys winning, not the villains. Despite being a villain himself, he didn’t want to be a villain. He would rather snuggle up with his dog and drink hot chocolate while watching the latest barbie movie.

Voldemort looked up at Mario. His fireball was already recharged. Voldemort accepted his fate. He was done. It was time. His eyes closed.

Princess Peach burst through the largest doors in the room for dramatic affect. She cried out, “Mario!” Running to his side, Peach threw her arms out to embrace her favourite plumber and husband.

Mario was surprised and relieved. Peach was here, she was okay. But how was she here. Mario hadn’t saved his girl, yet. He wiped Peach’s crystal blue tears from her tender cheeks. Mario nearly cried, too. She didn’t look a day over six years old.

“How are you here, Peach? Weren’t you kidnapped?” Mario questioned her.

Peach froze in Mario’s arms. She hadn’t planned her perfect excuse because she had been so overwhelmed by the perfect timing of crashing through the doors. Her perfect plan had worked perfectly until now, but Peach had never made such a mistake.

That’s right. This was all Peach’s plan.

Peach missed Mario day in and day out, but Mario was always so busy with his plumbing business. He didn’t have time for Peach or their two kids, Toad and Daisy. Peach missed the man she loved and simply couldn’t stand being alone. She also felt distant from Mario. So very, very distant did Peach feel that her poor little heart ached. She had become unsure if Mario truly still loved her. And so her plan came to be. If Mario loved her, he would come save her.

Peach stared up into Mario’s eyes and she could see the love and adoration streaming from them. “You saved me,” She said. “You saved me, Mario!”

Peach buried her face into Mario’s chest, all her worries taken care of, and Mario stroked her head.

Voldemort coughed, “Can you guys please help me? Like, I don’t want to interrupt your moment, but I need help getting out of this wall. I already healed my bones so don’t worry. Just help me.”

Mario, Peach and Voldemort laughed.

After that day, Mario continued dedicating himself to his plumbing and all the other stuff he thinks he is good at. He even began making time for Peach and the kids to go out once a week and they eat dinner together every day.

Peach decided it was time to live her age, not the age she wanted to be. The many dollars she spent on makeup and anti-aging cream now went into charities for kids who cannot afford school fees, excursions, uniform and even lunch. She also decided it was time to be real. No more dramatic entries or exits, forget the fake tears, Peach was Peach and no one else.

And Voldemort. Dear, kind and selfless Voldemort. He stopped being the bad guy. He had enough of being someone he wasn’t. Helping Peach by “kidnapping” her and reuniting Mario and her felt good. Voldemort decided to stop hanging around his mean friends and get some new ones. These days he really does watch Barbie movies while snuggling his dog and although it’s a little bit weird, Voldemort is happy. He is considering nose surgery also, but is quite content with his current situation and doesn’t think he needs it. Voldemort is beginning to accept himself and others.

The other day he made his first friend. They fought and Voldemort said some mean things, but he’s really cool and owns this plumbing business. Voldemort admires his nose and moustache and he admires Voldemort’s nose and moustache, even though he doesn’t have one

Im sorry I pranked you again maria @yeol-stole-my-soul

I haven’t even touched my real writing for weeks LOL

[yes-dal456]

53 Tweets That Sum Up Life With 3-Year-Olds

Three-year-olds are a pretty notorious subset of the kid population.

Between the mood swings, penchant for chaos and destruction, and general toddler angst, it’s clear they don’t call ‘em “threenagers” for nothing. For parents in the throes of this infamous stage, laughter may be the best therapy. And thanks to Twitter, parents can share the comedy with each other. 

Here are 53 hilarious tweets that sum up life with 3-year-olds.

I was just enviously admiring the energy and flexibility of a 3yo and then he kneed himself in the face.

— Charlie N Andy (@HowToBeADad) April 27, 2016

My 3yo found my Chapstick and now I live in a wax museum.

— Toni Hammer (@realtonihammer) June 21, 2016

3-year-old: Can we have a birthday cake? Me: It's not your birthday. 3: The cake won't know.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) April 25, 2016

Spending the majority of the day deciding whether or not I have to pee is one of the things my 3 year old and I have in common.

— Kristen Bell (@IMKristenBell) May 22, 2016

My 3 year old told the doctor that she liked eating her vegetables. And the academy award goes to....

— MommieKnowsfresh (@MommieKnwsFresh) March 31, 2016

I'm at my most hostage negotiator when I see my 3 year old holding a permanent marker without the lid.

— Simon Holland (@simoncholland) September 21, 2014

"Dad, why isn't there chocolate meatloaf?" - my brilliant 3 year old son Patrick

— Jim Gaffigan (@JimGaffigan) July 17, 2016

Pretty exhausting day. My 3 year old was firing questions at me faster than I could Google the answers to them.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) March 13, 2014

My 3yo when I tell him it's time to take a shower. http://pic.twitter.com/HzEhGth7j9

— keith (@tchrquotes) August 15, 2016

Just overheard my 3yo son with iPad in his room ask Siri, "Why do boys have to wear underwear?"

— Abe Yospe (@Cheeseboy22) May 30, 2016

Made my 3yo a cheese sandwich which he refused because "the cheesy part is yucky." His lunch request? A cheese stick.  *Pours wine*

— MaryWiddicks (@MaryWiddicks) August 25, 2016

A quick way to get a 3yo to tell you where they hid their popsicle is to put them on the monkey bars & threaten to leave if they don't talk.

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) November 15, 2016

[youth sports sign-ups] Me: Do you want to play tee-ball or soccer? 3-year-old: The one where I get to kick people. She’ll be a natural.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) April 24, 2016

Running through Target. I tell kids repeatedly :don't touch anything! Mins later, 3 year old at top of lungs: "I'M TOUCHING MYSELF!" Nice.

— Holly (@normancallme) January 13, 2013

Fact: A 3 year old can hear a candy wrapper being opened from up to 300 miles away.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) March 8, 2014

Is it wrong to laugh when your 3yo is stuck in her clothes while trying to dress herself?

— Sara Says Stop (@PetrickSara) July 15, 2015

Sometimes when my 3yo hugs me out of nowhere it's amazing and it makes it all worth it. Sometimes he's just wiping his snot on my shirt.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) September 5, 2014

You wanna know how my evening is going? My 3-year-old just kissed my head and threw a tantrum because I don't taste like chocolate.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) July 28, 2016

My 3 year old got himself stuck in an infant bouncy seat and my first reaction was - well, I guess this is our afternoon activity.

— mama bird diaries (@mamabirddiaries) August 1, 2016

If you want to know what an apple slice on the floor under this McDonalds table tastes like, ask my 3 year-old son.

— Abe Yospe (@Cheeseboy22) April 25, 2015

Anyone want a 3-year-old? He doesn't listen much but he can fart on demand. #momlife

— Jennifer Borget (@JenniferBorget) December 27, 2016

"Sorry we're late but my 3 year old wanted to put on their own shoes today." - Valid Excuse #64 that parents can use on a daily basis

— Beau Coffron (@lunchboxdad) November 23, 2016

911: What's your emergency? 3yo: There's a stem on my apple.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) February 22, 2015

I'm the parent of the day at my 3-year-old's preschool, where affection can be won with a bag of Pirate Booty.

— Jennifer Weiner (@jenniferweiner) January 5, 2011

Aunt: "I think your beard looks handsome." 3yo (walking by): "I don't." Oh.

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) June 22, 2015

People who describe themselves as "laid back" have never been stuck in an elevator with a 3yo who's determined to hit the alarm button.

— Paige Kellerman (@PaigeKellerman) November 6, 2015

When Bea was 3: 3yo: I love u the mostest. Me: I love u my tiniest baby. 3yo: I love u my oldest Mommy. My fossil Mom. You are a fossil.

— kelly oxford (@kellyoxford) October 24, 2016

"Wow, Dad, you had two beers and then ANOTHER ONE?!" - My 3yo, auditioning for a new family.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) August 2, 2014

My 3-year-old hugged me out of the blue and said, "I love you, Dad." If you need me, I'll be searching the house for whatever she broke.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) May 2, 2016

Me: What are you painting? 3yo: A rainbow. Me: No, I mean LOOK at what you’re painting! 3yo: The couch? I'm making it pretty!

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) December 14, 2016

Was enjoying listening to my 3yo sing Christmas carols in the bathroom until he yelled, “Mom! Come wipe my butt!”

— Heather Spohr (@mamaspohr) December 6, 2016

Me: "Who should I vote for?" 3yo: "Candy because I like candy." .... and just like that, democracy is explained.

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) November 4, 2014

In case you're wondering how my 3yo's education is going. He just listed the days as: Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri, Saturday, and Christmas.

— MaryWiddicks (@MaryWiddicks) August 28, 2016

My 3yo refers to every single thing that happens as "crazy!" so he's gonna be REALLY ANNOYING the first few times he gets high.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) August 22, 2014

Sorry I can't join u for a spa pedicure. I just had one yesterday. *cut to my 3yo spraying my foot w/a squirt gun filled with toilet water*

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) May 26, 2015

That moment when your 3yo touches the inside of a public urinal and you consider cutting her hand off with a plastic knife in your backpack.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) October 1, 2016

3yo thinks cuddling in the morning requires wrapping her whole body around my head and coughing in my face. It's SUPER relaxing.

— MyMomologue (@MyMomologue) December 15, 2016

Me: "How was your day today?" 3yo: "I had a BAD DAY." Me: "Oh no! It seemed like a great day, why was it bad?" 3yo: "I DIDN'T HAVE ANY PIE."

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) June 26, 2015

Just yelled at my 3yo to go to bed and now I can hear her in the dark playing the harmonica.

— Jeff Wild (@jiffywild) October 8, 2016

I don’t think anyone can remember being 3yrs old. Case in point: My 3yo can't even remember I told him one sec ago to "Get down from there!"

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) August 20, 2015

3yo screams from bathroom: "Mama I have poop on my butt and come look at it in the toilet". <--- this is the sound of #motherhood #momlife

— Mama instincts (@MamaInstincts) January 3, 2017

My 3-year-old just showed me a boo boo on his rear and insisted I kiss it. #momlife

— Jennifer Borget (@JenniferBorget) June 24, 2016

"My kids have no control over me," I say as I pick out only the T-Rex-shaped chicken nuggets for my 3yo's dinner.

— Toni Hammer (@realtonihammer) October 27, 2016

[reading] Me: The big bad wolf couldn't get in. The house was made of brick 3-year-old: Couldn't he break a window? I'm raising a burglar

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) May 5, 2016

Difference in traveling w/ 3yo vs when he was 1.5? Says things like: "Is it going to be loud in the plane? I think I'm gonna cry in there."

— Nicole Blades (@NicoleBlades) June 21, 2012

I am my 3yo's absolute favorite person in the entire world. Unless his mother is around. Then, I'm a piece of human garbage.

— Dave Lesser (@AmateurIdiot) July 6, 2015

This morning I was listing breakfast options and my 3yo goes "Hm, toast. I guess I cld try that" like he's a prince and its a rare delicacy

— Emily McCombs (@msemilymccombs) April 12, 2015

If the Dad Olympics had an event for styling a 3yo girl's hair while she runs across the room screaming, I'd like my chances to get a medal.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) November 1, 2016

Having a 3yo daughter means washing piles of clothes because you have no idea what she actually wore that day after 50 outfit changes.

— Court (@Discourt) November 11, 2015

My 3 year old's interpretation of common phrase her dad & I use is "geez crisis" & I'm thinking her version is better

— Molly Erdman (@erdmanmolly) November 26, 2016

My 3yo has never seen Seinfeld, but he still manages to enter rooms every time like Kramer.

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) November 26, 2016

There are moms who are potty training their 6 week olds. I'm trying to figure out if my 3yo ate an Oreo for breakfast or swept the chimney.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) September 10, 2015

I think my 3 year old is trying to make me disappear. She keeps walking past me saying "Bippety Boppity Boo!"

— MommieKnowsfresh (@MommieKnwsFresh) June 15, 2015

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2ialhsT from Blogger http://ift.tt/2j5c6tr

[imreviewblog]

53 Tweets That Sum Up Life With 3-Year-Olds

Three-year-olds are a pretty notorious subset of the kid population.

Between the mood swings, penchant for chaos and destruction, and general toddler angst, it’s clear they don’t call ‘em “threenagers” for nothing. For parents in the throes of this infamous stage, laughter may be the best therapy. And thanks to Twitter, parents can share the comedy with each other. 

Here are 53 hilarious tweets that sum up life with 3-year-olds.

I was just enviously admiring the energy and flexibility of a 3yo and then he kneed himself in the face.

— Charlie N Andy (@HowToBeADad) April 27, 2016

My 3yo found my Chapstick and now I live in a wax museum.

— Toni Hammer (@realtonihammer) June 21, 2016

3-year-old: Can we have a birthday cake? Me: It's not your birthday. 3: The cake won't know.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) April 25, 2016

Spending the majority of the day deciding whether or not I have to pee is one of the things my 3 year old and I have in common.

— Kristen Bell (@IMKristenBell) May 22, 2016

My 3 year old told the doctor that she liked eating her vegetables. And the academy award goes to....

— MommieKnowsfresh (@MommieKnwsFresh) March 31, 2016

I'm at my most hostage negotiator when I see my 3 year old holding a permanent marker without the lid.

— Simon Holland (@simoncholland) September 21, 2014

"Dad, why isn't there chocolate meatloaf?" - my brilliant 3 year old son Patrick

— Jim Gaffigan (@JimGaffigan) July 17, 2016

Pretty exhausting day. My 3 year old was firing questions at me faster than I could Google the answers to them.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) March 13, 2014

My 3yo when I tell him it's time to take a shower. http://pic.twitter.com/HzEhGth7j9

— keith (@tchrquotes) August 15, 2016

Just overheard my 3yo son with iPad in his room ask Siri, "Why do boys have to wear underwear?"

— Abe Yospe (@Cheeseboy22) May 30, 2016

Made my 3yo a cheese sandwich which he refused because "the cheesy part is yucky." His lunch request? A cheese stick.  *Pours wine*

— MaryWiddicks (@MaryWiddicks) August 25, 2016

A quick way to get a 3yo to tell you where they hid their popsicle is to put them on the monkey bars & threaten to leave if they don't talk.

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) November 15, 2016

[youth sports sign-ups] Me: Do you want to play tee-ball or soccer? 3-year-old: The one where I get to kick people. She’ll be a natural.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) April 24, 2016

Running through Target. I tell kids repeatedly :don't touch anything! Mins later, 3 year old at top of lungs: "I'M TOUCHING MYSELF!" Nice.

— Holly (@normancallme) January 13, 2013

Fact: A 3 year old can hear a candy wrapper being opened from up to 300 miles away.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) March 8, 2014

Is it wrong to laugh when your 3yo is stuck in her clothes while trying to dress herself?

— Sara Says Stop (@PetrickSara) July 15, 2015

Sometimes when my 3yo hugs me out of nowhere it's amazing and it makes it all worth it. Sometimes he's just wiping his snot on my shirt.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) September 5, 2014

You wanna know how my evening is going? My 3-year-old just kissed my head and threw a tantrum because I don't taste like chocolate.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) July 28, 2016

My 3 year old got himself stuck in an infant bouncy seat and my first reaction was - well, I guess this is our afternoon activity.

— mama bird diaries (@mamabirddiaries) August 1, 2016

If you want to know what an apple slice on the floor under this McDonalds table tastes like, ask my 3 year-old son.

— Abe Yospe (@Cheeseboy22) April 25, 2015

Anyone want a 3-year-old? He doesn't listen much but he can fart on demand. #momlife

— Jennifer Borget (@JenniferBorget) December 27, 2016

"Sorry we're late but my 3 year old wanted to put on their own shoes today." - Valid Excuse #64 that parents can use on a daily basis

— Beau Coffron (@lunchboxdad) November 23, 2016

911: What's your emergency? 3yo: There's a stem on my apple.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) February 22, 2015

I'm the parent of the day at my 3-year-old's preschool, where affection can be won with a bag of Pirate Booty.

— Jennifer Weiner (@jenniferweiner) January 5, 2011

Aunt: "I think your beard looks handsome." 3yo (walking by): "I don't." Oh.

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) June 22, 2015

People who describe themselves as "laid back" have never been stuck in an elevator with a 3yo who's determined to hit the alarm button.

— Paige Kellerman (@PaigeKellerman) November 6, 2015

When Bea was 3: 3yo: I love u the mostest. Me: I love u my tiniest baby. 3yo: I love u my oldest Mommy. My fossil Mom. You are a fossil.

— kelly oxford (@kellyoxford) October 24, 2016

"Wow, Dad, you had two beers and then ANOTHER ONE?!" - My 3yo, auditioning for a new family.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) August 2, 2014

My 3-year-old hugged me out of the blue and said, "I love you, Dad." If you need me, I'll be searching the house for whatever she broke.

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) May 2, 2016

Me: What are you painting? 3yo: A rainbow. Me: No, I mean LOOK at what you’re painting! 3yo: The couch? I'm making it pretty!

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) December 14, 2016

Was enjoying listening to my 3yo sing Christmas carols in the bathroom until he yelled, “Mom! Come wipe my butt!”

— Heather Spohr (@mamaspohr) December 6, 2016

Me: "Who should I vote for?" 3yo: "Candy because I like candy." .... and just like that, democracy is explained.

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) November 4, 2014

In case you're wondering how my 3yo's education is going. He just listed the days as: Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri, Saturday, and Christmas.

— MaryWiddicks (@MaryWiddicks) August 28, 2016

My 3yo refers to every single thing that happens as "crazy!" so he's gonna be REALLY ANNOYING the first few times he gets high.

— Dad and Buried (@DadandBuried) August 22, 2014

Sorry I can't join u for a spa pedicure. I just had one yesterday. *cut to my 3yo spraying my foot w/a squirt gun filled with toilet water*

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) May 26, 2015

That moment when your 3yo touches the inside of a public urinal and you consider cutting her hand off with a plastic knife in your backpack.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) October 1, 2016

3yo thinks cuddling in the morning requires wrapping her whole body around my head and coughing in my face. It's SUPER relaxing.

— MyMomologue (@MyMomologue) December 15, 2016

Me: "How was your day today?" 3yo: "I had a BAD DAY." Me: "Oh no! It seemed like a great day, why was it bad?" 3yo: "I DIDN'T HAVE ANY PIE."

— ReasonsMySonIsCrying (@ReasonsMySonCry) June 26, 2015

Just yelled at my 3yo to go to bed and now I can hear her in the dark playing the harmonica.

— Jeff Wild (@jiffywild) October 8, 2016

I don’t think anyone can remember being 3yrs old. Case in point: My 3yo can't even remember I told him one sec ago to "Get down from there!"

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) August 20, 2015

3yo screams from bathroom: "Mama I have poop on my butt and come look at it in the toilet". <--- this is the sound of #motherhood #momlife

— Mama instincts (@MamaInstincts) January 3, 2017

My 3-year-old just showed me a boo boo on his rear and insisted I kiss it. #momlife

— Jennifer Borget (@JenniferBorget) June 24, 2016

"My kids have no control over me," I say as I pick out only the T-Rex-shaped chicken nuggets for my 3yo's dinner.

— Toni Hammer (@realtonihammer) October 27, 2016

[reading] Me: The big bad wolf couldn't get in. The house was made of brick 3-year-old: Couldn't he break a window? I'm raising a burglar

— James Breakwell (@XplodingUnicorn) May 5, 2016

Difference in traveling w/ 3yo vs when he was 1.5? Says things like: "Is it going to be loud in the plane? I think I'm gonna cry in there."

— Nicole Blades (@NicoleBlades) June 21, 2012

I am my 3yo's absolute favorite person in the entire world. Unless his mother is around. Then, I'm a piece of human garbage.

— Dave Lesser (@AmateurIdiot) July 6, 2015

This morning I was listing breakfast options and my 3yo goes "Hm, toast. I guess I cld try that" like he's a prince and its a rare delicacy

— Emily McCombs (@msemilymccombs) April 12, 2015

If the Dad Olympics had an event for styling a 3yo girl's hair while she runs across the room screaming, I'd like my chances to get a medal.

— Doyin Richards (@daddydoinwork) November 1, 2016

Having a 3yo daughter means washing piles of clothes because you have no idea what she actually wore that day after 50 outfit changes.

— Court (@Discourt) November 11, 2015

My 3 year old's interpretation of common phrase her dad & I use is "geez crisis" & I'm thinking her version is better

— Molly Erdman (@erdmanmolly) November 26, 2016

My 3yo has never seen Seinfeld, but he still manages to enter rooms every time like Kramer.

— The ParentNormal (@ParentNormal) November 26, 2016

There are moms who are potty training their 6 week olds. I'm trying to figure out if my 3yo ate an Oreo for breakfast or swept the chimney.

— Lurkin' Mom (@LurkAtHomeMom) September 10, 2015

I think my 3 year old is trying to make me disappear. She keeps walking past me saying "Bippety Boppity Boo!"

— MommieKnowsfresh (@MommieKnwsFresh) June 15, 2015

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from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2j2fnJm