Secret Santa Can Suck It--The Sequel

Bee's been busy again organizing a second round of Not So Secret Santas.



The idea is to present your assigned blogger with a picture of a gift on the internet--quite brilliant when you think about. You don't have to shell out any real money, plus you don't have to travel to Texas or Idaho--the states most populated with bloggers--to present it.


My guy is none other than Father Muskrat who is a father in the "fun" sense of the word, not the celibate, long black robe-wearing sense of the word.

Anyway, I searched the internet, but really, all the cool gifts were taken. Like the small island nation of Wherdafugrwe that Heinous gave Don at Beyond Left Field.

Or the "Natural Harvest: A Collection of Semen Based Recipes" Chris Wood got for Diesel.

So I thought, what the hell. I am nothing if not about re-gifting. I'll find something cool for him right here in my own home.

OK. What do I know about Father Muskrat? I think he has something to do with the law, but I'm not really sure which side of it.  At any rate, what guy couldn't use stuff to wear to "work".

Thus I'm giving him my Tazmanian Devil tie, my Mickey Mouse belt bucket and my "Dick Said Come necklace".








But then I thought, those are gay--gay as in the "fun" sense of the world.

So perhaps the better way to go was to get something for the kid. 

It didn't take long to find the perfect hands-on thing. My shoe phone:

But I had visions of the kid's first word being "Imsorrythenumberyouhavedailed," plus shoe fetishes are nothing to laugh at, so I went with my Pillsbury Dough Boy instead:





But really? Did I want to be responsible for introducing the kid to his first neutered doll? 

And I seem to remember reading something about NASCAR and the military on Muskrat's blog, so I'm pretty sure Father would think the Dough Boy is uber gay.

And then I got it! The perfect thing! Because all those babies really do at that age is eat and drink, right?  





Of course, I am nothing if not a decision-impaired, guilt-ridden perfectionist (and I really didn't want to give up my Tony the Tiger spoon). I was assigned Father Muskrat after all, not his kid--who I'm sure is getting all the attention in the household as it is, leaving Father without the kind of "fun" he's been used to. 

So what could I give him? 

I thought and thought till my thoughter was sore. And I finally came up with another gift more.

It's something special, practical, educational and meaningful--for both Father and Son. It's my bird poops of the world t-shirt:





Because what else do babies do besides eat? They spit up. And when Muskrat wears this, you won't be able to tell:




Also, I seem to remember something on Muskrat's blog about a public display of bodily waste, so I think he'll be into it.

Posted at Humor Blogs where there's lots more "fun".