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Authors: Damon Wayans with David Asbery
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town. You can just hear the proud father on the golf course, saying, “It’s a government job with a great future. She has special security clearance. Mr. Clinton is crazy about her. Every night she brings me home a cigar from him. I just sit back and puff it thinking about how my little pumpkin is friends with the President of the United States. Do you know she can just walk right into the head office whenever she wants?”
You know now that the scandal is out in the open he gets shit from all those people he used to brag to, saying things like, “Hey, Lewinsky, certainly were right about your daughter and that ‘head’ office. Ha ha!”
Where’s the Rule Book?
I ’m raising four different personalities. I wish there was a rule book that you simply follow A-B-C, and you are guaranteed to raise a child that can function in society. But there’s no such thing. You can feed them the same thing, send them to the same school, and dress them in the same clothes, and one will grow up to be a doctor the other one will be a crack addict. They are all so different. My daughters are low-maintenance, especially the older one. I can just talk to her and she’ll understand exactly what I’m saying.
I can tell her, “Cara Mia, I’m really disappointed in you.”
Her lower lip will start quivering and tears will well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t want to disappoint you. I’m gonna go and punish myself.” And she’ll march right off to her bedroom.
That doesn’t work on my sons. If I tell my son, “Damon, I’m really disappointed in you,” he’ll reply, “Well, you’re gonna be real pissed off when you see the rest of the shit I did. You’re about to be livid, old man!”
My youngest son, Michael, is growing up nicely. I’m glad, because I was worried about him for a while. He was spoiled as a baby and that made him a whiner. The boy would whine about everything. Hewould fall on the floor crying and throw these temper tantrums, and I would be thinking, “What the hell am I raising here?” He made me want to grab him and shake him and say, “Look, faggot, stop it!”
They say you shouldn’t hit your kids. Obviously, whoever said that didn’t have kids. I believe that you shouldn’t hit
some
of your kids. Some kids, all they understand is an ass whupping. If I wanted to motivate Michael I’d have to pop him upside his head. I tried talking to him, reasoning with him, being a patient, understanding father, but he’d always frustrate me to a point where I’d have to hit him.
Me : Michael, would you go in there and clean up your room, please.
Michael : (
whiny
) Do I have to? I’m watching the Power Rangers.
Me : Yes, turn that television off. Your room is a pigsty and I want it cleaned.
Michael : (
more whiny
) Awwww, can’t someone else do it?
Me : No, it’s your room. Now, I’m not gonna tell you again, Michael. Go clean it up!
Michael : (
as whiny as a human being can possibly get
) But I don’t want to! Why do I always ha—
Me :
Smack!
Michael : Oh, you mean clean the room!
Suddenly, he turned into a little janitor. He got a big set of keys, a broom in his hand, and a squeegee in his back pocket.
Michael : (
singing
) Clean and shine, clean and shine.
My Son Is a Nerd
M y two sons go to private school. It’s a good one, the kind where if you lose your wallet, they return it with a note and a dollar that says, “Hope you weren’t inconvenienced.” The only drawback about private school is that my son, Damon, is a little nerd. My son will walk into my living room when I have my friends over. “Morning, Dad, can I borrow your computer? I want to do some extra-credit homework.”
“Yo, slow that up, son. I got company. Put your hands in your pockets and be cool.”
“Never mind, Dad, I’ll just work it out in my head!”
That’s my boy! I don’t mind. I’d rather he be a nerd that becomes a doctor than some cool mother-fucka in jail. I’ll have to
You know now that the scandal is out in the open he gets shit from all those people he used to brag to, saying things like, “Hey, Lewinsky, certainly were right about your daughter and that ‘head’ office. Ha ha!”
Where’s the Rule Book?
I ’m raising four different personalities. I wish there was a rule book that you simply follow A-B-C, and you are guaranteed to raise a child that can function in society. But there’s no such thing. You can feed them the same thing, send them to the same school, and dress them in the same clothes, and one will grow up to be a doctor the other one will be a crack addict. They are all so different. My daughters are low-maintenance, especially the older one. I can just talk to her and she’ll understand exactly what I’m saying.
I can tell her, “Cara Mia, I’m really disappointed in you.”
Her lower lip will start quivering and tears will well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t want to disappoint you. I’m gonna go and punish myself.” And she’ll march right off to her bedroom.
That doesn’t work on my sons. If I tell my son, “Damon, I’m really disappointed in you,” he’ll reply, “Well, you’re gonna be real pissed off when you see the rest of the shit I did. You’re about to be livid, old man!”
My youngest son, Michael, is growing up nicely. I’m glad, because I was worried about him for a while. He was spoiled as a baby and that made him a whiner. The boy would whine about everything. Hewould fall on the floor crying and throw these temper tantrums, and I would be thinking, “What the hell am I raising here?” He made me want to grab him and shake him and say, “Look, faggot, stop it!”
They say you shouldn’t hit your kids. Obviously, whoever said that didn’t have kids. I believe that you shouldn’t hit
some
of your kids. Some kids, all they understand is an ass whupping. If I wanted to motivate Michael I’d have to pop him upside his head. I tried talking to him, reasoning with him, being a patient, understanding father, but he’d always frustrate me to a point where I’d have to hit him.
Me : Michael, would you go in there and clean up your room, please.
Michael : (
whiny
) Do I have to? I’m watching the Power Rangers.
Me : Yes, turn that television off. Your room is a pigsty and I want it cleaned.
Michael : (
more whiny
) Awwww, can’t someone else do it?
Me : No, it’s your room. Now, I’m not gonna tell you again, Michael. Go clean it up!
Michael : (
as whiny as a human being can possibly get
) But I don’t want to! Why do I always ha—
Me :
Smack!
Michael : Oh, you mean clean the room!
Suddenly, he turned into a little janitor. He got a big set of keys, a broom in his hand, and a squeegee in his back pocket.
Michael : (
singing
) Clean and shine, clean and shine.
My Son Is a Nerd
M y two sons go to private school. It’s a good one, the kind where if you lose your wallet, they return it with a note and a dollar that says, “Hope you weren’t inconvenienced.” The only drawback about private school is that my son, Damon, is a little nerd. My son will walk into my living room when I have my friends over. “Morning, Dad, can I borrow your computer? I want to do some extra-credit homework.”
“Yo, slow that up, son. I got company. Put your hands in your pockets and be cool.”
“Never mind, Dad, I’ll just work it out in my head!”
That’s my boy! I don’t mind. I’d rather he be a nerd that becomes a doctor than some cool mother-fucka in jail. I’ll have to
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