A few weeks ago, I saw this by the cash register at our local Blockbuster:

Hello kiddies! I'm Big Papa. I am only a pickle. Don't get any funny ideas.

Last week:

Hmmmm, Big Papa plus the sassy Hot Mama. It's getting a little steamy in here. (That's my son Clark hand modeling. Luckily I was there to deal with the emotional impact on my *impressionable* 14-year old)

Yesterday:

Big Papa + Hot Mama = the Big "O". I'm fanning myself, whew.

I asked the cashier what he thought about “Hot Mama” and he said, “I think I’d stick a peppermint in and eat it like a lollipop.”  I AM NOT KIDDING.  YOU CAN ASK MY (DAMAGED) SON.  I am pretty sure this is inappropriate.  I am a certified expert in what is inappropriate, seriously, at least according to state court in Bexar County.  It’s a long story; just trust me on it.

Way to go, Blockbuster!

For those of you worried that these risque snacks at Blockbuster might pickle Clark’s brain, I am thinking that I might have done that already myself.

One time, I took Clark and his younger sister Suz to see Talladega Nights, when they were only 11 and 9.  It cracked me up, but I spent most of the movie blushing, with my hands over somebody’s eyes and ears — my own.  I wish there had been more people with me so someone could have done the same for my kids, but the only other person there was my mother, and she had her hands over her own eyes, too.

I’d feel guilty about this, except…come to think of it…you can rent Talladega Nights at Blockbuster.

Recently, I rented “Youth in Revolt” and allowed my teenagers to watch it unsupervised.  Only later did I watch it myself.

(I know — I rock.)

Besides some excellent scenes reminiscent of our own beloved Quacker, most of the movie glorified teenage sex and criminal behavior.  I think I’m going to need therapy to deal with the thought of my kids watching it.   Or the thought that other people now know my kids watched it.  Even though I’m the one who just told everyone.   Which is really beside the point.

But wait! I rented Youth in Revolt at…you guessed it…Blockbuster.

Today I cleaned Clark’s room.  I do not make it a habit to clean Clark’s room, or even go into it, if I can help it.  In fact, I don’t go upstairs to the “dormitory” part of our house where our youngest three kids live any more than is absolutely necessary.  My slightly OCD brain short circuits when I can’t see the floor in their rooms because everything they own is strewn upon it.

So anyway, when I stripped the sheets off Clark’s bed, I discovered a SPORTS ILLUSTRATED SWIM SUIT EDITION MAGAZINE stashed between his mattress and box springs.

Uh oh. I see a common link.

I’m pretty sure he must have gotten it at…Blockbuster.

CLICK TO ENLARGE. Check out the mailing label.

I don’t know who this Eric Hutchins is, but I am calling Blockbuster to complain about him IMMEDIATELY.

Pamelot

p.s. I hope C.P.S. isn’t reading this, because I’d hate to lose the kids.  Unless they’d allow me to visit.  And let them come back to do chores.  Then, it might not be so bad.

p.p.s. I wonder if it is OK for me to contact C.P.S. myself?!?  (J.K.?)

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