bigpimpinmba's Diaryland Diary
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Kack
That's right... It's a two entry day (Three if you count the link I just added to my "Best of BigPimp"!) If you missed the entry on my new Godson, make sure to take a gander and tell me how he is so incredibly blessed to have such a great Godfather.
Anyway, here is the story of Kack...
In my house, talking in an obnoxious, Boston accent is not just expected, it�s just about required. We love walking around the house, leaving the lettah AHHH (That�s the letter R outside of Boston or my house) out of any sentence that is muttered. This statement may not seem to play into the following story so much, but stay with me�
PimpWife took my little Pimp with her to Build-A-Bear to get a gift certificate for our niece, who practically lives for trips to Build-A-Bear. For all of you who don�t know what Build-A-Bear is, it is a store in the mall where you can go, pick out what looks like a flat, lifeless, run over small bear or other animal, (I think they have bunnies, pigs and puppies for the non-bear lovers) pay an obscene amount of money for it, have it stuffed, put a little heart in it to make it �come to life� (even though it really only lays there, just a little less flat) before they sew it shut. After you get your naked bear, you are allowed to continue spending the equivalent of the Gross Domestic Product of Equatorial Guinea to accessorize your recent purchase with clothes and accessories. You can buy anything from a fireman�s outfit, to roller skates, to Paris-Hilton�s newest clothing line for your bear, depending on how big of a mortgage you can be approved for.
Anyway, my son went with the PimpWife to get the gift certificate for our niece and seemed to think that this store was pretty cool, so when our niece�s parents asked us what they could get us for our little fellah, we thought it would be a good idea if they got him the same thing.
So, after Christmas, we took little man over to the mall to use his gift certificate to build his own bear. We went through all of his choices of flattened animal hides that he could choose to fill with love and he settled on the Black Bear to have and hold as his own little buddy.
He brings the lifeless pelt over to the nice lady sitting at the stuffing machine to have her breathe her magical life into the bearskin and have my boy proudly put the heart in by bringing out the chest spreader and performing a very difficult surgery. (which he does much more spectacularly than the rest of the sniveling brats that were running around the store, I might add)
He then brings his newly living bear to have his first bath and brushing as you see here�
After that, it is off to the Prada section of the store to pick out an outfit for his new bear. Luckily, my boy, being ever the manly man Pimp, just like his dad, picked out a football uniform for his bear, in Rutgers Scarlet Knights colors. (I know Rutgers sucks, but we�re getting better!)
I thought it was really nice that the Build-A-Bear stores have the �Help-Wanted� section of the paper next to the clothes section because they know that half of us poor saps will be looking for another job after dropping cash in their stores.
We then head over to the little computer section where you sit down and input the information for the Birth Certificate.
PimpWife: �LittlePimp, what do you want to name your bear?�
LittlePimp: �Kack�
PimpWife: �Kack?�
LittlePimp: �KACK!!�
BigPimp: �KACK??? How about Jack? Or JetBlack?�
LittlePimp: �NOOOO KAAAAACKKK�
PimpWife: �Kack it is.�
Now, my wife doesn�t have the awful mind that I do, but I keep my mouth shut for reasons you will find out in a few moments�
My wife takes LittlePimp and Kack over to the register to pick up the Birth Certificate and pay.
She walks out of the store with my beaming little guy holding his bear tightly.
I say in my best Boston accent (and feel free to say it aloud or at least imagine it as best you can) �Congratulations, Honey. You just paid for big black kahhk.�
Me, my wife and all of our Boston-accent-speaking friends have had way too much fun with this.
If any of you people who read this meet me or my boy in real life, you can feel free to joke about it, but not in front of the boy. Because he sure loves his Kack.
Of course, as you may recall from this entry, my boy is not the biggest fan of clothes, so that means that he doesn't like his Kack to be restrained by clothes either.
Naked kid.
Naked bear.
Kids are hysterical.
2:21 p.m. - 2005-01-13
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