I killd it… she said eat
iampunha I hreby request the story
Recently in the supermarket with 9yr old son, in the soap aisle. As I was deciding what to buy this time, he was examining the shelves nearby.
son: “Condoms. What are they for mum?”
me: “Never mind, we’ll talk about it later”
son: “Oh I know!! they are the things you wear under your underpants!!”
me: “Later!!”
son, puzzled: “But why would they need fluorescent ones ??”
Heads of other shoppers are beginning to turn our way.
me: "LATER, mate, come on "
Half way down the aisle, big smile appears on son’s face :
“Oh I know what they are!! they are the things girls wear when they have weak bladders!!”
Arghhhh!!
A quick exit and an update on the basics of contraception when we got home.
There were many big smiles in the soap aisle at the supermarket tho 
So my mom had dragged me into a department store when I was about 2 or 3 [not sure of the age], just recently potty trained and happy to be in underpants and not diapers.
Well, the clothes shopping was taking a long time, and I started to really need to go to the bathroom, but, too embarrassed to interrupt my mom, who was conversing at length with the salesperson, I slipped into the middle of one of those circular racks of clothes they have on display throughout department stores and relieved my full bladder.
I remember the feeling of great relief at being able to urinate, and, shortly afterwards, being impressed by my mother’s sudden haste for us to leave the store.
Here’s a couple from my resident now-5-year-old source of humor:
When she was about 2-1/2 we were getting on an elevator when a 50-ish woman gets on, festooned with makeup, I mean it’s caked on. Meghan looks up at her and says “Dad, that lady looks like a clown!!!”. It was the longest elevator ride I’ve ever been on.
Just last week we were at a hotel, checking in, when she starts saying “I LOVE COCK… DAD, I LOVE COCK!.. I LOVE COCK, DAD!!!”. The blood drains out of my face. She says it again, and I’m starting to think the people around me are already wondering whether I molest her or something. I get over next to her and start trying to think of some way to stop this train from rolling forward again when she grabs a strip of caulk on the seam of the reception desk and starts pulling it.
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by Sigmundex *
“I LOVE COCK… DAD, I LOVE COCK!.. I LOVE COCK, DAD!!!”
[QUOTE]
My two year old shouted very loudly at a restaurant
“I WANT COCK MILK” (she can not say chocolate)
Ditto here, except my trigger was hearing a friend’s daughter tell her, “My bottom hurts” and the friend reply, “Your front bottom or your back bottom?” So I, ever the enlightened mother, not only taught my wee daughter the word “vagina,” I went so far as to let her know what the structures around the vagina are called.
Now, my little darling was much more precocious in learning to talk than learning to use the potty, but she hated to have her diaper changed or her bottom wiped. So one Sunday, as I headed to the church nursery to pick up the little angel, I (along with half the rest of the congregation) could hear her yelling, “Don’t touch my vulva! Don’t wipe my vulva!” to the horrified teenaged nursery attendants.
I was so tempted to teach the next child “front bottom” and “back bottom.” 
Look up a few posts and you’ll find it, with my mother’s corrections:)
Ted, rewind the tape for the camera on register 3 you’re gonna love this…
when i was about 18 months old i had animal stickers on my wardrobe door.
every night my dad would point to the dog and bark, and the cow and moo, and the cat and meow, and the pig and oink.
thus, when i was taken to the petting zoo and my mother pointed at the pig and said
“what’s that baby?”
my natural response was…
“daddy”
i think everybody was under the impression i was being raised by a militant feminist.
When my dad and his brothers were young, his youngest brother Ronnie had a bit of a… ahem… gas problem. One Sunday they’re in church (Catholic, so very quiet and solemn) and during one particularly quiet moment in the service Ronnie rips one that reverberates off the wooden church pews and throughout the VERY acoustic-friendly stone church.
My dad and his other brother Kenny were laughing so hard that they peed their pants and my poor grandma, always the dainty and discreet southern woman that she is, was trying to calm them down without making a scene. Too late. Ronnie was laughing so hard that he kept farting involuntarily creating his own little pants choir during the gospel.
Why are fart stories always the funniest?
We were having some fancy holiday dinner, Christmas or something, all gathered around the dining room table with a whole bunch of company over.
I was seated next to Grandma. Suddenly Grandma cut the cheese. Discreetly. In all the noise and merriness no one noticed but me. So I leaned over to grandma and, with relish, whispered to her, “Ha ha. You farted!” My uncle across the table suddenly decided to speak up. He goes: “Now, it’s not polite to whisper in front of company. Whatever you just said, SAY IT OUT LOUD FOR EVERYONE TO HEAR.” I hemmed and hawed, between the proverbial rock and hard place. Uncle persists. So, I cave and say OUT LOUD as ordered: “Grandma just farted.” The sudden silence at the table was deafening.
To this day, I remember the look on my uncle’s face. Of course, it was too late for him, but he fumbled and blushed and sputtered something along the lines of “now, now, we must not say things like that out loud at the dinner table.” I, all innocence could only say, “But, UNCLE, you INSISTED!” You could virtually SEE the halo floating angelically above my head.
Brat one, grown-ups zero. 
My 5 year old cousin (on my father’s side) met my grandfather (on my mother’s side) for the first time at a big family Christmas party. My grandfather only has one leg, the other having been amputated when he was about 19.
My cousin walks all the way round my grandfather, staring at the space where his missing leg should be.
Inquisitive cousin to my grandfather: “You’ve only got one leg.”
Grandfather: “Yes”
Inquisitive cousin: “WHY?”
Grandfather: “It had to be taken off”
Inquisitive cousin (like a dog with a bone): “WHY?”
Grandfather: “It was sick”
Inquisitive cousin (after deep thought): “WELL…WHERE IS IT NOW THEN?”
Grandfather (this is the one that cracks me up): “I suppose its been incinerated”
Inquisitive cousin to his mother: “Mum, what does incinerated mean?”
His mother was mortified. We all thought is was pretty funny though, including my grandfather who is very used to those kind of questions from kids.
Here’s a few funny ones from my little boy…
One fourth of July, we came home from my in law’s house to find that the plastic shade/canopy that we had over the back porch was melted due to some buttnuggets lighting off illegal sky rockets near our house. Thankfully, as it was burning, it fell in to my little boy’s wading pool (he was, at the time, about a year and a half old), which kept it from burning through the deck and catching the house on fire. My wife and I hadn’t time to say a word when my little one decides to say his first sentence ever…“Sunnavabitch!” he exclaims loudly. We were laughing too hard to punish him.
My little one also used to have a problem with pronouncing words properly. One time, while we were at a restaurant, we were trying to feed him with a spoon, and he got very angry, because he wanted to eat like a grown-up.
“No spoon, daddy! No spoon!” he said fairly quietly, and I tried to hush him and keep feeding him.
“No spoon daddy!” he said again, and still I ignored it. Then, at the top of his lungs, he yells out, “NO SPOON, I WANNA FUCK!”
I swear the whole restaurant went dead silent, as everyone turned to stare at us. My wife turned bright scarlet and buried her head in her arms.
“You don’t need a FORK,” I responded loudly, but I was a horrible red myself.
Speaking of restaurant mishaps…
When I was about 3 years old my parents took me to a fancy restaurant. A plate of stewed tomatoes was set down before me. I loved tomatoes, but had never had them stewed, says my mom. I picked one up with my hand, looked at it, squeezed it, and threw it over my shoulder. My parents and grandma watched helplessly as it landed on some woman’s full length white fur coat, rolling from the sleeve down the back.
Same restaurant, same night. My dad had ordered a whole lobster, again something I’d never seen before (boy my folks sure picked a dandy night to introduce me to unusual foods in an expensive and elegant setting :)) The plate with a huge whole steaming lobster was set in front of my dad. My parents oohed and aahed… and I started to scream. “Daddy, daddy don’t eat the mobster! Don’t eat the mobster!” With one fell swoop of my tiny 3-year old arm I swept the creature to the floor.
Without a word my grandma picked me up with one arm and took me outside to look at the goats peering over the fence across the street while my mom and dad picked their dignity off the floor.
ROTFL!
From a test for prospective parents in Dave Barry’s Babies (and Other Hazards of Sex):
My father always talks about the time when we went to my cousin’s christening, and through the whole thing I yelled things like “LOOK AT THE BIG BEAUTY BUCKET! ARE THEY GOING TO PUT THE BABY IN THE BIG BEAUTY BUCKET?”
When I was very young, not too long after I had figured out how to move around, I snuck away from my parents and into the bathroom. There I managed to climb onto the counter and open the medicine cabinet. When my mother wandered in some time later she found me sitting on the counter, having eaten my way through a good portion of her supply of birth control pills.
I was given a liberal dose of Epicac or something similar to make me vomit. We went to my grandmother’s house and as we approached the door, Grandma’s poodle Suzy ran out to greet us. She jumped up on me, at which point I vomited all over that cute little dog.
–
B
Several years ago some of my family met at a buffet style restaurant for dinner. My cousin had gone to get her two year old son a second helping of his favorite vegetable. While waiting for her to return, he stood on his chair and yelled across the restaurant to her, "Mommy, I love PORN!
Yes, this is a zombie – but it’s an adorable zombie with a lisp and a slingshot in its back pocket. I’m leaving it open.