I got her a really cool Casio keyboard for Christmas. You know, the kind with programed songs and keying lessons and a rhythm section and midi capability and a bunch of other cool stuff.
She won’t let me play with it!
“It’s not a toy.” She says in that schoolmarm voice that she uses when she’s being a poopy-head. So I told her that I was going to start a Pit thread about what a poopy-head she is.
“Find the T.V. remote and I’ll let you use my keyboard.” (She emphazied '“used” in that schoolmarm voice because you can’t play with it 'cause it’s not a toy.)
I found my remote yesterday. Yay! It was inside the couch. Not just under the cushions or something like that; it was resting on a little ledge which connects the feet.
I am sending you a mojo so that you can find yours: nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
I wish! We visited a girlfriend of mine who had one of those mini-organ thingies. My daughter tootled on it the whole visit, so my friend asked her if she would like to borrow it. FOUR YEARS LATER my friend was over my house and my daughter was playing with itooops, I mean using it and friend says “Hey! I said “borrow”.”
I believe I’ll get to touch the thing in two years when she goes off to college.
I’ve had a similar keyboard for about 8 years. Whenever there are kids in my house, they turn it on. Some kids like to get the percussion going and bang out notes on the keys. The mostest favorite thing though is to listen to the demo songs, especially the first one. That song makes children very happy, and they can listen to it, over and over and over, for hours. The song has been named “The Bathroom Blues” and has been given some rather scatological lyrics.
Recently my 14-yr-old niece surreptiously removed the batteries from the keyboard because it was “driving her crazy to listen to those kids playing that damn song over & over”. I had to remind her of an incident which occurred about 7 years ago:
Me (after 2 hours of non-stop play of “The Bathroom Blues”): Let’s turn that off, and I’ll put some real music on the CD player.
Niece (with deep pools of hurt in her eyes): This is real music.
Oh please… you come off sounding like the husband who bought a bowling ball for your wife because YOU liked it and then resent the fact that she takes up bowling.
You bought HER the keyboard, even though you obviously wanted it for yourself. You are a whiner and you bore me.
Obviously many of you are “breeder scum”, fact is that you obviously bought this keyboard for yourself but covered it up by getting it for your daughter.
Now you have the whiney gall to bitch about her actually using it? What say you get off your lazy ass and go buy your own?
Whatsa matter asshole, forgot how to read? Have all the reproducing cells in your body clogged your reasoning synapsis and rendered you a complete and total drooling idiot?
I haven’t touched the damned keyboard. I asked permission to play with the keyboard and was denied. No where have I whined about her playing I mean using the keyboard. And while it is true that I am a bitch, it ain’t because of this.
It is also true that you are a fucktard of the highest order. So you can take the longest, rustiest spiked pole you can find a nice tight orifice to stick it in, an orifice in which there would be no chance for you to even accidentally breed. Much better for the gene pool.
Hey! Live up to your name, Biggirl! Buy a much nicer keyboard for yourself and don’t let her near it. Be sure to get one that is loud so that you can drown her out.
Thylacine it aint just you mate. There’s a veritable plethora of sticky stuff all over the place. Well, I suppose that’s what holidays get you. Too much time, not enough … er something.
