Welcome to McCheeseville

When my younger son, Zakky, was a toddler, he had no fear. Captain Recovery and I kept an eyeball glued to him at all times. This was a necessary task because Zak Bear would casually saunter up to anyone and everyone and assume every stranger was a potential snuggle bunny friend. No fear, man. It was terrifying.

While he has overcome the desire to hug street dwellers that cast a perpetual dirt shadow over the land like Pigpen from the Peanuts comic strip, he still gregariously engages in conversation with, well, pretty much EVERYDAMNBODY in the world.

Case in point: This past weekend we hopped over to Philly and attended a kick ass Halloween costume party, bounced through a kid's Fall Festival, and jostled on a hay ride at an Autumn Fest at a farm. Throughout the various events, I believe Zak charmed the pants off of approximately four billion people. My super beautiful and talented friend Laura started calling him Mayor McCheese. And, truly, he is the Mayor of McCheeseville. Always campaigning, but in a good way. Zak has a pure heart and simply enjoys connecting with folks in chit chat.

We still have to keep a watchful eye on his conversations, but I am thankful that he doesn't walk towards people with open arms, ready for a hug. He just wants to share the gift of gab these days - no more bear hugs, praise Yahweh.

Here is a shot of the children at the farm. Mayor McCheese is chillin' on the far left, contemplating his town hall speech to be eloquently delivered later in the evening from his car seat.

And now, the costume party! The kids stayed home for that event - it was an adults-only affair. I was St. Pauli Girl and Cap'n Recovery morphed into Mr. Hind Sight. Nothin' like a rubbery fake ass to get me goin' . . . va va voom!

Laura ordered some super freaky zombie contacts (MUST GET SOME NOW) and shook her groove thing as Dead Girl. She looked incredible but her feelings were semi-bruised because all of her friends avoided looking her in the eyes (with good reason.) Check it . . .

Here's a gruesome shot of the ladies, showing off our legs, because that's just the way we roll.

And, finally, another petrifying photo of Miss Laura and her Glowing Zombie Eyes. Her husband, Tim, is being licked to death by a demon. He must be salty.

I think all of the Tea Party activists (such as myself) should wear zombie eyes. Why? Because it is fucking difficult to talk to a person with milky white fluorescent eyeballs. I think we should stick 'em in our orbs and march to Washington DC and give those asshole Congresspeople a piece of our minds. And, possibly, eat their flesh and stumble around moaning and shit. And then, when Michael Jackson's song Thriller comes on, we should dance our asses off. I'm not sure if it would halt the insane spending-and-piling-on-colossal-debts-and-printing-money-out-of-thin-air we have going on in the corruption-infested DC bubble right now, but at the very least we could get a good soft tissue meal out of it.

Although I'm pretty sure all of those politicians taste like bullshit.

Not that any of this has anything to do with Mayor McCheese, unless McDonald's burgers taste like human flesh; then maybe you can draw a correlation between the beginning of this post and the rambling end of it. Peace out, bitches.