UPDATE: i will close the guesses at midnight tonight! all is going well and the wife is ready to unleash the monster in her belly. thanks for all the well wishing! I will keep y'all posted.

i have decided to call my wife the microwave. not because she got game like the great vinnie "the microwave" johnson of the 89, 90 world champion pistons. but because she only takes 8.5 months for her to do what most women take 9 months to do. the baby is fully baked and ready to be served.

the doctor is planning to induce labor on 9.1, most likely resulting in a testosterone influenced 4 to 1 house advantage.

anyway, to share in the excitement, i thought it might be a good excuse to crank up the cafe press machine and give something cool away. specifically the magnificently decorated sketch book shown above. guaranteed to make the babes go wild. ladies love an ultramicroscopic man don't cha know.

how might you acquire such a chick magnet? simply predict the hour and minute my 3rd offspring will leap from the most intimate area of my wife. document your prediction in the comments.

to aid you in your calculations, some statistics...
- we will be checking into the hospital at 6 am.
- son one angered the wife with 12 hours of labor
- son two pleased the wife with only 20 minutes of labor
- both sons were induced under petocin
- the doctor broke the water for each
- doctor says she is a "3" what ever that means
- her belly is so big it has it's own gravitational field

if your prediction is within 10 minutes, i will send you a sketchbook (maximum of 5 winners, first five correct predictions made). if no one is within 10 minutes i will send a sketchbook to the closest prediction.

if you really must have the sketchbook but don't know much about babies, go buy it at http://www.cafepress.com/ultracrap.13171268, no mark up, only $7.49.

hmmm, judging by the lack of posting, i must be on vacation.

but i am not.

very strange.

the wife is the designated worrier for the family. the boys and i skip through life intoxicated with thoughts like, how many bees can i fit in my mouth or do rotating fan blades taste different than a stationary ones.

the wife worries about shit that only she can imagine. thoughts like replacing all our forks with plastic ones on the chance an escaped mental patient breaks into our home and tries to kill us with our own fork.

so anyway, school starts today. the first day of kindergarten for son 2. last night she confessed to being nervous about it. knowing a little about how her brain works, i jokingly teased her.

me - you know your going to have dreams tonight about forgetting your locker combination or forgetting an exam or missing the school bus.

the wife - i have those dreams every day of my life, why would tonight be any different?

i can only wonder what it's like to be a prisoner of her brain. but i really wonder this paper clip would fit in that electrical outlet over there. it looks like a perfect fit.

travel can really mess with a man's internal poo clock. the clock slows, and opportunities infrequent. the whole thing can be very traumatic if combined with vacation circumstances of an over crowded cottage, a single semi functioning toilet and an exclusive diet of grilled hotdogs and beer.

the wife's great grandfather built the cottage by hand. back then people were smaller and didn't poo as much. the technological advancement of toilets has changed the way we poo. back in the day the bowls were smaller, flushing power was weak, and the seats were uncomfortable. these factors limited people to making poo once a week or so, and doing it very quickly. that was a good thing, people had cities to build. no time for sitting around making mud.

today, oversized bowls, super suction turbo flush and cushioned seats have increased poo frequency, volume, and duration. so, what does this have to do with the price of toilet paper in china? well, my point being, i'm spoiled by the miracle of modern toiletry. i poo when, where and for as long as i want.

the cottage toilet is small, tired and over worked. it seriously doubt it could properly support me in my endevors. a hand made sign above the tank states local law, "if it's yellow, let it mello. if it's brown flush it down". the boys love to ask me about the sign. they think it's funny to hear their dad talk about poop and pee.

ok moving on, you may wonder just how rare are the opportunities to poop? lets do some math.
12 (people staying at the cottage) x 6 (visits per person per day) x 5 (minutes, average visit duration) = 6 hours of occupation during awake hours. but my math is flawed, it doesn't account for swim suit changes, showers, or brushing of teeth. further screwing the equation, the majority of users are female, this greatly increasing usage frequency. conclusion: whenever you have to poo, forget it, it's occupied.

beyond the math, there are other more subtle hurdles to my poopage, like guilt, shame, and paranoia. finding the toilet unoccupied may seem like a blessing but, it can quickly become a hot seat. upon sitting, the mind reels. hurry, there is soon to be a knock, don't fart audibly, don't leave a stench, don't leave skid marks, remember to courtesy flush so not to choke the bowl, don't be the one facilitating a phone call to the plumber, you don't want to be remembered as it's last passenger. there's also some thing disconcerting about piggybacking on the yellow left behind to mellow. just too much to deal with.

in the wee hours of what would be my 4th consecutive pooless day, i awoke to the dreaded appearance of turtle head. the clock read 3:07 am. too early. i rolled over hoping the turtle would see his shadow and duck back into his hole meaning six more hours of sleeping. suddenly my eyes audibly pop wide open, epiphony, three oh seven! the cottage is sleeping. the toilet would be available and it's seat properly cooled. i quietly made my way to the bathroom anticipating the joy of an overdue but thearaputic wicked growler.

i settled in. no worries. from the stack near the toilet's base, i picked up a 1998 issue of national geographic. found an interesting article about the slow un-stopable movement of giant arctic glaciers. 38 seconds later i was interrupted by a knock at the door. unbelievable.

defecatious interuptus. foiled again. who the hell gets up to poo at 3 am?!?!

you know that party game where some one whispers a message into another's ear and in turn they whisper it into another's ear? after ten or so people the message has completely changed from the original message.

well, the wife eliminates the need for nine other people.

a couple years ago she came home from a mother's night out with an odd story. the girls were discussing personal grooming habits. one of the mothers was bitching about the hassle of daily leg shaving. another offered up the declaration that she shaves her most feminine of areas into the shape of a swastika.

at this point in the story, i shall pause for you to pick you jaw up from off the floor.

i found this shocking, i didn't know the woman well, but i always thought she had a descent sense of fashion. never noticed her wearing military boots or those bluish grey puffy pants that make your hips look big. come to think of it though, i've never seen her with a jew, so it must be true.

i must admit, this has played on my mind for some time. would it be proper to notify the fbi of such grooming activities? beyond that, it would be a rather complicated design armed only with a bic. i often wished i could un-hear this little nugget of gossip.

recently, i heard howard stern refer to a very small but neatly groomed furry area of a female guest as a "hitler's mustache". all the sudden things made sense.

me - remember a long time ago, you told me a friend admitted shaving herself in the shape of a swastika?
wife - yeah, so...
me - are you sure she didn't say in the shape of hitler's mustache?
wife - uh, maybe.
me - well, that's kind of a big mistake, don't you think?
wife - same difference.

no, not same difference. if any female readers are contemplating a new doo down there, word up. hitler's mustache, hot. a swastika not.

dallas, texas (ap) - evidence has been recovered linking weapons of mass hydration to relatives of the children's liberation front. the same weapons used in a seemingly random but vicious attack july 8th, leaving several critically soaked.

incredibly, it is now believed that the primary target of the CLF was in fact the purchaser and constructor of the weapons. witnesses claim to have seen big dumb dad filling the self propelled projectile casings with a mixture of 2 parts hydrogen per 1 part oxygen. this only moments before the massacre. the mixture was similar, if not the same as a mixture found saturating big dumb dad's clothing after the attack.

the july 8th attack was merciless. the battle field stands littered with shards of rubber casings, and pride.