"What is best in life? To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women." Conan, Conan the Barbarian

 

This is what happens when a running Pugsley hits a stationary The Boy. This, my friends, will end in trouble for all of us.

Okay, the progression continues. First The Boy started with watching the Do It Yourself® non-stop. Eventually he got bored – Bob Villa eventually rubs everybody the wrong way, I guess. Now, he’s discovered his holy grail of television – Discovery Science Channel™.

When The Mrs. and I spoke wistfully of returning to the place in the world we love the most, Alaska, there was more than a bit of anger in The Boy’s voice when he told us, in no uncertain terms, that he would not move back to Alaska if the Discovery Science Channel© were not available.

We’re watching it now. I must tell you honestly, Internet, that The Boy scares me now when he talks about scientific subjects – he asks good questions, and he’s adamant that I should be able to tell him what the Earth’s core looks like, and he’s really, really, irritated when I keep telling him that nobody knows. Mystery is not something The Boy suffers well. There must be an answer. “Check Wikipedia,” he told me.

Yeah, at age six, he’s a science and Internet information junkie – he even has a vague appreciation of the technological pinnacle that we inhabit here in 2007 Houston – he knows that there’s a world without electricity that exists in some vague elsewhere. In short, Internet, he knows too much.

All that would frighten me, since his classmates would pull his underwear up and give him swirlies and call him “nerd”, except he’s a head taller than any of his classmates. I imagine he could lift any of them above his head (he carries in 1.5 times his weight in dog food on a regular basis) and throw his classmate like a toothpick into low earth orbit.

Internet, forgive me. The Mrs. and I have created a very strong, very cool nerd. It’s like I live with a tiny Bill Gates, but one that had steroids in his Similac®. The scary thing is that he actually understands what he watches on TV and essentially (despite our attempts to keep all things written from him) taught himself to read through an act of nearly Randsian will.

The Boy does things that way. Then he was itsy-bitsy (less than one) he’d started off on a few words, “ma ma, da da” and the like. By one he clamped down, and didn’t talk for two straight years. Then he started talking in complete sentences. Like a Twilight Zone episode, we could hear him practicing at night, alone in his crib. Now, despite the fact he would not call The Mrs. anything at all until he was nearly 4, well, his teachers indicate on a regular basis he has a really advanced vocabulary. Dunno if that’s some of the words that The Mrs. says when she’s mad, or if it just means he knows words his kindergarten teacher didn’t.

Despite all of these advantages, The Boy still seems to be nice, except when it comes to Pugsley. Occasionally, The Boy will be a big jerk when it comes to Pugsley. Mean, even.

Pugsley is currently growing at a pace unknown except in virus colonies. I anticipate that Pugsley will, next week this time, be six inches taller than I and be comprised of 220 lbs of solid muscle despite that he’s barely two.

Pugsley, is by nature, very sweet. Unlike The Boy, Pugsley smiles. Pugsley manipulates, as much as a two-year-old can. Pugsley has even picked up The Boy’s earlier habit of early language development combined with intense caloric intake and a strict training schedule.

I worry, Internet, that Pugsley will have all of the mental abilities of The Boy, twice his physical abilities, and just a wee bit of pent up rage from being bitten by The Boy for not keeping out of his Legos®.

See, I think Pugsley will eventually be Pugsley the Conqueror, first Emperor of the Americas – he will trample the capitols of the Western Hemisphere under his feet. To think, we owe it all to the Discovery Science Channel™.