Don't mess with an English major

James: "Jessa, I have to tell you something. Sometimes, I like to speak in the third person."

Me: "What do you mean?"

James: "Like right now."

[pause]

Me: "Jessa thinks that James doesn't understand what third person means."

James: "Oh yeah...hang on..."

Me: "James wonders out loud while Jessa hands him his grammatical ass on a plate."

James: "I mean..JAMES is spea---"

Me: "AND JAMES DOESN'T UNDERSTA--"

James: "--woman, stop interrupting me---with my own grammar rules."

[I laugh]

James: "Actually...that was like...second AND third person. Holy crap, I just created a fourth dimension to grammar."

[pause]

James: "You're welcome."

I don't even know how to title this....it's that ridiculous

James: "We need to have kids. I’m running out of TV shows that I can watch by myself."

Me: "That is a horrible reason to start a family."

James [glaring]: "It is totally legitimate."

[I ignore him and continue reading]

James: "Jessa! I can’t get into Lego Discovery Land in Kansas City unless I borrow someone else's kids!"

Me: "Why?"

James: "Because you have to have a kid to get in and I don't know very many kids right now!"

[slight pause]

James: "But I guess that’s not their fault."

Me: "The answer is still no."

James [pouting]: "If being able to get into Lego Discovery Land isn’t reason enough to have kids, then nothing is!"  

[pause]

Me: "Do you think about the words you say before they come out of your mouth?"

James [lightly]: "No, because I would get bored…’cause I’d already know what I was going to say."   

If the world ever ran out of toilets

If the world ever comes to an end (you know, because of zombies or something) and assuming I live through the initial wave of meteors, democrats or plague-infested rats…I’m going to find the MKs*.
And not the city-sissy ones that grew up on some Greek island or just lived in Canada.
No.
I’d look for the ones who grew up where God never meant for people to go (like Canada…oh, wait). I’d look for the ones who learned how to stitch up wounds by practicing on a pig foot their dad bought at the market (like I did). Or the ones who strapped on roller blades and went bus surfing (it’s a thing).
The ones who ate scabs, hunted cicadas, had pet snakes and looked like beggars most of the time (typically because bus surfing involves falling A LOT and breathing exhaust).

See, when the alien living inside Al Gore finally decides to reveal itself and join forces with whatever is controlling Rush Limbaugh, I want to band with the kids who were toughened by being alienated (aha, a pun!) in jungles, mountains, islands or whatnot.

Because we have been told by counselors, teachers, and tons of books, mostly titled “How to UnBreak an MK," that we are ‘survivors’; that we have been ‘traumatized by leaving our culture.’ My favorite thing is when we’re called ‘nomads’, but that’s only because it sounds like ‘gonads’.

What the well-meaning books and counselors fail to realize is….we are survivors, motherfucker. 
The ones who did whatever they had to in order to make it. And its no accident we’re the last ones standing.

Damaged? Sure.
Scuffed up? Yeah.
Emotionally castrated? Probably.
Hard as nails and more likely to survive than some Hampton-bred preppy?You’d better believe it.

Sure, we may be weird and squat on toilet seats out of habit, but if the world ever ran out of toilets…guess who wouldn’t be fazed**? Perhaps we don’t know where we belong or seem particularly clueless when it comes to American social norms, but when you are a survivor your priorities realign.

I want to change my answer.

I’d look for the Every Day Survivors. 
The ones who have fought before and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a zombied Josh Groban (even though he has the voice of an angel) if they had to.

Those who battle their own demons and refuse to give up; who stand up for the abused, wage war against the abuser; who lay siege to lies and will not be defeated. 
To the bullied and belittled, to those who protect the lonely and forgotten…I want you on my team.

*This is a term missionary kids use in reference to themselves or other TCKs (third culture kids), which I’m assuming you didn’t know because you had to look at this footnote. Which means you wouldn’t be one of the people I’d look for when the Mole King finally decides to take over. Good luck, bub.

**If your first guess was “anyone in the Westborough Baptist Cult”, you’d be right because I’m pretty sure they have their buttholes surgically removed, which is why they are stock-full of shit.

How to ruin a childhood movie

James [yelling from upstairs]: "Jessa, if our kids ever ask us what sex is like, we'll just tell them it's like listening to The Lion King...but with your whole body."

Me: "...aaaaand I'm done with breakfast."

Songs that now have different meanings because of what James said:
- The Circle of Life
- Can You Feel the Love
- Be Prepared

You know, the boy has a point.

You could have saved Wayne

This is how I deal with telemarketers.

This is what we call "calm"

James: Tonight is so calm and great. You are reading, the dog is chillin' on the bed. There is classical music playing...

Me: I know. It's nice.

James: We should blow something up. OR SET SOMETHING ON FIRE! 

Me: Wha...wait, no. Why?

James: Do you have some old jeans you could burn? 

[I ignore him and continue to read]

James: Hey...stop ignoring me!

[I turn a page, still ignoring him]

James [pouting]: That's my book, so you can't read it unless I say so...[grabs at it]...gimmi it. 

Me [still reading]: Try to take it from me. Find out what happens. 

[There is a moment of silence. James rolls over and starts to scratch his back, his face half buried in the pillow]

James [muffled voice]: What if every time you scratched my back it was just zits? 

[He lifts his head]

James: Like you scratch and just get a handful of pus. 

Me: Calm down there, Satan. 

Yeah, that's *totally* a normal response....

James: "Someone could sing the first two words of "oh Canada" and then hum any other tune and I would believe them. That's how little I care about Canada."

Me: "Let's move to Canada."

James: "No. But good talk."

Me: "Why not? You could finally have an excuse to wrestle with bears."

James: "Cause....'Merica. And freedom."

Me: "Honey your breath stinks. Go brush your teeth."

Jams: "You can't tell me what to do. I'm an adult, which means you need to leave me alone."

Me: "Ok, we'll whenever I'm doing the finances, I'm going to say the same thing to you."

James: "And I will immediately pee on you."

(Pause)

James starts humming the Canadian national anthem again.