There is something very un-Lake Wobegon about posting yourself up for everyone to see or, for that matter, assuming that anyone would want to see you in the first place. Can you even be passive aggressive over the internet? So, despite my inner Minnesotan telling me that there is something very wrong with having a blog, here I am. The voice of the metro-hipster-alterna-dad inside of me, the arrogant bastard that he is, has emerged the winner for my stay at home dad soul.
Why am I here? What do I bring to this ridiculously overcrowded potluck dinner we refer to, with finger quotes, as the blogosphere?
Tapirs Poop Hotdish! Here's the recipe:
4 cans of sweetened condensed pictures of my kids,
2 lbs of fresh organic kid stories,
2 jars of canned organic kid stories,
2 cups of things to do around Minneapolis-St. Paul with and without kids,
2 cups of dry humor,
1 cup of juvenile humor,
3 Tbs of poor grammer and spelling.
Mix all ingredients together. Sprinkle with french fried onions. bake for 30 min. at 350 degrees.