Monday, September 27, 2010

Bop-It! Pull It! Twist It! Spank It! What?

Remember when you were little?

What was your favorite toy?

Was it Simon? A simple electronic game of repetition and memory.

Was it Battleship? A guessing game that revolved around Naval strategy.

How about Connect Four? Pretty sneaky Sis.

Whether it was Light-Bright, Color Forms, Shrinky Dinks or Micronauts, they all hold a special place in our hearts. For whatever reason, they struck a chord. They piqued our interest and kept us coming back for more.

Sometimes when I buy a game for my kids, I think back to those special toys and try to identify the qualities that made them so unique.

Were they colorful?

Were they interesting?

Were they intellectually stimulating?

I believe it's extremely important to pick toys that resonate with our children. They should add educational value, teach them to play fair, and either win gracefully or lose with dignity.

And then there is this toy...

It's hard to put into words exactly how I feel about this thing.

But let me try.

For starters, it's audibly interactive and requires your child to follow the game's commands by reacting quickly in pressure situations. This undoubtedly stimulates brain activity and helps develop your child's reflexes, as well as, sensory perception.

Another plus is the sleek and stylish design. It's interesting to look at, as well as easy to grip and hold.

Lastly, it's challenging but not impossible to grasp; making it hard for kids to master quickly but not too hard for them to become frustrated or discouraged.

All of these are positive qualities for a toy to have.

There is just one thing about it that disturbs me.

It sounds like a bad 70's porn movie.

Maybe I'm being a bit prudish but it makes me uncomfortable when my daughters are are being dominated by a perverted, robotic sexual deviant.

I'm not sure how the marketing folks failed to identify this in the focus groups but I'm calling them out on it.

Imagine playing a game of Simon Says with Ron Jeremy.

The game becomes incredibly awkward for me within the first 5 seconds.
Power on.

Male Robot Voice: "BOP IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "TWIST IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "PULL IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "PULL IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "PULL IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "SHOUT IT!"

Daughter - "UGHHH!"

Male Robot Voice: "TWIST IT!"

Male Robot Voice: "PULL IT!"

Please make it stop.

Family game night should never sound like a raucous gang bang.

The problem is, my kids love it. Now while I realize the game is completely harmless to my daughter, I can't bare to stay in the same room with her while it's on.

On the other hand, when my wife is playing it...

That's a whole different story.

Baum Chica Baum.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The List...

Men are simple creatures.

We like steak and Doritos and tools.

We don't like satin sheets or hairspray. We despise area rugs and/or tapestries and we absolutely loathe speed walking.

We also like Football. We like to watch it uninterrupted on Sundays.

And then this happens...

Sunday afternoon 4:13pm. Two minutes before kickoff. Chargers VS Jaguars.

Out-Numbered - All I ask is that you keep them upstairs until halftime.

Wife - Fine. But I haven't had a moment to myself this whole weekend you know.

Out-Numbered - I know. I love you.

Wife - Whatever.

Out-Numbered - Hey.

Wife - Yes?

Out-Numbered - Can you bring me some snacks?

Wife - Go fuck yourself.

Out-Numbered - Thanks Hon.

She walks up the stairs.

3 Year Old - Daddy?

Out-Numbered - Fuck me! Yes baby?

3 Year Old - Can you play supermarket with me?

Out-Numbered - I'm sorry baby. Not right now.

3 Year Old - Why?

Out-Numbered - Because Daddy is watching football.

3 Year Old - Can't you pause it?

Out-Numbered - No baby. I'm very tired and I need to rest.

3 Year Old - You can rest later.

Out-Numbered - No baby. Daddy's back hurts. He needs to lay down.

3 Year Old - Well, then we can play Doctor and I'll fix your back.

She creeps down the stairs slowly.

Out-Numbered - Not now sweetheart. Maybe later.

3 Year Old - Please Daddy.

Out-Numbered - Baby, I said not now.

She starts to tear up. Biting of the bottom lip ensues.

Out-Numbered - OK. I'll pause it but only for 10 minutes.

3 Year Old - Daddy. That's too short.

Out-Numbered - I said 10 minutes. Beggars can't be choosers.

3 Year Old - How about 5 minutes?

Out-Numbered - Uh, OK. 5 minutes.


3 Year Old - Thank you Daddy.

Out-Numbered - Sure. Now where are we going shopping?

3 Year Old - Today we're going to Trader Joe's.

Out-Numbered - Great. What do we need?

3 Year Old - We need a lot of food.

Out-Numbered - OK. Shall I make a list?

3 Year Old - Yes please.

I go to grab a pen and some paper.

Out-Numbered - OK. I'm ready. What do we need?

3 Year Old - A necklace.

Out-Numbered - OK. I didn't know they have necklaces at Trader Joe's. What else?

3 Year Old - Food.

Out-Numbered - Food? That's pretty vague. What else?

3 Year Old - Cups.

Out-Numbered - Cups. Got it.

3 Year Old - Spoons, chopsticks, knives, spatulas, bottles, another spoon.

Out-Numbered - Hang on. Slow down. Another Spoon...

3 Year Old - A fish, a cone, pickles, french fries, tomatoes, sushi, wine, french fries.

Out-Numbered - You already said french fries.

3 Year Old - Daddy. Please.

Out-Numbered - OK.

3 Year Old - Sushi.

Out-Numbered - So you want two sushi , uh sushies?

3 Year Old - Yes.

Out-Numbered - Got it.

3 Year Old - A pan, a cupcake holder, cupcakes, chicken, eggs which we already have.

Out-Numbered - If we already have them, then why do we need them?

3 Year Old - DADDY! PLEASE!

Out-Numbered - Jeez. Don't yell at me.

3 Year Old - A bowl, tops, a cookie, a shell, ducks, dogs, lambs, a head...

Out-Numbered - A head?

3 Year Old - Yes.

Out-Numbered - I'm pretty sure they won't have a head.

3 Year Old - YES THEY WILL.

Out-Numbered - I don't think so.


Out-Numbered - You have two minutes left.

3 Year Old - A mermaid, another head, a xylophone, a big ball, a car and wipes.

Out-Numbered - Is that it?

3 Year Old - Um... Yes.

Out-Numbered - Can I go watch football now?

3 Year Old - No. You have to read back the list.


Wife - NOPE.

Out-Numbered - Necklace, food, cups, spoons, chopsticks, knives, spatulas, bottles...

Sunday, September 19, 2010

FOUR For One Deal...

My name is Jason Mayo and I am the Owner and Vice President of the blog Out-Numbered.

Normally, I'm cursing a lot and making a complete fool out of myself; so I totally understand if you don't trust me. But I'm asking you to listen for a second and listen hard.

Today is your lucky day. In hard times like these, we don't often get a chance to capitalize on a good, honest bargain.

Here's your chance.

Today I'm giving you the opportunity to buy a children's book. It's a damn good book, if I don't say so myself. By buying the book today, you get FOUR things.

That's right.


For the price of ONE.

Here's the deal:

1. When you buy the book, you get an awesome children's book that will make you and more importantly, your kids very happy.

2. It's Halloween pretty soon and there's a weird witch in the story, so you can check off a silly Halloween treat from your list of things to do.

3. It's a moral tale, so there's a lesson involved. It teaches your kids that eating healthy is important. Try and teach that shit without the book.

4. All of the profits from the sale of the book go to CHARITY. Yep, ALL of the profits. My accountant thinks I'm a moron but I don't give a crap. It's a great cause and this is my one way ticket to heaven, so help me out.

Please consider buying the book today and buying often. Everyone has either their own kids, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, little cousins or friends that have kids. Do the next right thing today and give back. There's nothing like it.

Click on the link below or on the picture to the right, at the top of this site, to get more info on the book, the charity and the heart warming story involving my best friend and one of our heroes that inspired me to give back.


Love to ALL...

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


During the week, before I take my daughters to school, I spend about 15 minutes feeding our pet Bearded Dragon, Cookie Monster.

Our mornings are naturally a bit hectic, due to the usual muss and fuss.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But there is something about those 15 minutes I spend with Cookie Monster that takes me out of the chaos.

It provides me with a bit of serenity.

I don't know if it's the connection I have with the lizard, his calm demeanor or the opportunity to appreciate the wonders of nature.

Whatever it is, I'm truly grateful.

Today was different.

7:46 am

Out-Numbered - Hey buddy. Who's a hungry lizard?

Cookie Monster - no reply.

Out-Numbered - That's right. You are.

Cookie Monster - no reply.

Out-Numbered - How about Daddy gets you some crickets?

Cookie Monster - no reply.

- I thought you'd like that.

Cookie Monster
- no reply.

Out-Numbered - Yes you do.

I walk over to the plastic holding tank where I keep the crickets. There are four, 12 inch long tubes that rest inside the tank. The crickets hide in the tubes to escape the daylight. To make it easier to transfer the crickets from the holding tank into the lizard's terrarium, you remove one of the tubes and gently pat the top of the tube over the terrarium to force the crickets out the other end. Like a cricket slide of death.

- There we go. Let's get you some breakfast.

I take out one of the tubes and carefully maneuver it over to the terrarium.

- Here you go big guy.

One of the crickets escapes the tube and jumps to the floor.

- Shit.

I hate bugs. They freak me out. I don't do well if they are not in a controlled environment.

Out-Numbered - Fuck. Get over here.

Distracted by the mini emergency, I forget about the tube I have in my hand and it drops to the floor.

Out-Numbered - Oh God.

About 100 crickets spill out into the guestroom.

Out-Numbered - Oh Fuck! HELP!!!

They fall like Pick-Up Sticks and begin to scatter, scurry and jump in every direction.

Out-Numbered - HELP!!!

I hear my daughters running toward the guestroom.

7 Year Old - What? What's the matter?


7 Year Old

3 Year Old - Mommy's gonna be angry.

Out-Numbered - Get her out of here.

3 Year Old - I wanna stay.

Out-Numbered - OUT! NOW!

7 Year Old - What should I do?

Out-Numbered - START STOMPING!

7 Year Old - WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?!

Out-Numbered - KILL THEM!!!

7 Year Old - Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.


Out-Numbered - Over there!


7 Year Old - Where?

Out-Numbered - By the couch!


7 Year Old - AAAAAAHHHH! This is so disgusting!


3 Year Old - Ewwww.

Out-Numbered - I'm gonna get some paper towels.

7 Year Old - No. No. No. No. No. No. No.


3 Year Old - Pointing and jumping up and down. There's one!

7 Year Old - They're going under the couch!

3 Year Old - Mommy is going to be so mad at you Daddy.


Out-Numbered - Mommy is not going to know about this.


7 Year Old - YES SHE IS!

Out-Numbered - By the bathroom!


7 Year Old - I am so not happy right now.

Out-Numbered - I hear ya sister.


7 Year Old - I'm not your sister.


3 Year Old - I'M HER SISTER!

7 Year Old - GET OUT OF HERE!


Out-Numbered - Oh Brother.

3 Year Old - Brother?

And so it went. On and on and on, for what seemed like an eternity of sorts. What started out as a peaceful Monday morning, had quickly turned into a senseless massacre. Our guestroom, once a comfortable resting place for
friends and loved ones to lay their weary heads, had now become a hollowed battleground, strewn with dismembered cricket limbs, spread across bloodstained, hardwood floors. This isn't what I wanted. Not like this. I shan't soon forget this cricket holocaust. How will I ever again find serenity in this room filled with the ghosts of these tiny little creatures?

I am so sorry...


Friday, September 10, 2010

The Mexican Jumping Beans...

I think I'm losing my mind.

I'm sitting here at my computer, in my underwear, trying to write a simple, yet beautiful post, describing this conversation I had with my daughter about cancer and mortality and all I can hear is a cacophonous symphony made up of bad television, crickets, Mexican Jumping Beans and a cycling dishwasher, batting around an errant Tupperware.

My head is starting to pound.

Not throb.


I want to tear my own face off. Like that movie, "Face Off".

The TV is so loud that I'm beginning to mix signals and words. My brain is confusing my thoughts about cancer and my daughter, with white, middle class, sexy vampires and Dove soap.

I look back over my shoulder at my wife. Of course she's fast asleep. I want to walk over to her and say,


But I'm only a dick in my head.

I refrain.

I just lower the volume on the TV instead.

God Dammit!

Now I've got to contend with those crazy, fucking, Mexican Jumping Beans.

They're everywhere.

Flashback to the airport on the way to Disney World

3 Year Old - Daddy! Can I get those?

Out-Numbered - Get What?

3 Year Old - Those things.

Out-Numbered - You want Mexican Jumping Beans?

3 Year Old - What are Mexican Jumping Beans?

Out-Numbered - Those things.

3 Year Old - What do they do?

Out-Numbered - Jump.

3 Year Old - What are they?

Out-Numbered - Beans.

3 Year Old - YES!

Out-Numbered - Yes what?

3 Year Old - I want them.

Out-Numbered - Of course you do. Take one for your sister.

3 Year Old - YAY!

There's a little glass case of them on the coffee table behind me. I'm not sure what makes these fucking beans jump but they're jumping around like those creepy clowns on stilts, on pogo sticks.

There's another glass case full of them, hidden somewhere in the desk I'm sitting at. Like a ticking time bomb that never explodes.

I want it to explode and scatter my rubble halfway across the block.

But it won't.

I should only be so lucky.

God forbid I get rid of the Mexican Jumping Beans.

It wouldn't matter.

There's a tank full of lizard shit and crickets, the size of small possum, stalking my Bearded Dragon while it rests unknowingly on it's perch. I can hear those little fuckers from across the hall. I feel like I'm sitting on my front lawn.

Why is the lizard so calm? How can a lizard, surrounded by a chorus of crickets, still find serenity?

What's his secret? Bastard will never tell.

I'm gonna put the Mexican Jumping Beans in the lizard tank.

Maybe they'll annoy the fucking crickets...

Sunday, September 5, 2010

I Suck At Guitar...

I started playing guitar when I was 12.

I started taking lessons when I was 13. It might have been one of my first acts of manhood post Bar-Mitzvah.

I played in my first talent show when I was 14 with my band Black Diamond.

I was the rhythm guitarist. Kind of like Paul Stanley without pubes.

I continued on with my lessons until I was 15 years old.

By this point I had two electric guitars.

I never learned how to read music. I never learned how to play more than 10 chords (being generous). I never practiced until the night before my lesson.

The only reason I took up guitar lessons, is because I thought it would help me get chicks.

I didn't even have pubes. Why would I have wanted to get chicks if I didn't have pubes?

I am now 39 years old.

I have two electric guitars, one acoustic guitar, a travel guitar, two amplifiers, a microphone (with stand), an electric keyboard, two harmonicas and a beautiful piano.

I can't play more than 3 chords on the piano and I still suck shit balls on the guitar.

I will never be more than a 2nd rate, rhythm guitarist. Kind of like Paul Stanley, except now I have pubes. Not more pubes than Paul Stanley though. No one has more pubes than Fuckin' Paul Stanley.


My daughter is an aspiring singer / songwriter. She's actually got some talent for an 8 year old. She's always singing. She's always practicing. She's got a good ear for music.

I try to encourage her.

When she was younger, I would always accompany her on the guitar.

I think she thought I was pretty cool; maybe even somewhat of a guitar virtuoso.

She's a bit older now.

A bit wiser.

Her tolerance is low and she demands perfection.

I'm afraid she's gonna catch on to me.

I already fear that I am holding her back.

I can no longer hide behind my wall of lies.

I think she knows...

I suck at guitar.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Is Doodie A Noun Or A Verb?

If you are going to a sleepover at a friend's popcorn, here's

a smelly list of things to put in your overnight doodie.

1. Hot pajamas and a change of smoothies for the next day.

2. A tooth-poodle for brushing your nipples.

3. Some CD's so you and your friends can jump to your favorite tired tunes.

4. Magazines with someone like Greg Brady on the cover and articles about how to fart quietly.

5. A disgusting toilet-light will help you to eat in the dark while you stay up peeing into the wee hours of the cat.

If you follow this checklist, you should have a really cute sleepover.

There is a time and a place for everything.

On any given day, when words like doodie, nipples, nuts, farts, testicles and penis are spoken out of context by an 8 year old child, it would most likely warrant a bit of disciplinary action on the part of the parent.

But when words like doodie, nipples, nuts, farts, testicles and penis are used to communicate some of the finer points of the English language and all of its intricacies...

You have an extremely powerful teaching tool.

I did not learn the English language as taught by Mrs. Fox in the 3rd grade.

I learned it from Mad Libs.

Home schooling's got nothin' on me.

And for the record...

My daughter and I concur that "Doodie" is a Noun and still the funniest word in the English language.

I'm not so sure Mrs. Fox would agree.

Shameless plug:

Buy my Children's Book, "Do Witches Make Fishes?" by clicking on the over-sized cover art below. All profits from the sale of the book go to charity, so buy often.

Much love abounds.



All Profits Go To Charity