Pollywogs!

Pollywogs!
Sounds—possibly musical—heard in the night from other worlds or realms of being.


My Daddy the Dancer

January 24th, 2007

One day a fourth-grade teacher asked the children what their fathers did
for a living.

All the typical answers came up — fireman, mechanic, businessman,
salesman, doctor, lawyer, and so forth.

However, little Justin was being uncharacteristically quiet, so when the
teacher prodded him about his father, he replied, “My father’s an exotic
dancer in a gay cabaret and takes off all his clothes in front of other
men and they put money in his underwear. Sometimes, if the offer is
really good he will go home with some guy and stay with him all night for
money.”

The teacher, obviously shaken by this statement, hurriedly set the other
children to work on some exercises and then took little Justin aside to
ask him, “Is that really true about your father?”
“No,” the boy said, “He’s Tony Snow, the president’s press agent, but I was
too embarrassed to say that in front of the other kids.”

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