sTupiditie iSs infFectious (Guest Blog)

This is a guest blog written by my 11 year old son as part of the “The Kids Will All Write” challenge:  

Hello. I’m Jesse, son of the (in)famous Rock ‘n’ Roll Supermom. Have you noticed that a lot of people that you see around you have a really bad case of the stupids?

Let’s start with the kids:

At my school, I have met kids who act as if they surely must have negative IQ points. For example, any time they see a boy and a girl together, they automatically think, “Oooohhh, they’re in loooove,” and then insist on “spying” on them for no particular reason, other than to just be buttholes.

Also, they will find any way possible to make something sound dirty (ex: “I had to do it”).

And worst of all when ever they’re mad, they come up with the worst ideas you have ever heard of, like,” I’m going to make the biggest gang ever, and then when he comes begging to join it, I’ll say no, and see how he likes it.” I mean, why would anyone join  a gang just to make some kid they know nothing about jealous? But as embarrassingly stupid kids can be, adults can be idiotic too.

The first of these idiots was a woman I saw at a gas station. She had parked her car the wrong way, which I’m sure most people have done. However she, instead of moving her car, spent the next 666 seconds trying to get the nozzle to the other side of the car.

I also saw another woman at a Wendy’s. She went over to the soda machine, and put her cup under the spout, and sat there waiting. It was another few minutes until she realized that she had to push the lever to get the soda to come out.

And finally, quite possibly the one with the worst case of the stupids, was a man I saw at a fro-yo place. My family and I were eating, right by the window, when this guy comes to the door. He then starts to push on the door, which he was supposed to pull on, which I’m sure almost everyone has done. The stupid part is, that, instead of trying to pull on it, he stopped, stared at all of the people who were eating in there, tried to push it some more, and then gave up and left.

So, do you have the stupids? Symptoms may include pointing out anything that sounds remotely inappropriate, not being able to get soda from soda machines, losing your ability to open doors, and, the number one sign, acting like me.


Directionally Challenged

Today I take advantage of Word Press’s Weekly Challenge,
To challenge my husbands allegations I’m directionally challenged.
For though there is some truth in this I think that I know best,
And surely I’m familiar with my north, south, east and west.

It’s merely just a matter that my heads so full of stuff,
I don’t get the opportunity to look around enough,
So all this is why yesterday afternoon found me,
Outside with specific purpose to notice what’s around me.

I noticed all the flowers, I noticed all the signs,
I looked down at the sidewalks and studied all the lines,
I noticed all the houses and I noticed all the trees,
I noticed all the birds and I noticed all the bees,
I noticed all the scenery and all the streets I crossed,
And after about an hour, I noticed I was lost.


All God’s Creatures

Some people love all God’s creatures large and small,
I say if you’ve seen one rose you’ve seen them all,
But children see things differently so I guess I oughta,
Appreciate the scenery when walking with my daughter.

And lo and behold before us such an amazing sight,
That even I felt my blackened heart becoming light,
A rose stood before us with such a gorgeous hue,
It’s blossoms so delicately white yet almost blue.

And I stood in amazement as if under some strange potion,
That I barely paid attention to what played out in slow motion,
For out towards the flower my daughter’s hand reached for,
And no sooner had all the petals fallen to the floor,
Then we mourned the fact that the flower was no more.

And just when we thought there’d be nothing more to spoil it,
A dog came along and thought those petals would make a great toilet,
We walked through the neighborhood a couple of times since then,
And never saw anything so beautiful again.


A Poem That Takes The Cake

When reading this morning’s Daily Post,

My interest was aroused,

When asked what I would I do,

If I found a strange couple eating cake in my house.

You see it matters not who the couple is,

Or whether into my house they did break,

Let’s focus on what’s important here,

And readers, that is the cake.

For if they brought more for me and my family,

Well, you see, that is fine,

And this couple are now our dearest of friends,

And welcome back any time.

But if from my fridge, the cake they did take,

Well readers, now they are done,

And they better get the hell out of my house,

Or I’m calling 911.


Damn Kids! Get Off My Lawn

I just don’t understand kids today,
They really are a disaster,
They don’t brag about sex or drugs,
But volunteering in Alaska.

They don’t talk about music videos,
But analyze ‘Agents of Shield’,
They say the meek shall inherit the earth,
But this is downright weird.

The neighbors threw a party this weekend,
And they camped out in the yard,
It was not them throwing bottles I feared,
But busting out with ‘Kumbaya’.

And as I heard them talking,
I thought something not quite right,
As one girl raised a discussion,
Regarding Board Game Night!

I should be happy they’re so responsible,
Yet I say I prayer,
That maybe they will go away,
If I blast some Slayer.


Please Give

In Beverly Hills you look at me so piteously,
My grubby fingers press the glass so longingly,
As I look at designer clothing so fine,
But with two children to raise I know they’ll never be mine.

But fear not readers for I have arranged,
A way that you now can make a change,
For so recently I have begun,
The Marissa Bergen Wardrobe Fund.

Think of how much better your life will be lived,
Knowing that I’ve given you this chance to give,
And I’m sure no feeling could be finer,
Than knowing your $25 bought me an eyeliner.

And if you really need to beat the blues,
250 buys me a new pair of shoes,
So if you want to feel better in every way,
Please send in your donation today.

And if making a real difference is what you seek,
Act now- Manolo Blahniks are on sale this week,
And for giving you all this opportunity for helping,
I say not thank you but your welcome.



If Samson wasn’t a Judge of Israel,

But say President of the U.S.A.

And Delilah not from the Valley of Sorek,

But just a homely intern from L.A.

Perhaps a great scandal would occur,

Where the word impeachment might have arisen,

And perhaps his wife would come to his side,

And publicly announce she forgives him.

Or perhaps to this day with the intern he’d stay,

And into disgrace he would fall,

As she worked on taking over the country,

And dumping him when he went bald.


The Scarlet Later

If Hester Prynne were alive today,
No one would mark her with a Scarlet A,
All the homies would think it gangstah,
And say “It was me, I totally banged her!”
An aging husband that may be,
No more than a sugar daddy,
And no one would blame her for seeking younger hearts,
And those who did have working parts.
No one would worry or get too nervous,
And try to have her daughter taken away by social service,
And, In fact, at very best,
The plot would hold no interest,
And much to Nathaniel Hawthorne’s chagrin,
In modern times, The Scarlet Letter, never written.



Katz’s Delicatessen, NYC, 11/13/1970

That morning had been a rough morning. Just 6 weeks along and I was already in the throes of intense morning sickness. My breakfast definitely did not look any more appealing after being regurgitated into the toilet.

We were supposed to meet at Katz’s Deli on Houston. As I walked along the New York City streets, the stench which I thought I had grown immune to, built in my nostrils to the point where I had to stop several times to compose myself, lest risk making the contaminated streets so much more so. After being jostled around by the crowds I had learned to zig zag through, I finally reached my destination.

Katz’s was, as it always had been, a bustling, delightful mix of New York’s East Village. Autographed pictures of the restaurant’s famous patrons hung on the walls. Most of the tables were occupied by old Jewish men having a bagel and a schmear, arguing about what a Meshuggah Nixon was. At other tables, prostitutes coming in after a long night’s haul, bleeding hearts and artists, girls gathered around giggling in mini skirts and platform boots, hair straightened. I thought about how I could have easily been one of those girls, except, except…


There was a table in the back occupied by a bum, covered in filth, lucky enough to have secured enough income from a hard night begging on the streets to afford himself the warmth of a table with endless coffee refills. I knew it was only a matter of time until the manager would throw him out.

It was hard to say whether it was the stench of urine and body odor coming off the bum, or the smell of boiled cabbage coming from the kitchen that, once again, almost sent me reeling into the bathroom, but luckily I was able to get myself to the table with little incident.

As usual he was smiling, always obnoxiously positive. My speech started running through my head; what I would say, how I would say it. My pregnancy. How I had love for him and wanted him to be a part of the baby’s life, but I was not in love with him. I wanted to raise this baby on my own. It was 1970 after all, and more and more women were taking control of their own destinies. My mother might disapprove but after the baby was born she would come around. After all, didn’t I owe this baby a happy life?

It seemed Katz’s only had one portion size; incredibly large. Just as I was approaching, the waitress placed down a mammoth piece of their famous cheesecake on my setting. Under any other circumstances I would have been immensely pleased. This was, after all, my favorite.

I could see the confused look on his face when I did not immediately dig in and I could tell my deviant behavior could lead to a string of questions which would throw me off my guard, ruin my carefully rehearsed speech, and possibly make me lose my nerve completely.

Ah, it might not be so bad. I took a bite.

That’s when I discerned, in the confines of the rich sweet taste of whipped cream that I had so grown to love over the years, the unmistakable taste of metal. I could detect the circular form as the heavy sweetness melted in my mouth. I rushed to the bathroom as quickly as I could.