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But alas, they're not here. You need to go elsewhere to read them! Does that make things a bit more difficult? Possibly, but not for me.

Go read the additional blog updates by clicking this link!

And now, the real story...

Here is the true tale of Headbutts from an eighteen month old!

In December of 2003, I was asked by some dear friends of mine if I'd be willing to help them out for a day. They ran a daycare out of their home for their son and the son of a mutual friend of ours, and the nanny was going to be unavailable that day. Since I was currently working part-time for my current job, I said it wouldn't be a problem as long as I didn't have to change diapers. They agreed and the deal was made, hands were shaken, dotted lines were signed upon, and so on and so forth.

Several days later, I made my way over to their house. The boys had just eaten lunch and were playing nicely with their toys and each other. The books were pointed out to me, as were the DVDs and video tapes. Basic questions were answered, simple directions given, and I was left on my own with the tots.

I looked around, trying to find something that I could do with them and have it be somewhat educational. Nothing really stuck out. I decided to make faces at them instead.

I scrunched up my face and looked at one of the boys. Jason, the resident baby of the house, looked up at me, giggled, and went back to turning Tupperware into head protection and walking around blindly. Since he was staying in the living room where everything was padded, I let him be.

I then turned to the non-resident toddler, Miles, and made faces at him. He laughed, ran over to me, gave me a big hug, and proceeded to drool all over my shoulder. I now knew what a chew toy felt like and I needed to distract the drooler in order to keep dry.

I looked at the two of them and thought what sort of activity we could do that'd keep them occupied and quiet. "You guys want to hear Green Eggs And Ham?" Jason's response was a rather solid CLUNK as he suddenly decided to run with his Tupperware helmet, which was still on his head, aimed at the kitchen counter. Miles just drooled some more and had a silly grin on his face; I think he may have been pooping.

"Alright... It's video time!" I announced. Miles bounced around a little bit, while Jason rolled about on the floor, gathering what wits he had left after the collision. Tupperware was pried off of heads, babies were flown to the couch, and Disney's Sing-A-Long Songs was popped into the DVD player.

The boys oooh'd and aaah'd for a good five minutes before getting bored. Jason climbed onto the coffee table, which was a usual place for him to sit and play, and made Tupperware towers. Miles, on the other hand, decided to watch me try unsuccessfully to get them both to clap along with the music, and decided to join in the fun.

Time for a bit of a tangent here... I mentioned earlier that Miles' mother was a mutual friend of mine and Jason's parents. She was the one that I'd mentioned in this blog entry, and she and I had a bit of history together. Her husband really didn't care for me (they weren't married at the time, and were supposedly not even dating either), and was a major reason for my not seeing her for quite a while. Is there a reason for this info? Maybe... Anyway, back to the story...

So, I was trying to get the boys involved in the music, but only Miles was interested in what was going on. Jason was more pre-occupied with his Tupperware creations and then knocking them over.

"Might as well make use of some of the attention and keep him occupied," was my primary thought. So I clapped along with the music. Miles also clapped, but not with the music. Giggling ensued from him as he was entranced with that. I then leaned back on the couch and started patting my belly, once again in time with the music. Miles laid back, pulled up his shirt, started slapping his stomach with wild abandon and cackled with delight. He rolled onto his stomach at that point and slid himself off the couch. I sat up and kept clapping. Miles walked in front of me, still clapping like a seal on speed.

At this point, I decided to go all out and get self-musical. I clapped my hands, slapped my cheeks, knocked on my head, slapped my stomach and patted my legs. Miles loved this, and really got interested when I was doing the leg slaps. With keys in one pocket and change in the other, it made the most enticing sound to him, and he was enthralled.

So I took his hands and put them in mine and lightly slapped my thighs, just enough so that my pockets would jingle. Miles started to giggle, and that's where warning bells should have gone off...

Something I had seen but not noticed earlier was that Miles was a somewhat shy giggler. He'd hide his face as he laughed. And the harder he'd laugh, the faster he'd hide his face. And the jingling of my pockets made him giggle rather hard...

In retrospect, I can see this happening in bullet-time. Miles pulled his hands away from mine to hide his grin of delight, and then raised them a bit above his head. At this point, the action stops, and the camera spins around from Miles' face to his left. Camera speed resumes to normal and his head begins to move forward. The speed is increased and his head flies forward to impact... WITH MY GROIN! Camera turns and pans up to a shot of my face as it displays a perfectly painful image of genital impact by hard baby head, all done in slow motion. Normal time resumes, continue scene.

So yes, our young Miles decided to be so stricken with glee that he felt the best way to show his gratitude was to impact his forehead against my testicles. Repeatedly. He smacked them three times. And all I could do at that point was gasp, squeak, and fight unconsciousness. I took a deep breath, and gently moved Miles to the side. I slowly exhaled. Several more deep breaths were taken, and pain eventually subsided from the groinal area.

I looked over at Jason and noted he wasn't in the least bit fazed by what had just happened; he probably was too absorbed in his Tupperware towers. I glanced over at Miles and gave him the look. He giggled a bit more. I shook my head.

"I think it's time for a new game..."

And the winner is....

Here it is... The winning tale! Story number two: Headbutts from an eighteen month old!*

He wanted a cookie, but he'd been misbehaving so I looked him in the eyes and firmly told him, "No cookie for you!"

He looked back at me with a petulant glare. "Me want cookie!"

I held my ground. "No cookie for you! You've been bad!"

He wailed, and then grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. I countered by spinning around and throwing him against the couch. He made use of the springyness of the cushions and bounced back at me in an attempt to get me with a flying clothesline. I anticipated this move and stepped off to the side. As he flew past me, I readied my move... His eighteen month old eyes widened in realization that this was my finishing move. I brought my forehead forth with blinding speed, using his forward momentum to help add to the force of the mighty blow.

*CRACK*

The resulting collision echoed throughout the house as his body dropped to the floor. His eyes crossed, then unconsciousness took over. I was the victor and still champion! I got down to pin my victim, and suddenly I got smacked with an aluminum chair. I collapsed upon the ground, still managing to pin my opponent only to next get beaten repeatedly with a plastic Bam-Bam bat! I glanced over my shoulder to note that it was the nineteen month old! He came out of nowhere to avenge his partner's fall! Alas, it wasn't enough, for the count was completed, and I got declared the champion. I got the cookies and the milk; they got a nap.

And all was good in the world once again.


*this isn't the real story, it's only here for laughs right now. The real story comes later tonight or tomorrow.

Previously non-posted tidbits

Time to play "catch-up" and toss on a few items that I didn't post over here. Enjoy at your leisure!

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I love my father. Not only does he let me help out with tasks around the house, but he also calls up with inspirational messages.

Last week, I got this brilliant gem on my cellphone while I was at work. "Son, how many girls called you today? Zero? And how many girls called you yesterday? Lemme guess: zero? Well, you know what they say, son. Zero plus zero equals FAG! Zero times any other number always equals FAG! Think about it, ya little mathematician." My father has always been great. He drank for the government you know! And he remembered what I went to school for. I love my daddy.

Here's the one I got last night! Daddy got me a gift! "Hey, son, you know how you've been bugging me to go and get you a puppy? Well, today after work, I went out and I bought you one. But on the way home, I got hungry and I ate him! I'm joking; I'd never buy you a puppy." What a silly daddy!

* the above does not represent my father in any way... Except for the boat story; that really happened. The rest I lifted from the Kids In The Hall. God bless Canada, and also men in skirts.

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So, is there anyone out there that does dream analysis? I had a rather wacky dream this morning. Would you like to hear about it? Tough shit, you're hearing it anyway.

*insert wavy lines and noises signifying dream-state recollection is being entered*

I was on an international flight to Australia. I don't know why I was flying out there; maybe it was to kidnap a koala and to visit Zordana, Mister 4, and Anumati (even though she's in New Zealand). Or maybe it was to kidnap those three folks and visit a koala. I don't know. All I know is that I was flying out to the Land Down Under. The plane came in for a landing, and as soon as it stopped, we were told to stay in our seats. Apparently Australia had legalized marijuana and they weren't sharing it with anyone that wasn't living there. All foreigners were not to be let in, and this was demonstrated by the flight attendants pointing to an image on the in-flight movie screen of Australia getting a wall built up around the shorelines. We were then told that we'd be put on another plane that'd take us someplace else, as of yet to be specified but wouldn't be back to the US. Everybody was perfectly alright with this... Except for me. I told one of the stewardesses that I needed to find a plane back home. She said that I'd find one at the Sydney airport, but due to the restrictions, I couldn't get there. An argument ensued that lasted several minutes and entertained the rest of the passengers and crew. Needless to say, I lost and couldn't convince them to let me get on the plane back to the US. They did offer some consolation, though. I would be allowed to get on another plane that was flying to Japan, then fly from there back home. At that point, I found myself on the plane leaving Japan with a really cute Japanese girl sitting next to me. Once the "Fasten Seatbelt" light turned off, she looked at me and said two words: Mile High. She then got up and worked her way towards the back of the plane as beeping permeated througout the plane...

*insert wavy lines and noises signifying dream-state recollection is being exited*

At this point, you could guess that my alarm went off and pulled me out of the dream. I was pissed. This was the first dream that I'd remembered in quite a while, and I was gonna get some too! *FRUSTRATION*

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Must dwell upon what to have as my next somewhat substantial entry...

What should I tell you guys about? Choose from the following:

1) A salute to The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and nakedness!
2) Headbutts from an eighteen month old!
3) Initiating the new guy... the "gay" way!
4) Flustering the nuns the way a six-year old shouldn't!

Maybe you've got a suggestion for something other than the above. If so, suggest it! Vote now; vote often! Whichever choice gets the most votes will be told as the next Ned story!

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I stole this from Goatsniper, who stole it from Lang. Fear my rod!!!!! Especially if your name is Steve.

Your Homicidal Rampage! by crash_and_burn
Your name:
Weapon of Choice:	AOL Trial CDs
Your Favorite Target:	People named "Steve"
Your Kill Count:	92,732,126
Your Battle Cry:	"Allow me to molest your face with this rod!"
Years You Spend in Jail:	36
How Much Money In Damages You Cause:	$203,828,871,148,265
Your Homocidal Insanity Level:: 61%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Your Homicidal Rampage! by crash_and_burn
Your name:
Weapon of Choice:	Coke bottles
Your Favorite Target:	Men
Your Kill Count:	712,430,239
Your Battle Cry:	"Touch me, I'm happy!"
Years You Spend in Jail:	16
How Much Money In Damages You Cause:	$154,935,196,006,669
Your Homocidal Insanity Level:: 73%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

I'm still waiting for more votes regarding my previous post. Keep voting, and once this Friday hits, I'll let you know which got the most votes. In the case of a tie, the world ends and we all die. So vote often! Multiple votes within one comment do not count.

**Damn the fact that I don't know HTML in order to make the tables above show properly... You have to highlight the tables in order to see the rest of the text.

Proven wrong...

Yes, it turns out there are a few others that do read this. Unfortunately, without comments, it's difficult for me to know if people are accessing it without some sort of counter.

I may have to go back to updating both blogs instead of just having my Xanga blog.

I think I'll have to copy a few of my other posts over here too... Just to provide additional reading pleasure. Or pain.

Does anyone read this?????

I'd think not, other than Uncle Timmy and those of Sunspot. Henceforth, I shall maintain my Xanga site and post there. Wish to read what I have there? Click here and join The Cult Of Ned and become a follower! Or just read it and chuckle.

Love Potion Number.... Five?

I have to blame Kallikrates for this, and the resultant use of seriousness that is going to be shown. She had a number of quizzes on her recent blog, and out of sheer boredom at work, I took one. I needed to find out what my Love Number was, and no, it's not pi or 69.

Your Love Number is

5 You're very open minded, and you could see yourself in any number of interesting relationships. And being extremely independent, anyone you're with has to give you space. You approach new lovers like they are a subject, learning everything about them. But once you've "mastered" a new person, you often feel like exploring some one else!

What Is Your Love Number?

Now I can see the first two comments applying to me, especially the independent aspect. That's one of the reasons why I ended my last relationship. As for approaching new lovers as a 'subject', I don't know if that's exactly true. I am cautious when getting into a relationship. Shit, I'm cautious even before there's even a chance for a relationship. But I do like to know what I'm getting into and try to make sure that I don't jump into anything blindly. Do I learn everything I can about them? No, because it also takes a lot of the surprise and discovery out of the beginning of the relationship.

But the "mastering" of a person line... that's just, I don't know, wrong? Let's theorize here. Let's say you've found someone with whom things click in a very good way. You know damned near everything about them. In essence, you could say that you've "mastered" them, and that's without even having to use the Konami code (sorry, needed to toss in a touch of wry humor). Do you need to "explore" someone else in order to "master" them? FUCK NO! You're in a relationship that you enjoy and it meets your and your significant other's needs. If you need to go out and find someone else, then it's not a good relationship. You'll probably have also found out that it wasn't a good relationship to be in before the "mastering" took place, and gotten the flying fuck out of such a relationship.

In summary, when it comes to relationships I am open-minded and rather independent. I do like to know what I'm getting into, but still like some mystery. And I'm loyal, you fuckers. I'm not likely to leave once I've found everything out about you. I'll leave if it ain't working, though. And this is after discussion is had and attempts are made.

Damnit. To get a bit of seriousness out of me, it looks like all one needs is one of these web quizzes that doesn't describe me to a tee, and I have to go tear it apart via self-justification. Maybe the funny will come back for my next post.

Update on the canoe

A few of you have been wondering about the canoe and if I've done anything with it yet. As a matter of fact I have. It is currently hidden in my bedroom under my bed. This was no easy feat as I had to avoid the prying eyes of the owners of the Chinese restaurant that is also in my backyard. But it did succeed once I had placed a wig and dress on the canoe.

At least the beginnings of a plan have come to mind. My plan is to wait for the major thaw of the season, and the first major rainfall that usually occurs. This will cause some nice river-type action since the ground isn't thawed enough to absorb all the water, and if it is, it's usually absorbed as much water as it can, thus causing the river-like effect. Then I shall canoe the rapids from my backyard down to the parking lot, slaloming between the cars, paddle up the hill to the Chinese restaurant, then down University Avenue for a wild ride to Taco Bell. What comes next in this plan, I do not know. But when it comes to fruition, it shall be glorious.

He's not my soul provider

Once upon a time, there was a much younger Ned. This Ned was 18 years old, and in the throes of the early 90's. The summer of Ned's 18th year bestowed upon him his first concert of a reknowned musical performer.

Now you're probably thinking "Wow, it must have been one hell of a show that Ned went to go see! He probably threw up the horns and saw Metallica or Guns 'N Roses." Or maybe your thoughts are "Man, I feel sorry for those folks in the mosh pits when Ned saw Nirvana or Stone Temple Pilots." Quite possibly you could be thinking "How could Ned drink all that Guinness at 18 and get into a brawl over someone calling football soccer at a U2 show?"

Any and just about all of your thoughts of who this performer was are probably so far off the mark that there's no explaining it, and you may think less of me.

It was a Michael Bolton concert.

Yes, you read that correctly. Michael "I stole your song and didn't pay you royalties" Bolton. The no-talent ass clown himself.

Michael Bolton was playing at Summerfest that year, and my mother was a fan of his. So it was decided that the family would go to Summerfest that day just so Mom could get herself some Michael Bolton singing action. Unfortunately, my father, brother, my friend Leif and myself were forced to succumb to this audio atrocity.

Leif and I didn't want to see this. We were both connoiseurs of all things metal, grunge, and the start of alternative. We also valued our masculinity, and to see Michael Bolton would do much to damage any attempts at having heterosexual lifestyles in the near future. My mother didn't care. I knew at this point, something had to be done to not only regain our masculinity, but also embarrass my mother for this.

So we were dragged, not quite literally, into the Marcus Amphitheatre to get good grass seats. Leif and I grumbled, and tried to think of what we could do. Nothing was coming to mind. Our conspiracies came to a crashing halt as Michael's opening act came out and started singing her hit song, "Love Can Move Mountains"...

That's right. Out came Celine Dion, just before she had started to hit it big here in the States. I felt my testicles start to shrivel and ascend into my coelum. Her song finished, and she was welcoming the crowd, speaking to us in somewhat broken English as she said what a pleasure it was to sing for us and let us know what a great country America was. I realized right then and there something had to be done, otherwise my friend and I were doomed to a life full of horrid pop music. I did the only thing that my addled mind could think of...

I stood up, cupped my hands to my mouth and bellowed out, "SIT DOWN! YOU SUCK!" then looked down at my mother with a little smirk. A smirk of hopeful victory.

It had worked. My mother was embarrassed enough to let Leif and I go do our own thing and meet up with her and my father and brother after the show. We were victorious, and to celebrate our victory we ran as quickly as possible to the metal stage. The thumping bassline, the screaming of the lyrics and screech of the guitar gave my testicles the strength needed to shrug off the power of Celine, and manliness was regained.

Once again, all was right in the world.

Darned thinking games...

This game is ticking me off... I can't figure out the sequence of events needed to power the portal!

Click here to play Hapland.