Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Jellyfish Sting Cure-All

Betty got stung on her finger by a jellyfish. It was just a small sting but it hurt, so I offered to pee on her hand to make the pain go away.

But of course, even after being married for nearly five years, she would not let me pee on her hand. You'd think we'd just started dating the way she always makes me not pee on things.

I suggested that she pee on her own hand, to which she said she would just deal with the pain. But I had no intention of letting my beautiful, loving wife live in pain, even for a second. So I stood up on my beach chair, yanked down my shorts and held onto the beach umbrella for dear life as I tried to let loose. But Betty dumped the contents of my daughter's beach pool on me, and that caused shrinkage, and then I couldn't go anymore.

I stomped down to the beach, stealing a child's water gun along the way, and tried to fill it up with pee. But I just couldn't go - the kid's mom was glaring at me, and I have stage fright. So I threw the toy gun into the ocean and rode the waves back to the shore.

In the end, Betty said her finger has healed and that it no longer hurts. But I'm still going to wait for her to go to sleep so I can make sure it gets all the healing it needs.

SC Governor Admits He Went "Walter Mitty" on Female Staff

South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford said Tuesday that he "crossed lines" with several women, but that only a single woman - his mistress in Argentina - let him get it on with her. When questioned why only the Argentinian would have sex with him, Sanford told reporters that he told his mistress that South Carolina was its own independent country and that he was the king.

Tears streamed down Sanford's face as he complained to the world what a huge vagina he is, crying for his mommy and asking all the women he ever groped to forgive him for "not being man enough for them." He then blew his nose into a hankerchief and ballyhooed about his small weiner, which "really hurt with the bitches."

As for the other women, Sanford said he was "reduced to daydreaming about what type of underwear they wore," adding that he knew they were probably all regular cotton panties. He was sure that one of his female staffers wore a pink thong, adding, "That was the whole reason why I hired her."

Asked why he felt the need to daydream about women's underwear, Sanford admitted that he is a sex-a-holic but is too gangly-looking to actually score with beautiful women. "If I were from West Virginia I could have just gotten it on with my cousin, but no, I just had to choose to be governor of South Carolina, didn't I?"

Sanford's wife refused to comment on her husband's mistress, but did tell one reporter that she was going to "smack Mark's ass around tonight, and not in the usual kinky way."

In conclusion, nobody yet understands why Governor Mark Sanford's secret love life is of any entertainment value to anybody, but according to an unidentified source at the AP, this story is "just a big hoax to focus attention away from Jon & Kate so they can mend their marriage."

Monday, June 29, 2009


It's raining in Perdido Key, but we weren't worried because we came prepared. We brought four Netfix DVDs.

In our DVD list is Marley & Me - a modern day Old Yeller from what I've heard; the Tudors, which is the HBO series about King Henry VIII; Definitely, Maybe - a chick flick, but it has Van Wilder in it so I put it on our queue; and Man on Wire, a documentary about a guy who walked on a wire between the Twin Towers in New York in 1974.

Basically, we brought something for everybody.

And after the family poker match, we all descended onto the couch because we had nothing else to do. We all voted on what movie to watch, I put the disc into the DVD player, then hit the Input Select button on the remote.

Nothing happened.

I resorted to what I usually do when I troubleshoot technology: I smacked the TV on its side. That didn't work.

I scratched my head, then scratched my butt. Something funky was going on here.

Maybe, I thought, the DVD player is hooked up to the VCR, so we had to turn the VCR on. I hit the power button on the VCR but nothing happened. I traced the power line back to the surge protector and found that it was plugged in. So I plugged it in - still nothing.

I discovered that the audio/video cables connecting the VCR to the TV were shot, so we yanked the VCR out and hooked the DVD player directly to the TV. Still nothing!

My sister shrieked, "What are we going to do?! Interact with each other? Nooo! That's why I came on vacation - to escape!"

So now I'm blogging, Betty is reading her book, my sister is reading about Jon & Kate plus 8 plus homewreckers plus cameras, and my dad is flipping through the channels.

I'll be damned if I'll be forced to interact with my family on this family vacation!

Exercising Restraint

There's nothing more aggravating than someone exercising while they're on vacation - unless you like to exercise while on vacation but are surrounded by people who mock your every work out.

So it is with my sister's boyfriend. He loves to work out. He's thin, in shape, and loves to run. While my family is happy enough to wade in the pool, sit back on an innertube or take a midday nap at the beach, my sister's boyfriend wants to run, kayak and hit the gym.

It's so annoying.

But not nearly as annoying as I've been to him. When he asks if I want to go run with him, I scoop another spoonful of ice cream into my bowl. When he asks if I want to hit the gym with him, I pop open a coke and bite into a cold piece of pizza.

He's trying to stay in shape, but if he wants to be a part of this family then he'd better learn the cardinal rule of the Tanory vacation: we don't do anything that requires extra work.

Every time I eat something, he feels the need to go run another mile.

I'm starting to like people who work out while on vacation - it gives me something to mock while I gobble down red-hot popcorn and sip my icees.

Total Failure

Today was a bad day for Ol' Bob.

For starters, I got a bad sunburn in various places on my body. Half of my body is white, and the other half is dark red, but I'm red in patches. I look like a partially complete jigsaw puzzle being played by the sun.

Then, my daughter wouldn't come to me. No matter what I tried - toys, food, money - she just shook her head at me. When my wife finally forced her into my arms so she could go cook, my daughter screamed bloody murder. Big crocodile tears streamed down her face. She sucked in for air, made a face of unspoken grief, and let out a high pitch scream that can only mean one thing: Mommy, how could you have left me with Daddy for no apparent reason?!? The horror... the horror!

To make things worse, my family started a poker game and I was the first one out. Technically, my sister's boyfriend got out but bought back in, but I was the next one out. And I never lose in poker! (Except most of the time.)

So my daughter's screaming, I'm burning up in patches, I've lost money in poker, and therefore have no option left but to go help my wife in the kithcen. And that's a setup for failure, because I usually just make a huge mess in the kitchen. I can't even boil water, which I tried to explain to my wife as she threw a packet of Shells and Cheese to me and said, "Deal with it." Three minutes later, both the water and the pasta are, steam is going everywhere, my family is screaming at me to get my wife, my wife is screaming at me to turn down the stove, and my daughter is screaming at me just to scream at me.

Cooking? Failed.

Fathering? Failed, apparently.

Applying sunblock evenly throughout the body? Failed.

Oh well. There's always tomorrow. Tomorrow I plan on only putting sunblock on the areas that are already burnt, so that I can burn the rest of my body and look like I have an even burn. After my entire body is the same shade of red then I can put sunblock everywhere except for a heart-shaped area in the middle of my chest.

Gotta go - I think I'm burning something else in the oven. The horror... the horror!

Diet Pensa-Cola

Another day, another educational trip to the restroom.

In this morning's reading of "Perdido Key Magazine" I learned that five flags have flown over Pensacola: Spanish, French, British, Confederate and American. Upon acquiring their next flag they will get a Six Flags theme park.

I also learned that Pensacola is the home to the Blue Angels. I knew those guys had to live somewhere, but I always thought it was a castle in the sky. Those guys rock!

Finally, I learned that the official state swimsuit is the g-string. I tried explaining this to a woman who was very offended that I was running around with my swimsuit halfway up my cheeks, but she wasn't buying it. By the way she was screaming at me, you'd think g-strings were only supposed to be worn by women or something.

I'll keep you updated on my learning adventures as the week goes on.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Interstate Mullet Toss

Another day and another learning adventure in the restroom with Perdido Key Magazine.

This time around I learned that there is an Interstate Mullet Toss at the Flora-bama bar. The tag line for this adventure is "What better way to spend an evening than throwing a 1 pound mullet into Alabama?"

I also learned that Pensacola (which my wife's brothers call Pens-AH-coh-la, stressing the "Ah" instead of the "Co" - sound it out!) used to be named Panzacola. Panzacola was controlled by the Spanish, and Maubila (now Mobile) was run by the French. Perdido Key was a buffer zone between both groups, because you know what happens when French and Spanish people get together - flamenco guitar and eating snails.

God help us all!

Perdido Key was also home to several pirates who sailed back and forth from New Orleans, plundering and pillaging along the way. Legend has it that there is a lot of buried treasure in Perdido. I believe it, because I just saw a fat rich woman fall in the sand and spill the contents of her purse into the undertow. I'm going back out to the beach with a net in the hopes of catching a nice juicy Platinum credit card.

I'll keep you updated with my learning adventures. Until then - back to the beach to practice throwing fish for the Interstate Mullet Toss!

Baby Monitor Espianoge

My sister and her boyfriend are meeting us at the beach, but there's just one problem: they're going to have to sleep in the same room.

Technically, one of them could sleep on the couch, but we need to leave the couch open as a place of sanctuary so my mom can escape my dad's snoring. Betty and I sleep all the way across our condo and let's just say we're thankful that the sound of the ocean somewhat mutes my dad's shnoz.

The room that my sister and co. will be sleeping in has two twin beds. We told them that they can only sleep in the same room if they leave the door open.

But what we didn't tell them is that we set up the baby monitor to be strategically placed in their room, so we can monitor their activities at all points of the day.

My sister might read my blog and then try to find the monitor. If that's the case, I assure you, Sis, that you will not find it. Let's just say that I've picked up a few tricks from the FBI agent on Betty's side of the family.

So here's to a fun day at the beach! And here's to a 24x7 supervised three foot separation between Sister and Sister's Boyfriend at all times!

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Perdido Key, the Magazine

We're at Perdido Key for the week, and I'm determined to learn as much as I can about Perdido.

How will I learn about Perdido? Will I ask the locals? Will I ask Wikipedia? Will I dress like Spanish explorers and wage war on the natives?

No. I will go to the source of all things Perdido: "Perdido Key Magazine." This is the name of the magazine in our condo's bathroom. It is my new companion.

During my first trip to the restroom, I learned that Perdido Key was discovered by Carlos Siquenza, and he named is Perdido because "perdido" means "lost" in Spanish.

Perdido Key's white beaches are the result of quartz being eroded from the granite in the Appalachian Mountains. Rivers, creeks and stream carry the finely ground quartz down to Perdido, where currents deposit the sand onto the shore, at which point women in skimpy American Flag bikinis tan their side-boobs and butt cheeks.

God bless America!

I also learned that Gulf Shores has a zoo. I hope we can go so I can watch the monkeys do it.

I'll give you more updates on Perdido Key the next time I get to spend some quality time with my "Perdido Key Magazine."

Friday, June 26, 2009

Farewell to Two Legends

Farewell to two legends: Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett.

Michael Jackson taught me three things: that grabbing my crotch and squealing like a girl could have a lasting impact on how people remember me; that maybe I'm a black guy living inside a white guy, much like he turned white over the years; and that however crooked my nose ever gets, I should just be happy that it doesn't melt in extreme heat.

I owned Michael Jackson's "Thriller" album when I was a kid. I had it on tape. I played it, along with my Cheap Trick and Bangles albums, at least once a day. One time I even set up a length-sized mirror in my room and stared longingly into it as I sang "Man in the Mirror" to myself.

I also really like "Black and White" by Michael Jackson. I like how the faces morphed in the video... it was kind of like a mini-biography of Michael.

I loved Michael Jackson... until he started sleeping with kids, of course.

Okay, so he might not have been fondling the kids he slept with, groping them or plying them with alcohol - and then again, he might have been - but it's just wrong for a grown man to sleep with a child anyway, unless you're rocking your kid to sleep and just fall asleep yourself after a long day at work.

But I don't just blame Michael for that. I never understood the parents of the kids who were allowed to spend the night with Michael, especially after the initial rumors came out.

He burnt his hair while filming a Pepsi commercial, and to this day I still drink water at restaurants when they ask if Pepsi is OK instead of Coke.

Speaking of hair, I would have taken Michael's side in the whole "I don't 'sleep' with kids I just sleep with kids" argument if he hadn't cut his hair for one of his videos to look like a woman. Something about that just bothers me to my core.

So anyway, it's time to buy the Thriller album again. Maybe I'll buy the Cheap Trick and Bangles albums, too.

I don't really know much about Farrah Fawcett except that she was hot and that she died of anal cancer. But anyone who films their life as they struggle to cope with cancer, much less ANAL CANCER, is a hero in my book. I think I'd rather have countless surgeries on my face, have my skin change color and have a monkey as my best friend than get anal cancer.

Anal cancer.

So goodbye to these two great legends, and may their friends and families find peace.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day!

This was my second Father's Day, but as my brother pointed out, last year's really didn't count because my daughter was only 2 months old and my wife was doing all the work at that point.

Technically, my wife still does all the work. But instead of pointing that out to everyone in a timely fashion, I did what I usually do and just went with the flow and allowed people to do things for me and give me presents for no apparent reason.


On a serious note, being a father is the greatest gift in the world. I love spending time with my wife and daughter, and I love seeing the world through my daughter's eyes. I had gotten so cynical over the years but to see my daughter's eyes filled with wonder at things that I used to take for granted gives me a new appreciation for everything around me.

So if you're a married but childless woman, give your husband the greatest gift in the world by allowing him to experience all the joys of fatherhood. And to do that, you'll need to have wild, rampant sex with him every night until you too have a child. In fact, you might want to have sex multiple times a day just as a safety net.

Happy Father's Day to all of you dads out there. And thanks to all you moms for making this day possible!

Saturday, June 20, 2009

The Blueberries of Wrath

Today we went to pick blueberries at Berry Sweet Orchards, located in Ethel, LA.

[Picture: Berry Sweet!]

It took us a while getting there because the speed limit was 4.8 miles per hour. Seriously! Here's a pick of us running at least 7.2 mph before a blueberry cop tasered me.

[Picture: Running for our lives!]

We were basically migrant workers for a day, and it gave us a new appreciation for where our food comes from. It wasn't tough to pick the blueberries, though, because blueberries grow on blueberry shrubs that are more like small trees. It was a little hot, but we found that the hotter it got the less people were picking, and that meant more blueberries for us.

[Picture: Betty is a migrant worker for a day.]

We filled up three buckets full of blueberries, for a total weight of 12.5 pounds. That doesn't count the other 40 pounds of blueberries that we ate while picking. Here's a picture of a handful of blueberries prior to me shoving them all in my mouth and making "homemade blueberry jam."

[Picture: Pre-jam blueberries.]

My daughter, Anne, even got into the mix. She would pick low-hanging fruit and then pop them in her mouth. You should have seen her diaper... it was the most horrific thing I've seen in a long time. I wanted to take a picture and post it on the blog but Betty wouldn't let me.

[Picture: Annie helped us pick blueberries.]

At the end of the day, we had enough blueberries to make blueberry cobbler, blueberry ice cream, and blueberry jam. We also used some of the blueberries later that day while playing paint ball. Those things are tasty but leave a larger welt than a spider bite!

[Picture: Anne showing us how many blueberries she picked.]

Picking blueberries was fun, but it was sad at the same time, because it reminded me that I took multiple doses of steroids within a short amount of time and that my testicles will probably be the size of blueberries soon. I guess you can say that picking blueberries was a bittersweet occasion.

Friday, June 19, 2009

The Spider Bite of Doom

I went to the After Hours clinic for a spider bite, and now I think I'm in danger of losing my testicles.

It all started Thursday when I was outside with my daughter....

My daughter and I were saying hi to the dog next door, when all of a sudden I felt a sharp pinch on the back of my calf. I slapped at the area and didn't think twice about it, but later that night a red welt formed.

Over the course of the next 24 hours, the skin around the bite slowly grew red in color. At first there was just about a centimeter of reddish skin, but after a full day the redness extended past an inch radius. I showed the bite to my wife who promptly sent me to the After Hours clinic.

The nice people at the After Hours clinic decided to give me a steroid shot. I've always shied away from steroids because of the nasty habit of shrinking people's testicles. But when a semi-cute nurse tells you to show her your left cheek, you do what the nurse tells you.

Immediately after administering the shot, the nurse told me that I had to sign a form because, in her words, "we don't like to give this shot more than once a month."

It would have been nice to know that prior to getting the shot, because I got a Cortisone shot barely a week before. Cortisone is also a steroid.

So basically, I've had two steroid shots in the past week and a half. I'm worried about my testicles losing their mass, and to be honest, I would have rather lost my leg to this bug bite than lose my balls.

It's a man thing.

In writing this blog I've also been doing some research on why steroid shots are effective and why they can be dangerous in large doses. There are articles about the left ventricle thickening and causing heart damage, articles about suppressing the immune system, and most importantly, articles about shrinking testicles.

All this heartache over a teeny tiny spider bite.

It's the spider bite of doom!

If you or someone you know is a doctor, please leave a comment or email me with reassurances that my testicles are in good hands. (Yes, that was a pun, and yes, it was extremely funny.)

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Bob in Software

Every software developer I know reads an occasional article from a blog called Joel on Software. But a few weeks ago, my parents told me about this blog with so much enthusiasm that I felt like the only way to make them proud was to create my own tech blog that rivals Joel's.

And since Joel already has "Joel on Software", I've decided to go a different route: I've decided to be "in" the software instead of "on" it.

Introducing the first of many articles about software, I'm proud (and hope my parents are proud) to present the first ever...

Bob in Software!

[Picture: Bob in Software part 1 - Paint.net]

See how I'm "in" this image, created within Paint.NET? I'm brilliant, I know.

Joel, eat shit and die, because my new tech blog is coming after you, sucka!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Slacks, Pants and Jeans - Oh My!

The number of slacks, pants and jeans in my closet is dwindling.

It all happened one day at work. (Cue the dream sequence.)

I was leaving a meeting and only had one exit point: squeezing between a chair and a chest of drawers. I sucked in my gut, turned sideways, and crab-walked a few steps. So far, so good!

But just as I thought I was in the clear, my right cheek's pocket caught on the drawer's knob and ripped a huge hole in my pants.

The guy behind me made a helpful and observant comment: "Dude! Your pants just got ripped! That sucks for you!"

Shocked, awed and drafty, I felt the hole in my pants, then jotted a note to remember to wear underwear from now on.

Fast forward to last week. I was lounging in my jeans during my Casual Friday lounge-a-thon, when all of a sudden I realized that the seam at the crotch of my pants had torn.

(This is a common occurrence for us Tanory men - our pants can't contain our crotches. We either have uncommonly large genitalia, or we need to select smaller cucumbers to stuff down the front of our pants.)

Betty was not as pleased about my seamless crotch as I would have liked her to be. Instead of enjoying the easy access, she instead threw my jeans in the trash. And then to stop me from taking my jeans from out of the trash while she wasn't looking, she dumped the contents of an old salsa jar on them.

Betty went to a few stores to buy new jeans for me, but I'm a weird shape - 35 waist, 29 length. Most stores sell pants in this size, but they don't sell jeans.

So that means that this Friday I'll be wearing my aluminum foil-wrapped cucumber under some red shorts. My apologies in advance to all of my coworkers.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

My New Do

I've been meaning to get a haircut for a few weeks now, but I just haven't made it over to Uber Cuts. So now my hair has a life of its own.

I told Betty that I'm starting to look like one of the guys from Dragonball Z, only cooler.

[Picture: Dragonball Z comparison]

She said that Dragonball Z is old news. So then I compared myself to Jimmy Neutron.

[Picture: I could kick Jimmy Neutron's ass, by the way]

But when I brush my hair forwards down the middle, I look like Wolverine, only more of a bad-ass mofo.

[Picture: Hugh's hair and my hair are long lost twins]

I don't have anything of value to add to this blog post (what's new, right?!?) but I wanted to get these pictures up before Betty makes me get a haircut.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Brilliant Books for Genius Children

Reading to my daughter Anne has always been a favorite activity of mine, but now that she's a little bit older we've been able to expand our reading catalog to include some really interesting books.

For example, in Eric Carle's ABC, each letter corresponds to an animal name that begins with the same letter. So H is for Horse, S is for Seal, and P is for Penguin.

Not only does this book prepare my child for interacting with the world at large, but it's also helping her study for the SATs. In the book, the N stands for narwhal - which is either a cross between a unicorn and a whale or just a very randy whale; the Q stands for Quetzal, and the X stands for xolo, which is short for Xoloitzcuintli and is more commonly known as the Mexican Hairless Dog.

Did I say this book was preparing my daughter for the SATs? I bet she'd kick ass at Jeopardy, too.

We also read Shake It Up, Baby! by Karen Katz, which is my new favorite. The book has a built-in rattle, so every page includes a phrase to shake the rattle. When we get to that part of each page, Anne shakes her head from side to side and flails her arms while screaming.

It's basically a good for riling her up or wearing her out. It's the perfect book for any time of day!

Anne still likes to point at monkeys and call them DaDa. There are two monkeys in her Brainy Baby Animals book and apparently they both remind her of me. That's OK, because once I get Daddy Hugs by Karen Katz then Annie can call me whatever she wants, as long as she lets me hug on her and read to her every night.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Feeling Better

If you were concerned about my health (or more specifically, concerned about me spreading my illness to my wife and child) after reading my previous post, have no fear - I went to the doctor.

But don't think for a moment that my manliness has been diminished. No, because if a manly man does go to the doctor, his wife always makes the appointment for him. Such was the case with my appointment.

Manliness intact! Hooray!

Speaking of uber-manliness, I got a shot in the hieny. Although I didn't feel the needle go into my body because I do not feel pain, I was deeply concerned that I would snap the needle in my right butt cheek if I flexed my rump ever so slightly. As luck would have it, my shot went well, and I got a Scooby Doo band-aid gently placed on my rear by request.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Christmas Snot in June

It's Christmastime - in my nose!

That's right, kiddos, my sinuses are congested and they are oozing out of my nose in festive green and red colors. My wife wants me to go to the doctor, but I'm falling back to the age-old excuse of men everywhere:

Men don't go to the doctor!

Sure, us men generally die at a younger age than our female counterparts. And if you want to be picky about it, we usually die or get really sick from something that a doctor could easily fix.

But that's besides the point.

The point is that if I am to be a man, and if my children are to look up to me as the man in their life, then I must act like all male role models before me. Meaning...

1. I don't ask for directions;

2. I don't put the toilet seat down (or don't put it up if it's already down);

3. I don't clean anything, even myself;

4. I don't do laundry. By the time I run out of clothes, I expect that the intense pressure at the bottom of the gigantic laundry pile just naturally expels any contaminated particles from the bottom-most shirt;

and finally...

5. I don't go to the doctor!

At this point you might be saying to yourself, "But Bob, you work at a health care company! How can you not care about your health?!"

Touche'. I'll make a deal with you - if you're a doctor or a home health nurse and you want to visit me at work or at my house, then you and I can arrange something. Otherwise...

It's Christmas in June, baby!

Friday, June 05, 2009

I Challenge Bobby Jindal to a Punch Out Duel!

You read it correctly - I challenge Louisiana governor Bobby Jindal to a Wii Punch Out duel, and I'm going to kick his ass to the curb!

I originally challenged BJ to a duel on Twitter, because Jindal follows my Tweets. But I figured that nobody else knew about this challenge since I've locked down the security on my Twitter page so that nobody can actually read my Tweets anymore.

Ah, technology!

So why am I challenging Bobby Jindal? Is it because I want to smash his digital face in? Or is it that I want to humiliate him by knocking him around for 2.9 rounds before TKO'ing him in front of millions of screaming Louisianians and neo-conservatives?

No. It's because I love Bobby Jindal, and I know that he would do anything for us Louisianians. The Wii boxing match would be for charity.

And if Jindal wins, the Wii boxing re-match will also be for charity.

It can be any charity that Bobby Jindal wants it to be, although I'd suggest something along the lines of Hurricane Katrina Disaster Relief, St. Jude, or my daughter's college fund which has somehow managed to lose $4K in the past year.

It's a college fund, for crying out loud! How can it lose money!

But if BJ thinks that boxing is not the appropriate way to raise money for charity then I'd also consider racing him in Mario Kart. Either way, he's going down.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Anne's Video Game

I downloaded the XNA Game Studio from Microsoft, which allows you to make video games for the PC, XBox and Zune, and am tinkering with a game about my daughter. I thought I'd just track my progress here, so later when it becomes a billion dollar success you can say, "I saw it first! And it needed a lot of work back then!"

This is the Start Screen. The purpose of the game (at the moment) is to crawl to get the iPhone at the bottom center of the screen. But you have to watch out for Cousin Grant in the background - don't let him soak you with the garden hose!

[Picture: Start screen]

I need a new source picture for when Annie gets the iPhone, so Papa Cheech needs to lend me his iPhone for a few minutes. It's for a good cause, Cheech! But this is the current "victory" pose.

[Picture: Success!]

I haven't added any squirting water from the hose, and need to add collision detection for when Anne runs into Grant, but other than that I think this was a good way to learn XNA.

My next game will be a "First Person Slobberer," which means it will be from Anne's point of view and the purpose of the game will be to slobber on as many objects as possible before Mama and Dada catch you!