What kind of father figure are you to allow your kid to chew on his rod?

You get the wee tyke up at the crack of dawn under the auspices of “family togetherness,” you wad the child into a car seat, deaf to the defiant howls, drag him out into the chill dawn – ignoring pleas for “DeeMickey” … and in a crescendo of petulance, you stomp off determined to get some fishing done, leaving the toddler to the tender mercies of Momma?

Now, horrified you are looking at the paper and realize you’ve stunted the child’s growth, enraged his mommy, and imbedded yourself so firmly in the Doghouse, you might as well be the blanket.

You thought them SpongeBob rods was cute as hell, now that they’re considered leaden death, and being recalled by the millions, you got some ‘splaining to do, Lucy.

Yes, that’s a rolling pin Momma’s wielding, just bend over and Cowboy-Up. While you are taking that licking, just be grateful Ma didn’t make the connection between the diaper full of ball bearings and the missing jug of Salmon Eggs.