That is, not Stinson or Rubble, but rather the next Barney the Dinosaur. (He's closer to my body type anyway.) For I, your pal Mark, may have found my true calling as a children's entertainer.
I base this new career path on my innate ability to delight my friends' young children. If you're between the ages of 6-24 months, then you are guaranteed to find me hilarious. I have four major go-to routines that never fail to draw merriment....
* pretending to be a dinosaur, in the style of Colin Mochrie
* pretending to eat in the style of Cookie Monster
* waving my arms around and saying YAYYYYYYY in the style of Kermit the Frog.
* what I like to call "Advanced Peek-A-Boo," which is several variations on peek-a-boo (hiding your eyes behind your closed hands, your hat, a menu, your semi-linked fingers so the kid can only see one eye, etc.) within a rapid-fire sequence
* the exploding fist bump. Be warned, this one works so well that once you introduce it, the kid will make you do it a minimum of 40 consecutive times.
There are a few more bits being workshopped that I'd rather not reveal at the moment, since obviously I won't want to just give away the whole act. But let's just say that one involves Charlie Chaplin, rolls of bread and....wait, I may have said too much. MAY.
Once all of these surefire hits are compiled into a single 90-minute concert, I feel like I'll be the next Raffi. Or the next Sharon, Lois & Bram. Or maybe I can just join Sharon & Bram, since Lois is no longer with us. Or I can be the Wiggles, who I know nothing about besides the fact that they're Australian and that they're absurdly successful. But really, it's not all about the money for me. It's about entertaining the kids, to at least the 30th percentile. The remaining 70% is indeed all about the money.
Being a childrens' entertainer seems like the logical extension of my current role as "wacky Uncle Mark," which is a sweet gig. It's all the fun of parenting with literally none of the downsides or responsibilities. I just show up to hang out with my friends, chat with them while putting in a modicum of effort in entertaining their toddlers, and then I get to go home, back to my responsibility-thin life. Procreation sounds like a real scam, to me. Almost as much of a scam as my $79.99 concert tickets, but I can just blame that on TicketMaster.
I base this new career path on my innate ability to delight my friends' young children. If you're between the ages of 6-24 months, then you are guaranteed to find me hilarious. I have four major go-to routines that never fail to draw merriment....
* pretending to be a dinosaur, in the style of Colin Mochrie
* pretending to eat in the style of Cookie Monster
* waving my arms around and saying YAYYYYYYY in the style of Kermit the Frog.
* what I like to call "Advanced Peek-A-Boo," which is several variations on peek-a-boo (hiding your eyes behind your closed hands, your hat, a menu, your semi-linked fingers so the kid can only see one eye, etc.) within a rapid-fire sequence
* the exploding fist bump. Be warned, this one works so well that once you introduce it, the kid will make you do it a minimum of 40 consecutive times.
There are a few more bits being workshopped that I'd rather not reveal at the moment, since obviously I won't want to just give away the whole act. But let's just say that one involves Charlie Chaplin, rolls of bread and....wait, I may have said too much. MAY.
Once all of these surefire hits are compiled into a single 90-minute concert, I feel like I'll be the next Raffi. Or the next Sharon, Lois & Bram. Or maybe I can just join Sharon & Bram, since Lois is no longer with us. Or I can be the Wiggles, who I know nothing about besides the fact that they're Australian and that they're absurdly successful. But really, it's not all about the money for me. It's about entertaining the kids, to at least the 30th percentile. The remaining 70% is indeed all about the money.
Being a childrens' entertainer seems like the logical extension of my current role as "wacky Uncle Mark," which is a sweet gig. It's all the fun of parenting with literally none of the downsides or responsibilities. I just show up to hang out with my friends, chat with them while putting in a modicum of effort in entertaining their toddlers, and then I get to go home, back to my responsibility-thin life. Procreation sounds like a real scam, to me. Almost as much of a scam as my $79.99 concert tickets, but I can just blame that on TicketMaster.
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