As a youngster, I used to enjoy writing “Weird Al”-style song parodies. I wrote one that changed the title of one of my favorite Saturday morning cartoons to “Muppet Rabies”. I told a story about a classmate who appeared on “Teen Jeopardy” by re-purposing the tune of Rush’s “Tom Sawyer”. At a friend’s request, I once wrote something bashing Derek Jeter and jammed it inside an Eminem song.

As I grew older, I occasionally found a new outlet for this supreme waste of time.

A few years ago, I helped my wife alter some lyrics to the song “Razzle Dazzle” so she could perform it at her company’s talent show (don’t ask). And just last year I whipped up a “Paradise City” parody that referenced Pope Benedict’s abrupt retirement and posted it on Twitter. It’s been retweeted 1,314 times and is easily my most popular tweet, even though I’ve written several about potty training.

I just can’t seem to stop writing the stupid parodies, and yet I’ve never written one about my son (unless you include the one where I sing his name to the tune of the “CHiPs” theme song). Until now. I apologize in advance for wasting your time.

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