My kids are allergic to anything with more than two legs and hair and they frequently bemoan the fact that they can't have a pet dog or cat. A couple of years ago my son's science teacher brought her pet corn snake to school and my son thought such a pet would be awesome. My wife wasn’t thrilled simply because it was a snake, but the boy begged and pleaded, so we caved in and got him one for Christmas.

In short, corn snakes make excellent pets. If your have kids with allergies then go for it. The setup costs aren't small, but after that it is a breeze. You buy frozen mice and thaw one out once a week and feed it to him. If you wiggle the mouse around he'll grab it and constrict the hell out of it before chomping it down, which is pretty cool to watch. We spend about $10 a month on frozen mice. So, feed him once a week, and he craps about once a week too.

Snakes aren't slimy either. Their skin is smooth and they don't mind being handled. My son often walks around the house with the snake around his neck. My wife has warmed up to him as well. I realize that reptiles are barely more intelligent than bugs, but because the snake lives in my son's room he has come to recognize his scent and is drawn to him. It gives the snake a certain kind of personality.

Fast forward a couple of years. Now daughter is old enough and wants a pet of her own. I was pushing for another snake because we knew how to take care of them and they had proven to be a low maintenance pet. For some reason, however, dear daughter was married to the idea of a bearded dragon. We did a bit of net research and obviously weren't thorough enough because we came to the mistaken conclusion that a bearded dragon would be an okay pet.

Let me count the ways I hate this thing:

• It's ugly and not the least bit "petable." The snake can easily be held, whereas touching this thing is like holding a porcupine.
• He is dumber than a rock. For example, every day when he sees me getting his crickets out to feed him he runs face first into the glass wall of his cage. Every fucking time. You'd think that he'd remember that there was glass there, but he keeps mashing his ugly, retarded face into the glass day after day. Yes, he is one retarded reptile. He's… he's a reptard.
• He has to be fed twice a day! The snake involves thawing a mouse out once a week. For the reptard I have to chop veggies in the morning and then feed him live crickets in the evening. Of course, dear daughter is too young to handle such responsibilities herself, so guess who ends up doing it.
• Speaking of having live crickets in the house, they chirp. I keep them under the bathroom sink next to my daughter's room, but if the bathroom door gets left open then we can hear the chirping through the whole house. Unfortunately, sometimes the little bastards escape and make their way downstairs and start chirping up a storm, at which point I have to send the kids out on a seek and destroy mission.
• Did I mention how much the live crickets cost? No? Well, maybe I didn't say anything because I'm so embarrassed by the fact that I have been roped into paying fifty fucking dollars a month on stupid live crickets! Can you believe that? Fifty dollars a month to feed some creature that I detest?
• Oh, and unlike the once a week shitting snake, the bearded reptard shits every day. If my daughter can't handle feeding, you can bet she isn't capable of cleaning up his shit either.

I've seriously considered Googling "bearded dragon poison" to see if there was some way I could snuff this quadrupedal annoyance and make it look like it was natural causes. I can't bring myself to do it though, because my daughter loves the little reptard.

Some days, though, I'm tempted to feed him to the snake.

The Bearded Reptard, Part II

Am I wrong to want this thing to die?

Right now wifey is away. As a result, an added duty of mine is to buy new crickets for the bearded reptard to eat. The crickets are one of the major reasons why I hate this thing so much.

Allow me to elaborate:

• Fucking crickets are expensive
• Fucking crickets stink
• Fucking crickets escape
• Fucking crickets chirp really loud

The manager of the pet store was showing me where the crickets are when he asked, “What kind of reptile do you have?”

“A bearded reptard.”

“Hah! That bad, eh?”

“I hate the thing.”

“How old is he?” the manager asked.

“Year and a bit.”

“Then why are you buying him crickets?” He went on to explain that a bearded reptard didn’t need insect protein after reaching a year old. I could just buy these little pellets and mix it in with his veggies.

I wanted to kiss the guy.

I was about to change my purchase to these magic pellets instead of fucking crickets when my husband training kicked in. Surely such a momentous decision as changing the reptard’s diet must be preceded by a discussion with wifey, should it not? I debated this for a moment or two and came to the conclusion that I would be better served to buy a tub of fucking crickets and consult with my significant other about the future diet of the reptard prior to changing the status quo.

I am indeed a wise man.

We had a chat on the phone that night and I expressed my enthusiasm about the possibility of no longer having fucking crickets in our house.

“The vet disagrees with him,” she said. “It’s best for him to still be eating [fucking] crickets.”

Don't even get me started on the issue of paying a vet to check the little bastard reptard out to ensure that he's healthy.

The result was that we got into a not so nice discussion about the optimal diet for a bearded reptard.

“He’ll be much healthier if we keep feeding him [fucking] crickets,” she said

“And this is supposed to convince me, how?”

According to the vet, via wifey, the bearded reptard will live another six years or so if we keep feeding it fucking crickets. If we switch to magic pellets then the reptard might only live another four years.

How is this a bad plan? Truthfully, I don’t see a downside. So I ask again, am I wrong to want this thing to die?

The Bearded Reptard, Part III

Something strange is happening to me.

I no longer want the reptard to die. What’s more, I don’t think I should refer to him as “reptard” any further. My seven-year-old daughter overheard me call her pet by that name and got upset. Even though I smoothed things over with her, the look my wife gave me was unpleasant. There is also the fact that the word I bastardized to formulate “reptard” is derogatory. No one would accuse my writing of being politically correct, but perhaps I should apologize for that one.

I’m sorry.

If it matters, I was being reflective and this word usage gnawed at me. Not only is it unkind, but I worried readers would believe I was a complete asshole, rather than only being somewhat of an asshole.

Anyway, back to the reptard.

Fuck. I mean bearded dragon.

His name is Spiky. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still dumber than rock, but I don’t hate him like I used to. My daughter gets him out of his cage sometimes and lets him tear around the living room, which is slightly entertaining to watch. He is also becoming less work.

Although not as good as the magic pellets solution mentioned in the second installment of this reptilian trilogy, we have found an alternative source of bugs for him to eat that we can rotate his diet on with [yes, by now we all know that they are “fucking”] crickets, so I don’t have to have crickets in my house all the time – just half the time. This new bug is a big, fat-ass-looking wormy caterpillar type creature. It beats the shit out of me what you call them.

Compared to crickets, these wormerpillars are like contrasting hanging out with your hot-looking female cousin to being forced to endure the company of your red-headed step-brother (oh, great, now I’ve got the anti-kick-a-ginger battalion on my ass).

Here’s why:

• Unlike crickets, wormerpillars do not escape
• Unlike crickets, wormerpillars do not stink (very much)
• Unlike crickets, wormerpillars do not chirp
• Like crickets, wormerpillars are expensive. However, they are big, juicy bastards and one does the work of two crickets. Additionally, wormerpillars have a much higher constitution than crickets. About a third of the crickets die in the box before they get chomped down in Spiky’s gaping maw (it makes a crunching noise). Spiky won’t eat dead crickets, but wormerpillars always seem to be alive and squirming when he starts scarfing them down like Michael Moore and Rush Limbaugh going through a shared plate of chicken wings.
• One bad thing about the wormerpillars is that the little pricks bite, but a pair of tweezers solved that problem. Just FYI, the tweezers are now dedicated to fulltime wormerpillar wrangling duty.

Even better is the fact that Spiky is full grown now, so we only feed him bugs every other day. He is shitting less frequently as well.

Man, my life must be really boring if I can prattle on endlessly about the digestive system of a stupid reptile. What does this entire tale have to do with fitness? Answer: absolutely nothing. It has everything to do with being a dad, however.