Now, I know you’re going to look at the prices and think, “there is no way a plastic dinosaur is worth $8-$25,” but I will disrespectfully tell you that you’re horribly mistaken. Even my sub-par photography skills can’t make these dinos look bad. The detail of each is incredible, and the more expensive carnivores have mouths that actually open to rip the jugulars out of the herbivores in simulated prehistoric carnage (at least after my son goes to bed).

Still not convinced? What about if I tell you that Dominic will do just about anything to get his grubby little hands on Papo dinosaurs? After giving him the Velociraptor just because I like seeing him smile, I instituted a reward system that allows Dom to earn stickers for being helpful, listening without repeated requested, doing his chores without being reminded, etc. When the next Amazon box arrived, he was totally jacked. I showed him the new dinos, and then put them on his reward shelf with a “sticker” price that roughly equates to the actual cost (one sticker = one dollar). Not only is he motivated to do what I ask by the prospect of adding a new dinosaur to his menagerie, he learns to save up his stickers to go for the more expensive carnivores, teaching him about delayed gratification and money management in the process. Not to mention, he practices his counting every time he gets a sticker. The best part, the dude has been an angel since the T-Rex arrived on Tuesday. He can’t stop talking about it:

Me: Dom, did you just take your dishes to the sink without me having to ask?
Dom: Yes daddy. That means I get a sticker, and that means I almost get my T-Rex. ROAR!

But as usual, I digress. Back to the point (and the title of this post). Papo should be paying me, yo. I have not stopped gushing about Papo since the Velociraptor arrived on my doorstep. I reached an estimated 50 people through word-of-mouth alone. Now that I’ve posted about Papo, the total has likely sky-rocketed 60, maybe even 61. If only 10% of those parents take my advice and buy the relatively inexpensive $10 Pterosaur, I have generated $60.10 in revenue for Papo. This works out well, as I still need both the spinosaurus and the allosaurus for my collection. . .errr. . .Dom’s collection. This gives Papo the perfect opportunity to thank one of its most loyal brand advocates, assuming someone over at Papo finds this blog and knows how to speak American. 

Pictured above is a small fraction of Dominic’s toy menagerie, many of which come from the Schleich product line. Are you familiar with these toy animals? There’s a reason why “Schleich” rhymes with “Reich”–they’re both German, and they’re both evil. All are made from heavy-duty plastic and are anatomically correct. That’s right folks, you read that correctly. Kerry brought home a Schleich Mustang Stallion from her last trip to Target and inadvertently made daddy feel wholly inadequate. Seriously, the smaller mammals I can handle, but the horses and bulls should really come with some kind of a warning label.

The retail prices of Schleich animals range from $5.18 for your standard warthog piglet to $39.95 for the more exotic Giganotosaurus. And they quite literally make every single animal known to man, both living and extinct. There are thirteen different Schleich lions on the first page of the Amazon results alone. They even make mythological beasts, like the Pegasus and the Chimera, just to tempt dads who played Magic: the Gathering during their formative years (not that I know anything about it. . .except that Serra Angels can attack without having to tap).

I was taking inventory of Dom’s toy bin after he went to bed tonight and ran some figures:

((9 Schleich Large Predatory Cats) x (avg $9.99 each)) + ((3 Schleich Elephants) x (avg $9.99 each)) + ($5.18(baby rhino + piglet + baby triceratops + German Shepard pup)) + $24.99(Spinosaurus + Stegosaurus) = The xBox 360 that Daddy didn’t buy

How many people “make it” as zoologists, really? Could there be a bigger waste of money? I haven’t even factored in half of his Schleich animals, let alone his shoddier, made-in-China plastic petting zoo. Just to add insult to injury, I happened upon this little guy tonight:

Pteranodons have three fingers on each hand, and that ain’t the first or third.  

In the name of brevity, I won’t get into his cars, his instruments, or the bin of licensed Disney products, but it’s safe to say that Dom is personally accountable for the fact that Kerry and I have yet to sponsor a third-world child for a dollar a day. I take some solace that in the end, the joke will be on Dominic. When he turns eighteen and asks why there isn’t enough money in his college fund to cover more than three semesters, I will silently lead him down the steps to the basement and point to the 17 tubs of Hot Wheels.

It has been some time my faithful readers. I didn’t mean to deny you the drug that is notoriousdad.com for so long, but a man of my unique talents is in high demand. I make no apologies for focusing my unique brand of humor, rugged good looks, and raw charisma in other directions for the last year. However, I now publically decree that I’m back, and that this blog shall rise like a phoenix from the flame. The time to rejoice has come!

I hear some skeptics asking, why now? To them I reply, because a special lady named Mari asked me nicely on the same day Panera called down my righteous wrath. I will get back to making fun of my son in the coming days, but for now I give you my latest complaint letter, sent to Panera Bread, outlining the latest food-related tragedy that has befallen my family. It is reproduced here in its entirety:

Dear Unfortunate Customer Service Rep Stuck with Me,

First I need to set the stage for you, so you can truly understand my pain. I married a woman who is much too pretty for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a solid 6, but she’s easily a 9 and probably squeezes out a 9.5 when she wears one particular little black dress, but I digress.  I bring up our relative attractiveness, just so you understand how crucial it is that I take good care of her and get the little things right. 

This morning, she came down with a really nasty cold. On my way home from work, she made a simple request. She asked that I stop at the Panera in Highland Heights and pick up a group portion of your hearty Chicken Noodle Soup. 

My experience began on a magical note when I was informed that I had a free cappuccino waiting on my Panera Rewards Card. I thought to myself, “fantastic, I can pay this delicious treat forward and grab my wife’s favorite beverage along with her soup.” Everything was coming up Andy. The service was both delightful and prompt, and for the first time ever, I was given the proper allotment of bagguettes without having to ask. Service has been spotty in the past at this Panera location, but today, the world was apparently my oyster

Little did I know you were setting me up for crippling disappointment that would shake me to my core. As I dipped my spoon into the chicken noodle soup, I was met with little or no resistance–a bad sign, but I was still optimistic. I assumed the high quality ingredients were so hearty that they had sunk to the bottom of the container like a delicious little surprise.  I began pouring out the broth so I could evenly distribute the noodles and chicken among my family. I poured and poured and poured and poured.

What I saw at the bottom of the container designed to feed 4-5 was no more than 11 noodles and 4 pieces of chicken. My son started to weep as I cried out to the heavens cursing the cruel and unjust universe that would let this travesty play out on the tragic stage that had become my life. My beautiful wife (an 8 even with her nasty virus and puffy eyes) was crushed. Her husband had just paid $12.99 for 4-5 portions of chicken broth.  If you’d like to see the picture documenting this abomination, please visit my blog at www.notoriousdad.com, as I cannot submit a picture to your site.

I ask for only two things: (1) make this right. I’ll pay you $2.99 for the broth that I admittedly didn’t drive back up to the store, but I consider the $10 hole in both my wallet and my soul your responsibility. (2) Teach your good-intentioned line workers proper portion management. I’m assuming your soup comes in portion-controlled bags with a strict broth-to-stuff ratio, so either the guy before me or the guy after me won the chicken noodle jackpot, and it cuts me deep that I wasn’t that guy.

Thank you for your attention to this important matter. Please restore my faith in both your company and the universe

Sincerely,

Andy

End Note

As always, I will post any response I receive in its entirety.

"Captain Dominic Dropping Anchor"

I’ve decided to skip my recent run of hilarious letters to corporate America and return to my roots: potty humor.  This is a dad blog after all.

Dom’s 3rd birthday is rapidly approaching and up until this week, he was still having trouble understanding why anyone in their right mind would inconvenience themselves by using a toilet.

Now don’t get me wrong, he’s a smart kid. He has a clear understanding of potty physics and mastered the fine motor skills necessary to remove his underwear months ago (which he showed the neighborhood with an impromptu demonstration in our front yard).  I think his problem was a simple lack of motivation.

That’s where Pirate Potty comes in.  I know it’s hard to believe, but I had no idea that something as kick-ass as piracy could be applied to potty training.  It was perfect. My brother gave Dom an enormous pirate ship for his second birthday that, to this day, remains one of his favorite toys, so he already had a frame of reference. Additionally, he was born an exceptionally talented pillager.  With the help of this book, Dom took to the potty like a pirate to scurvy.

As you can see from the picture, the book comes with a paper pirate hat that Captain Dominic only gets to wear when he’s dropping anchor.  Each time he successfully uses the toilet, he gets a Jolly Roger sticker for his potty chart.

While not having to smell his pirate booty was gift enough, as an additional bonus, I get to hear him say things like “Arrrr Matey, I need to pee pee” and “Arrr I’m making a poopy, you dirty land lubbers!”

Since instituting Pirate Potty Time, I haven’t had to swab Captain Dominic’s poop deck once. We’ve even taken him out in public in big-kid underwear, and he rewarded us by shouting “Arrrr I need to plunder the potty” right in the middle of the Panera lunch rush. I have never been more proud of him.

Because 1/5 of my fan base is my wife, I would have a mutiny on my hands if I didn’t at least acknowledge that she’s been an extremely supportive first mate to Captain Dominic throughout his voyage into potty independence.

Here is the email I just submitted to Nickelodeon, reproduced in its entirety:

Dear Nick Jr. Program Director,

I must reluctantly thank you for moving The Fresh Beat Band to the 6:30 time slot. It has inspired me to take my son outside and enjoy the cool summer evenings.  As an added bonus, we usually miss most of Dora too. Before this move, I was so entranced by Yo Gabba Gabba that I couldn’t pull myself away from the television. And while I am having serious withdrawal symptoms because you denied me the drug that is DJ Lance Rock, my son and I now take Moose A. Moose’s advice and go on backyard bug hunts instead of fueling our intense hatred of Twist. All things considered, it’s probably for the best.

Now please don’t misunderstand me. My son and I still watch way too much tv, and we love the vast majority of your programming.  Even Linny the androgynous guinea pig from the Wonder Pets has grown on me with her inspiring message of teamwork. And while I could take or leave Dora, I’d be lying if I told you I’ve never imagined zipping through the rainforest with an anthropomorphic rescue pack on a mission to save baby animals like Diego. I will admit that forcing myself to accept that someone as awesome as Diego could be related to someone as annoying as Dora hurts my brain, but at least my son learns how to read a map.

But back to my point. Fresh Beat “Band” episodes are excruciating. Here are just a few reasons why they make my red American blood boil:

1. The girls have regular names, but the guys are Twist and Shout. Pick a direction for the love of all things holy. How about Kiki, Marina,      Frank, and Stephen? Or if you prefer, Twist, Shout, Dance, and Boogie.  See how easy that was?
2. While the music program at their school is impressive, the curriculum is seriously lacking in mathematics and the hard sciences.
3. Twist

In case you need more convincing, you can visit my blog at www.notoriousdad.com and review the epic rap battle between Twist and Dr. Dre.  SPOILER ALERT: Twist doesn’t fare too well.

I hope this is enough evidence to show you the error of your ways and to make you realize that DJ Lance Rock is the only live action star you need on Nick Jr. Stop wasting your time trying to build The Fresh Beat brand and concentrate on your real assets.  Did you know that your licensing department has completely neglected Yo Gabba Gabba?  I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.  The only products I’ve seen are a horrible Plex key-tar, a DJ Lance boom-box that inexplicably won’t allow you to remove the characters, and a Brobee kite that got me so excited I flew it into some power lines right in the Target parking lot because I couldn’t wait to get to the park. Sadly, my son never got a turn.

I’m not above groveling. I am prepared to beg you to take my money.  Let me buy a Muno action figure. Please? Let me buy an adult sized T-shirt like the ones the kids wear on the show. And would a DJ lance Rock Drum Major Hat kill you to release this Christmas?

In summary, I’d just like to say that DJ Lance Rock embodies all that is right with the universe and Twist is the scourge of the Earth.

Thank you for your time,

Andy

Dear Andy, (again, I removed my last name even though only my family reads this crap)

Thank you for contacting us recently regarding Church & Dwight Co., Inc. products. (you’re welcome)
In order to fully respond to your inquiry we need to do further research.  We will respond to you as soon as this research is complete. (What the @#$% could they possibly be researching? Has it moved past the animal testing phase onto live human subjects? Was I an unwilling participant in some twisted government conspiracy? Holy crap! Is this stuff poisoning my underarm region/lower back, where I routinely apply a thin layer to prevent back sweat. Too much information?)
We appreciate your patience as we research this matter for you. (I think you’re making a poor assumption. And in this case, when you “assume,” you’re only making an ass out of you because “me” be totally on to your “clinical “antiperspirant scam.)

Caroline (name removed to protect the innocent, at least until she’s proven guilty)
Consumer Relations Representative
Please do not reply to this email. If you would like to respond to this message, please click on the link below.

http://www.econsumeraffairs.com/churchdwight/contactusfollowup.htm?F1=004523099A&F2=USA&F3=ARCLINIC 

(I encourage you to also write a witty response on my behalf.  However, if you choose to support my cause, I ask that you are respectful and that you do not use any vulgar or threatening language. Please be sure to clearly identify yourself. It will also help if you are hysterical like I am. In the unlikely event that you actually choose to respond, I ask that you copy your email in its entirety to the comment section of this entry.  Mom, I’m looking at you.  Make me proud.)

Here is the response I just submitted:

Good Morrow Caroline,

You’re welcome for my recent contact regarding Church & Dwight Co., Inc. products earlier this week. I appreciate your gratitude.  However, I must be honest when I tell you that your note left me with more questions that answers.  What exactly is being researched? Was the stock language in your email truly a fitting response for such a gloriously well-crafted and hysterical complaint letter? Does anyone over there have a sense of humor? I just want to know if I’m missing something or if you owe me three dollars. That’s it. I promise to cease my snarky emails as soon as I get a straight answer.

Thank you for your understanding of the seriousness of this issue, and you’re welcome in advance for this response.

Best,

Andy 

ps. Dance like no one is watching, love like you’ve never been hurt, sing like no one is listening, and live every day like it’s heaven on Earth.

Below is the actual email I just submitted to the Church and Dwight Consumer Relationships Department.  I hope they understand the gravity of this situation.  I also received an automated response that is copied below my letter.

Product: Arrid Ultima 1.8 oz Antiperspirant Deododorant

UPC: 2260017167

Lot #: L9105EX04-11

Dear Arrid XX Dry Marketing Team,

I was happy to see on your Website that my comment is important to you. I would like to give you fair warning that I am about to expose an enormous Arrid conspiracy.

I’ll start by saying that I am a loyal customer. I am both a bit portly and half Italian–a lethal combination when it comes to unwanted underarm odor.  My experience has been that Arrid XX Dry beats the other antiperspirant options like they’re rented mules.  Oh, I’ve tried the Gillette Clinical Strength.  It left me a sweaty mess.  Degree Clinical Protection? I smell like dirty socks within a half an hour.  But good ol’ Arrid XX Dry has always gotten me through my work day smelling shower fresh (well, at least my arm pits).  Clinical strength options be damned, Arrid XX is all I need.

My wife knows how loyal I am to your product line and was consequently elated when she saw that Arrid released a clinical strength antiperspirant.  Could life get any better?  The best deodorant on the market just got EVEN stronger!  I hurried to my bathroom, Arrid Ultima in hand, excited to begin to my new, fresher smelling life.  Then it happened.  I compared the active ingredient in Arrid Ultima to that of my Arrid XX Dry.  Do you know what I found? I think that you do.

Each stick is composed of exactly 19% Aluminum Zirconium Tetrachlorohydrex Gly–the only active ingredient listed. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I was just charged an additional $3 for LESS deodorant in a different package.  As a marketing professional, I can’t help but congratulate the guy on the Arrid Marketing Team who suggested re-labeling the exact same product and jacking up the price to compete with the crappy "clinical" options of your competitors.  However, as a customer, I am left questioning how a company that I so faithfully endorse to my legion of plus-sized, sweaty friends could treat me like such a fool.

So what am I asking for?  Simply this, Arrid Marketing Manager: Justice.  Make this right, or I vow to suffer through vomit-enducing BO while I find another brand that can cover the over-whelming aroma of my masculinity.  I’m blowing the lid off this conspiracy.  This letter and your response will appear for all five of my readers at Notoriousdad.com.  I pull some serious weight with the three readers who aren’t my wife and my mother. But incidentally, even they hope that you respond both swiftly and appropriately because they don’t feel like smelling me for the next month.      

Best,

Andy

End Note

And the auto response:

Dear  Andy,
Thank you for taking the time to contact us about Arrid Ultima 1.8 oz Antiperspirant Deodo.
Although we cannot guarantee an immediate response, we will reply as soon as possible.  If you need immediate assistance, please call us at 1-800-524-1328 and refer to reference number: 004523099A.  Our Consumer Relations Department is available Monday – Friday from 9:00 A.M. until 5:00 P.M. Eastern Time.
Thank you.
Church & Dwight Consumer Relations Department

So far, this doesn’t look good. . .

Dear Mr. [Andy], (yes, I removed my last name even though you all know who I am)

Thank you for taking the time to email us regarding our Ortega product.  Your comments and patronage are very much appreciated. (Clearly stock language from PR. So far I’m not impressed, Marge.)

Our packaging is designed to withstand normal conditions of distribution and handling.  However, mishandling during storage and shipping may cause the fragile shells to be broken.  For example, if the product is accidentally shaken or dropped during shelving, the outside of the box might look fine, but the shells inside may become damaged. (ummm, full disclosure, Marge: I did let Dom throw the taco shells into our cart at Giant Eagle. Was I not supposed to do that? You need to give me a warning or something.)

Let me assure you that this will be investigated and we will be in contact with our distributors. (Oh snap! Marge just totally punk’d the distributors, yo.)

We guarantee our products, and do not want you to be dissatisfied.  I will send you complimentary coupons. (Now you’re speaking my language, Marge.)

(On a personal note, let me thank you for your entertaining and creative email, it was enjoyed by many of us). (Here’s where Marge won my heart forever. However, she did say many of us and not all of us. Marge did right by me, but I demand to meet the humorless buzzkill who did not enjoy my entertaining and creative email.)

Margaret (Marge) (last name removed. I don’t want you hounding my girl) 
B&G Foods, Inc, Corporate Consumer Affairs & Relations

End note

It’s nice to see that the Ortega brand has an actual human being with a sense of humor responding to complaints in less than 48 hours. Assuming Marge comes through with those complimentary coupons, all is forgiven and I consider the matter closed. I decree that both Marge and her immediate manager be promoted for their fair and ethical handling of such a delicate situation.

Below is the letter I just submitted to the Ortega Website at http://ortega.com/, reproduced in its entirety. I think it speaks for itself. The horror. The horror.

Product UPC: 4150100803

Manufacturer Filling Date Code: I have looked at the box for three minutes and have concluded that this number does not exist.

Message Subject: The Tragic Events of Taco Night 3/10/2010

Dear Person in the Ortega PR Department Stuck Reading My Complaint,

I was glad to discover on your Website that my opinion is important to you, because I had a traumatic experience involving your Whole Grain Corn Taco Shells this evening. You see, tonight was taco night–a magical evening in my household when it seems, if only for the twenty minutes I’m enjoying my wife’s delicious tacos, that dreams really can come true.

I was unwinding from a hard day’s work, enjoying some age-appropriate online video with my two year-old son at the kitchen table, when my wife gasped from across the room. I ran to her only to discover than nine of the ten delicious Ortega Whole Grain Corn Taco Shells we had purchased only two days earlier were broken into no less than two, but no more than seven pieces. Oh the humanity.

What could we do? My lovely wife had already prepared the ground turkey, complete with your Ortega Taco Seasoning I might add. The tomatoes had been chopped. The spoon was already in the tub of sour cream. We couldn’t turn back. I ask again, what would you have us do?

Sure, I went ahead and broke up what remained of the battered taco shells in an ill-conceived attempt to make nachos. And yes, I know the ingredients are identical, but it’s called TACO NIGHT for the love of all things holy. It just wasn’t the same. I work hard to provide for my family, and I shouldn’t be denied my preferred ground turkey and shredded cheese delivery vehicle.

I’m sure you think I’m blowing this out of proportion, but what you’re forgetting is this: Ortega is not simply selling whole grain corn taco shells; it’s selling “taco night” and all the associated hopes and dreams that go along with it.

I ask that you make this right. Please find a way to restore my faith in your brand. I will be chronicling this incident on my blog at www.notoriousdad.com. While I don’t mean this in any way to be a threat, I pull some serious weight with the seven people who read my blog each week . . . six if you don’t count my wife who is already aware of the events that took place on this tragic night . . . four if you don’t count the other two guys who write with me . . . three if you don’t count my mother.

Thank you for your time,

Andy

End Note

I will publish any response I receive in it’s entirety to you, my faithful readers. Let’s hope Little Caesar’s does a better job with Pizza Night on Friday.

The fine folks over at 1-800-FLOWERS.com offered to send each of our wives a dozen red roses and a personalized greeting in exchange for an honest product review. This presented me with an ethical dilemma. As soon as I wrote about the flowers, Kerry would know that I received them in return for only the time it took to write this post. However, if I didn’t disclose that they were given to me, I would be guilty of being dishonest with our vast fan base. Because of my respect for you, our beloved readers, I’ve chosen to take the high road. Okay, to be honest, I also ran the following calculation:

(value of 1 Andy Hour) x (hours spent on post) = $$ Spent on Kerry

Or expressed numerically:

$10,000 x .75 = way to friggin’ much to justify this review

Based on my rough numbers, Kerry received an extremely expensive gift, and 1-800-FLOWERS.com made out like bandits. However, I’ve already started writing, so it’s too late to turn back now.

So what did I think of the flowers, you ask? I’ll start by saying that Kerry’s favorite flower is the carnation, so I’m used to buying flowers with the change left over from my beef jerky purchases. However, I’m told that roses are quite a bit more expensive. I spent minutes of research on this, and while I couldn’t find the identical picture, I believe the arrangement that was sent to my lovely wife is sold by 1-800-FLOWERS for $47.98. I’ll let you be the judge. Here is the picture from the site and a poorly-lit picture of the actual product received by my wife (I should reread Mark’s post on taking good pictures):

For the record, Kerry’s roses were deep red. My flash and amateur photography skills made them look a bit pink

Kerry was not a huge fan of the heart-shaped pendant hanging around the vase, so it was promptly removed, but the vase itself is sturdy and reusable. Overall, I think she was pleased. As evidence, I received the following text at exactly 4:52 this afternoon: “Just got my flowers…thank u…they are gorgeous : ). I love you!” As an aside, my wife has an ellipses addiction.

As for the service, the flowers showed up right on time and were delivered by a nice older gentlemen whose looks Kerry described as “totally Joe Pesci from Home Alone.” 1-800-FLOWERS.com even spelled all of our names correctly on the personalized greeting. It appears that you can order flowers as late as tomorrow and still have them delivered by Valentine’s Day.

Based on my experience, I may pay actual money to use 1-800-FLOWERS service in the future.

Unfortunately for me, the flowers did not lead to a spontaneous anything-goes make-out session as soon as I stepped foot in the house, but I attribute that more to my buzz-kill of a son than I do to the flowers.

If you are planning on ordering from 1-800-FLOWERS, we can hook you up. Use the code SCORE15 to save 15% on any non discounted items.