I know you don’t know who Kip Kay is, and up until a few months ago I would have thought Kip Kay was a swanky beach resort on the coast of Rhode Island.
Kip Kay, RI.
The Euro Sticker would be KKRI.
No, Kip Kay is actually some sort of gadgety electronic guru super-genius who can build a rocket ship out of a disposable camera and a rubber band, and who makes MacGyver look about as handy as a trunk of elephant poop.
I have no idea how my son discovered Kip Kay’s website, but I think he must have been Googling “FART MACHINE.”
You think I’m kidding, but one of the first things my kid built from a Kip Kay video is an archaic fart machine made from a rubber band, a washer, and a paper clip. MacGyver never saved a damsel with a fart machine, that’s for damn sure.
Since his joy at the fart machine and making one for all of his friends at school (YOU’RE WELCOME, MOMS AND DADS!), he has also, with his father’s supervision, turned a lighter into a mini-motorcycle. On his own, he pranked my husband into thinking there was a huge scratch on his car, put fake blood inside the bristles of my toothbrush turning my entire mouth and lips red for five hours, took apart his electronic Incredible Hulk toy to see what made it work, and used the gel balls inside a diaper to turn a glass of water into a towering mass of goo.
Needless to say, we’ve had to hide the tools from him lest we find him behind the washing machine with an important looking part in his hands and a look on his face that says, “Shit.”
Now, my son is only allowed to watch the videos on KipKay.com because if he watches them on YouTube, the comments are terrible at times, and the “Related Videos” thing is just a scourge that once led him to watching the Challenger explode. Talk about an unexpected plot twist.
One day a few weeks ago I sat next to him on the couch while he was watching videos on KipKay.com, when I heard the words “condom hack pack.” And my ears went RUH-ROH! My kid has no idea what condoms are, but he was watching KipKay talk about five awesome things you could make with a condom including a fun shooter. I quickly leaned over and clicked away from the video and said, “Why don’t you watch this one instead?” Because really, the last thing I need is to be in Target one day and have my nine-year-old son loudly say, “Mom. I need some condoms.”
Hiya, Mister Child Protective Services. I swear he’s not sexually active.
Fast forward to a few days later when we took the kids to Smokey Bones for my birthday dinner (I let the kids pick the restaurant). The waitress arrived with our drink order and also plopped down some appetizer plates topped with a four-pack of individual hand-wipes. You know? Square hand-wipe packets that you tear into?
And my son, very loudly because he has two volumes and they are “loud” and “sonic boom” picked up the wipes, waved them around and asked, “WHAT ARE THESE?! CONDOMS?!?!?!”
I looked at my husband.
He looked at me.
We looked at the waitress.
We looked around at the judging eyes of the other patrons in the now-silent restaurant.
Then my daughter who is five and who repeats everything her brother says, shouted at the top of her lungs out into the quiet, judgy air, “WHAT ARE THESE?! CONDOMS?!?!?!?!?!? HAHAHAHAH!”
And then my husband and I shriveled up and died right there.
May we rest in peace.
Until Child Protective Services comes and takes them both away.
Gosh darn you, Kip Kay. Gosh darn you to Kip Kay, RI.