This morning I took the kids to the zoo for one last time before school starts tomorrow. One of their favorite places is the Cat Complex.

Much to my mother's chagrin, I owe much of my sense of humor to the usual gang of idiots at Mad Magazine. Imagine my reaction when I read this weekend that Al Jaffee, mastermind of back page fold-in, received a long overdue Reuben for Outstanding Cartoonist of the Year from his peers at the National Cartoonist Society.

Vin-di-CAAA-tion!

Where would I have been without Al Jaffee, Mort Drucker's movie and TV satires, Sergio Aragones' "Spy vs. Spy" tales, Don Martin's "Adventures of Captain Klutz" and the rest? Probably on my yacht in the Caribbean, counting the millions I made in a real profession.

But I'd be counting very, very dourly.

So, in tribute to one of Mr. Jaffe's most influential works in my life, here are some "Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions" about being an at-home dad:

"What's that say?" asked my 8-year-old girl, dressed in her latest Hannah Montana ensemble, as she pointed at the checkout counter magazine rack.

I had spotted it about 10 seconds earlier. I nearly flipped the issue over, but the former bag boy in me held back out of courtesy for my former union brothers and sisters.

"What's what say?"

"That … the one with Miley's picture on it."

Her index finger nearly touched the blaring yellow words.

You're sitting all alone in your house watching your newborn baby. You haven't had an intelligent coversation in months. Your only stimulant has been a cup of coffee and the smell of Pledge. You find you keep speed-dialing your wife at work even though you still have nothing to say to her.

The boy turned 6 over the weekend. This is a pretty amazing feat for you, little dude, because, in all seriousness, Mom and I gave much thought on Day 4 of your existence to trading you in for a quieter model.

I walked three miles around the creaky second floor of our old house that first-night-into-morning you were home, son, bouncing you in my arms, swaying you back and forth, swaddling and re-swaddling, singing you my up-to-that-time-never-miss (at least for your big sister) bedtime medley of "Sunny Afternoon" and "(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay." All for naught, boy, all for naught.