Rub eyes and squint

Names on the table:

Poop Vadoop and Flegma Vagine.

No bunnies died in the making of this blog

Alcohol, drug, nicotine, caffeine and nitrate free. Damn good thing I still have sex.

As if it were written for the movies

Romantic kissing...

"Hey, you taste like maple syrup."
"I just went down on Mrs. Butterworth."
"You cheat on me again, I'll cut you."
"I know, baby, I know."

Java the Hut

Started cutting down on caffeine this weekend.

I'll let you know how it's going as soon as I finish biting the head off this kitti..zz.z....zzzz.....

So THAT explains it

I've got one thing to say, and one thing only:

Holy Shit.

Fowlness

Pray tell, besides owls, what type of f*cking birds wake up at 3:00 in the morning and chirp continuously until 4:00??? HUH??? The other night it was so bad I thought that perhaps I had stumbled over the white noise machine that I thought I had lost, and that maybe my crippled toe had hit the volume control and set it to "raging tornado level with melodious sweet forest chirping sounds, CA Redwoods (protected)", and, after groping around in the dark for twenty minutes, that perhaps the white noise machine was possessed and scurrying around mere inches away from my angry fingers, but noooooooo, it was nothing I could smash with a hammer or exorcise with a priest, but rather a family of some urban hybrid of bird, hell bent on chirping out Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of their minuscule-yet-Gladiator-strong lungs.

LDS, not LSD

Late Wednesday afternoon, lounging in the backyard with the guy and the offspring, when two young women, both sporting sunglasses, approach the yard. The males chitchat with them a bit while I finish scrubbing down the grill.

I realize they aren't classmates of the teen aged offspring when I notice they are both sporting long denim dresses on this hot afternoon, and I hear my son say, "You're from Germany? I'm surprised, because Martin Luther...", and even HE knows that's not flirting. The boyfriend wanders over with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. "Mormons. The kid's got it covered."

After a lengthy discussion, my son comes back with a pamphlet and a shit eating grin. "Just tell me you were respectful," is all I say-for a bit.

"Actually," I muse aloud, "you could have a party, and invite the ruffians from your school, who would bring drugs and alcohol, and we could introduce those girls to bikini underwear-it's awfully hot for them to have to wear their traditional undergarments. It's too bad they're not Amish, because then we could put zippers on EVERYTHING-the door, the potato chip bags, the toilet seats, and they would have to walk around like zombies and say things like, 'Prithee, open this Doritos bag, for it is ungodly closed, and I must have some of the delectably goodness,' or, 'Thine outhouse is a work of the Devil,'

...that's when the boyfriend gave me a wedgie to shut me up and I started chasing him around the yard with a pair of tongs, and I lost my train of thought, and my son sank into a lawnchair with the deepest expression of mortification possible.