Blog Stew. Leftovers.

A long, looooong time ago (ok, only 25ish years), in a land far faaaaaar away (ok, Fremont MI), I played Aggravation with my grandparents. It had a black board, four different color marbles and two dice and worked like Sorry!. Both grandparents played that game with me for hours and days and weeks.

How in the name of all that’s sacred did they do it?!

I can’t play a board game with my boys for two minutes before I’ve ripped out my hair and set fire to it as a diversionary tactic to buy myself 15 precious seconds in order to quickly leave the room, jump in the car, and buy the next ticket out of the country to go buy my Himalayan Whistle Kid. Himalayan Whistle Kids don’t ask you to referee and endure mental torture under the guise of Family Game Night. Himalayan Whistle Kids sit in the corner and make origami out of Tupperware parings and golden mushroom gravy, silently thankful for the bountiful blessings I bestow upon him.

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I’ve been watching what weird-ass Google searches led people to my blog. I’m sorry to say nothing noteworthy has turned up as of late. It’s high time that situation was rectified.

Gerbil fist anus heaving breasts. Turtle nostril vibrate peanut butter. Earrings nipple piercings Prince Albert. Incandescent lightbulb stuck pelvic x-ray. Leprechaun rape Sasquatch erotic. Ginormous tumescent phallic wonder. Me love you long time. Llama sexy single girls gone wild illegal. Pulsing womanhood slippery entice wandering eyes. Harley Davidson shop exhibitionist Yankees voyeur vibrate vibrate vibrate. Semen bukkake alluring tantric orgasm. Hitler rectal donkey punch romantic evening. Foaming pubic kneecaps licking toe jam. Tongue giraffe kneel job. Sexy Premier Chain expose nudist Santa. Oh, me so horny. Oh, and smegma.

That oughta do it.

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Yesterday The Rockstar took his life into his own hands and pointed out the fine Polish heritage sprouting from my chin. I ran into the bathroom hysterically bawling, and Hunky gently took Rocky under his wing and suggested to him some much less violent ways to die.

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The Dinosaur thinks very visually. And reads a lot of Calvin & Hobbes.

Dino likes Britny. I told him that Britny would be coming over soon, and he said, “I just love Brit-tah-nee.” He flourished his hands from his hips and up above his head and stated matter of factly, “Hearts are coming out from me all over.”

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Well, I think I’ve done enough damage for one day. Tune in tomorrow, same bad time, same bad station.

Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. Word.

4 thoughts on “Blog Stew. Leftovers.

  1. LMAO @ dino’s remark. I remember telling ummm, “brit-tah-nee” that dino liked her and she just rolled her eyes and sighed. Unfortunetly she thinks she is waaaaay to old for dino and for now he is just the pesty younger brother. lol. Poor dino. But secretly i think she likes him.

    My grandma played games with me all day too, and my mom didn’t do that much with me at all. But guess what…she does it with “brit-tah-nee” now ALL day, gotta be a grandparent thing. So you won’t get to do that until *gasps* we have grandchildren *swallows hard* UGH, so scary!

  2. I can’t believe you’d punk the search engines like that! 😉

    Funny, just yesterday I was wondering if my kids would grow up and remember my playing all those lame ass games with them and wonder how I managed to put up with it.

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