Who am I... Ozzie McHarriet?!
Oh, and they actually enjoyed the ride, by the by. For like a half an hour! They fucking loved it -- didn't argue, didn't complain about their legs hurting, didn't plow into the back of any parked cars. (Well, Mr. Z did get his wheel stuck in a sewer grate, momentarily, but he didn't even rack himself.)
And then yesterday morning, on my way out of the Y, I picked up this little ticket for the circus that's coming to town.
Now, I've picked up the exact ticket for the past three years, always thinking, "Hey, maybe I should take the spawnage to the circus. They'd probably dig it." Then I'd stick the thing in my pocket and forget about it. You know -- the time-tested, crabbydad way.
This time, though, the new above-terranean (is that that opposite of subterranean?) crabbydad got online tonight and ordered four row-three tickets to the goddamn circus! Can I get a "what the shit?!" Row three! The fucking clowns are going to be all over us like... like stink on clowns. We'll be close enough to feel the warm mist of elephant whiz raining down upon us, and when one of the motorcycles goes spinning out of control and bursts through the walls of the metal death-sphere, we'll be the ones ripped to shreds, as the steel-spiked tires tear through our sallow-usually-inside-people skin.
And it's all because of this dick: Go-Get-'Em-Dad.
The dude's gotta be stopped. If I don't keep his gumption in check, he's gonna do something really fucked, like volunteering to run the school rummage sale or, even worse, signing the spawnage up for after-school soccer practice. I think I'll go sleep in the basement tonight and force him back down into the dessicated, lifeless husk of my crabbycore where he belongs.
7 comments:
I think it has a lot to do with living, really living, not just breathing and walking around on the planet. In thinking about my own possible mortality with similar scary medical tests of late, someone happened to send me this, and it kinda rocked my world.
"Don't ask yourself what the world needs - ask yourself what makes you come alive,and then go do it.
Because what the world needs is
people who have come alive."
~ Harold Thurman Whitman
Philosopher and Theologian
Coming alive is alllllll good. :-)
(And bike rides with Dad are the BEST!)
Happy Friday, CD...
Awesome quote and sentiment, Queen L! I think it took a trip to Mayo and a journey out of the basement to really start breathing and walking around again.
Of course, it'll all be for naught after I get mauled by a Siberian tiger at the circus.
Near death experiences will do that to you.
Just remember:
Clowns wait for you to sleep. Then they kill you and eat you.
Have fun!
Sounds like you've become SUPER-terranean, which, admittedly, could force a wane in the crab. But as long as it's sarcastic and full of all kinds of dirty words I could've never imagined, I'm sure as shit gonna keep readin'.
alto-terranian?
Hey total props to Mr. Z for that awesome graph of the cookie quantity. I've downed a few sleeves of thin mints myself this week (love that term, "sleeve," for cookie packaging) and it still bugs me that they changed Samoas to coco-carmel-ring-cookie or some lame name like that.
Bike rides are cool. Esmeralda likes hers- probably 'cause she doesn't have to peddle. She just chills in her seat. Maybe you could get one of those tandem bikes and let the kids haul your crabby ass around the neighborhood. At least you'll get enough sun to get your photosynthesis going so you can bear fruit (or spot road apples).
If it gets any worse, see if Go-Get-'Em-Dad will put his head inside a lion's mouth. That'll get rid of that bastard!
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