Spring Hath Sproinged...

It was a weekend of crabcomplishments, to be sure. I'm sitting here barely able to lift my arms to the keyboard because, for some reason, I decided it was time to "get shit done." I guess it was all spurred on by the return of Woody Woodfucker yesterday morning.

After I was awakened by the 'pecker a-peckerin', I grabbed the wrist-rocket and assumed my post on the side of the house, a post un-assumed since the last pecker-attack, last fall. But apparently, word was out that I had murdelized one of the pecker-kin last year, 'cuz this pecker was not gonna show his little peckerhead while I was around. I waited... and waited... and waited... but soon, frostbite and hypothermia started setting in, so I blew it off and went inside for breakfast.

After a gallon of coffee and after the spawnage woke up and started running around screaming and playing the let's-be-loud game and giving me a fucking migraine, I decided to grab the ladder and the spray insulation and go fill in the pecker-hole. (The one on the side of the house, not my own... I'm not that sick.) Here's a shot of the altitude at which I was working:



And here's a shot of what happens when you don't properly cork up your spray insulation after you're done filling your pecker hole:



Ooh, I think I accidentally invented the poor-man's anal beads.

Oh, and speaking of anal beads, here's a picture of a very dirty cashew that I found in a bag of mostly G-rated cashews over the weekend. I think Mr. Peanut would pop his monocle if he ever caught a whiff of this nut-meat:



Hm. Seems I've veered off-topic a tad. Oh well. Uh, what else... we painted and installed some closet doors, I fixed the birdhouse, I swam, we played in the sun and we went out for ice cream. We were a goddamn Norman Rockwell painting all weekend.

Except for the cashew vulva... which, by the way, is my new favorite band name.