Through much finagling, badgering and bit of mild threatening, I was able to flush the spawnage from the musty inner-sanctum that is the crabshack and air them out in the "out-of-doors." I even managed to capture a picture or two of them actually "exerting." Here's Miss O engaging in a game she likes to call "One... darnit! One... aw c'mon! One... Man!"
And here's Mr. Z floating on his prototype Maglev hippity-hop.
Looks painful. I'm thinking we're just gonna throw that underwear away.
I'm telling ya, though, the never-ending, frozen-tundra shitfuck that is a Michigan winter almost seems bearable during these three or four days of what we mid-westerners like to call "Spring." Of course, in a few days it'll shoot up to 98 degrees, with 130% humidity, and my sack'll once again be blanketing the parched ground like a deflated zeppelin, but for now, I'm gonna take Miss O's lead and run around the dead lawn like I'm in the original Broadway cast production of "Hair."
Happy Spring, fuckers.