Thursday, April 27

The War at Home begins, but I am the better General.

My delightful spouse has started a blog, a word reminiscent of blarg, barf, blag, and bush. These are all unpleasant things. I, of course, must therefore post on said blarg, or she will make life interesting for Me. I should probably forego My self-capitalization as well.

A progeny of My loins, TWITCH is an alarming development. Because TWITCH does, after all, share My genetic heritage, TWITCH cruelly chose to conceive at a trying time. For this, have no doubt, I will exact punishment later in life. I will love TWITCH, of course, but devising cruel punishments is part of My life's work, and one so rarely gets the chance to combine their work and love, so it behooves me to soldier on.

One day, when a young crustacean reads this blag, it may pause to wonder if said debt has been paid, or if some horrible doom is still waiting, waiting...

Trust your father, TWITCH. It's still waiting.

And it's worse than you think.

I love you.


Brian said...

Bush is only unpleasent with a capital B.

Himself said...

This is true, except for Australian bush. When Australians say "bush", what they means is thousands of square miles of trackless wastes filled with delightful varieties of vicious and often poisonous life determined to "put a nip on ya". Then you die screaming in agony , and your body is never found until some aborigine takes a piss on your bleached bones. This kind of bush is also bad.