Mr. Clean. Inject your foot with Botulism. Farting Outside. Ass meds. All in one post. THAT, Folks, is why they pay me the BIG bucks.
Man. I had a hard time figuring out what to write about today. It's kind of scattered....
Mr. Clean died. I thought about writing how I couldn't possibly clean my house out of respect for his passing. But then I thought, "Nah, they'll know that's bullshit. I can't possibly clean my house because I can't vacuum while blogging on my laptop."
Then I saw that Sharon Stone is in a custody battle for her kid. Her ex-husband said that she's unfit because, when they noticed that their kid had a foot odor problem, Sharon's solution was to get him Botox injections in the feet. Poor kid. She'd probably schedule it after his colonic but before his Scientology "briefing" (aka brain washing). The ex further demonstrated his parental strengths by stating his solution was to get the kid to wear socks and put powder in his shoes.
How weird. We actually have a kid with stinky feet. And just this morning I insisted - over great resistance - that said child wear socks and utilize foot powder. After reading the thing about the Stone family, I tried imagining a debate with my husband where I would say, "No, no, no! Foot powder...pffft! That's SO, like, five minutes ago! What we need to do is inject her foot with botulism!"
I could, however, tell my kid that if she doesn't do the sock/powder thing without carping about it that I'll take her to the doctor where she'll be given a shot in the bottom of her foot. Hmmm. Something tells me there will be no more morning arguments on the matter...thanks, Sharon!
Yesterday I was teaching one of my kids to ride a bike. Another one of my kids (they're everywhere, you know) had a little meltdown and was sent to the house. I felt kind of bad for her because she was crying and her little hands were balled up in frustration. But she was being bad and needed to go chill out in her room. She was almost home when she farted so loudly that it echoed in the cul-de-sac I was sitting in. I thought someone had discharged a firearm or something.
As I sat there laughing, I contemplated that if someone were deaf and watching us, I would appear to be a very callous mother because I sent my upset daughter away, and then threw my head back in laughter. And, of course, anyone else watching would just have reaffirmation that I am indeed very immature for a 40 year old.
I once saw someone I know in the pharmacy buying industrial sized tubes of every ass medication available. Hemorrhoid suppositories and cream, anti-diarrhea pills, anti-flatulence pellets, and Tang flavored fiber drinks. He's not a very pleasant guy so I avoided him in the store. But now I know his little stinky secret. And every time he's acting like a prick I want to say, "Hey, by any chance do you have an inflamed hemorrhoid right now? I think you might...."
Itchy butts is to hemorrhoid cream like bex is to humor-blogs. (Did I just liken myself to an itchy butt???)
Mr. Clean died. I thought about writing how I couldn't possibly clean my house out of respect for his passing. But then I thought, "Nah, they'll know that's bullshit. I can't possibly clean my house because I can't vacuum while blogging on my laptop."
Then I saw that Sharon Stone is in a custody battle for her kid. Her ex-husband said that she's unfit because, when they noticed that their kid had a foot odor problem, Sharon's solution was to get him Botox injections in the feet. Poor kid. She'd probably schedule it after his colonic but before his Scientology "briefing" (aka brain washing). The ex further demonstrated his parental strengths by stating his solution was to get the kid to wear socks and put powder in his shoes.
How weird. We actually have a kid with stinky feet. And just this morning I insisted - over great resistance - that said child wear socks and utilize foot powder. After reading the thing about the Stone family, I tried imagining a debate with my husband where I would say, "No, no, no! Foot powder...pffft! That's SO, like, five minutes ago! What we need to do is inject her foot with botulism!"
I could, however, tell my kid that if she doesn't do the sock/powder thing without carping about it that I'll take her to the doctor where she'll be given a shot in the bottom of her foot. Hmmm. Something tells me there will be no more morning arguments on the matter...thanks, Sharon!
Yesterday I was teaching one of my kids to ride a bike. Another one of my kids (they're everywhere, you know) had a little meltdown and was sent to the house. I felt kind of bad for her because she was crying and her little hands were balled up in frustration. But she was being bad and needed to go chill out in her room. She was almost home when she farted so loudly that it echoed in the cul-de-sac I was sitting in. I thought someone had discharged a firearm or something.
As I sat there laughing, I contemplated that if someone were deaf and watching us, I would appear to be a very callous mother because I sent my upset daughter away, and then threw my head back in laughter. And, of course, anyone else watching would just have reaffirmation that I am indeed very immature for a 40 year old.
I once saw someone I know in the pharmacy buying industrial sized tubes of every ass medication available. Hemorrhoid suppositories and cream, anti-diarrhea pills, anti-flatulence pellets, and Tang flavored fiber drinks. He's not a very pleasant guy so I avoided him in the store. But now I know his little stinky secret. And every time he's acting like a prick I want to say, "Hey, by any chance do you have an inflamed hemorrhoid right now? I think you might...."
Itchy butts is to hemorrhoid cream like bex is to humor-blogs. (Did I just liken myself to an itchy butt???)
Comments
Have to laugh at your kiddo. I wonder if she felt better after she relieved that pressure?
Did you compare yourself to an itchy butt??? You're a lot funnier.