Today I relaxed at home as we honored Mr King and what he stood for. I laid frozen on my couch as my drool accumulated on my pillow and doritos were lodged in my chest hair. I was startled by a sound not heard in recent years.
It was the sound of children at play in my backyard. As I rose from my deep crusted eyeball hungover trance I was in disbelief. I looked out my unwashed cracked rear sliding door with broken window treatments and saw what I believed to be youngsters enjoying the outdoors and simply having fun.
I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation at first. I called the local fire department and they said unless a child is on fire there was nothing they could do. Next was a call to the police and they said unless one of the little bastards were committing a crime, there was nothing they could do. Next I called the director of “Children of the Corn” and asked for Malachi. He instructed me he was on his way to slice my pinky toe off and feed it to his chickens. So naturally I was spooked.
So my wife finally got through the stressful year known as 2016 and made her first gym appearance of 2017 tonight.
She was so excited and anxious to get back to her routine and work on her fitness as I sat on the couch and chomped on doritos, watched football, drank beer and dipped three sleeves of oreo cookies into my milk freshly squeezed from locally grown cow udders.
When she finally walked in after her hard and thorough workout I made sure her lemon ice water was prepared perfectly for her.
As she opened the door and pounced on each step and rose to the top of the hallway I wanted to let her know I was concerned and politely asked “how was the gym babe”? Her reply was “it smelled like dirty dick”.
So I chuckled and regurgitated a bit of my dorito and then began to absorb her comment. I’ve been with this woman for 22 years. Since she was 21. How many “dirty dicks” has she ran into??
So now I jumped into the shower with my tube socks, construction boots, tape measure and fruit of the loom speedos like Mike Holmes in a Potato sack race.
The old saying goes “happy wife” “happy life”. Well did you ever hear the old saying “hangry wife” “awful life”. Or “hangry kids” you are better off with “SIDS”.
God for bid my wife has a little tummy rumble she expects me to rise like I just accepted a challenge from Bobby Flay and shove multiple cheese burger deluxes down her throat at 2am like an Ethiopian at his “First Supper”.
Then my two boys wander around the house saying “we are hungry” after they just wolfed down three boxes of Coco Puffs and six pounds of pirate bootys.
I decided to come home early from work yesterday and these three bastards were at the top of the steps demanding shrimp portofino and asparagus as if I have deveined shrimp lingering in my ass crack. The nerve.
To make matters worse, the three of them team up on me like I’m “Jaba The Hut”in spin class.