here.
I am pleased to announce that for the first time since Sunday I can straighten my legs completely. That’s the sort of thing you take for granted until you can’t do it, believe you me.
Okay, anyone have any clue what the fuck kind of language this is? Is it spam? Anyone? This person keeps emailing the same email to me, and I have no clue what they want. And it’s not one of the language Babelfish translates, so I’m at a loss.
merhaba seni aradim ulasamadim.. nerdesin?? d�n anneme kamera aldirdim zorla hehe simdi baya ii cekiyo kamerayi actim izlemek istiyosan buraya tiklat hadi g�r�s�r�z kendine cooook ii bak optum
The other night, Fred and I were laying in bed talking before bedtime. Fred, as is his way, farted.
“I wish I could do that when the spud comes in to say goodnight!” he giggled. It is his dearest wish to fart on the spud when she’s not expecting it. And it’s her dearest wish to fart on him when he’s not expecting it. So far, I believe she’s ahead in the fart wars.
I continued breathing through my mouth – I can’t remember the last time I laid in bed and dared to breathe through my nose – and we resumed chatting.
Ten minutes later, the spud knocked on the door, alerting us that she was there. She and Fred did their “What?” “Hug?” “Yes, I know what a hug is” dorkiness, and she entered the room. Every night when she comes in to hug Fred and I goodnight, it’s generally a long ordeal that involves her stopping to pet every cat in the room, making random remarks (“I did the thingy with the doohickey. I’ll do it again tomorrow”) that make no sense to us. Eventually, she approaches the bed and flings herself down across Fred’s upper body, where she lays like the dead, and would probably stay there the entire night, except that Fred pokes her to get her moving.
On this particular evening, however, she approached the bed and began to lean down. Fred lifted the comforter and top sheet a slight amount, letting air circulate beneath the covers.
The spud stopped suddenly, a disgusted look on her face. “Oh, GROSS!” she yelled, and then giggled. “You FARTED!”
Countries as far away as Afghanistan made note of the momentous occasion.
She continued her drama queen ways, waving her hand around in front of her face and making gagging sounds, punctuated with “Gross!” and “Ewww!”s. Fred was laughing so hard he was almost crying.
After fifteen minutes of discussion about how Fred had farted and it was stinky and gross, I got impatient.
“Quickly!” I yelled, which is what I yell when she’s dawdling, since it always gets her moving.
Holding her breath, the spud gave Fred a quick hug and then rounded the bed to hug me. We hugged, and she bent over to pet Miz Poo, who was laying beside me. As she straightened up, I heard it, like a distant foghorn.
“GodDAMN!” I yelled, holding my nose. The spud giggled wildly and ran for the door.
“What?” Fred said. “What happened?”
“She FARTED on me!”
Fred and the spud laughed as if it were the funniest thing that had ever happened in either of their lives.
You want my life, you know it.
I don’t know if we have just one squirrel that occasionally visits our bird feeders, or if they’ve all been different squirrels, but we were visited by a squirrel this past weekend.
Naturally, I got pictures.
“Mmmm. Damn those Andersons sure are nice to stock the good stuff!”
“Whuh? Did I hear something? It sounded like a whine from a portly animal…”
“What the hell IS that on the other side of the window?”
“Damnit! That fucking squirrel is always too fast for me!”
Yes, I know. The next thing the cats bring into the house will be a friggin’ squirrel. You can imagine I’m looking forward to THAT.]]>