If You Blog And Start To Meet People

So today’s post will be based off the ever popular, “If you give a mouse a cookie.”

If you don’t know it, my bad…you’ll catch on pretty quick to the flow. If you do know it…I feel your pain, although, it is a damn good story.

So…here we go:

If You Blog And Start To Meet People

If you blog and start to meet people in your town,

They might learn you’re a complete douchebag.

And if they learn you’re a complete douchebag,

They might look at your wife kind of funny.

If they look at your wife kind of funny,

She might say, “I try but just look at the way he drools!”

And if they look at the way you drool,

They might say, “Awwww….I bet he’s really cute when he’s asleep!?”

And if they think you’re kind of cute when you’re sleeping,

They might also think you don’t pass gas and kick your left leg uncontrollably.

And if they think you have self control they might also think you’re dad of the year,

And if they think you’re dad of the year,

They might nominate you for some fancy award and a ticker-tape parade,

And if shards of paper are falling all around you while people say “dad of the year,”

You might check your medication,

And if you check your medication you’ll notice you’ve over medicated yourself,

And if you’ve over medicated yourself you’ll realize you’ve actually fallen asleep with the paper shredder over your head again,

And if you’re fallen asleep with the paper shredder over your head again,

You might use the scraps to invite people over for drinks,

And if you invite people over for drinks you might start talking too damn much,

And if you start talking too damn much you might spill the beans about your blog,

And if you start to spill the beans about your blog well…

People might start to learn you’re a real douche!!

Yeah…We Got A Dog

The day started like any other day. We woke up late and a tad hung-over from the previous night’s party with friends.

We ate breakfast and broke-up 13.6 fights between the kids.

I wrote a love note to the wife.

Then we decided to go to my wife’s second home, Ikea, to look at lofts for the boy’s room since he needs desk space.

After a couple hours of crying and listening to the boy say, “Oh, I want that bed, and that desk, and can I get a chair that wheels around, and I could put my trophies on my desk and move them when it’s time to do homework, and please daddy, please mommy?!”

But unfortunately we left without the purchase.

Then I made the mistake of a lifetime. Feeling bad that we got the kid all hyped-up and let him down, I whipped into the pet store right next to Ikea so we could let him pet hamsters and look at fish.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in a small “petting room” waiting for a dude that works there to bring us a puppy to play with.

Twenty more minutes later my wife, son, and daughter are literally clasping their hands together as if in group prayer and begging me to let them take the doggie home forever.

I gave it a good fight, I really did. But I lost and I lost hard.

When we first moved to Chicago three years ago we got a damn cat. Jasper.

Almost two years ago we got each of the kids a fish. Then one died. So we got another.

Then a few months ago the boy “had to have” a hamster. When I wasn’t looking the wife bought the little bastard a hamster.

Now...a Cavalier King Charles dog named Marty.

But, I’m going to look at the positive side of this. I’m going to focus on the many things young Marty and I have in common.

• If he’s not bathed regularly he stinks and leaves his musky scent all over the furniture. I do too…
• Currently the cat’s scared out of his mind, so one could say he scares pussy away. I do too…
• He was bred and we have his thorough pedigree chart. I guess in a way I was too…
• This furry bastard loves to have his belly rubbed nonstop. The dog does too…
• I’m going out on a limb and saying I’m pretty sure the dog doesn’t like to wear pants. We all know my feelings on those devil leg covers.
• And, I’m not going to lie, if you throw a ball near me I’m definitely going to go for it and bring it right back to you.

Now, if only I could figure out how to make my ass wag like a dog’s tail and have my wife whistle at me and talk to me like I’m 8 months old.