Veggie Meat
Hi. In the world of many children and days limited to 24 paltry hours, I’ve found little time to accumulate thoughtful post meat in any consumable form. So, herewith, a slipshod piece of ass of a post that represents whatever I can invoke through 3 beers and not more than a few contiguous hours of sleep.
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So, like, who’s this guy—Jesse? He was a governor and a preacher?
No, it’s not Jesse. It’s Al Sharpton. He’s a reverend. I don’t want any reverend as the governor of my state and making laws.
Dude, I know.
I mean, I can tell you what fascism means.
…
I’ll blow up a building, dude.
- Danielle and I drove to Columbus to enjoy what was to be roughly the last few hours of relatively free couplehood for the indeterminate future. On the way back, we pulled off at a Dairy Mart truckstop at exit 97 on I-75. I bought some drinks and needed to relieve my last. I stepped into the men’s room and nearly reached for some chew. After doin’ my business, I asked the cashier of I could take some pictures.
Of what?
The men’s room.
…
Yeah, I know. I haven’t seen restroom decorations quite like that before.
Well, sure, I guess. You need to see the ladies’ room, too. The manager did that one all on her own.
- However common it might be for babies to spit up, when it’s coming out her nose, it’s not right.
- Nasal cannulae don’t work on babies, not even if you make them fit baby noses. No amount of medical tape, gentle or otherwise, will keep the cannula shooting O2 directly into infant nostrils. Please believe me before you mar your kid’s face with the noble intention of proving everyone wrong.
- Know, in the store, prior to the purchase, that whatever you might buy for your new baby for the sake of a photo op will never make it into the picture. I think it’s the subject of a Japanese horror movie or something.
- However common it might be for babies to spit up, when it’s coming out her nose, it’s just not right.
- Once upon a time, I claimed I didn’t want to ever be a dad. I now have a family with seven children (it’s not quite as simple as that, but in any way that matters, it is), and I’m pleased as the proverbial pickle. Okay, so there’s no pickle proverb, but you know what I mean.
- Friday I take measures to make sure there’s no eighth. I mean, I can’t keep hogging all the good kids.
- I’d vote a zombie into office.
- No matter how many times deceptively nimble baby fingers pull at your carefully constructed matrix of medical tape and jack up the cannula, you’ll keep trying to engineer a baby-proof cannula securement system. Please, don’t try staples.
- If anyone has, say, a four-or-more-bedroom house, possibly with some land, that they’re just kind of getting rid of, I’d throw myself on the grenade and take it off your hands. Nine people in two bedrooms should almost be grounds for raising the national terror alert level a notch.
- 10 doses of medication on 6-hour cycles and 12 feedings on 3-hour cycles don’t make me cranky, so go fuck yourself.
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