December 2010

Got a TV camera for Christmas, and made a videotape of myself down in the mancave.

Weren’t paying attention and ended up stacking a cord and a half of wood in front of the front door to the house. We’ll be using the window until we get it burned down.

We had a little setback in the fur coat department tonight. The boy wanted ice cream after dinner. He didn’t see any in the front of the freezer, so he drags a chair over and steps up on it so he can really start rooting around in it. I’m over dumping garbage—I mean, compost—out the kitchen window and shooing out the fruit flies, so I’m not paying too-too close attention to the boy. He says “Dad, are these in here to feed Bitchethane?” Bitchethane is our cat, who died a year or two ago and who we keep in the freezer until I get around to burying her. Her name used to be Snowball until she died. I won’t go into the gruesome details of her dying, but it had something to do with bitchethane, which is sticky rubber sheets people put around the outside of windows they’re building. I weren’t building a window, but I’d found it works good at holding parts on cars. So I renamed her Bitchethane, and it stuck, like rubber to a cat’s face. Come to think of it, that cat has spent more of her time with us in the freezer as Bitchethane than in running around as Snowball.

Anywho, like I’m saying, I’m dumping the garbage and shooing the flies so I’m not thinking what the hell the boy might be into, so I just says, “yup,” not thinking how is a friggin dead frozen cat going to eat anything. That’s when I hear the chair the boy’s standing on go sliding across the floor. He falls out of the freezer, taking most of what’s in it with him. Which is quite a bit of frozen pizza, the bear’s head I’m planning to turn into a kick-ass Halloween mask, Bitchethane and three ice cream cartons full of dead mice I’m saving for the wife’s fur coat. Now, I know the first question you want to ask—did the bear’s head turn out ok, or did it crack open on the floor? That was my first question, anyway, as I turned around.

Turns out Bitchethane broke the fall of the bear’s head, so that was OK. Bitchethane seemed to be OK, too, until the dog came racing over faster than he did when Bitchethane was Snowball, and grabbed her by the head and took off through the house. I was just trying to think up something funny to say, like “you can’t swing a dead cat in this house without hitting a bear’s head” when I saw the mice on the floor. The wife starts screaming, so I asks her if she’s screaming because of the dead cat, the dead bear or the dead mice. She says, “what dead mice?” and then sees them and starts screaming again. The boy was fine. He’d found the ice cream and was sitting the floor eating it with a spatula.

OK, the girl’s barfing up baloney, so I gotta go hide. That’s all I know for now.



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