R:"Daddy!"

Me:"Yeah?"

R:"I gotta tell you sumpin'."*mumbles incoherently*

Me:"What was that?"

R:*mumbles*

Me:"Dammit, boy - you know I hate repetition. Speak up!"

R:"I SAAAAIIID - NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN, NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND, OR HURT YOUUUUUU! BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Me:You. Little. Bastard.

Boogie:"Daddy, can I have another dough thing?"

Me:"Eat the rest of your breakfast and we'll talk about it."

Boogie:"How about I eat ONE bite, and then get one?"

Roman:"DADDY DOESN'T NEGOTIATE WITH TERRORS!!!"

Spot on, son.

R:"Did you check the mail, Dad?"

Me: "Yep. Only junk mail."

R:"Only what?"

B:" It's actually "Gunko". It's Spanish for mail."

Me:?!?!

Getting up at 0230 does not agree with me. I just yelled "Flick your OWN Jiggermawhizzer, ya PERV!" at the Cat in the Hat. He doesn't deserve that.

The Schnozberries Taste Like Schnozberries!

My children had silverdollar sourdough pancakes with blueberry coulis and fresh whipped yogurt for breakfast. Apparently, it "Tastes like purple", and "I want strawberry."

Let's hit the links...

Okay, so, I love this site,someecards.com, because it's fun and easy to use. I created several cards, and thought it would be fun to share them with you. Go here -My fucking AWESOME creations. Adore me, dammit!. Look at this. Rate them. Here's my favorite -

After learning about "Punch Buggy" Roman invented a NEW game - Punch Boogie.

R- "Kay, anytime I see Boogie I get to punch her."

B- "NOOOO!!! ...Wait - okay. That's fine."

R - (laugh nervously) "that's okay?"

B - "Sure. Just, if I see you whenever, I get to kick you. In the junks."

R-"No, I'm not gonna play Punch Boogie I decided."

Issue resolved.

B: "Is it delicious?"

R: "Delicious as CANDY!"

Me: "Candy is NOT delicious. It's flavorful for awhile, but then it starts to taste like poop. Because that's what it is. It's made of bug poop. Like makeup."

R:"No it's not."

Me:"Yes it is."

R: "Fine then - let's watch how candy is made on How It's Made on Netflix and I'll shows you."

Curses!

Smite me, O Mighty Smiter...

So, had a random text conversation with a complete stranger. Here is the transcript -

“Hey ya there”

Identify yourself, heathen!

“You got it. I’m heathen is gale there?”

No, but Wendy just blew through…

“Who.s wendy”

You are, after taco night…

“I don’t get it? I am wendy after taco night? Oh shit never mind I blow hurricanes off anything.”

Yeah, you do! I remember this one time,  we were over at Pike’s, and you were LOADED, and you ate like 5 lbs of fries and a sammmich the size of your FACE, and like an hour later, we rolled up on these shorties, and you were all, “Daaamn, you fiiine,” and then you farted so hard you shit yourself.

“When was that at pikes”

Like you’d remember. Ask K.

“You think i’m someone different. Plus who’s k”

Who texted whom?

“Touch.”

No thanks. I have someone for that.

“Is it k?”

Who’s “k”?

“Who’s this?”

God.

“If your god whats my middle name?”

It's *you're, *what's, and your middle name is whatever the fuck I want it to be.

“God doesn’t say swearss.”

I invented swearing, bitch. Check this shit out - I’m the goddamned motherfucking cocksucking kick-ass king of the whole cunttastic universe, you twatwaddling smegsucker. Also - bollocks. And penis. 

“You win.”

Damn straight. Now stop texting me. I’ve got stuff to do. Creating life and smiting and shit.