So I stumble out of the bedroom this morning, and as I head for the kitchen, I pass Mary sitting at her computer, staring intently at the screen.
No response. Figuring she didn't hear me, I start to make coffee. A moment later:
Mary: It's Gun Appreciation Day.
Me: (Innocently) Already?
I peek around the corner. She's staring at me.
Me: Right -- I knew that. It's just been such a crazy week, what with the deadline and everything--
Me: Busy, busy, busy!
Me: And the weather really made it tough on my back. Boy that was something, wasn't it? That cold?
Me: Okay! Fine! I forgot! I admit it! Go ahead and shoot me! Oh wait, you can't -- because I didn't get you a gun!
Mary: (Stares for a long moment, then turns back to her computer) Not bad. But you do realize if we're having this same conversation on Valentine's Day, that's not gonna qualify as satire.
I got married on valentines day... did not end well. I shudder at the rituals you may have going on. But your mileage may vary.
As an old single broad, and assuming I'm reading the tone of this post aright, I can only envy this excellent example of connubial -- um -- well, it's kind of a mind-meld, isn't it? And I am not being snarky, I really do envy it. It's the kind of companionship that I've always imagined is the soul of partnerdom.
When Doghouse Riley, peace be upon him, puts up a post like that, he gives it the tag "Fun With Monogamy". And so it is.
Get her a mop and a bukkit!
Thunder, honey, just because Scott forgot to give Mary an anniversary present doesn't mean that SHE DOESN'T OWN A GUN.
Watch yer ass, boyo.
And congrats on the anniversary, chirrens. I honestly haven't a fucking CLUE as to how you do it (seriously, you human critters still puzzle me to no end...), but I'm damned proud for ya and hey, look at it this way, Mary --- if you killed THIS one, you'd just have to spend all of that time breaking-in a NEW ONE! And they ARE ever so troublesome to get properly paper-trained, aren't they? Oh, the broken 1950 black Fiesta Ware... *sigh*
So, congrats to you both for the love & patience & laughter (and whatever the mystery "success" ingredients may be!) to make it this far, and undoubtedly for the long stretch. Hell, by now, surely y'all know that you DESERVE each other! heh heh heh... And yes, believe it or not, that's a COMPLIMENT!
Don't feel bad, Scott... in 49 years, on and off, teh Dick only remembered his anniversary with the Fallen Uterus/Beastmaster maybe three or four times, and she never killed HIM... should have, but never did... *sigh*
When he actually DID remember, on their 25th, it was matching stainless steel instead of silver --- his was the .357 mag that I was supposed to inherit, and hers was a cute little .38 snubnose that kicks like a mule.
And yes, it WAS too much to hope for, for a murder-suicide pact... *sigh*
So, see? You could always do worse!
(Is it too much to ask that somebody besides me & Cat/C.D.T. notice that Gun Appreciation Day falls just in time for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birfday AND President Obama's re-inauguration??? Yeah, I *could* have "blogged" about it, but who the hell would've SEEN IT?!?!?)
Lil, I'm in the same position and have the same envy.
You'd better mark Feb 14th (is that right?) on your calendar, boy.
So Mr. ™³²®©, I take it you're not married, are you?
My partner and I are trying to decide which of us is to blame for not having had such an entertaining conversation this morning.
as long as she doesn't call it by it's other names, "tiny penis day" or "point and laugh day" ;}
P.S.: Hey, Jay! Sorry that I forgot to answer you earlier. Blame it on the liver-and-pancreas-enlarging drugs.
PREZNIT LIVES!!! Hot damn, I thought that teh Austin republicunts had absconded wif 'im and fed him to the Congress Street bats!!!
Lastly: to the above anonymous spam-whore troll: FUCK OFF AND DIE, QUEEF-BREATH!!!!!! **Nobody** buys that YOU are selling designer ANYTHING, let alone "Christian Louboutin" shoes!!! Die die die kill yourself kill yourself kill yourself you kumquat-dicked, dog-fucking lowlife cum-sucker!!!!!!
'Cause, really, you truly are ruining the lovely atmosphere of Scott & Mary's anniversary post, you wart on a nematode's hoary little penis/penito.
Annti, I tried killing myself, but turns out the Hindus had the right of it; alas, I was reborn, as a dog.
Life as a dog seemed pretty good at first, until I was obtained and then regularly assaulted by a kumquat-dicked (thank Krishna for that small mercy!) shoe spammer (irony of ironies).
Worst of it is this: for the life of me, I still can't tell if this is a step down or step up on the karma chain.
Well, if you're a dog who can read, write and TYPE, then it seems like karma truly CLUSTERFUCKED this one, as that's OBVIOUSLY a HUGE move UP.
You sooooooo don't DESERVE to evolve-up to a dog, you lowlife mung-fruit-shaped smegma blob.
(And kudos who whomever concocted such a brilliant canine character... Though I'd NEVER wish the non-existent "soul" of a SPAM-BOT on ANY dog, even the one dog who ever LOVED Michael Vick... I.E. The Rihanna of Pit Bulls... *sigh*)
Now Scott, think of the domestic uses of an AR-15. For instance, it really mops up spills fast!
OK, in truth, it merely makes them fall one floor down, but you don't like that neighbor anyway.
If the Internet has taught me anything, it is that 15 years is Big Metal Chickens.
Lil' and suzeboo are free? May I present my card...
Anonymous Jeff said...
If the Internet has taught me anything, it is that 15 years is Big Metal Chickens.
THANK You, Jeff. I've been trying to tell Scott that for the past year!
I know the exactly perfect chicken, Mary! I wish that I could remember the name/number of the state (or possibly federal... it's been a LLLOOOONNNNNNGGGGG time since 1993!) road that got me there, but I took an alleged "short cut" between I-10 and Fort Walton's main drag once, the second time EVER that I went to "The Emerald Coast" (REDNECK RIVIERA!), and the first time that I went by myself...
And there it was, and I'd give anything to be able to find the actual PICTURES that I took of it: a gigantic TWENTY-FEET-TALL metal/painted chicken, a rooster in fact, out in front of a dusty ol' "diner"/truckstop/junk shop/tourist-trap crap store. He stood there, in the early morning light, rusty here, paint peeled there, but just as proud and "cocky" (bah-dum-bump!) as the day he were first welded together and pained down to the tiniest detail!
And, just to augment the fabulousness of that glorious rooster statuary, he had a COMPADRE' in the form of a land-yacht, somewhere in the age of a '67 Continental or something similar, with four humongous doors, allllll dressed in sunshine-yellow, red comb & wattle, bright-orange beak, a giant second rooster, head, tail and wings MOUNTED ONTO said land yacht!
I'm pretty sure that this car has changed hands in the years since that mini-road-trip, as I've seen THAT rooster in films, TV travelogues, and commercials shot all over this country. Sad to see that happy gay rooster couple broken-up, but at least one of 'em "hit the big time"! I still wonder if the original statue is still standing, or if he's been felled by a hurricane/tornado combo, or if some yahoo with more money than sense actually bought him and took him off to a McMansion nightmare... I've passed through Florida more than a couple times since then, but I've never found occasion to go hunting for that "shortcut" again, nor the gas money.
But next time that y'all head down south-a-way (and if y'all come through NOLA or LA at any point w/out calling ME again, I'll be stuck in PERMANENT POUT MODE @ y'all!!!), definitely try to find that shortcut highway & find out if that proud rooster still stands!
Y'know, in case you can't find THAT chicken at the towel store... heh heh heh...
OH FER FUCK'S SAKE!!!!!!
Scott, I dunno about everybody else, but I for one am pretty much willing to endure the ocular torture of those fucking "prove yer not a robot" puzzle/word thingies if it means that WE WON'T HAVE TO TOLERATE SPAM-TWUNTS LIKE THE ABOVE ILLITERATE DOG-FUCKING MUSHROOM-COCK MOUTH-BREATHING FUCKTARDS!!!!!!
P.S.: Why won't these illiterate twunt-vermin just eat the fucking D-CON and fucking DIE?!?!?!?
Alternatively, just for fun:
Scott: Right -- I knew that. It's just been such a crazy week, what with the deadline and everything--
Mary: What about my deadline? When is it gonna be time for Mary's deadline, Buster? Huh? WHEN, SCOTT?! WHEN?!
Why, Dave, (simper) it has been just decades since I last had a gentleman caller offer me his card.
I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.
I'm deeply flattered.
PS. Ignore Lil. She just IS that way.
And yet, being Spinster-In-Chief, *I* haven't been offered a card in AGES...
All right, we gonna go all Tennessee Williams, we might as well go all the way:
"Would any of you attractive young ladies like a peppermint? My pocket's a reg'lar drugstore..."
Aw, Vosburg, I'm so touched that you remembered...
OT off the fucking charts, but could y'all think good thoughts for James Dammit tonight? He's in the critter hospital, it all stared the day before yesterday and we're looking at either FIV/feline AIDS, advanced heartworms from his shitty early days @ the RV travel lot/campground, or something even weirder.
And yes, I've been planning on actually attempting to WRITE something of some value, but it hasn't worked-out to be the week that I had planned...
Major massive love to KWillow & Redcane for riding to the rescue, once again, as always, to save my baby boy. Will report test results on James as soon as I can.
Love, even when/if in the form of fragile glass critters, from the bottom of my blacker-than-a-black-hole charcoal charred-to-fuck-and-back briquette of a "heart," to all of y'all.
Annti writes of the plight of: James Dammit
And because I can't resist a good sraight line, I can only add:
"Dammit, Jim! I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!"
--Dr Leonard McCoy
Hope your critter gets better, Annti.
Thanks, Vosburg. He's home now and the prednisone has given him WAY too much "6-Million-Dollar-Man"-grade energy! Vocally, running around like he's completely healthy, bitching 'cause he tore through all of his dinner and wants MORE, etc.
It's the heartworms, and while they can CURE heartworms in DOGS, there's no "cure" FOR CATS. Ohhhh, what a wunnerful country we live in, n'est-ce pas? Treatments, yes, but he'll never be totally free of those vermin. DEFINITELY can't wait 'til he's used-up all of the steroids. Again, massive thanks to Redcane & KWillow, without whom my baby wouldn't be breathing a whole awful lot these days. And of course, tons o'love to all of teh crappers for sending all the good will and love our way.
And yes, Vosburg, you may go into the closet and smack yerself in the face thirteen times for the Star Trek cheesiness... *sigh* SO fucking EASY, mannnn... I expect you to try harder than a KARDASHIAN!!!
And I can just imagine Data trying to make James Dammit into a "Spot"... heh heh heh... his positronic brain wouldn't make it, and the bite marks would DEFINITELY short-out some of his circuits!
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