Weekend Warriors Unite

For those of you with kids and are not too old to remember when your kids were little....Do you remember when Friday meant something? You know what I mean.  Cruising home from work.  Maybe hit a happy hour.  Holler at your people and see what's going down for the weekend.  The work week just melts away and you're ready to do whatever you damn well please.

You do? I don't remember jack.  Fridays now are more like...don't have to go to work so I'll likely be changing more diapers this weekend.  Oooh, can't wait to run to Target to get some ill thought out plastic Chinese toy for some little fart's birthday party we're heading to.  Maybe I'll get a chance to sleep into 4 AM.  Life is real weird now.

It ain't so bad.  My family is relatively cool.  They could have been child rock stars which would have made the weekends really fun.  Actually, little kid's rock concerts are extra weird, so scratch that vision.  They could have jobs and be really really tall so they could do housework and bring in cash.  Now that would make this fun.  Time to get some ROI out of these young-uns.  When is it too early to have the kids paint the house and mow the grass? 4?

You know who is going to have the most fun this weekend?  You guessed it. The legendary party animal.  The one banned from preschools all across the country.   Wears disguises to pizza buffets.  Drinks kegs of juice.  Pours milk on her head.  Poops in the yard.  Sleeps in the driveway.  Combs her hair with a blender.  Spits fire at computers.  Fights cats and grown men.

The most fun-loving 365 days-a-year weekend warrior.  The one spoken about in hushed tones around the world. Don't say her name too loud or she'll break out of her cage and bite your ass. The EGB!!!!

Where my party people at?

 EGB, by the way, oh so subtly resembles the great weekend warriors of our time.  EGB has most definitely channeled, the one-and-only, Mr. James Brown.  I heard EGB singing "I feel good! I knew that I would. Until I get thrown in time out! I feeeeeeel goooooood!"

 There is also an uncanny resemblance between the legendary EGB and the equally legendary Nick Nolte, whom despite this really comfortable and loving shirt likely made from a patchwork of Wendy's Jazz Caps and Jams, was not feeling so good after his bender.  I'm not sure how the EGB has located the spirits of Brown and Nolte as we feed her peas and read her Clifford.  She must have some secret stealth internet connection somewhere.  I'm calling the po-po on her.

 

Umm.  Wait a second.  This is my life?  Like this is my family?  My sister?  I'm stuck with you farm animals?  

Oh. Hell. No.  

I'm out.  I want a reassignment. Maybe a nice normal crew that goes to Chili's on Friday...maybe hits the playground on Saturday.  Maybe by an ocean or something.  Where's the return department up in this bitch?

Tell Em Whatcha Name Is

First of all, Happy New Year.  I've been living in a bubble, 1 mile under the surface of the ocean with no Internet.  So stop yelling at me.  I can't blog at you in a bubble, man.  I just came up for air, but realized my threads are really dirty and my kids need baths.  I'll get back to you with the many stories of the underworld....

Until then.  Little B wants to tell ya what his name is. 

Thanks to Aunt Rebel, Uncle Chicago Dave, Cuzin Pirate Ike, and Cuz Franny Fran for helping me spell my long ass name.

 

I have a feeling I have a long life ahead of me with this punk fuzzball trying to steal my thunder.  Yeah, everyone knows your damn name already.  If I had any hand coordination I'd shred that stupid paper on my table. Go back to the forest where you came from you stanky gnome.  It's my time to shine! And put some pants on, this is the Internet yo!