For example:
If Rykee baby is constipated I tell her to give him a cup of coffee to help loosen him up and if that doesn't work pop a cigarette in his mouth and teach the boy to light up and inhale. He'll be shittin in no time!
There was a recent round table discussion about correct punishing methods. Spanking vs. time-out, etc. My solution was simple. Roll up a news paper and slap him on the head with it while saying NO firmly, of course, and then maybe rub his nose in whatever he did wrong and say "NOW GO KENNEL!"
Whenever they aren't able to make it to some sort of "grown up only" event due to not being able to find a sitter I simply say "Dude, kennel the bitch up and lets go! He'll be fine"
These are as far as my parenting skills have taken me.
I'm well aware these are all very non-maternal instincts. My sister-in-law is also well aware of what a sarcastic asshole I am and she'd never actually take any of my advice (or ask me to babysit) so the coast is totally clear.
Being that I am a sarcastic asshole most days, it's only fitting that I get the most asshole-ish dogs ever.
Thanks a lot, Karma.
For Christmas I received an electric blanket. It's warmth and coziness is nothing short of paralyzing magic. Coincidentally, my dogs thought so too. Those persistent little bastards would fight tooth and nail to get up on my couch onto the oasis of warmth and awesome. The problem with that is, I DON'T WANT MY GOD DAMN DOGS ON MY MOTHER FUCKING COUCH! The couch that I paid A LOT of money for. The same couch that has had nearly half of it's body reupholstered due to my bastard dogs licking, biting, clawing, poking, scratching, wrestling, rubbing and EATING IT!
Shit, I have THREE pillows right now that need to be reupholstered! Can you blame me for not wanting these demon spawns on my couch!?
No, the answer is no.
In every effort to keep my baby Satan's off my couch I relinquished the rights to my warm woobie.
"You assholes can have mommies Christmas present if you promise to stay thefuckoffmygoddamncouch!"
It worked like a charm. As long as I turned their blankie on in the mornings and at night when we were home they stayed off of the couch and willingly took residency on the floor in a slobbery, docile, comatose state.
It was pure bliss.
The other morning I discovered wires jetting out of said awesome, magic woobie. Then I discovered that my male dog, Dax, was pissing blood out of his asshole. Dax was raced to the vet, fingered like a Jr. High whore and sent home with pills that we have to hide in bologna.
Bloody diarrhea really sums up my week. I think I've cried at one point every single day due to frustration, work overload, random bullshit, stress and dead dear on the highway.
Somebody hide some magic pills in my bologna!
