Death Breath and the Expensive Couch Cushion




My three year old lodged something up his nose. We’re not sure what exactly, because despite shoving a pair of tongs about 6 inches up there, the doctor couldn’t find said hidden treasure. She said that it was more than likely a decomposing piece of food which had started an infection. This made sense because of the smell. That smell. Two foot away and he was the cutest kid on earth, a step closer and it smelled like the apocalypse had begun; Satan was releasing his dark angels on every exhale. To kiss the kid goodnight required the resolve of a Benedictine monk, and afterwards the Missus and I would sit silently for hours, with the thousand yard stare of an old man who’d seen too much war and was waiting to die.
Then there was the nose-whistle. The kid was like a slide whistle on legs. Every time he ran, he sounded like Mickey Mouse in SteamboatWillie. We’d be in Target and Wal-Mart getting strange looks. “He was born without a tongue,” we’d tell them as their smiled cracked, “we’re teaching him to communicate through song.” Then the smell would hit and they’d flee to the nearest Catholic Church.
The antibiotics seem to be working though. The neighbor’s dog has stopped howling. And my wife and I can take the breathing apparatus off to shower and eat now. Also, the brown-green slime that masqueraded as his boogers have all but dried up. We’re feeling good about his chances of re-assimilating into normal society.


What I want.
In other news, I think the Missus wants a cat: she keeps dropping hints, and watching TV shows about kittens, telling me how cute she thinks they are, etc. Plus, she said “we’re getting a fucking cat”. So, the subtle hints are there. I’m quite perceptive when I want to be.
What I'll get.
Of course, I’ve no problem getting a kitten. I love Kittens. I’d sleep in a bed made from kittens, and wear kitten-made pants. They’re cute and cuddly and the only issue I have with them is that they eventually turn into cats. I have little passion for cats. I just don’t get them. We – humans – domesticated cats, so I suppose the least we could do is give them a home and food. What I don’t understand is why? What do cats do? What was Caveman David thinking when he decided to do this? “I need something for my dog to chase”? Ok, so they catch rodents. Well, here’s an idea… domesticate the fucking rodents. Like I said, I’ve nothing against cats per se; I just think some new couch cushions might serve the same purpose. And I won’t have to feed them and empty out their shit every day.

3 comments:

  1. Don't let them fool you. Cats domesticated us. Read That Cat That Walked by Himself by Kipling for the rest of the story.

    Also, shoot me an email when you get a chance. dwh@dumbwhitehusband.com

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    Replies
    1. Ah, that makes so much sense now. So that means my wife is tame, whereas I'm essentially feral. That too makes so much sense.

      Will absolutely shoot you a mail, maybe later this evening. Cheers.

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  2. Do not. Ever. Get. A fucking. Cat.

    I have one. I was that girl that wanted a puppy, but got a cat because we live in an apartment and want a yard for a puppy. Wanna know what you get along with getting a cat?

    Shit. Everywhere. Who wants a random shit-box in their house. Seriously.

    Stress. You're married, so ask your wife what sress is.

    Shit. More shit, yes, that's never ending. And you'll always have to clean out the shit-box just for it to be filled more shit.

    they are cute as fuck when their kittens. That's when you need to get rid of rim them. They turn into evil little satanic like creatures.

    Get a puppy. Get a snake, bunny, lizard, have another kid - just DO NOT get a cat.

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