There are many downsides to being a hypochondriac … but it does have its benefits. Take yesterday, for example. Yesterday, I headed to my doctor’s office for the third time in about two weeks … which, for me, is unprecedented, since my immune system is basically on par with Wolverine’s. And yet, despite my mutant healing powers, I’ve had a persistent cough for, like, a month now.
Just take the fucking medicine! A nursery rhyme.
I know you don’t like it.
But look into my eyes; you’ll see
that I don’t give a shit.
Why, yes, children, of course we can get a dog … and by “yes” I mean “fuck no.”
Dear My Children:
I’m sorry, but you’re not going to wear me down on this one. Sometimes Daddy has to be a dick. This is one of those times.
A letter to my children from The Elf on the Shelf
Dear Jon’s Children,
I’ve tried, children. I’ve tried to be nice. For days now, I’ve sat quietly on a shelf, or hung from the Christmas tree, or peered down upon you from atop the mantle or the cabinets or the china cupboard or whatever other wacky spot it was into which I’d been wedged. And I’ve tried.
I’ve tried, by virtue of my silent presence, to gently coax you into compliance with your parents’ wishes. And I had hoped that my mere presence alone would be enough to keep you in line … but, after the display the two of you put on this morning, it has become clear to me that my pixie-ish grin and my kind, blue eyes aren’t getting the message across … so here’s how it’s gonna be:
Another mouth to feed
I can’t believe I forgot to introduce you all to the newest member of the family! Where are my manners?
This little bundle of joy is Baby Alive Tink & Poops. No, that’s not her real name, but that is what Jayna has been calling her since, like, a year ago when she first saw the commercial. As you can probably surmise, the “Tink & Poops” part means she not only urinates—which is just so yesteryear—but she also defecates. And if there is one thing we need around here, it is a fake baby who shits herself, amirite?