|And mom said 8am was too early to drink!|
I wish "baby grenade" was a cute euphemism for how The Contrarian "burst" into tears after Mom handed him to me, but unfortunately the truth of the matter is that a mere five seconds after the pass off, the little guy went off in what I can only assume is the next generation of military grade weaponry. An ear piercing sonic blast shattered my ear drums as I was caught in the wake of a double ended projectile bioweapons "event" that eviscerated my will to live via the nasal passages.
For those of you who know the horrors of a blowout, think triple layer compromised. Baby's clothes. My clothes. Even the carrier is in the washing machine. For those who don't know what a blowout is, think of this scene from Frozen and enjoy the sweet innocence of your ignorance.
Ima Lister promises that the conclusion of his article about how to be (and stay) miserable will be posted next week.
|Obviously Disney copyright. (Will remove upon request.)|
|Little fuckers can move!|
|I could stand to hear a little more.|
|Wink wink. Nudge nudge.|
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