Been a while. No post. What’s the deal? I was eating.
So our expectant child is now 1 day overdue. I’ll have to speak with him about this when he arrives. Can only imagine he’s in there trimming his nails or fiddling with his glasses. Anyway, nothing to report now except that if he ain’t out by Thursday they’re going in after him.
Since I last posted I think I’ve gained about 20 pounds. Kat’s gained about 3. I couldn’t let her win. My bitch-tits are blossoming and there’s no end in sight. My diet consists mainly of cheesy bagels and Passion Flakie’s and sometimes they merge into a heavenly sandwich. I have a newfound enjoyment of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, fake “fruit” sticks and Pop-Tarts by the handful. I’m now wheezing at the level of someone thrice my age and raising the soap to my gut this morning caused a muscle pull that I can’t quite work out. Why do I tell you all this? To make you feel 100% better about yourself. You’re welcome.
It’s rainy today and I’m doing dick all. But last weekend while the weather was nice, we got out the dog soap and washed the beasts. They mostly enjoyed it, though the water was painfully cold. At one point Sunny had had enough and tried to run away. My cat-like reflexes put a quick stop to that. I tackled her using more effort and energy than I’ve ever put into anything. As you can see by Sunny’s expression, she couldn’t believe it either.
I giggled like a 5-year-old English boy and Kat had to take a picture to prove that I wasn’t dead. Two days later it caught up with me and I could hardly move, which really wasn’t a problem.
At work the other day I was enjoying making money for defecating when into the men’s room came a talented Jamaican. He was feelin’ good and at the top of his lungs was belting out a song about “pussy farts” while he pissed. It was awesome. I hope someday I’m careless and senile enough to replicate this awesomeness, but I’m not Jamaican so I’ll probably just get beat up.
To end on a sad note, we’ve had another death in the family. Cocoa, the last remaining hamster is no longer with us. Kat woke one morning to find that she was lying still in her cage and a good portion of her internal organs had become external organs. Whether she spontaneously exploded or a cat’s claw skillfully extracted said organs we may never know, but we’re going to fore go purchasing any replacements. This whole “baby thing” will probably occupy enough of our time. And when I say our time, I mean Kat will be giving Baby Barnhardt the tit while I consume rum and Pop-Tarts in the garage and wank off onto garage spiders.