I was watching the morning news and saw a story about a wife in a bitter divorce battle who hired a hit man to take out her husband. Son of a bitch probably didn't do the dishes. I know, because I immediately looked over at my kitchen sink and saw the empty promise sitting in the stainless steel abyss. One night this week. One fucking night off this week. Not even a whole night, just 3 precious hours and the dishes went undone. Doesn't my husband realize that this is why I’m absolutely psychotic? What Mike doesn't understand is that me getting out of the house and some light household chores on his part is a fantastic insurance policy. It’s mostly free and guarantees personal protection for up to 24 hours. Then I asked myself, why isn't my husband more afraid of me? I do some pretty damned crazy shit and he should be crying himself to sleep every night. I even accidentally dyed my hair black, but it just looks like I'm trying too hard.
The toy industry is obviously run by a single man with no children. (Trust me. This is going somewhere) Noah had a little motorcycle toy with no volume control that talks. It doesn't just talk, it screams “NINJA WHEELY TIME”. One night there was a pretty fierce thunderstorm and I had just about been pushed over the edge by my family. The motorcycle was repeating the fucking phrase over and over and over again. I grabbed that fucking toy, ran out the back porch, and like something out of an old sci-fi movie, hurled the mother fucker over the privacy fence as lightning crashed around me. That is not the only thing that has ended up over the fence: A watch that my step-son set an alarm on that went off every fucking night at 3 a.m., an alarm clock that would randomly play music, a Backyardigans microphone toy with no volume setting. All kinds of crap has been slung over that fence. I even tried selling some stuff in a garage sale, but those garage sale people were onto me and no one would take that crap. Sometimes I wonder if the toys will want to take revenge on me. I've watched Toy Story about 2 million fucking times now and I am fully aware that toys are fucking evil bastards bent on vengeance. I keep one eye on that fence at all times.
And to all the fucking hippie mother fuckers who think I'm littering, it's called free range.
Sometimes wish I had super human powers so I could lift Mike over the fence or just will him over the fence or use my awesome mind powers to turn him into a man slave. Yes! I want a man slave. He could be my very own personal Princess Leia. Now, a dumb ass hole who clearly does not value his genitals will say, “Would that make you Jabba the Hutt?” No ass hat, that makes me a bad ass mother fucker with mind control. I would still need a whip and some iron restraints for him in the event he tried to run away. I could just use my mind control, but toys can be fun too. I kind of think I already have a little mind control of Mike. I mean, he’s still alive and I give myself 100% credit for that.
I know what you're thinking. Yes, they are real.
Graphics by Karey Mortimer.
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