“The only time a man steps foot there is to fix something.”
This morning I hear “mutter mutter …Oh…clatter..bang…rattle” from the ensuite, and then my wife sticks her head around the the door “Ohhhh..hey Wadcutter…the toilet seat is broken again, you’ll have to fix it.
“Is broken”? Guess who has broken the goddamn motherfucking toilet seat half a dozen times since we bought the house? It ain’t me.
It’s one of those spring loaded slow-fold-down things, but she’s impatient and can’t bear to wait 3 seconds to see it slowly settle before she sits on it so for no fucking reason whatsoever she tries to force it down quickly and every now and then the cheap plastic shit thing detonates in her face. She’s a good woman and I love her to bits, but if she does it again she fixes the goddamn thing.
Her father was a mechanical genius, but Mrs. barely understands which end of the screwdriver to pick up. I asked him one time to ‘splain that to me and he just laughed and said, she’s yours to deal with now. Thanks, George.
And while I’m here, regarding the Christmas card… the M60’s I used were almost all Vietnam veterans that had had a million rounds through them, so with worn sears etc they’d either runaway till the belt ran out, or turn into heavy, grumpy single shot rifles. But despite all that, I still have a soft spot in my heart for them. If I could buy one, I would.
Scattered Shots
“The only time a man steps foot there is to fix something.”
This morning I hear “mutter mutter …Oh…clatter..bang…rattle” from the ensuite, and then my wife sticks her head around the the door “Ohhhh..hey Wadcutter…the toilet seat is broken again, you’ll have to fix it.
“Is broken”? Guess who has broken the goddamn motherfucking toilet seat half a dozen times since we bought the house? It ain’t me.
It’s one of those spring loaded slow-fold-down things, but she’s impatient and can’t bear to wait 3 seconds to see it slowly settle before she sits on it so for no fucking reason whatsoever she tries to force it down quickly and every now and then the cheap plastic shit thing detonates in her face. She’s a good woman and I love her to bits, but if she does it again she fixes the goddamn thing.
WOMEN!
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Her father was a mechanical genius, but Mrs. barely understands which end of the screwdriver to pick up. I asked him one time to ‘splain that to me and he just laughed and said, she’s yours to deal with now. Thanks, George.
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And while I’m here, regarding the Christmas card… the M60’s I used were almost all Vietnam veterans that had had a million rounds through them, so with worn sears etc they’d either runaway till the belt ran out, or turn into heavy, grumpy single shot rifles. But despite all that, I still have a soft spot in my heart for them. If I could buy one, I would.
Or an MG-42. Man, I’d love to own an MG-42.
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“The boys out here rockin skirts now”…I guess DEI has crept into gangs in the ‘hood
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they’ve always been gay as hell
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