I’m always up for a good (relatively speaking) rant here on my blog, but between my dashed vacation dreams, my FIL’s surgery, my MIL’s extended physical rehab, my mother’s trip overseas, and the training of my replacement at “work” well, dammit, I just refuse to write that many depressing and more-than-likely password protected posts several days in a row.
I think I’m suffering from a chronic vitamin D deficiency. Seriously, if the sun doesn’t start shining and real fucking soon, I’m going to suggest the Army send up a big ole’ H-bomb set to detonate about 20 miles above the Asshole of America so I can at least see my shadow in the brief seconds before I’m obliterated into ashes.
Would you believe that I have a rather inappropriate sense of humor? Of course you would if you’ve been reading me for any significant length of time.
Sparring Partner’s shop has been overrun by mice. He refuses to get farm cats – which will significantly help him with the problem – because he’d have to feed them (WTF?? Dude! They’ll eat the fucking mice!). That leaves him trying to poison and trap a hundred million mice. Give or take a mill’. It’s had little impact. However, with the little victories he does claim, he feels the need to share with me like some primitive hunter who speaks Gruntian and walks like Quasimodo.
So what then do I do? I share it with you, ya’ lucky beetches.
I’ve inserted a jump (or I think I did) because the pictures are rather graphic. And if you hate mice, you’ll hate these pictures even more.
Promise you won’t scream?
Yes, my lover-ly husband sends me this kind of crap via the phone.
Why am I sharing it with you? God, I don’t know. Does it matter? Doesn’t your husband send you love-notes like this or is this shit crazier than I thought?