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5:28 a.m. - 2002-04-01


I was going to do a big long entry about how Susie has taken Andrew and moved out, asking for a divorce because she discovered my affinity for child porn and then finish the entry with a big "APRIL FOOLS!!!"

But I haven't updated in a few days and since Icebear did the same thing (although I don't think he was smart enough to use the "child porn" angle) so much better than I possibly could, I've decided to leave the April Fool's entries to others who've put more thought into them.

Besides, I get enough Google hits for some wack-assed shit. Now I'm going to have the child porn morons jacking up the hits.

What a weekend.

And I mean that in the most exhausting "Please don't let this weekend be a forewarning of weekends to come. If so just kill me now" way.

Lemme see...quick recaps...

Friday...wrote some...which is usually considered work, but at least I didn't sweat my gonads off doing it.

Started doing yard work for the first time this year. My goal was to mow the yard, get out the weedeater and weed eat, and trim the bushes (the ones in the yard, not in my crotch....damned child porn pervs...)

I accomplished....mowing the yard and mulching the hell out of the massive amounts of pine needles in the back of the yard.

I've never mulched before. There are two attachments that affix to my lawn mower to make it mulch. I've never attached these things in my lawnmower's life and lost the owner's manual several years ago. So I was in the dark as to how to do it.

I decided that if it took my last dying breath to do it, I was going to get these attachments secured on the lawnmower.

It took my NEXT to my last dying breath. I fumbled with these things like a one-armed virgin trying to unhook a prostitute's bra. In theory, it was as simple as a three-piece puzzle, but I lack the coordination skills to do these things, and since there was no one around to bail me out of this challenge, it was fruitless for me to run around in small circles, pulling at my hair and going "Aaaaaaah!!"

So I struggled with it and finally got it together and mulched my mulching ass off.

After about 90 minutes of unfettered mulching, I stopped for a drink of water and heard the phone ringing.

It was Drunk-Assed Jamie from my days at the newspaper. He just called to shoot the shit so we shot it until it was full of bullet holes.

I then showered, because my time had become precious, and went to my son's very first Easter Egg Hunt where he could actually hunt for Easter Eggs.

He went to one last year at church, but he spent it lying on his belly in the dirt, screaming and kicking because ants were crawling in and out of his ears.

Damned baby.

This particular Easter Egg Hunt was at his daycare. To be honest, he wasn't all that good at it. To be completely honest...he sucked at hunting Easter Eggs.

He would find one egg and play with it while the other kids raced around and gathered as many as they could get in their basket.

I'm like screaming at him..."GET MORE EGGS, YOU IMBECILE!!!" but he was just fascinated with the one egg.

Afterwards, we had a little father-son chat about hunting for Easter Eggs in the car.

ME: "You know...the object is to get as many eggs as you can...NOT to just get one egg and play with it."

ANDREW: (Total silence)

ME: "I's okay to be a glutton about it. Each egg has something different in it. Maybe some Skittles. Or some chocolate crap. You found one with a candy necklace in it. That's great. But what the hell am I supposed to eat???"

ANDREW: (Total silence, bordering on shame)

ME: "You have another Easter Egg Hunt tomorrow at church. I'm telling you right hustle your ASS off tomorrow and you get some Easter Eggs, boy. If you don't, you can find your own way home, you miserable little shit."

ANDREW: "Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba."

ME: "Ba ba ba my ass. Just do it."

The next day at church...

The boy hustled.

If you don't believe me...all that grass behind was LITTERED with Easter Eggs.

That's his fifth basket that he's holding. The other four were overflowing with eggs.

And now...Daddy has more than his share of candy to jack his blood sugar up a couple hundred notches.


Naturally....his hustling took its toll on the little shaver and he needed a six hour nap afterwards.

But I've got some Reese's Eggs now.

My life is complete.

I spent the rest of Saturday scrubbing the walls of the bathtub in our bedroom.

I figured this would be a five minute job. Spray some of this miracle Mildew Remover crap on the grout, wipe it down and haul ass to the next project.

I now have arthritis after gripping this scrub brush for the better part of three hours.

But my tub is sparkling clean. And will STAY clean from now until I sell this godforsaken house.

My wife didn't understand the importance of the tub staying clean until I pinned her arm behind her head and she screamed "UNCLE!!"

Now she's agreed to keep it clean as well.


By Saturday night, I was getting the impression that the Mrs. wasn't taking this whole "Getting the house ready to sell" exercise seriously.

So I brought her out here, sat her down in front of the monitor and found some tips on what to do to prepare your home for selling.

I think that freaked her out. As she put it to me..."STOP SHOWING ME SCARY SHIT!!"

Her family never had to sell a home. They were military and moved from base to base and rented homes.

My family? We bought and sold homes. I grew up with my mom screaming "THIS HOUSE IS ON THE GODDAMNED MARKET...MAKE YOUR BEDS NOWWWWWWW!!!" at the top of her lungs every morning.

I fully comprehend the art of removing clutter from the home. Our only problem is that the house is completely full of clutter.

But Sunday morning, the Mrs. finally kicked it into gear a notch and showed me what she's capable of.

Well...she started at 4 a.m. so I didn't see a lot of what she did. But I saw the results.

Boxes everywhere.

Apparently, the site that I linked to above scared the crap out of her and got her motivated to clean house.

Today, all but one bedroom are free of clutter. Well...and the living room where I'm typing's full of boxes clearly marked "Bedroom Clutter", "Den Clutter","Susie's Sentimental Crap", etc.

I'm taking today off from work, loading up the van and finding a storage center to store all these boxes in.

Once I'm done transporting these 60+ boxes, I have to finish my yard work.

If I have time, I have actual writing that I get paid for to do as well.

I have a full day ahead of me.

No time for April Fool's jokes.

Which I hate. I absolutely hate. April Fools is one of my favorite holidays.

So...since I don't have time to pull pranks, I'll leave you with one my all-time faves.

Get the phone number for your local zoo or pet store. Write up a phone message for a co-worker/family member that a "Mr. Fox" called. You can also do "Mr. Byrd" or "Mr. Bare". I'd stay away from "Mr. Komono Dragon" or "Mr. Platypus".

Then leave the message for that co-worker on their desk. Try to be around when they absentmindedly call the zoo. It's pretty funny to hear their side of the conversation. It always takes them a few seconds to realize that they're asking to speak to an animal.

Our local zoo gets hundreds of these calls every April Fools Day and its people usually answer the phone saying "There is no Mr. Fox here. You have been the victim of a harmless practical joke."


I bet they press charges if they ever manage to trace it back to me.

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