A Gun to my Head
Saturday, October 29, 2005, 9:53 pm.
I have a slight buzz tonight so bear with me – I had some wine after dinner (macaroni and cheese) and I'm feeling the effects. But the tipsiness of wine is a Red Ryder to whiskey's 12 gauge, so it's all good.
November approaches and with it the end of my fertility (it takes 3 months for all the sperm to flush out after a vasectomy). I couldn't be more excited about the end of condom use at my house (things are much better by the way), but the missus has been frequently nostalgic about our baby being the last one she will ever bear. I wish I could relate.
I love the kiddos, but I damn sure don't want anymore – or rather, I don't want the wife to bear anymore. Women are nutty to the extreme when they're in the family way. I have a good friend at work that is currently baking one, and she was a freaking head case before, so you can imagine. I am being moved to another location in the building and a new assignment on Monday, and the co-workers in my group are sad to see me go. So they wanted to go out to lunch on our last day together and we had to go early because one chick was leaving before the end of the day to take care of some personal stuff. I called the pregnant co-worker (who isn't part of the group being split up) to let her know where we were going, and left her a voicemail explaining that I would be glad to pick something up for her if she would just call me on my cell. On the way out another co-worker told me that Mom-to-be was on the phone with an angry customer, so it wasn't worth waiting around. When we returned, Abdominus was fit to be tied that we had left her. See, normally we all have lunch together, but this was a different day and we had different priorities. Did I get a chance to explain any of this to miss Fatty Boombatty? Hell, no! I just got the silent treatment for the rest of the day. And this is a Friday, so we won't talk again for the entire weekend. Bullshit!
I have shitloads of respect for women who make babies, especially after this last one Mrs. Mitch and I made, which she had in a birthing center with no meds (badass, huh?). [Note: There's a doctor on E right now doing plastic surgery on a really hot chick's vagina, so I'm goddamned distracted] But it's easy to get real tired real fast of the shit you have to put up with from these skirts. Jeepers H. Creepers, you sit there and pine away to have one of these freaking monkeys growing inside of you, and then you can't wait to get the fucker out. And meanwhile, I and everyone else within reach have to deal with your insanity and feel sorry for you at the same time. Where's that 12 gauge when you need it?
All I know is, if I have to die before that bitch gets over her anger so that God can teach her a lesson about not being so damned vindictive about petty little shit, I am going to haunt the fuck out of her – I'll be there while she's laboring rattling my chains and making shit fly around the room. Fuck the baby.
I have a slight buzz tonight so bear with me – I had some wine after dinner (macaroni and cheese) and I'm feeling the effects. But the tipsiness of wine is a Red Ryder to whiskey's 12 gauge, so it's all good.
November approaches and with it the end of my fertility (it takes 3 months for all the sperm to flush out after a vasectomy). I couldn't be more excited about the end of condom use at my house (things are much better by the way), but the missus has been frequently nostalgic about our baby being the last one she will ever bear. I wish I could relate.
I love the kiddos, but I damn sure don't want anymore – or rather, I don't want the wife to bear anymore. Women are nutty to the extreme when they're in the family way. I have a good friend at work that is currently baking one, and she was a freaking head case before, so you can imagine. I am being moved to another location in the building and a new assignment on Monday, and the co-workers in my group are sad to see me go. So they wanted to go out to lunch on our last day together and we had to go early because one chick was leaving before the end of the day to take care of some personal stuff. I called the pregnant co-worker (who isn't part of the group being split up) to let her know where we were going, and left her a voicemail explaining that I would be glad to pick something up for her if she would just call me on my cell. On the way out another co-worker told me that Mom-to-be was on the phone with an angry customer, so it wasn't worth waiting around. When we returned, Abdominus was fit to be tied that we had left her. See, normally we all have lunch together, but this was a different day and we had different priorities. Did I get a chance to explain any of this to miss Fatty Boombatty? Hell, no! I just got the silent treatment for the rest of the day. And this is a Friday, so we won't talk again for the entire weekend. Bullshit!
I have shitloads of respect for women who make babies, especially after this last one Mrs. Mitch and I made, which she had in a birthing center with no meds (badass, huh?). [Note: There's a doctor on E right now doing plastic surgery on a really hot chick's vagina, so I'm goddamned distracted] But it's easy to get real tired real fast of the shit you have to put up with from these skirts. Jeepers H. Creepers, you sit there and pine away to have one of these freaking monkeys growing inside of you, and then you can't wait to get the fucker out. And meanwhile, I and everyone else within reach have to deal with your insanity and feel sorry for you at the same time. Where's that 12 gauge when you need it?
All I know is, if I have to die before that bitch gets over her anger so that God can teach her a lesson about not being so damned vindictive about petty little shit, I am going to haunt the fuck out of her – I'll be there while she's laboring rattling my chains and making shit fly around the room. Fuck the baby.
posted by Mitch/Mike at 10/31/2005 08:34:00 AM
1 Comments:
I'll be there. BOO YOU STUPID WHORE!!
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