Nobody Was Working For This Weekend. I'm Sure of It

Maybe you think that spending the weekend on the couch drifting between naps and watching every episode of "River Monsters" you can find is a waste of time, but when you are a sexy adventurer like me, having some "pants optional" downtime is just what the doctor ordered and by "doctor" I mean "porn star I have imaginary conversations with as she strips and lathers up."

This is the River Monster I keep hoping they'll catch.

This means I don't need to wash the dishes because they are all balanced there so neatly and the slightest perturbation will send them cascading down onto the linoleum floor. It's like Jenga that smells like old fish and macaroni and cheese and probably some of that furry chicken I found in the fridge.

And I don't need to mop because it's been so long that the floor has a pretty uniform brownness patina to it, and that kinda looks like a natural aging effect on the tiles, which is totally the "in" way for tiles to look, as long as you take time to blur the footprints every couple days.

And I don't need to cook, because the kids are with their mom all weekend so if I get hungry I can just keep making myself bologna moustaches and then pretending to curl the tips whilst saying "Why a very good day to YOU, Sir!" and bowing slightly to my end table who totally just asked me to go quail hunting, but I mustn't afore my fair lady, Beautiful Treasure is due on the morrow. And then me and Lord Plywoodbottom have a good laugh. And then I eat my moustache.

And then maybe I'll take a shower that is so long that eventually I'll run out of things to wash and dirty words to write on the mirror and games to play where I'm walking on clouds or through a tropical jungle, even though I know that if you walked through a real cloud naked you would freeze your all your junk off and then far below on the prairie it would rain frozen cocks and labia and boobs and fingers depending on what brand of junk you have, and if you walked through a tropical jungle that way a python would totally eat your fucking face off or whatever it is those assholes do and as you lay there dying, all kinds of stupid animals would try to eat you and you'd be thinking to yourself. "Man. I never should have tried to walk through the jungle." and then a tree would fall on you. The point is long showers are awesome and if you don't believe me, then you are gross and we can't be pretend friends.

Bullshit.

And then after spending a long time flexing the mirror so that I am super tall and thin in the middle parts, I'll get dressed and go back to the couch and see if I can find some old Xena episodes on cable because maybe watching tall women attack mythical creatures with swords isn't your cup of tea, but this is America and it is totally my whole pot of fucking tea. And then I drift back to sleep content and I have semi-erotic dreams where Tara Reid stands next to me with her crotch at nose level because my upper lip still smells vaguely of bologna in real life.