“No, you’re NOT going out like that. Your feathers all ruffled and beak covered in that nasty lipstick, and that excuse for a skirt. You look like one of those street-corner dirty chickens. Go back upstairs and put something decent on. You live under my coop, you behave and you dress like a good chicken! This is hard-boiled love, you know.”
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I guess that makes STM a cock.
And to support that theory, here is how he woke Adam up:
“I’m not just id, ego, superego. I’m id, ego, super-mega-fucking-awesome-ego!”
or click here“Tick, fucking tock, fucking tick, fucking tock, fucking boing. Fucking alarm clock. Bollocks.”
Good to hear that STM’s sense of self-worth is still healthy and thriving!
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I think we’ve all felt this way on one of those early mornings.
“Well, don’t YOU look like the icing on a fuck cake.”
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And that lovely compliment was followed by one of Adam’s delightful dead-of-night awakenings:
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| STM: | Gusset FUCK! |
| ADAM: | I said nothing, and we’re not discussing it. |
| KAREN: | (sluring sleepily) What was the first part? |
| ADAM: | Goodnight. |
| KAREN: | ‘Kay. |
| ADAM: | I didn’t say anything. |
| KAREN: | ‘Kay. |
| ADAM: | I know I didn’t. |
| KAREN: | ‘Kay. |
“Hey, boobs! Stop staring at my face!”
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If any of you guys out there feel that you simply must sport this stamped across your chest, check out the shirt shops later today!
“Hey! This is MY playground. These are MY swings. That’s MY climbing pyramid. And that’s MY springy elephant! THAT’S MY SPRINGY ELEPHANT! You crusty knob-end. Bog off! Leave this playground to the king of playtime! … Mmmm, they’re all mine…. I need a push. (whining pathetically) I can’t swing without a push. PUSH ME! Where is everyone? Bastards. (muttering bitterly) This is MY playground.”
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STM is his own worst enemy.
“Oi! Oi! Stay out of my poop, Magneto. You’ve been warned.”
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And the reveal…
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| ADAM: | Magneto’s from the X-Men. Why am I telling an X-man to stay out of my poop? |
| KAREN: | I don’t know. Well, what’s his power? |
| ADAM: | He can do all things. |
| KAREN: | He can do all things? |
| ADAM: | He can do everything. |
| KAREN: | Why, is he the bad guy? |
| ADAM: | Yeah. |
| KAREN: | Oh….. Well, what’s he gonna do… |
“Pith helmet, check. Baby wipes, check. Small box, check. Let’s go midget smuggling! YAY!”
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And Adam’s thoughtful analysis:
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| KAREN: | So… Where do the baby wipes fit in? |
| ADAM: | Okay: pith helmet makes sense; small box, yeah I can see why; baby wipes… maybe to keep them clean and fresh for when he delivers them on the other side, no? You know, if he’s underground with his pit helment, he doesn’t want… |
My mild-mannered English husband Adam lives quite a colorful existence in his dreams. Having benefited from hours of delight at his dead-of-night musings, I thought it only fair to share them with the world.
