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Well, They Can’t All Be Gems, Right?

Well, that was a pretty miserable Punchline Fever earlier today. And rightfully so, frankly. Looking it over again, there’s really not a lot of potential hilarity there. Many thanks and kudos go to my good buddy Scott-san, for giving it a try (and putting my lousy attempt to shame). At least I came in second, right?

Anyway, in my defense, I have to admit that I dropped the ball this week, starting with item #1 in the rules. (That’s the one that claims I’ll spend the week thinking of a setup, for those of you who can’t be bothered to look it up. Lazyass.) So I was a bit on the spot this morning, and late for a 9am meeting when I came up with today’s premise in the shower. Hey, it seemed funny there. Everything seems funnier when you’re naked and wet.

But funny or not, it was all I had, so I went with it. I apologize to any of you who stopped by today to leave a punchline and went away with that ‘what the fuck?‘ look on your face.

(Yeah, I know that look. I get that a lot, believe it or not.

Oh, shut up. Nobody asked you, anyway. Poopyhead.)

In any case, I’ll promise to give you more to work with next week, if you’ll do me the favor of coming back and working with it. (And no, I don’t say that to all the girls, thank you very little.)

So, moving on. Speaking of people I need to thank, I want to send a warm, fuzzy shout-out to one of my very most favouritest people — the ‘Saucy Aussie’, the ‘Cantankerous Canberran’, the ‘Diva Down Under’, the one, the only, the lusty and cheeky… Monkey.

(Okay, so that came out more like a ‘boxing match introduction’ than a ‘shout-out’. I’m new at this sort of thing. Just deal, all right?)

Anyway, in addition to the myriad of other nice and naughty names I could call Monkey, there’s now another to add to the list — ‘mommy’. For you see, my Mommy Monkey has dragged me, kicking and pupating, into the strange and confusing (and oh-so-copulous) world that is Breedster.

(Right. As though I needed another reason to obsess over copulating. Or ingesting things. Or worrying about what color my poop is.)

Anyway, if you’re interested in joining in the fun, drop me a comment or email. Assuming I can find a willing partner bug, maybe I’ll make you one of my kids. And really, wouldn’t we all feel better if you just got it over with and called me ‘Daddy’? Yeah. I think so. Who’s your buggy daddy, baby?