It was going great until the bug fucked everything up
It probably doesn’t bode well for us that my method of injecting some sweet, sweet culture into our lives deals primarily with watching dooce’s doggy videos. Tonight, we’re sitting in our underwear in the living room (very cultured already, I know, but it’s August and we’re frugal with the AC), looking at crap online when I pull up heather’s latest entry.
He’s actually! Watching! And laughing! Blog culture is being achieved. And then a bug – a teeny, tiny little bug – appears on the wall near the boyfriend and he starts yelling about how it was one of those bugs and how it was coming for him. He’s been guilty of torture and war crimes against house centipedes, and his conscience is dirty. This manifests itself in generalized insanity and paranoia.
So what does he do? He grabs our college year book and prepares to whack this tiny little bug with it.
“DO NOT kill that bug with our year book.”
“Then YOU get it!”
“Fine, I will, jesus christ. There, is that so difficult?” I squash it with a kleenex.
“I could have gotten it with the year book.”
“I suppose that would have been some justification for the absurd amount of money we spent on our education.”
“it’s finally paying off.”
Attempting to finish watching the dooce and blurb cook edamame, he decides that he’s had enough humor for the night. “I get enough comedy dealing with you. I can’t handle it from two additional people I do not know.”
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