You just had to go and have a boy, didn't you. I'm naming him Eugene as your punishment. Hurry up and shave his hand before he the other kids give him a special nickname. |
Now get to work and slay a dragon or whatever it is you do in that getup. |
Nice robe, old sport. |
Beer in the fridge and you're drinking out of the milk carton? You are one boring immortal. |
I do so enjoy your interpretive treadmill, though. I'll give you that. |
All grown up, and wasting time drinking cans of juice. Get out there and impregnate someone. |
Next time, try it without coats. I highly recommend doing it coatless. And inside. |
I knew you could do it. Meanwhile, am I watching this from a fishbowl? |
Gretchen, you are one creepy sleeper. |
Maura! You've aged into Cyndi Lauper. That is rad. |
Now that's a sturdy face. |
I'm going to go right ahead and assume that a whole lotta foolin' around is the reason for this hair situation. |
Calm all the way down, Karen - nobody wants to read your diary. |
Whatever this is, it's probably none of my business. |
Ugh. Alright, fine - I'll bite. What are you knuckleheads up to? |
Pork chop sandwiches! How do you even start an inferno like this with a damned tv dinner. |
How much do you want to bet that this would never happen if you just unplugged the damned thing before you started jabbing screwdrivers into it? |
Alright, this look isn't exactly burning my eyeballs. Definite improvement. Loving the ginger buns. |
.
2 comments:
I like the synchronized panic. I think we'll try it around here the next time havoc strikes.
It takes practice. You'll have to set a lot of fires.
Post a Comment