Then  read yesterday’s post  for round two.

Ahem…

• @moaniecracker  – Write my cover letter for me!

I am a really super great qualified candidate for this job. I get totally fired up about stuff, which is motivating for others. I show up early and will do the late thing, too. I eat at my desk, but quietly and without weird smells. My bathroom behavior is tolerable. I don’t need WhiteOut, because I don’t make mistakes. Hire me at your own risk – I’M EXPLOSIVE.

Loving it all,
Monica

• @nicoled1130  – people that drop food down their shirts?

This must be a woman thing. I haven’t dropped  foodstuffs ever down my shirt. But I will tell you what I did the other night. I was writing in bed, naked (as people do). My laptop was on my legs and I was eating  Jujyfruits. Since I didn’t want to keep shaking the box to get to the awesomeness, I pulled out about ten pieces and balanced them on my chest. Keep in mind that I have a super hairy chest and these candies get a bit sticky. The hair, however, did provide enough resistance to where the Jujyfruits did not fall off my chest.

• @rebeccajwill  – chupacabra

It was only a matter of time before someone suggested Chupacabra. First of all, let’s talk about Mexico and all the wonderful things they contribute to society. Tortillas. Okay, now that we’re done I think it’s safe to say that there may be more credible zoologists than those of Mexico. If Chupacabra existed, Steve Irwin would have wrestled him live on television several years before his death. But even if it does exist, do a few dead goats really matter? I stopped drinking goat’s milk five years back. I should have never trusted that Mexican nutritionist who told me to drink goat milk. It gave me worms.

• @mackiedeanv– start it with, I’m a man so….

photo credit:  finnmacginty  via  photo pin  cc

I had a dream a few nights ago where I was in charge of looking after a baby’s well-being. I don’t have any children currently, and have only physically held a baby a few times in my life. They’re nice and all, but, you know. They smell and stuff. Anyway, in this dream somebody gave me a baby to look after.   So, then I was tasked with finding a sitter, so my wife and I could enjoy an evening out.

I ran into a guy who attempted to convince me that you can train a wild alligator to look after a baby while you’re away. Now, I don’t mean an alligator that has human traits, like the ability to speak, self-reflect, stand upright, change a diaper, or read The Hungry Caterpillar while rocking one of those cradle things with the hanging thing above that is supposed to do whatever the hell it does.

I’m talking about a good old-fashioned swamp-dwelling alligator. Like the kind you saw Steve Irwin wrestling. They’re mean. In fact, one of the most dangerous mammals to man.   Am I right?   I’m right.

And, I’ll tell you, at first I said, “No, you absolutely cannot leave an alligator in charge of a baby. This will not end well.” But then, whoever was trying to convince me said a second time that alligators are good with babies, and I was like, “Well, he said it twice. It MUST be true.” And off I went with my wife to dinner.

So, did the alligator eat the baby?   I’m not sure, as the dream than morphed to us eating dinner at a rib joint.   Not like a regular barbeque house, though.   This restaurant was unique in that everybody in the restaurant was a transvestite.   The servers, the patrons, even the wine steward.   All transvestites.   I was the only man not wearing women’s clothing.   My wife thought this place totally fine.   Didn’t bother her at all.   I was uncomfortable.   Then, at the end of the meal, I realized I didn’t have my wallet.   The staff suggested I could work off my debt   in the kitchen.   No, not in that way.   Washing dishes.

The good news is, my dreams rarely match up with my reality.   Even my most repeated dreams don’t seem to ever happen in real life.   I don’t have a problem with my teeth falling out, and I’m really not unprepared for a college exam because I missed class all semester.   Lastly, I never had to go receive communion in front of a congregation with a boner.   In fact, I’m not even Catholic.   That was a weird one.   Really.

Not even sure what to make about the transvestites.   Probably best to not think about that.

But still, I wonder.   Do I actually fear making really bad decisions for a child that I will   have in the future?   Probably.   That’s normal, I would guess.   That’s why Dr. Spock wrote books on child-rearing.   So did Jenny McCarthy.   I’ll read both.

I had a dream a few nights ago where I was in charge of looking after a baby’s well-being. I don’t have any children currently, and have only physically held a baby a few times in my life. They’re nice and all, but, you know. They smell and stuff. Anyway, in this dream somebody gave me a baby to look after.   So, then I was tasked with finding a sitter, so my wife and I could enjoy an evening out.

I ran into a guy who attempted to convince me that you can train a wild alligator to look after a baby while you’re away. Now, I don’t mean an alligator that has human traits, like the ability to speak, self-reflect, stand upright, change a diaper, or read The Hungry Caterpillar while rocking one of those cradle things with the hanging thing above that is supposed to do whatever the hell it does.

I’m talking about a good old-fashioned swamp-dwelling alligator. Like the kind you saw Steve Irwin wrestling. They’re mean. In fact, one of the most dangerous mammals to man.   Am I right?   I’m right.

And, I’ll tell you, at first I said, “No, you absolutely cannot leave an alligator in charge of a baby. This will not end well.” But then, whoever was trying to convince me said a second time that alligators are good with babies, and I was like, “Well, he said it twice. It MUST be true.” And off I went with my wife to dinner.

So, did the alligator eat the baby?   I’m not sure, as the dream than morphed to us eating dinner at a rib joint.   Not like a regular barbeque house, though.   This restaurant was unique in that everybody in the restaurant was a transvestite.   The servers, the patrons, even the wine steward.   All transvestites.   I was the only man not wearing women’s clothing.   My wife thought this place totally fine.   Didn’t bother her at all.   I was uncomfortable.   Then, at the end of the meal, I realized I didn’t have my wallet.   The staff suggested I could work off my debt   in the kitchen.   No, not in that way.   Washing dishes.

The good news is, my dreams rarely match up with my reality.   Even my most repeated dreams don’t seem to ever happen in real life.   I don’t have a problem with my teeth falling out, and I’m really not unprepared for a college exam because I missed class all semester.   Lastly, I never had to go receive communion in front of a congregation with a boner.   In fact, I’m not even Catholic.   That was a weird one.   Really.

Not even sure what to make about the transvestites.   Probably best to not think about that.

But still, I wonder.   Do I actually fear making really bad decisions for a child that I will   have in the future?   Probably.   That’s normal, I would guess.   That’s why Dr. Spock wrote books on child-rearing.   So did Jenny McCarthy.   I’ll read both.