Yesterday afternoon I shucked down to my birthday suit, grabbed a bottle of gin and sat my naked ass upon the couch all in anticipation of the lesbian episode of Postcards from Buster. This was going to be hot, hot, hot!
Well, Mr. Floppy and I were sadly disappointed. There wasn’t even any deep tongue kissing, let alone double, dastardly, strap-on penetration amidst the stately maples of Vermont. Nothing.
I finished my gin, sat in my buffness and awaited the President’s State of the Union™ speech. At least, I was prepared to have W shove his misguided “Give Money to the Corporations… errr…. Social Security revamping” plan right up my hairy wazoo.
In all seriousness, I did watch the controversial episode of Postcards from Buster with my daughter by my side.
When it was finished, like the responsible adult that I am, I decided to discuss the episode with her:
“So,” I began “Did you notice anything different in the show?”
“They used milking machines instead of milking the cows by hand.” replied my six-year old.
“Yes. That’s true… but did you notice anything different about the families?”
“They had a bonfire.”
“True… but was there anything different from our family?”
“They ate real cheese. Not that weird Kraft stuff.”
“Again, that is correct… but what about the mothers. Was there anything different about them?”
“One of them was as big as Kirstie Alley™.”
At that point I gave up. I decided our new Secretary of Education was out of touch and left it at that.
“Hey Dad?” asked my daughter as I got up to leave. A ha! Here it comes I thought.
“Could you put some clothes on?”
*originally posted today at brianlewandowski.com