I Think Dolly Parton Would Agree. NOW! NEWLY UPDATED!

Yesterday, Ellie and I had just got home from school and she immediately sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out her math workbook and started to do.... math.

Dudes. I didn't have to ask. I didn't have to beg. I didn't even have to bribe her. (As long as you don't count the doughnut we stopped for on the way home a bribe. A yummy sprinkle covered bribe....)

Looks left. Looks right. Looks under chair, because, really, you never know. Looks you straight in the eyes and whispers, "I know. It's kinda freaking me out too..."


Speaking of things that kinda freak me out...

(cue up Sylvester Stallone singing country)



No. Not that. That's. Hilarious.

(Note to self: Waste perfectly good Saturday night watching "Rhinestone".)

No, I was thinking more like NAPSA.

And, in case you haven't seen NAPSA come across in your Facebook feed,  it's-

Wait.

IDEA!

Let's break this down Balderdash style.

Is NAPSA the...

A. North Atlantic Philosophical Sailors Association
B. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art
C. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art
D. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art

If you picked A (North Atlantic Philosophical Sailors Association) I'm guessing you live in Australia and know all about Horatio's left arm*. Which is, like, awesome! But. You picked badly. Because you're wrong.

It's B. 

And C.

And D.

Because, seriously, it's that disturbing.

I mean, NOW how am I supposed to screen the parents of my kid's friends?

Seriously! Because, you know, previously, I could totally drop my kids at a new friend's house, take a quick glance at their decor and be pretty certain that I wasn't leaving them at some psychotic skin suit wearing killer's house. Why? BECAUSE THERE WAS NO HUMAN SKIN DISPLAYED ON THEIR WALLS!

But now? I'm going to have to stoop to snooping through their kitchen drawers.

Because we have to draw the line somewhere.

And I'm hoping it's at oven gloves made out of Great Uncle Bob's biceps.


NEWLY UPDATED!
Guys, I think there's a classier way to do this whole tattoo preservation thing! AND! It's totally approved by both Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton!

If Dolly had tattoos.

Obviously.

*He "found the direct evidence of the existence of soul" in his left arm. Guys? History is awesome!

I Spelled Omniscient As Omnisiount. Because I Still Have Free Will. Google.

Again.

Again, my computer has put on its "Evil Overlord Editor" hat. Which looks more like a tiara than a fedora, because, well...because...it's...you know, it's obvious, soooo.....

See, my computer in it's omnisiount power has deleted another post I was writing. A week of work, just, gone-disappeared from my computer. And, yes, computer people (everybody wave at Jon!), I looked through my computer history and, I swear, it's like those hours I spent writing don't even exist!

Thought! My computer is in cahoots with Daylight Savings, Benjamin Franklin and the six fingered man from "The Princess Bride". There's virus software for that, right?

I mean, it's not like my ramblings were that bad, you know?

Ok, sure, I may have been writing jokes about Satan in the post it deleted from last week.

And, in one other deleted post, I was trying to draw a well scientifically researched line between ice skating falls and diarrhea.

But that other time! I was totally writing a review about the Pulitzer Prize winning novel All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr!  Which is like, a real quality writing topic, you know? But, apparently my computer knew I hadn't actually read the book. It knew my Americano sipping and loud page flipping was sheer posturing. To impress the other coffee shop people. Who I don't know. With my...intelligence.

But, dudes, I did the exact same thing in college once and my typewriter didn't even blink an eye, not even once, through that ten page paper on The Grapes of Wrath*.

So, in order to pull one over on Google, who runs the Internet with Amazon, near as I can figure, I'm posting. Yes. I am. After only 50 minutes of writing, editing, revising, staring off into space and watching people order their drinks at the coffee shop I'm shoving this post into Google's face! Because, just like the Paper Bag Princess, I don't need a knight to save me from myself.





*Note to my alma mater: Look. Don't freak out. I totally read The Grapes of Wrath in, like, seventh grade. So, let's not put this in my file next to that accusation of plagiarism**, kay?

**Note to Mom and Dad: OK, see, I wrote my paper debating pacifism and nationalism in the form of a short story, and, well, apparently, real college students don't turn in well researched fiction as English papers....