I have a child I have to keep routinely somewhat entertained so she doesn’t eat my eyes. She used to be a baby, and now she is not, and thus horizons broaden. We just finished painting our own Christmas balls, it’s beginning to look a lot like. Then I read the directions, and it seems I should have had us do this in a well-ventilated area. Oops! No wonder things feel a bit woozy. Well, if it’s the last thing I do, I will post to Vomitola. Viva balls!
Tomorrow is the annual FIESTA DE LAMBCHOP. I am on a major memory lane kick, as is my right when I have 7 years of content in the can, so here are some past ways we have celebrated Lambchop’s birthday.
2003, Huzzah, huzzah!
Unfurl the gossamer banners, and don your t-shirt featuring dogs having a tea party! Pipe lurid pink icing flowers on a solid slab of marzipan, and flood the streets with confetti, for it is Lambchopâ€™s birthday! And not just any birthday, oh no. It is a special number, but I shall leave that for her to reveal in her own good time.
Then we said it with ABBA!
Wherein we exploited animal labor. Never work with children or animals. Balls.
I am planning something big for tomorrow. As soon as I plan it. I don’t have time to hop the shuttle to New York for us to get matching tattoos.
Won’t you help me prepare this year’s offering? What word jumps to mind when you think “Lambchop?” If you don’t help, she is getting one of our fresh poison christmas balls.
Now someone is asking me how to work a glue gun. As if I know! ATTACK!