Five Other Things That Happened Around the AssVac This Past Weekend

You know already what's been going on with Chuck (TFT). Mostly you know, that is. I'll finish telling that story in a day or so, but I thought you might like to know what we've been up to in the meantime...

1. Not ours.

Just visiting. For the week. This is the "please can I have some of that, whatever it is, can I have some?" face. We get that face all the time. Even when we're not eating anything. I think I might get a similar face from Johnny when Good Dog goes home. I think Himself might be one Irish boy what needs a dog. (Oh, and if you're wondering exactly who this Good Dog is, please read this Christmas post.)

2. Ours.

And we are so very proud.

I'm serious: this is a monster accomplishment for that Jamoke. For years, the Idiot has been a big fat roly-poly pig, and a month ago I finally put him on a diet. Turns out the vet was right: you can diet one cat but not the other. I wonder if he learned that fact in college. Anyway, as of Friday morning, the Doof had lost one pound. Which must be a heck of a lot for a cat, because it's a long time since he's been able to clean hisself properly down there. In fact, just a few days ago Johnny did it for him with a washcloth. God bless Johnny, it didn't even occur to me that was a thing a person might attempt to do. But I think it's what inspired the Dope to give it the old college try.

Don't want the old man swabbing at your bunghole anymore, eh, NumbNuts?

3. Drywall!

Not wall. Not yet. But dry!

4. Economic Recovery:

The faux kind. It's going straight into our savings account, to plug the hole created when we paid the guvmint in the first place back in April. Sorry, Porgy.

You want to know what's funny, though? Since we live in Massachusetts, our IRS center's in a town called Andover. Therefore, look what they printed in the upper right hand corner of the check, just after my name:

And overstimulus is right, too. Because look at #5:

5. Not Shrek:

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have sprained my other ankle. Pretty, ain't she? And I know it goes without saying, but I was not drunk. I swear to god. I wasn't even drinking, not a solitary sip. I was just walking down the street, minding my own business (well, technically, minding Johnny's business, but that's neither here nor there) and somehow my toes wound up where my heel's supposed to be. Heard a little something pop there, too. Didn't even hurt, which I thought was odd, but I knew it was bad right away because of my so-recent similar experience.

I don't know what that popping sound was (no, I haven't been to a doctor, don't be ridiculous) but I know it's not as bad as last time. It may be ugly as all hideous get-out, but I can at least still walk. I don't need crutches, or prescription drugs. I'm not even taking any time off work. Call me a working class hero if you must.

In fact, I think I've just decided that you must. Yes, you definitely must.

I'm waiting...