Clowns to the left of me; jokers to the right….
Sometimes I cannot believe that we feed and house such ungrateful jerk-faced cotton-headed ninnymugginses.
Before I begin my rant, here is the innocent party:
HRH Queen Fancypants did not participate in any tomfoolery, shenanigans, or buffoonery.
As if there was ever any question she might. Such hijinks are for the commoners.
Meet the commoners, and hear their crimes:
He has to spend the nights locked up in the back of the house. Why? Because he’s a jerk, and otherwise shows up outside our bedroom door at 3am and yowls to be fed. At first we tried to surprise him at the door with a blast from a water bottle, but that didn’t work because the moment he heard even the tiniest movement he would run downstairs to wait by his food bowl.
Dr. Love also spends his nights locked up in the back of the house. Why? Because he’s a jerk and pesters the Queen, and also because of yowling. Unlike Agent Mooshie he doesn’t yowl for food; he yowls because he’s very attached to Mr. Sparky and wants to be wherever he is, even at 3am.
But if we thought that locking them in the back of the house would keep them out of trouble, the answer is no. No, it most definitely does not.
On Monday I was shopping at Walmart and decided on a whim to treat my family. I bought a large tray of Lofthouse Sugar Cookies. Surely you know the cookies of which I speak: puffy pillows of cookies topped with a thick smear of luscious icing and garnished with sprinkles. They are delicious. That evening we ate maybe four out of the two dozen in that package. We closed the clamshell package and left it on the table…in the back of the house.
The next morning that entire box was on the floor under the table, open and upside down, cookies scattered everywhere…face down, of course.
I don’t even know how…and it’s probably best that I don’t…jerks…
Oh, and that’s not all. There’s this commoner, too:
Jake the Jerk-faced Dog has a habit that annoys the ever-lovin’ fire out of me. He gets up on beds—made beds—and roots around until he finds the top of the covers and then burrows under them into the bedding. I keep chasing him out of the Baton Rouge Sparkette’s bed, and every time she comes home I have to completely strip her bed because it’s been dogified. And then he started doing it in the bed in our spare room. There is no use washing the sheets until houseguests are imminent, because he’ll sneak back in there the moment my back is turned.
But it gets worse. He has now started burrowing into my bed. And I am not happy.
I am not a dog-in-my-bed person. Neither is Mr. Sparky.
This may be one of the jerkiest jerk-faced moves Jake has pulled thus far.
They all behave like such…such…animals. The jerks.