I have a bunch of half-written book reviews, but between our ongoing real estate monkeyshines, young Master Sam's busy teething schedule, and other... er... stuff... actually finishing them has fallen by the wayside. But not for long.
That is all. Back to your regularly scheduled internet.
Your pal,
Doppelganger
P.S. And I'm very aware that my previous post was lame. My thanks to you all for not pointing it out. Your mamas raised you up good.
P.P.S. Oh crap. I just remembered that someone once told me that blogging is like hackysack: you're never supposed to apologize for sucking.
P.P.P.S. Double-crap. Now I'm talking about hackysack. Now you really know how lame I am.
P.P.P.P.S. Well, since you're already here and my lame-osity is now out on the table, I may as well show you some recent baby pictures. Ha! You did not see that coming. Too late. Feast your senses.
7 comments:
But can you drool while also slightly crossing one eye and smiling like Elvis? Oho, I thought not, mon frere.
Check... and mate.
I can't drool.
I can drool more than my teething baby.
Cap'n, what happened to make you that way, and is it safe to try on babies?
I'm not kidding, guys... this morning I was walking around carrying Sam whilst he gnawed gently on my shoulder, as is his wont, and I eventually realized that the entire shoulder and much of the sleeve of my t-shirt was sodden. Like, as in "wet t-shirt party" sodden. This kid. I tell you.
Okay, best baby ever. He's already mastered 'raising one eyebrow'. THAT IS AWESOME. Well played, Master Sam.
As you can tell, I have no children, and hence I refer to little people as 'best baby ever'. S.
I was just being funny. Sorry to lead you on.
Have you considered harnessing Master Sam's ability for good, though? Perhaps installing a mini-mill that, powered by the torrents of drool, would maybe generate enough power for, say, a small ice cream maker?
'Cause really, what's better than begrudgingly changing your soppy baby's shirt only to realize that you've now got a half-pint of Rocky Road?
Nothing. That's what.
I like the cut of your jib, Cap'n. If we could also harness the power of Sam's crying, I bet we could also melt some hot fudge sauce.
Hooooot fuuuuuuuuuudge...
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