I humped Big Bird

Our affair was a long one.

He was big and yellow. I couldn’t refuse.

It started when I was about two. Laying around, hugging him. I soon realized laying on him felt good. And grinding him felt even better.

What he doesn’t know, is that he wasn’t the only one. I also humped a big bunny. A white kitty. A Pooh Bear. I think Bird would be devastated if he knew that my masturbation went beyond his yellow fluff.

I was the whore of the stuffed animal kingdom.

30 years later. My daughter is having her own affair. She likes them red, and of the monster variety. She calls him “MoMo.”

I’m not sure what she sees in him, other than he’s squishy in all the right places, with big, bulging balls on top.

I liked them Big and Yellow. She likes the Small and Red. I hear they both live on the same Street. Small world.

Clits Up, baby girl. Clits Up.

On the road

Is there a patron saint of roadtrips with kids? I nominate St. Elmo of the Street.


We pray to you, St. Elmo, giver of bad grammar, seer of talking doors, to guide us safely to San Jose.

Make our trip free from diaper explosions, screaming explosions, tire explosions, temper explosions, “why? why? why?” explosions-explosions of any kind, really.

Oh, mighty Red One, give my husband the patience to deal with two children, a drunk wife, AND a mother-in-law. See that he is rewarded, nightly, with booze and bj’s.
We ask that you give the small ones slumber. Lots and lots of naps. And an overwhelming sense of calm. Zen, really. We ask you make the children zen until, at least, Sunday night.

We ask that you give Mommy a guilt-free weekend with friends. That she not be compelled to check the status of her children or their caretakers. We ask she also be given a new liver, once the fun is over. And if you see fit, no headaches or other post drinking symptoms. Please make her witty, charming, marketable. Or just witty and charming.
Elmo, hear our prayer.

San Jose, here we come.