February 4, 2014
I recently found out about what my husband Allen does at 3 in the morning. Alone. In the dark. He’s writing a blog!!! The nerve of that crumbbum! At least if it was porn I could deal with it. But he’s a …..blogger. I can barely say the disgusting word. I mean, really. How could I ever face the gals down at the salon if they knew? Why even the Korean girls doing our nails would feel superior to me! NOOOOO!
He can be bothered to blog for what I assume is zero wages (I don’t think this “Mr. Blog” concern is exactly on par with my must-read favorite the HuffPo), but he can’t be bothered to take out the garbage or wash the dishes or flush the forchrissakes toilet after he eats one of his patented tuna and bologna sandwiches. Tunlogna he calls it. I call it a sure bet to make me waste a can of glade masking the aftermath!
And how he writes about me! He’d make you think I was some kind of vile harpy battering him with rolling pins, frying pans, and the like! Like I would ever hit him with ANYTHING…….well, anything that would leave a mark anyway. Lots of nosy people out there you know.
And let me tell you something…..he’s no prince either. Maybe YOU’D like to put up with finding tufts of shedded back hair in your bed most mornings? Who even knew you could have that situation!??!
And the string of inanities that comes out of that man’s mouth! I’ve read some of his stuff when he wasn’t around stinking up the house with his gas, so I suppose you actually DO have a clue about how stupid he is. If I have to hear ONE more time about how he wants to own a beagle named bagel, I swear I’ll scream.
So can “Mr. Blog” (if that is your real name? Is your last name really Blog?) just leave my husband Allen alone? It’s hard enough to get him to wear pants for more than 2 minutes without this blogging thing distracting him. Do you know how humiliating it is when UPS delivers a package and Al is laying around in beat up boxers with the words “Here comes da judge” over the crotch??
Enough with this Mr. Blog sh*t already!