Il Duce at the farm. See the weapon?
Yesterday I needed a momentary break from my service to the emperor. Doing his bidding all day every day can really wear on a person so after re-fixing his chocolate milk three times to get it just right and head off that epic screaming fit that we all could have suffered through, I sat down to catch up on some blog reading. I’ve got a list of fantastic mommy bloggers who I follow regularly because, well, I guess we have at least our reproductive abilities in common. God, it’s depressing though. After scrolling through all these upbeat, inventive tales of their funny and sweet children with the love they have for them coming across in every word they type I just got cranky. Especially one gal who posted an angelic pic of her smiling tot with goodness that just emanated from every pore in the child’s body.
Then I look at Il Duce. Every photo I have of him he’s either sneering, giving me the finger or brandishing a weapon. This filthy little animal has ruined nearly every family photo I’ve tried to take in the last two years. Not even his make-believe games come close to normal. Last night I heard him using his Diego plastic marsupials in a jungle adventure, except he kept calling them “sex monkeys” and putting them in jail for kissing. What the fuck does that mean? Don’t even start pointing the finger at me, because the phrase “sex monkeys” has never passed my lips. Even my ten-year old was scandalized.
We got his weirdly inconclusive test results back from the world-renowned three thousand dollars a pop Neuro/Psycho/Edu testing dude and he’s all like “what a funny kid! He’s super smart but not so good at being told what to do huh?” Yes, super expensive rip off artist, I could have pooled the collective resources of every idiot who’s ever come in contact with him and come up with a more comprehensive plan of action than scratching my head and suggesting meds if he doesn’t calm down in a few years. Better yet, I’m gonna steal those meds and help myself to a big heap of mother’s little helper during the afternoons when it’s too crazy to deal with here. Okay?
Uggg. So anyway, I’m off to chauffeur Palpatine to his next engagement that takes place right after his school day ends. Let’s hope he’s not suffering from his usual fit of distemper and all goes smoothly. But realistically, probably not.
He got along REALLY well with the goats. Must be the horns.
