...because last night was pretty friggin' disgusting. First of all, Shannon is uncharacteristically sick right now, so the glue that holds our family together against the forces of utter unkemptness is off her game a little. As in bed-ridden. So, last night, after a 10 hour day at work, I come home and grab a beer. This beer was to die a horrible, warm, neglected, un-drank death an hour later. Right away, Chumby heads-out to the side patio for some "alone time," a.k.a. taking a crap. No big deal. I get up from the couch, get a TP mitt in order, and scoop up the rather stinky turd. Chumby announces to me, loudly, while pointing, where the poop is. Like you could miss this giant blob of an un-welcomemat outside the door. "Thank you, snootcher, I, uh *gak* see it." I flush it and resume my position on the couch and take another drink. "Daaaaad," cries Desi. Alaster evidently is not finished with his reign if fecal terror. Up, scoop, flush, wipe, couch, beer. Two minutes pass, then two more poops pass. Up to clean, wash hands, ask Snootch if he is, in fact, done. I remain standing, just in case. Convinced all is clear, I sit. But ha ha motherfucker! The poop-de-grace earns the 'Ster another wipe-down, before he comes back inside, for a bath. Ah, all is well, the air is beginning to clear, I deposit Chumby in the drawing bath and take another sip. I'm almost through the door when I realize he's shitting in the water! Ha ha woo woo, the funny farm, where life is poopy all the time ha ha hoo hoo. Shannon, is continuing to whoop-there-cough-is pretty harshly from the kitchen. Why? I think it's because I'm scrambling to extricate toys and drain bath water due to poop. But no, she's coughing/laughing because she's in the kitchen watching the cat B A R F. ...A lot. This is funny to her beacuse she knows she's too fucking sick to be even remotely expected to clean-up cat yorch, and knows that my hands aren't even cold from chumby-poop duty part 4. She coughs/laughs some more as the offending feline goes on a puke rampage all over the kitchen. I've begun drawing another crap-free tub for Alaster after cleasing the area. At least it doesn't smell bad. Ha ha, uh, not. From the bathroom I inform Desi that her pet has soiled our otherwise totally all-the-time pristine kitchen, and now's the time for her to come be a responsible pet-owner (much to her surpise -- and horror. "...moi, daddy?"). To my surprise, then horror, she steps-up to clean-up the compacted cat food yorch-logs under the table. One heave and gak, two heave and gak, three H&G, floor! Yup, you guessed it, she fucking barfed too! All over the floor! Ha ha ha! Shannon now cough/laughs so hard I think she's gonna yak next. Meanwhile, no kidding, Alaster damns another torpedo in bath #2 (numba twoo...get it?!!). I pause to mentally check that I haven't yet shit my pants myself. Did I mention that Shan sometimes wee-tiny lil bit wets her pants when she coughs too hard? "Oh yeah," quoth the yellow not-so kool-aid man! On to the kitchen! It's like my household was in the tail of some kinda Maximum Overdrive chain reaction elimination comet. I was afriad to sit down and relax after cleaning-up Desi's centrally located thrown-up homemade chicken soup, for fear of whatever could possibly be next. I think Shan actually jumped-in on the Desi mess while I finished de-catting a few items, cough/laughing all the while. Snootcher probably tried to keep the train rollin', but just didn't have it in him, poor guy. I washed my hands for the 19th time.
I finally got to the couch and finished a warm lonely beer. To my knowledge, we were finally free.