-
Your Honor Said: Fuck Around and Find Out, But Make It Professional™
Years after we separated, Pinocchio called the protective-order hearing ridiculous. Then she contradicted herself under oath and met a professionally delivered “BUT.”
-
Leaving Was Supposed to Be the Hard Part
Leaving was supposed to be the finish line. Instead, years later, one email dragged fear, motherhood, court paperwork, and every old wound back through the front door.
-
Mornings With Meatball
At 4:30 a.m., Meatball called a board meeting from her crib. Her hands stole her pacifier, trapped themselves in a blanket, and somehow made the entire situation my administrative responsibility.
-
Motion to Suppress My Bowels
Court is stressful enough without my anxious intestines entering the proceedings as hostile witnesses. Until there’s a ruling, coffee, breakfast, and normal bodily functions are respectfully denied.
-
But I Still Taste Coffee
Lady Glitter Sparkles ordered coffee, added enough milk and sweetness to reduce it to a beige rumor, and then filed a formal complaint because she could still taste coffee. Exhibit A has since been abandoned in our refrigerator.
-
Emergency Contact Consulting™
Drop Dead Fred asks me what to say. I write the perfect script. She approves it—and then completely fucking disregards it. Welcome to Emergency Contact Consulting™, where continued support is guaranteed and re-consultations cost $49.99.
-
Milton’s Fucking Office
We named the bathroom ghost Milton, assigned him an office, and accidentally gave him a horny feline co-conspirator. Apparently, he’s been handling paranormal operations from behind the toilet since we moved in.
-
The Shitshow Took the Day Off
Nothing was fixed. Life was still beating my ass. But somewhere between a potato the size of my problems, a food-covered baby, and a claw-machine heist, I remembered I could still be happy anyway.
-
The Cinnamon Roll Testicles Had Character.
One cinnamon roll had testicles. One adult became Jacuzzi Soup. One adult got laughed into an unexpected shit. Unfortunately for the children, this is the highest level of leadership available.
-
I Have a System. Please Stop Touching It.
I have systems. My stuff has assigned seats. My coffee has an order of operations. Even my titties have a procedure. Are all of these systems necessary? Absolutely the fuck not. Please stop touching them anyway.
