I always want to chronicle conversations I have with That Guy I Married. I never do, despite the fact that we think we are the funniest, dirtiest, most interesting people ever. The problem is, our best conversations happen as we’re trying to fall asleep, and I’m way too lazy to write that shit down.
Still…I might be narcissistic enough to make this a regular thing, blog…we shall see.
TGIM, discussing my still-breastfeeding-titties: “I don’t know…I don’t know if your tits could take it. Not right now. Not your…juggalos.”
Me: “My tits are NOT fans of the Insane Clown Posse. Do NOT call them juggalos.”
TGIM: “How do you know? Have you asked them?”
Me, looking down at my honkers: “No. I don’t have to. They’re not into ICP. They know how magnets work.”
TGIM: “Do you know how magnets work?”
Me: “Touche.”
Okay, so if you were familiar with ICP before this post, this might be funny to you. If you weren’t, I will gladly accept a fruit basket (read: bottle of scotch) for turning you on to the horror.
You’re welcome.
Love it, and I wouldn't appreciate anyone assuming they know the musical taste of my boobs without asking them first either.
ReplyDeleteYou should carry a recorder to bed and just leave it running. It would probably be even funnier played back when you were awake.
ReplyDeleteLmao there are a bunch of Juggalos that work at a grocery store where I live.. It just makes me laugh, trying to be so.. whatever Juggalos try to be, and working in the produce department. Yeah. Juggalos.
ReplyDeleteOkay, that really didn't have much to do with anything, but we can pretend. I have a 3 month old, and a 14 month old, I'm allowed to be irrelevent.