. . . because paragraphs are for pussies.
1. My deodorant has “100% vegetarian ingredients.”
2. License plates I have known recently:
(a) IAN VAGN = normally I can coax some meaning out of even the most truncated platespeak, but this one has me stumped.
(b) IXLNJOY = how nice for you.
(c) OH2B49 = “Oh, to be 49″? This used to be on a Cadillac, now it’s on a Volkswagen Bug, so I assume the owner is regressing. Next it’ll be on a Big Wheel.
(d) IMIN2GI = “I’m into . . .” Gastrointestinal tracts? Galvanized iron? Your boyfriend’s in the army?
(e) MYCTPRS = I finally had to ask the plate owner on this one — it’s on a Mercury Cougar — can you guess? “My cat purrs.”
3. Jackson is “Jackson” to those outside the family unit, “The Nut” to those within the family unit, and either “Booger!” or “Muffin!” when addressed directly.
4. As soon as he realizes someone is in the bathroom taking a big nasty dump Jackson/Nut/Boogermuffin runs on in, makes the sign for “toilet,” and as the offense is being flushed away he waves and says “bye-bye.” Sometimes he’ll blow a kiss. No one taught him to do this.
5. I always thought that if you had no more than three drinks a day you were not an alcoholic. This is a belief I clung to: three drinks no matter what — holidays, weddings, wakes, surviving a tornado — three drinks and into bed. Then Jack saw a TV show that said if you have two drinks a day you’re “at risk.” So pretty much everyone I know (except for the ones in AA) is an alcoholic. Including you because, yes, Jello shots sucked out of your girlfriend’s belly button “count.”