When I have a family of my own, as in a man and some kidlets, and maybe a cat or some furry shitter, my hopes are it will be just the way I imagine it.
He’s cool, calm and collected, but not as cool as me. He’ll be able to laugh and smile, but not jolly, fuck jolly. Being happy and laid back is what I am all about, I’m not saying I want a man hooked on uppers and anti-depressants who doesn’t give a fuck who the baby’s daddy is, but he just can’t be so stone cold serious. I slap those fuckers, and I slap like man, bitch!
I would like my man to be huggable, you know? Like a teddy bear, but not furry (body hair limited please.) BONUS if he has a treasure trail! (if you don’t know what that is you are out of the running), I love to find the treasure!!!
He will be the money maker. Now this is something I have struggled deciding. You see, I always pictured myself as the bread winner. I like my independence and not having to depend on other people financially, HOWEVER! I think my weekly dosage of housewives has made me to think differently. BUT, if Hollywood is calling my name, I’m all game for the bread!
He will cook! This is a must, I don’t care if he’s a dirty, little, ass wipe, who doesn’t clean the fuck up, as long as he cooks me a great meal and feeds my belly, I’m happy. (Note: Must do his own laundry, I don’t want to be wiping skiddys that are not mine with a loofa).
He will be great with the kids, may not spend so much time with them because ideally he will be working all the time. But when he is home he spends it with his kids, friends and family.
Must be a MAN! And I don’t mean have a penis (please remember husband, your penis is mine). I don’t want to hear your sappy stories, don’t write me love songs, or fan me with a giant leaf (though definite BJ’s would be in order if you did so-once in awhile). Be a fucking man! Drink beer, fart (I fart a lot so eat your fibre), play poker, watch the game with the boys and all that manly shit. Hey I may even let your slap me around a little, just to up your “macho-ness!” If I catch your ass reading Nicholas Sparks and tear jerking, you will be out on the curb with your fanny pack and loafers, you FAG! If you start playing for the same team as me, you are out of your league.
Lets move on to my offspring! Ideally, 3-4 kids.
Oldest- A boy named James, or something with a J. Jake, Jasper, Jeremiah, Johnny etc. Well rounded and succeeds in everything, I’m talking school valedictorian, team captain, and a true gentlemen. I raised this pansy well. After the first two, I started to slack off.
Middleman- The letter T comes to mind, Teddy, Thomas, Theo, etc. It wouldn’t really matter what his first name is because all his class mates would call him by his last name anyways. The family athlete! Why? Because he’s dumb as fuck and sports is all he has going for him. Sometimes, I wonder if the doctors are wrong and he actually does have a mild form of autism. I also contemplate if I should have named him Boz and he should mingle with his best friend/cousin Moonbeam (a downy) down the street. They could have stayed in the same church group so he would be among his people. But this is a thought I keep to myself, until I am on my death bed dying of alcohol poisoning from a night of swimming in a beer flood at the ripe old age of 70.
Ponyboy- Named Benjamin. More introverted, but funny as hell. He plays video games and is into the latest technology. Loves the old stuff and I mean the good old stuff, records, old films, he is a very retro style kind of kid. Has killer taste in music (I past this trait onto him). He is incredibly smart, and a total cheapskate. Very money conscious, reasons I suspect he is a Jew.
Now if I have a fourth child it will be a girl. Her name will end in A like, Nyla, Mia, Fiona, Lita, Mina, I don’t mind if it sounds like a midnight flower stripper name. She will be the baby of the family and everybody, but me will see her that way. Her big brothers will do anything for her. She will be how I was as a child, bubbly, talkative, maybe a yodeler or something.
We’ll have one big ass mother fucking dog! He’ll outlive my man.
All my kidlets will be well-manners, but will have their little rebellious moments. We will eat dinners at the table together, we will play board games (but only on Friday nights with some pizza) and when they are old they will reminisce about the moments mom and dad embarrassed the shit out of them on purpose.
I cannot wait! If I read this 10 years from now and my family is not like this I will definitely be mail ordering some babies my way.
(Please note: Some things I may have said in this blog may be offensive. If they were personally offensive to you I would just like to say, man the fuck up and deal with it. I would also like to say, I am not racist or homophobic or a Jew, just straight up honest. BONG!)