So, the other day I was drowning my sorrows

So, the other day I was drowning my sorrows at the local bar, when Mr. Clint Eastwood himself came up to me, and said "Hey kid, crying is for babies, come with me." And so he took

me down the hall to a nursery short on nurses but long on bawling infants. He slammed the door and padlocked it behind me. Every single of them damned babies stopped and stared.

I could tell it was kill or be killed so I said "Listen up tots, there's gonna be no crying, no fighting, no whining, and I don't do poop. If you need a bottle, too bad." One baby

took offense to my insolence. He and his good pal, Chuckie Finster, summoned Reptar to teach me some manners. "Eat the babysitter," the babies chanted rhythmically. Reptar crushed

a beer can on his forehead and puked on Chuckie Finster. The Vomit had turkey gravy and body parts of children. And an uncooked chicken neck. Reptar was sick and so was

Chuckie now that he had Reptar's puke on him. Chuckie Finster had nobody to puke on but himself or back on Reptar, which was recursive. So the Thanksgiving day vomit parade marched

wiping the spit from his chin. Sarah agreed wholeheartedly as she mopped the walls and wiped down the baby. "From now on nontraditional fare is strictly prohibited in my

household! Never again!" Sarah unbuttoned her blouse & picked up the squalling baby. "It's boobies for you, now...and forever!" I tried not to look, but when I did, I was shocked.

The baby was feeding from one single large breast in the middle of Sarah's chest. It was the oddest thing I'd ever witnessed. Not even the time when mother