Cookie Fucking Terror Apocalypse

Goddamn kids made cookies last night. Sort of.


I say "sort of" because the cookies were terrible, terrible... Just a nightmare.


Honestly, I don't know why these two can't go run a meth lab or set fire to a bum, like normal kids.


Giuseppe went first. His cookies were salty enough to burn my mouth.


We only managed to eat about half of them before shitcanning the rest. OK, maybe 2/3rds.


Giuseppe was having a rough night. He's staying with us while his real dad is out of town. His dad had called me earlier that night, saying that Giuseppe had apparently contracted a fungal infection, but didn't know what to do, and was embarrassed to ask me or The Boss for help. Giuseppe's dad asked me to discretely pick up some ball cream on the way home, and slip it to Giuseppe on the sly.

"I'm not helping out with the application, Joe," I told him. "That's his real father's job."

"No, you have to work it into a lather," Joe said. I was pretty bummed. Generally I don't like it when people use "lather" in a sentence. As a noun or verb.

So I made it about four seconds before announcing to Tessa and The Boss that Giuseppe had jock itch. Tessa thought this was great, because her pimp name is T Money and Giuseppe's is G Balls and the crotchal nature of Giuseppe's discomfort gave her lots of material to work with during supper. She made a lot of good ball jokes I can't actually remember because I passed out from laughing too hard. Anyway, I'm not a professional, but if you ask me, Ol' itchy G Balls needs to quit wearing them tight-ass girl jeans to school if he wants to clear up that rash.


Even with the rash we still love G Balls Giuseppe. We knew Tessa and Giuseppe were going to be best friends even before we met him. Hell, we knew they were going to be best friends before Giuseppe even met Tessa, because Tessa came home and announced it to us: "There's a gay black kid at my school named Giuseppe and we're going to be best friends!"


What Tessa wants, Tessa gets.


It wasn't easy, though. Giuseppe was a little reticent at first.

"I was scared of her," he said. "I thought she was going to beat me up or something." Go figure.

Giuseppe really endeared himself to me when he slugged some dumb kid that insulted Tessa. I keep telling kids not to listen to their hippie teachers and shit, and that violence is a good way of solving problems. I'm glad at least one of my fake children was listening.


Tessa decided she was going to take the remainder of Giuseppe's nasty ol' salty-ass cookie dough and "fix" it.


Upon hearing this announcement, a small hilarious dog became alarmed.


As were we all, I suppose. "I don't really know what I'm doing, ah hah ha ha ha!" Tessa said.


Tessa's first "fix" turned out to be kind of like a biscuit, only with the searing bitterness of dejection substituted for buttermilk.

Man, we really need to replace those shitty blinds.


Notice Tessa isn't actually eating that sad infernal biscuit.


Next was chocolate. "It's kind of like a scone, or maybe biscotti," The Boss said, "Except, you know, not delicious." I thought that summation was rather kind.


It quickly became clear we weren't eating these.

"Oh, there's a food drive at school — we can give them to the poor people!" Tessa said.

We are the poor people, I thought, but whatever.


They were still here when I woke up this morning.


Art Show

Yaaah! Scary.

Aw, babies.

lap dance
"That's nice! I'm sure Allen would really like — Wait, can I get a what?!"

show off
"Nobody likes a showoff, Giuseppe."

"Papa P, why is he crying?"

"He's not crying!"

"Then what's he doing?"

"It's, like, a... roar of pagan triumph!"

"No. I'm pretty sure he's crying."

"Stop saying that! It's totally a battlecry of Satanic fury!"

"Boo hoo, he's sad."

"Look, he's... You know what? You're grounded."

family life
"This is what's it's like coming over here for dinner."

"Ah, Giuseppe, um... Cuckoo doesn't have any balls."

"Sure he does! He..."

"No, look close. There's just one, and it's small."

"He... He..."

"It's just, like, a cyst."

papa p
How children see me.