House cleaning ain’t my thing.
I dare say that it probably isn’t your thing either. But then again… maybe it is?! If that’s the case, I won’t hold it against you, you adorable weirdo. I don’t mind cleaning house but I’d just as soon preoccupy myself with something a bit more enjoyable. Like having my teeth pulled with rusty pliers. By a surly dentist. With beer breath. And recovering from a hangover. I hope he makes house calls.
If he does I’ll put that ornery bastard to work cleaning this dump of mine if he promises to only puke outside. Dentists are great for the job as they have the stomach for it since they see plenty worse in their line of work. I’m a weenie artist and can’t bear it myself but one can’t be too picky. Anybody willing to clean my crib I’d sure let ’em at this point even if it’s the neighborhood burglar! If they can be so kind as to help me out they can help themselves to the TV as a token of my gratitude. I can’t watch it anyway because the remote control is broken.
Since I can’t catch the latest soaps I’ll occupy myself cranking out this blog post to get out of house work. It’s been a week or better since I last wrote one and readers might worry I got buried under an avalanche in here. No fears, I am perfectly ok.
That’s the nice thing about living in the twenty-first century as you have so many ways of keeping in contact with loved ones and even those who hate you. Should I ever perish under an avalanche of junk in my home the miracles of social media and the internet will instantly notify everyone and keep the entire world abreast of this stunning turn of events. A few will surely cry upon hearing of this tragedy but it’ll be divvies on my art and my car as far as everyone else is concerned. So let it be known that I bequeath my art to anyone who wants it but my car is already claimed. There’s a family of feisty chipmunks living under the seat of my car and they probably won’t give it up without a fight!
