And, wow, am I ready to plop ass-first right back into that comfort zone of mine. I positively DREAM about writing about poop, or boogers, or my weekly dance with the city sanitation department again. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let me tell you all about the song my 4-year-old son recently made up called “VAGINA!” Just don’t make me write about Unicorn Sex ever, ever, ever again.
|Just shoot me.|
(Insert copious amounts of swearing here)
Here’s the thing. I’m not a unicorn person. I don’t really know much about their mythology, I never saw “The Last Unicorn,” and I can’t remember if they poop rainbow or glitter. They’re just not my thing. But I had three choices for my tutorial topic (how to groom a chupacabra, how to breed unicorns, and how to harvest actual buffalo wings and actual chicken fingers), and, well, unicorn mating seemed like it would be the easiest to handle.
(And by “handle” I mean “make up from freaking scratch because unicorns are NOT REAL and, therefore, DO NOT ACTUALLY BREED.”)
Well, I was wrong. This dumb unicorn post might have been harder to write than giving birth to my 2nd son (a blissfully easy birth) and maybe even more painful. But the good news is that I think I coined a new word: “Uniporn.”
You’re just going to have to go over to Blogger Idol and read it yourself to see what I mean. And while you’re there, I hope you’ll vote for me, Crazed in the Kitchen. BECAUSE A VOTE FOR ME IS A VOTE FOR UNIC….
Oh crap, forget it. Just vote for me, please?
|Vote for Crazed in the Kitchen!|