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Poop on the Wall
“Okay,” my wife proclaimed, performing a one-woman evacuation of my son’s bedroom. “I’m not going to freak out, but there’s poop on the wall.” I was proud of her–assuming, of course, that there was, in...
View ArticleLet’s Get Sh!tfaced, Part Deux Deux
There’s no gentle way to say this–I can smell the difference between my son and daughter’s fecal matter. I could describe their distinct aromas for you in gag-reflex-inducing detail, but have chosen...
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