An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Pack the Flask

Things to remember before I embark on a weekend jaunt to Utah to mingle with Mormons and relatives with missing teeth:

Steer clear of Aunt Lola.

Granny will fall sleep on the toilet. Use the one in the basement.

The three year old nephew will announce to everyone his inconvenient state of poopiness.

Aunt Lola sees no problem in informing everyone at the dinner table, “I could straddle a dead cow and eat a bologna sandwich I’m so hungry.”

The precocious four year old niece will waddle around making arguments that Jesus is walking the earth in the form of Barry Gibb.

Must resist urge to tell nieces and nephews that the reason they go to church is so that mommy and daddy can prepare to eat them one day in the Mormon Temple.

Pack the flask.

Do not pack the hot pants.

Pack pantyhose, the safeguard of vaginal integrity, to humor my mother.

Tarred = tired
Fot = fight
Nan = nine

How come he ain’t never done saw telled that? = Why didn’t he say something?

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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