He likes the blueberry ones, with icing

Yesterday morning I left a portion of my unfinished pop tart sitting on the kitchen counter for a few hours. I realized at about noon that Chuck had been sitting on the kitchen floor directly beneath that piece of pop tart for over FOUR HOURS, waiting, waiting, waiting. We promised it would never happen, but we have created a little begging shithead.

(Jon is reading this right now and he is thinking, “WOMAN. YOU are the one who gives him pizza. Not me.”)