In order to wow and woo Camille, the Comma Momma of Exceeding Hotness and generally impress her with my husbandly might and in so doing justify my “vacation” of domestic labor to my near-forsaken readers, I have decanted the essence of my manly maintenance tasks into a Digglet, a poetic formation much like sonnet, but without the tedious constraints of rhyme, meter, and narrative coherence.
For the romantically impaired who might otherwise miss this glorious contribution to literature entirely, this is it directly below:
Eighteen -The Number of My Love As Divided by the Mean Average Quantity of our Dependents Who Themselves Are Often Less Than Friendly.
Shall I compare thee to a Memphis day? Thou art less humid and lacking in highway incompetence.
Among the buzzing bugs of May, thy bidding I dost do with not any complaint thou couldest have heard inside the house.
Lend now thine compassionate eye to love’s recent labor of goodly effort and much dedication:
Still Warm From Much Sweat and Manliness
Ask Not For Whom the Bell Trolls in the Night, Lest You Be Subpoenaed For That Knowledge.
(Nice Paintjob, though)
Still Fathoming My Feverish Imaginations For A Way To Cut A Piece To Fit This Gap Without Losing Any Of The Fingers Of Which I Have Become So Accustomed.
And think not of love’s less recent labors lest thou loseth the entire mood I have striven to engender in thy heart-like place:
Forsooth, though they be never cute again as back in yonder day, before many seasons they too shall know the cry of the midnight diaper and the vomitation of ceaseless dairy consistency.
-Your Man
Shakespeare might be rotating slowly about a horizontal axis right about now. On the other hand, he may merely be looking for a dictionary – “highway incompetence” might be a term unbeknownst to him.
Methinks you have a good chance of wooing her with this piece.
“Me thinks thou dost protest to little..”
T’is truly a masterpiece of prose.
methink’st thou do unbend your noble strength, to think so brainsickly of things.
jk. nicely done.
But soft, what light through yonder blog breaks?
It is the east, and the Comma is at rest.
Arise, O Comma, and fix that unsightly gap,
And the bell that doth no longer toll,
For thou, our Comma, hast much work still to do.
Hie thee to thy HugeCube HomeStore
To find and perchance to purchase
A tube – nay, perhaps even two – of caulk
To be expressed in gobbets of gigantic proportion
Yet satisfyingly sufficient to completely obscure
And thereby thusly eliminate thy dreaded gap.
Truly, sir, you a poet and do not…
Nope. I cannot think of a rhyme to end that with.
Sorry.
Pull yourself together man. Wouldn’t a cheap bunch of roses from the roadside have done the trick?
I’m not really sure what this post is about, because I’ve never really “understood” poetry, but I do love what you’ve done with the red string around your house.
Just fixeth the crapeth and move on… (kidding of course!)
Your home is beautiful…full of life and love and books. Those three little pigs…I mean kids are so full of energy. They are absolutely too full of extraordinary talent to be bothered with household labor. My son has a crush on Ali y’know…
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“A curse on both your houses!” (since were just throwing out random lines, I thought I’d join in)
You’re right Don. With a huge mass of work like I have accomplished, I should have written a 1200 page epic about it.
The curse of blessings and large sums of money!
I feel all woosey!
If the Bard ever trod the Streets of the Bluff City he would rapidly become familiar with the term.
And quite possibly the emergency room as well.
Well, into every life a little greatness must fall.
Or was it onto ever life?
Hmmmmm.
That works!!!… Sorry, Camille wasn’t really trying to curse your house, but if Brent gets strange pains in his thumbs, don’t worry it will go away shortly.
Where wast thou and thine council when most I had need of it?
My doctor says it’s brain cloud. My mental forecast is hazy.
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, if I’m going to be assuming the awkward positions of manual labor, a generous case of plumber butt just comes with the territory.
A couple viewings of her villainous bent on the DangerCouch DVD should cure him.
She’s scary.
Yes,
Just fixeth the crapeth and move on…
I’m not kidding.
….Escrow it.
Thank you for bestowing your greatness upon us, Your Lordship
Alas, my love hast vouched to me that only the reddest oaken beam may fill yonder void to her satisfaction.
Tis my honor to suffer any pain to such ends acheive.
(Hopefully the crimson stain will not be my blood)
It’s a police line. Our city may be having budget problems, but at least the locals constabulary can see what a crime it is to sentence a man like myself to home repair.
Don’t listen to the underlings Brent. You have been married to me long enough to know what is best. A cheap bunch of roses would not have done the “trick!”