Crotch Mouse and Other Cheap Forms of Entertainment

One dark and cold night Jason ran to the store to get (beer) diapers and whatever store (that sells beer) it is that he went to did not have Pampers (they had beer), it had Huggies (and beer). No big deal, right? I can get over my favored diaper for a week (but not my favored beer).

But a week has turned into forever in Crazyman land because farking Huggies has a certain mouse and his bow wearing girlfriend that shall remain nameless splashed all across the crotchal region.

This means that Crazyman now taps his crotch and yells "MOUSE!" whenever the mood strikes him. Sometimes, like this morning, this comes complete with a mouse pants dance that is barely contained until I can get the tapes fastened. Up off the floor he flies, slapping his wiener and declaring "MOUSE!" for all that are around to bear witness.

His dad says that this could cause problems or confusion for the hordes of ladies in his future. He seems to think that a Crotch Mouse is not something you want to advertise. Crazyman sees things very differently and will happily grab his goods and shake the mouse in your direction. And hey, that kind of action actually landed me squarely in his dad's bed, so I think he might have a point.

In these days of Crazyman declaring that the words 'yes' and 'no' have the same exact meaning and that he can interchange them at his whim, I guess I can't actually argue with the Crotch Mouse, mostly because I'm confused and by the end of the conversation I'm not sure if I'm coming or going but I know that I'm supposed to give him fruit snacks and support the mouse. Whatever.

The only real problem I can see with this is that next month we will actually be traveling to Florida and visiting the house of the mouse. So if you happen to be there at the same time and you see a crazy blonde kid, running around grabbing his cubes and shouting "MOUSE!", pay no mind, but please stop to say hi as we're being escorted out by security and being brought up on Rodent Sexual Harrassment charges.

And since we have to pay the aforementioned vacation, we've been scouting out cheap forms of entertainment until then. Which resulted in this picture as my kid thought being shoved around in a storage container was the tits.

Please note, despite how it may appear, that is our rasty, little dog and not the actual Crotch Mouse. The dog did not think this was the tits. She was kind of pissed.