What They Hear When You Tell Them Something Constructive

All Mrs. Poopmonster wanted was for Mr. Squishy to hang up his towel so that it would not sit in a ball on the floor, where it would stay damp and get smelly.  Yes, sometimes she also wanted him to take his empty beer bottles and put them in the recycling bin, and yes, she would prefer it if he would unplug the phone charger when he wasn’t actually charging the phone.  Mr. Squishy knew she was trying to tell him something, but all he really heard when she rattled on like this was, “blah blah blah, NO, blah blah blah, NAG NAG NAG, blah blah blah, NO, blah blah, NAG, NO, NAG NAG NAG…”

Once Again, Procrastination Proves Detrimental

Why, oh why, had he waited until today to do his Thanksgiving shopping?  Mr. Squishy knew that the lines at the grocery store would be bad tonight, but he had been waiting twenty-five minutes already and was only now approaching the checkout counter.  Year after year, he told himself that he wouldn’t wait until Wednesday evening to buy his turkey and trimmings, but once again he had put off his grocery run until the last minute and now he was paying the price.  Next year would be different, he promised himself.  Next year he would wise up and have his refrigerator stocked by the Monday before Thanksgiving.  For now, unfortunately, he’d just have to suffer a while longer while the lady in front of him took out about a hundred coupons and wrote out a personal check.

Things You Should Be Afraid Of

Listen closely, children, and I’ll tell you things that will make your blood run cold…  The oil in the Gulf of Mexico will be around for years to come…  Christine O’Donnell doesn’t know anything about the Constitution…  Your cell phone might give you cancer…  Google knows where you are at any given moment…

What do you mean that’s not the kind of scare you wanted?

The Little Things That Test A Marriage

Sometimes Mrs. Poopmonster swore she could just smother him in his sleep and no one would ever have to know.  These nights when he snored to beat the band, it was all she could do from holding a pillow over his head.  She could blame his mysterious demise on an unfortunate combination of alcohol and aspirin, or she could say that she had always known he had a terminal case of sleep apnea.  Anything to stop the damn snoring.  Kicking him didn’t work.  Trying to roll him over didn’t work.  Slapping him on the back didn’t work.  Mrs. Poopmonster was beginning to understand where homicical rage came from.

I Am Deathtooth The Destructor!

Mr. Squishy really, really wanted Bear to come with him and participate in his live-action role-playing games.  Well, truth be told, Mr. Squishy wanted anyone to come with him, but Bear was the only friend who would even so much as think about it.  Bear himself was a bit dubious about donning a ridiculous costume and running around in the woods with a plastic sword, figuring it was the first step down the path to total geekdom.  Sure, you start out pretending to swordfight, then the next thing you know,  you’re playing Dungeons and Dragons with bespectacled, lispy teenagers on Saturday nights and building a model Hogwarts in your basement out of popsicle sticks.  He felt bad for Mr. Squishy though, who so badly wanted a friend to play with him.  Alright, Bear conceded, just this once, as long as Mr. Squishy promised never to tell anyone, ever.

This Is Going To Cost A Small Fortune

“Love me, love my family,” she had said to Mr. Squishy at the beginning of their relationship.  He knew when he married Mrs. Poopmonster that her six kids would become a huge part of his life.  But did they really have to come out with them tonight?  To a nice dinner?  On their anniversary?Happy Anniversary, husband.

Please Don’t Arrest Me

“Really, Squish, I don’t think this late-night bulldozer joyride is the best idea,” Elmo pleaded.

“Shut it, Elmo,” Mr. Squishy replied.  “Those construction workers were dumb enough to leave the keys lying around for this thing.  They’re just asking for trouble, and I want to give it to them.”

“I might remind you that you don’t have the best record with either the PD or the DMV.  Getting arrested or getting a ticket would be bad for you.  Not to mention the trouble that you’d be in with the missus…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.  I’ve been well-behaved for the past three years.  That has to count for something.  And the wife never lets me have any fun anymore.  I love her, but a man’s gotta break out once in a while.  We’ll tear around the block once and be back before you know it.  No one has to know.”

“Fine.  You tear around the block.  I’m getting off.  I have a squeaky clean image to uphold, you know.  My peeps back on the Street wouldn’t be too happy to hear about this.”

Eight.

That’s how many H-less Wonder characters it takes to change a lightbulb.

He Has A Third What?

Wow.  Mr. Squishy knew tons of juicy gossip.  Now that he mentioned it, Quack and Porco Puerco did seem to have a different sort of relationship.  Annabella did seem kind of loopy a lot of the time, maybe she was on some sort of mood-altering substance.  And she could certainly believe that Elmo had been caught poking around in his girlfriend’s naughty drawer.  Hmm.  Princess wasn’t sure how Mr. Squishy knew any of this, or if it was true, but it made her wonder what he might be saying about her when she had her back turned.  She sure hoped he didn’t know about that one time in Cancun….

Happy Freakin’ Valentine’s Day

Mrs. Poopmonster didn’t look impressed by Mr. Squishy’s homemade paper heart.  He had thought it was sweet and old-fashioned, getting out the red construction paper and making his own Valentine.  Something behind Mrs. Poopmonster’s eyes said that she had expected roses, or chocolates, or diamonds, or all three.  She’d never said she wanted those things before; how was he supposed to know what she wanted?  Great.  He was probably supposed to take her for a meal, too, and there was no way he was going to get a dinner reservation this late in the game.