Sorry the post is a little late today. So the main witticism that comes to mind from the past week or so is from a few days ago:

Recently my mother and her (ugh) boytoy have been remodeling their room and have gotten the shower installed just recently. However the neighbor came over in the evening hours to let us know that the tinted glassthat the shower window is made of is not Boytoy pens-proofed. Therefore immediately after his departure I immediately ran upstairs into the bedroom and said

Hey, Dude the neighbors say stop pressing your dick against the window.

His reply


The Whitmeister strikes again!

An update. (Hally – frekin – louya).

So this is Whit (the one and only). It’s been a while because SOMEONE *glares accusingly at mother* hasn’t been updating the website enough (and by enough I mean at all). anyways I shall try to post my musings every Wednesday Friday and Sunday but I leave you with this small snippet.

Mom: (setting me up for admin access to SWS) okay I’ve just given you the keys to the kingdom.

Me: uh, hey mom, I just dropped the keys into the moat.


Sunday at the coffee stand

This morning, Whit decided to come along with me and the paramour for the weekend tradition of the coffee-stand drive-through. He was pleased to see that they now have egg-nog, and ordered one. The barista asked him, “hot or cold?” His response:

Cold please…

…to match my heart.

She was amused…

The boy knows how marketing works… God help us.

Tucking him in is always a treat. If he’s not crack-up funny, Whit is often earnest and lovable at bedtime. I’ll kiss many of the stuffed animals, and the requisite “I love you”s are said. Unsurprisingly, he often inserts a Whitticism into the mix. Here’s the one I got last night:

No words can contain the magnitude of my love…

(at this point he made a moué with big, innocent doe eyes)

…so I’ll just give you an adoring look, and hope that sells it.

I think I did something right.

Too Big For Your Britches

So, I’m folding laundry, and hold up a pair of boy-sized boxer briefs. My son eschews underpants, and the only reason he’s ever worn them is for costuming purposes. These particular undies were from two summers ago, when he did a show, and needed to change in the dressing room. How they got into the laundry, I have no idea. They probably fell off of his shelf into the dirty basket below.

I ask if he thinks he’s outgrown them, and if I should get rid of them. His answer:

I don’t think my loins have grown much in the last year…


Tea house music night

We went out the other night with the godmother, to play games at a local tea house. They had music that evening, and it hurt my soul: “guy with a guitar” at its worst. Our table was twitching the whole night, reacting to high notes that weren’t as high as they should have been.

Towards the end of the evening, guitar-guy actually attempted “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Godmother excused herself to the restroom, leaving me and the kids to sit through unplugged Queen. Whit didn’t recognize the song (no surprise there–it was both in the wrong key *and* awful). I explained to him that it was the song from “Wayne’s World,” and told him the title.

He then came over to me and whispered,

Sounds more like “Rhapsody in Brown” to me.

Scatological Gershwin jokes. My boy’s a treasure.

Seeing, for the first time

The paramour was standing in the bathroom with the door open, and had his shirt off. Whit says,

AAAAAHH! Put some clothes on! Or at least don’t take any more off–I’ve never seen your balls before, and I don’t want to start today.

My son–he speaks his mind, did I mention that?

Finally! A forum for shit Whit says.

I could fill pages with Whit’s musings. I’ll start with a short one:

His mom and I were canoodling in the kitchen. Making small talk, being a bit juicy, I suppose. Whit walks by and says,

“Will you two please stop talking earnestly? It’s making me uncomfortable.”