Wednesday, October 22, 2008


I'm a good kid. How do I know? Well, I hear my parents tell me that I'm a good kid. So that's worth something, right? Although who says they have a bad kid? Who would do that?

But I have heard horror stories of other kids that are colicky and won't give their parents a moment of peace. I'm not like that. I don't wish that torture on anyone. I'm pretty chill. I just hang out, man, and take it all in. That's how i do.

Like I said, I'm a good kid.

So I don't deserve it when my parents smoosh my poop all over my body.

Let me explain: I had to poop. Like, really badly poop. So I pooped. A big one. A helluva load. And I let Daddy know that I pooped. And since Daddy learned his lesson, he quickly put a clean diaper underneath my dirty one. Nice. But he didn't put the Pee Pee TeePee over my junk, so I began to pee all over the place. I'm talking on the wall, on my dressing table and on my onesie. If it could take liquid, I helped the cause.

So, as Daddy's scrambling to find the Pee Pee Tee Pee (which I was laying on), Mommy came in and did the sensible thing: she put a diaper on the leak.

And yes, unfortunately, it was the dirty diaper. So now I've got pee on my chest and poop on my torso.

Why? Like I said, I'm a good kid.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my parents.

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