This pretty much sums up my day today.

This is how the nephews and I like to kick it on Christmas Eve.

P.S. I forgot to include this in my last post:

Meet our new kitty!

Ain't he a charmer?

Satan forced me to eat at McDonalds. And I kinda liked it.

I hadn't set foot in a Mickey D's for several years until last week. I was working away, plotting new and exciting ways to plunder the Spanish Main, when suddenly I was seized by a uncontrollable urge to walk through those golden arches and get me one of those filet-o-fish sammiches. I don't think I've eaten one of those since sometime in the late 80's. For reals, yo. At any rate, I did what I always do when confronted by temptation - yield to it immediately. I have to say, the filet-o-fish sammich ain't all that bad. I'm not going to go so far as to say that it was good - I mean, it's no Shamrock Shake. But not too bad.

Yesterday I was struck by the same yearning. Yep, that means I've been to Chez Ronald twice in a week now after years and years on the wagon. "What the hell is going on here?" I asked myself. Well, it's now becoming clear that Satan, in his never-ending quest to use me as an unwitting tool in his Diabolical Promotion of the Homosexual Agenda, has forced me to spend my hard-earned doubloons at Mickey Ds in order to make sure that a small group of nutburgers with deeply-rooted psychological issues are perpetually outraged. Observe:




Now, I'm not precisely sure what McDonalds has done to piss these folks off, but I'm gonna guess that their complaint is of the "your failure to hate the people that I hate constitutes a grave and unforgivable offense worthy of protest and boycott" variety. That, or they put larger stalls in the Mens' room to accommodate Senator Larry Craig's wide stance.

At any rate, if McDonald's has figured out a way to get these guys all in a lather, they must be doing something right. Anyone care to join me for a filet-o-fish and a shamrock shake?

Child psychologists, you will never lack work.

Ever wonder where those pathetic food court goths come from? I sure do. And I've got a hunch it may have something to do with traumatic early childhood experiences like these:


Attention Parents: clowns and ventriliquists' dummies are always plotting to murder your children in their sleep. The kids all know this, so why can't you figure it out?

Okay, that's got to be the creepiest cat/rabbit/demonspawn I've ever seen. I'm gonna have nightmares just from looking at this picture. I hope the kid at least had the sense to leave a big ol' Cleveland steamer in its lap.