Friday, April 13, 2007

For the love of God, Montresor!

In all this telegraphed-from-three-years-ago musical-houses shuffle, I love that nobody thinks of ol' what's-her-name, the youngest one -- you know -- the high school kid, the oops baby, the not-Liz ... ahh, April, that's right! Knew I'd remember. Guess she's gonna be sleeping in the garage, next to boxes of choo-choos in various states of disrepair from vigorous use that are awaiting John's tender ministrations.

And I got a question: Where's LIZ'S practically free house? Are free houses reserved solely for the righteous procreators of the family? Must the swingin single girl make do with a room in some elderly lecher's attic near the school, sharing washer and dryer space with butt-sprung boxers, nylon nightgowns and sans-a-belt slacks? I guess so, if the eventual aim is to push the aforementioned swingin single girl into the arms (and creepy basement "safe room") of her dumpy pornstachioed stalkerazzi ex.



Blogger Sarah said...

The title of this post has me gasping for air. WELL DONE!

9:50 AM  
Blogger soapy t said...

check it. you will likey.

4:33 AM  

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