When Dances with Shrapnel was in his teens, I foolishly asked him what he wanted for his birthday.
His only wish? A dirty T-Shirt.
I procured a T-shirt that totally cracked me up. It said: “Fuck you very much.”
He loved it. He wore it everywhere. One time, when he was waiting for his girlfriend to get off work, the manager escorted him off the premises because of his “unsuitable attire”.
He absolutely told everyone who asked where he got it: “My Mom gave it to me for my birthday!”
I learned something from this.
Fuck you very much.
My new motto.
I have a guest post up at Sarcastic Mom’s blog today. You might want the benefit of instruction I provide on the topic of “How to Blog When You’re a Lazy Douchebag Who Seldom Leaves the House.”
