I held it in my hand.
It was soft…
…it almost seemed…vulnerable.
Slowly and deliberately, my fingers stroked it’s length.
I bent down and kissed it gently.
It responded by standing straight up…
…and biting the shit out of me.
What were you thinking?
Jesus H. Christ, if I could kiss my own dick you think I’d be sitting here writing this shit instead?
We made a deal a while back that said if the kids were good, we would get them hamsters in December.
On a related note:
Parents do stupid, stupid things.
When the authorities couldn’t completely prove that the church arson was their fault, we had no choice but to get them the fucking rats.
Hamsters, sorry. The fucking ‘hamsters.’
1) No matter how many times you describe it, your 5 year old does not understand “NOCTURNAL”
Cam: “I can’t wait to play with him!”
(that’s what she said)
Me: “Cam, hamsters are nocturnal. Do you know what that means?”
Cam: “They sleep during the day.”
Cam: “MY HAMSTER IS SLEEPING!”
Me: “Cam…it’s noon. They’re nocturnal, remember? They wake up when you’re asleep, okay?“
(…the very next day…)
Cam: “MY HAMSTER IS SLEEPING!”
This has been going on every day for three fucking weeks.
I may start dipping the fucking thing in my coffee in the morning just so I don’t have to hear this shit.
Watch Starbucks take this idea and run with it.
Starbucks Cashier: “Would you like to try our new Non-fat Mocha Triple-Siberian-Dwarf Hamster Latte?”
Customer: “No…I’ll stick with the regular coffee you make that tastes like Rosie O’Donnell’s charred colon after a fire in an enema-testing factory.”
Great. Make that TWO ideas I’ve just given to Starbucks.
Now, as a man, I enjoy pooping (with this ONE notable exception).
I enjoy pooping a lot. Maybe too much.
I sometimes try to poo even when I don’t have to, just because it puts a smile on my face.
Sometimes it puts a grimace on my face, but that’s usually only after I eat something pointy.
It’s like their lower intestine is a goddamn conveyor belt.
I’m picturing that “I Love Lucy” scene with her and Ethel at the chocolate factory…
…except instead of chocolates, it’s hamster shit.
This visual gets really gross when they start eating it.
I call it:
“Two Girls, One Cup – Rodent Edition”
(that’s what the girl hamster said)
I’m talking about the little plastic balls that you put the hamsters in and let them run around the house.
(On a related note, because of lack of use, mine also feel like plastic)
Watching these little things book around all over the house while every once in a while is pretty funny.
It gets REALLY funny when your kid picks the ball up and bowls it across the floor.
I love my kids.
Then the hamsters start shitting in the fucking ball (you know…the hamster in Bolt didn’t do this) and it turns into a disgusting display of a rodent running around the house in a ball filled with his own feces.
Which is exactly what it would look like if I ever went down a hill in one of those Zorb balls.
Just me…in a ball…
…rolling down a hill at breakneck speeds…
…covered in my own shit.
Like you ladies out there haven’t had that fantasy about me.
Each of my kids got their own hamster cage.
With some of their Christmas money, they went to the pet store (you’re never too young to hitch rides) and bought some of those interlocking tubes and shit to connect to them.
For the next three days I stood there…
The combinations I could make and the designs I could create were endless!
…until my wife poked her head in the room.
Wife: “Ah. I see you’re finally putting your Architecture Degree to work.”
* my happy fun balloon goes ‘pop’
She’s awesome sometimes.
Other times, she does this.
I’m SO pooping in her chocolates.