It started out as a Cub blog with cuss words. I'm still cussin'; it's the Cub part I'm a little squishy on these days.

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Bruce, we gave you tha keys, and THIS is what you brought home?

¿Dónde está mi dinero, las rameras?

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Monday, January 2

The Sloth's New Year's Resolutions

...of which there are but two.

The first, as always, concerns weight. Namely, too much of it. Oprah herself just looks at me and goes "Hmm hmm hmm, Damn." The concrete floor of my basement creaks when I walk on it. My skin is so stretched out that parts of my insides are starting to peek out. I wear out good, decent leather shoes in two weeks or less, because my fat ass is pressing down on them so hard.

The second one is far harder to explain, you'd almost have to walk a mile in my shoes to understand.

There's a basic misunderstanding between my wife and myself. I, on one hand, think that basically she takes me for granted, that she doesn't take our relationship serious enough. She, on the other hand, thinks I sit around and think of things to worry about, particularly when it comes to our relationship. I understand that this is basically a 180 from what typically happens in marriages. I guess it all stems from the fact that I have a vagina where my cock should be. She's probably right, in fact, I'm 99.94% sure that she is. I need to be more like her, then I'd be happier.

So my resolution this year, and maybe I can kill two birds with one stone, when they go to staple my fat gutt shutt, maybe doctor can sew some balls on me. Maybe then I can learn to relax, and just accept her for what she is, and isn't, and quit worrying so much about the fact that she just might decide one day that life with me isn't worth living and split. Not that it's happened before to me or anything like that.

I fucking hate New Years.