Friends, today I’d like to address a serious issue: comma abuse. I’m not saying I haven’t slapped around a comma or two in my day, but commas are our friends and we need to make every effort to treat them with respect.
Unlike this little gem Big G brought home from school back before Christmas:
It came with little cut-out figures Big G had colored.
Oddly enough, that doesn’t make it any less nonsensical.
FYI: It’s exceptionally creepy when your 6-year-old son dances around the house repeatedly chanting, “Mommy, Daddy, I love you!” in a babyish voice.
Unrelated but awesome Big G gem of the week:
Big G: “Mom, is there a state called Vixen?”
Big G: “Why not?”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with a good answer for that one.
*Yeah, this post is about something from before Christmas. Deal with it.
**Because really, you should just be happy I wrote something.
***If you whine about it I might not write again for, like, a month.
****That was not an invitation to whine, you jerks.
*****I’m suddenly very paranoid about my comma usage.
******But not my asterisks.
********I know the title has nothing to do with the actual post, but what was up with that extra “Ho!” inserted at the end of the first sentence on Big G’s handout? Is Santa some sort of pimp-daddy now?
*********He does have a fur coat and, apparently, a sweet funky ride. Ho!
**********Genius idea of the day: instead of “Jesus is my co-pilot” I’m going to make bumper stickers that says “Santa is my pimp.”
***********I haven’t been sleeping well. I can’t decide if this makes me completely looney or just amplifies my awesomeness.