You Might Have Herpes, I'm sorry to Say.

Hey, how's it going? I really appreciate you driving all the way up to pick me up from my sister's house. It was a really long drive, huh? I mean, especially after you worked all day. Was it too windy? No? Well, that's good.

So, um, I was meaning to tell you that while I stayed at my sister's house something happened. I didn't really mean for it to happen, but it just, you know, kind of, happened. You know how my sister's kids are like, crazy, right? And the little one likes to eat on the couch a lot? And the other ones wrestle and put their dirty shoes on the couch and stuff? Well, like when I was there, they like, you know drank a bunch of soda and ate a whole mess of pudding and cookies and stuff and then like, well... they gang-raped the couch.

It all happened so fast. There were cushions everywhere and everything got stained and I was so tired and I had a couple of glasses of wine and things were so crazy and you weren't there, you know? I like, I didn't know what to do and I just... I sat on the couch. I know! I know I shouldn't have, but everyone else was sitting down in the chairs and on the cushions on the floor and on the arms of the messed up couch and I was tired and I had some wine, like I said. I was confused, and sad. Those kids are crazy! It wasn't my fault!

I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. It's all a blur in my mind and I know I should have told you sooner, but I was ashamed. How do you tell someone that your sister's kids are couch-rapists?

So like, I think maybe you and your couch should maybe go get tested?

Welcome Home, Tumors

I brought my dad's brain tumors home! They were totally done hanging out in Houston. The humidity was making their tumor hair frizzy and they were NOT impressed with the Mexican food in Houston at all. After a serious patting down by a TSA official and some wings in the airport, my dad, my mom, my brother, the tumors and I arrived in Albuquerque to a warm reception by my many rowdy nieces and nephews.

My dad ate a shit-load of peanuts while we gathered the shit-load of luggage from the baggage claim. The tumors are at home resting now, until my parents take them back to Houston in March for Spring Break. Wooooo! Tuuuumooorrrr! Sprriiing Breaakk!!!

Remember, All Inappropriate Comments Will Be Taken Seriously.

While in an airport in a foreign land, it is important to abide by all safety rules, including those specific to not making "inappropriate comments."

I arrived in the United Republic of Texas yesterday to visit my dad's brain tumors. My friend and I drove all night to get there, singing show tunes and reliving the latest season of Glee. We had to pick my sister up at the Bush Intersexualbiracialsupercontinental Airport. After a harrowing jet pack flight and tandem canoe paddling adventure to get to the proper terminal, we had to ride a train to return to the skyscraper where our rented vehicle was parked.

My sister invited a stranger from the platform to ride in our car of the "sex wagon." That man should have paid closer attention to the constant inter-terminal announcements: "All inappropriate comments will be taken seriously."

Hide Your Kids, Hide Your Wives...

Obviously, we have a bad influence in our public school system! I'm sitting in parent-teacher conferences and I keep wanting to tell all my students' parents to go to the school board and complain because our curriculum is terrible and our district is failing all of our standardized tests! "34% of our students pass the state math exam with a C- average, why are you smiling?!?"

Then I just met a mom and dad who, all I could do was stare at the mom's gigantic bosoms and false eyelashes.

I'd blame my inappropriate behavior on my lack of concentration due to my dad's gigantic brain tumors, but I do this every semester during parent-teacher conferences.