there are probably like a gazillion other things that i could be writing a post about but instead i will write it about this gentleman douche instead.
if you're one of my snapchat friends then you've had the esteemed pleasure of seeing many a snap of his ballz. and you probably curse me for it but that shit is hilarious and you know it. i have to see it in person and frankly those giant things are way too close to me for my comfort at all times. case in point - the other morning when i woke up and he was crammed on the couch with me, on his back, legs in the air, and balls staring straight at me is a for sure thing no one needs at 5AM.
but there is a point to all of this ball talk. i assure you.
once upon a time someone emailed me a link to a litter of puppies and i spastically forwarded it to shitler and demanded another puppy as a mother's day gift. and i wish i could blame being drunk on the insane reasoning and demand but alas - that is not the case. shitler acquiesced and the rest, they say, is history. because that's how we got McElhenney McCrae Lincoln and Murphy Lee has never truly gotten over it. as in - i think he still longs for the days of the one dog household yore.
either he shit on the couch or destroyed the cover. i can't be sure.
but now for the actual point.
because when you get a puppy from a breeder there's all sorts of hoops to jump through and the wait period before you can actually pick the puppy up. we brought mac home on mother's day, which in retrospect, is like the world's worst mother's day gift ever. but mother's day is not his birthday.
so that's the point of all this convoluted bullshit. mac-dizzle is four years old today.
i deserve a dog mom medal for the last four years. that's for damn sure.
so mac - i didn't buy you anything. you 100% don't deserve it (considering you've probably shit somewhere in the house as i write this). so you get a blog post and one of your father's beers tonight.
and the following toast:
here's to many more years of you rolling in your own shit, eating my soiled tampons, feasting on trash can buffets, using me as your glorified dog bed, acting like you're dumb as rocks to avoid obeying commands, and being generally the weirdest dog i have ever met in my entire life.
i'm so lucky to call you mine.
p.s. when shitler and i get divorced you're going with your father.