Check this out....
So the lazy boy wasked up too late to take the dog to the field this morning. He enlists my help with the feeble plea of "I woke up too late, can you take Lucky to the field.. while I load up my dirtbike?" soooo here I am bowled over with his warped logic yet surprised to find myself suddenly with leash in hand, trotting off the field with a blessedly unaware dog, who' main focus of happiness at the moment - is a nice poo. So here's me.... hanging out in the field in mah jammies, and flip flops when I hear what I THOUGHT was something hopping around in the grass.... not a loud sound mind you, just like a bug messing around on dry grass.... when I suddenly realize that it isn't in the grass.... the sounds actually coming from a place a little closer to home. My hand suddenly flies... not wanders, not meanders.... FLIES to my hair and starts frantically running through the length of it. When suddenly- ZAP! A sharp shooting pain appears on the bottom right of skull. Now I'm in a whirl wind of activite, dancing around, shaking, muttering, NO NO NO, running both hands through my haiid, and every now and then - a feeble "Lucky Lets' Go" would escape from me. Finally with the throbbing increasing by the nanosecond, I'm able to magically get the dog on the leash and start walking back to the house. I run into the boy in the front yard...... susupicioulsy sans dirtbike. Bastard. I twitch my way straight towards him, half walking half dragging the dog behind me... he takes one look at me and comes to a screaching halt. I must have looked liked a zombie that formerly represented Savana..... hair standing straight up (which HAVE you SEEN my hair? it's pretty long... so defying gravity is no small feat for it) a look of panic in my eye, an 80lb pit bull being hauled along while I was literally shaking myself forward.... tears welling up in my eyes now. I manage to tell him "shooting pain, head ... rustinling in grass.. but not grasss... my head" and then I start running my hands through my hair again, and he finally gets it and takes a look at me noggin. He's walking his way through my hair like a monkey would to it's buddy.... minus the whole "eating it's findings" thing... eventually the boy (who's been activiely giving me hair care tips throughout this whole hands-through-my-hair-process, double bastard) stumbles across the culprit. A yellowjacket. Dead. Fucker. Then it was over. We've discovered the stining freeloader, my heads tender and a little trobbing... kinda like a midget took a tiny taser to it.... and a slightly sour vision of this fine Friday morning. hahaha I mean, seriously, who wakes up and goes.."today's a mighty fine day to get stung by a yellowjacket. In my head. " hahahhaha jeezus. Welll.. I 'm off... I'm not going to proof read this so you'll just have to tread lightly through my hooked-on-phonics- blog entry here. Buh bye!
So the lazy boy wasked up too late to take the dog to the field this morning. He enlists my help with the feeble plea of "I woke up too late, can you take Lucky to the field.. while I load up my dirtbike?" soooo here I am bowled over with his warped logic yet surprised to find myself suddenly with leash in hand, trotting off the field with a blessedly unaware dog, who' main focus of happiness at the moment - is a nice poo. So here's me.... hanging out in the field in mah jammies, and flip flops when I hear what I THOUGHT was something hopping around in the grass.... not a loud sound mind you, just like a bug messing around on dry grass.... when I suddenly realize that it isn't in the grass.... the sounds actually coming from a place a little closer to home. My hand suddenly flies... not wanders, not meanders.... FLIES to my hair and starts frantically running through the length of it. When suddenly- ZAP! A sharp shooting pain appears on the bottom right of skull. Now I'm in a whirl wind of activite, dancing around, shaking, muttering, NO NO NO, running both hands through my haiid, and every now and then - a feeble "Lucky Lets' Go" would escape from me. Finally with the throbbing increasing by the nanosecond, I'm able to magically get the dog on the leash and start walking back to the house. I run into the boy in the front yard...... susupicioulsy sans dirtbike. Bastard. I twitch my way straight towards him, half walking half dragging the dog behind me... he takes one look at me and comes to a screaching halt. I must have looked liked a zombie that formerly represented Savana..... hair standing straight up (which HAVE you SEEN my hair? it's pretty long... so defying gravity is no small feat for it) a look of panic in my eye, an 80lb pit bull being hauled along while I was literally shaking myself forward.... tears welling up in my eyes now. I manage to tell him "shooting pain, head ... rustinling in grass.. but not grasss... my head" and then I start running my hands through my hair again, and he finally gets it and takes a look at me noggin. He's walking his way through my hair like a monkey would to it's buddy.... minus the whole "eating it's findings" thing... eventually the boy (who's been activiely giving me hair care tips throughout this whole hands-through-my-hair-process, double bastard) stumbles across the culprit. A yellowjacket. Dead. Fucker. Then it was over. We've discovered the stining freeloader, my heads tender and a little trobbing... kinda like a midget took a tiny taser to it.... and a slightly sour vision of this fine Friday morning. hahaha I mean, seriously, who wakes up and goes.."today's a mighty fine day to get stung by a yellowjacket. In my head. " hahahhaha jeezus. Welll.. I 'm off... I'm not going to proof read this so you'll just have to tread lightly through my hooked-on-phonics- blog entry here. Buh bye!
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