I've been a pretty good boy this year. I rarely beat my wife, use only the mildest of hallucinogens, pay most of my taxes, haven't gotten arrested again, stopped eating veal, stopped clubbing seals and threw out all my John Tesh records. There is only one thing I want this year.
The Fletch-Monster's had some mutant bug for the past week, causing him to leak out of both ends. He's in good spirits, playing with his brother and running around the house squealing, in between bouts of vomit and diarrhea. This morning, I have changed the world's most disgusting diaper. Even the Fletch-Monster, in his infinite 20 months worth of wisdom was driven to say, "Yucky. Daddy, yucky." as I negotiated the delicate task of removing his soiled pyjamas and shirt.
"I know, little buddy," I reassured him, as I took off his clothes (all the while thinking "you're GODDAMNED right this is gross! This is as gross as all hell)."
He had the presence of mind to clench his arms firmly against his sides, ensuring I could not pull his clothes over his head. After a quick look around for a pair of scissors, the best course of action was to pull the clothes down, and have him escape through the head.
So if you could somehow manage to make sure the next diaper has a solid bowel movement, I'll get your back. Please. May it have the consistency of a Denver nugget, a yule log, Snickers Bar, Hershey's Kiss, fruit cake... even chocolate toothpaste.