“No, Donnie want a kiss like on Showtime.”
David Cross is absolutely brilliant in anything he does. When he was on Arrested Development, his Mrs. Featherbottom character made me cry tears of joy on more than one occasion.
You have now been the victim of one of my thought trains. It derailed somewhere between me wanting to tell you a story about chicken pot pie and remembering David Cross saying that as Donnie in “Just Shoot Me.”
So here’s the chicken pot pie story.
My parents really enjoy Marie Callender’s frozen chicken pot pies. They left to go out of town for about a week, so my dad asked me to help him go shopping at BJ’s before they left.
We walked around a bit, and by the time we got to the frozen foods the cart almost was full. He stopped in the middle of the frozen dinners aisle, stared longingly at the Marie Callender’s pot pies, and said, “Those pies are the perfect comfort food for a cold winter day.”
Let’s put this in perspective.
My father: 6’5″ and about 300 pounds. He’s from New England, so he carries the accent and the temper, but he’s basically a big galoot. He’s like the teddy bear you had when you were little and you always wished it would come to life.
So when he says something like this, it just brings out the teddy bear-ness of him. He can be fierce sometimes, as one would expect from a bear, but he has this ridiculous side to him by which people are often surprised.
I didn’t know how to respond. I just kind of smiled and nodded. I was a bit distracted when this happened yesterday morning, so my reply probably was not what he expected. Usually I would pick on him for saying something like that.
Those pot pies are delicious. There’s one in the freezer right now that I’m resisting because a) they aren’t very healthy and b) I’m watching the China episode of An Idiot Abroad. Right now, Karl Pilkington is watching a man in a Chinese neighborhood market eating a chicken fetus. So I’m not terribly hungry.
I also am not hungry because right before I sat down to write this, I had to pull a dingleberry the size of a large grape off the butt of the great fluffy yellow Patrick.
I don’t know how long the dingleberry was there, but I’m pretty sure it was laughing at me. I got my revenge. It may have thought it was pretty great, being of such size and smell, but it was no match for a few pieces of tissue and the sucking power of the toilet.
Patrick is just getting to that age where he needs someone to wipe his butt for him every once in awhile. He has this cocky attitude like we owe it to him; I don’t know why. He’s spoiled rotten.
For example, right now he’s sitting next to the couch staring at me because he wants me to move the pillows on the couch. That way he can jump up and get comfortable. However, I know he’s damn well able to move the pillows himself.
Anyone who’s ever met Patrick knows he is pretty much just a person trapped in a fluffy yellow body, so if he wants pillows moved, he can use his unusually dainty paws to shove the pillows over.
Just to throw this out there: today’s Daily Post suggestion asks if you’ve ever lied about your age. I did when I was younger and people would catch me smoking. I also lied a couple times to get into R-rated movies. But no one ever got hurt by that. Have you ever lied about your age in a situation where someone could get hurt?