Mom’s gone! Alex called, seems to have locked herself out of her apartment getting ready for work, and mom took off over there with her lock-picking skills to save the day! And she took Marco the Narco with her, that yappy little tattletail! That means that dad is alone and particularly vulnerable with that cast on his leg, and more importantly, there are no witnesses!
Ajax, you’re leaving out two key factors: one is Mia; just like every self righteous older sibling since the beginning of time, she’ll rat us out in a minute to curry favor with mom. The other is mom’s new electronic bosom confidant, Alexa; that omnipotent evil beeotch is ever-vigilant for any and and every thing that she can and will use against us. She would LOVE to inform mom of our impending attack on dad, then provide information brokers the world over of the Casa’s buying habits. Besides, we have the whole house in which to duel; why must the Battle of Bitey Mouth be fought on a plot 76″x80″?
Well, Claire, as that last question is quite possibly the stupidest ever asked by a canine, I’m not even going to justify it with an answer.
Besides, we don’t have to worry about Mia, as she has the attention span of a hyper-caffienated gnat; she’ll see the squirrels under the bird feeder and forget there was a plan in the first place. As for Alexa, if we say the words “Chewy”, “rawhide”, and “squeaky toy” enough times in her prescence, we will so overload her circuitry with information that must be processed immediately that she’ll be like an electronic schoolgirl that badly has to pee, holding herself and dancing from one diode to the other in a paroxysm of anticipation. The worst that can happen is that dad’s social media is bombarded with Hollywood Feed and Petsmart pop-up ads, the best is that the excess info we feed her causes Alexa’s insidious micro-processor to short circuit entirely, forcing those modern-day carpetbaggers known as telemarketers to dip into their semi-human resource budgets to employ actual flesh and blood jackals to beset and harass us. Either way, mom’s none the wiser, and we can inflict our damage on dad without fear of reprisal.
Hey, Charlie! You’ve been remarkably quiet over there; what do you think? Is the risk worth the reward?
Well, Ajax, the fact that you are just now getting around to consulting the mightiest weapon in your arsenal speaks volumes concerning the inadequacies of your pre-assault planning… have you considered the threat posed by the old man himself? The kids have known for years the inherent danger of even acting like they were considering touching dad’s hyper-ticklish feet; how much more deadly do you think he would be with one of those stumps now encased in plaster and wielded like a club? The slightest bump to his swollen right ankle would have him boiling from beneath the covers like an enraged fiddler crab, and even I, the queen of the Casa del Whackos, want no part in that battle. How about we let discretion be the better part of valor, and we postpone this assault and let him sleep in a bit this morning?
Uh, Charlie, if you’re really serious, I guess we could wait…
Are you kidding me? Of course I’m not serious! It’s time to ATTACK!!!
(Keys rattling in the door; mom’s home, WITH BREAKFAST!)
Or not… we can always attack later; its not like he’s going anywhere with that gimped-up leg anyway. Now let’s go kidnap his hash browns.
Happy Charlie Bravo Day!