Will this situation ever end? The bickering, the back biting, the smearing, the claustrophobia, all of it is becoming so pervasive that I don’t think that I can take it for even one more second?
Oh, you thought I was talking about the Corocalypse; nah, that’s small potatos compared to what’s currently transpiring at the Casa del Whackos. It seems that Charlie and Titus have somehow discovered some high-octane stimulants of which I was unaware, and have officially bypased Armageddon, proceeding directly to the Battle of Dog and Madog. The initial skirmish evolved into a full scale war over an hour ago, and shows no sign of abatement.
Have you ever seen the results of a major battle, and the wreckage it leaves behind? The muddy earth scarred with trenches and bomb craters filled with the maimed and dying? Well, that’s me right now, my tender vegatation having been mercilessly trampled under horny feet during the Battle of Bitey Mouth. Despite my piteous cries for assistance, mom has refused to involve herself in any peace negotiations, not realizing that such a pacifist approach always returns to bite one in the butt.
Neither can I rely on the other inmates. Claire is so pacifist in her nature that she may as well be a Quaker, and Marco is wadded up behind my head to escape the carnage. Even Ajax the Instigator is sitting this one out, safely ensconced in the Demilitarized Zone.
And then suddenly, all is quiet along the eastern front. A toast is raised to the new peace accord, and the resulting slurping leaves the bathroom floor awash with the results.
And the battlefield? Time to bring in the corps of engineers and repair the damage done, at least until bedtime, when new hostilities are forecasted to resume.
It’s always a party at the Casa del Whackos!