Monday, 29 September 2014

I TAUGHT HER EVERYTHING I KNOW. AND SHE LISTENED!

MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER WITH HER ADORBS BABY, PIGGLY WIGGLY 
Moments after this was taken, she probably took a picture of some random dude's butt crack.

Sometimes when I'm feeling maudlin on account of the drink, I start to wonder who will take over the reins of Whorrified when I keel over from cirrhosis of the nipples or whatever. And then, like a bolt from the blue, my employer, Jesus — no seriously, my employer is Jesus; do you morons even read this goddam blog? sends me a sign that everything is going to be okay because holy shit, my daughter couldn't be more of a MiniMe if I had suckled her on overproof and back issues of Playgirl magazine. 

MY DAUGHTER TEXTED ME THIS PIC OF SOME POOR RANDOM BASTARD  
captioned: "Topless guy taking a well-deserved 9 a.m. break. Or is he shitting his pants?" 
The nature-versus-nurture debate pretty much ends here, folks.

Because although she is dealing with a high-needs baby and almost zero hours of sleep, she somehow finds time to go for walkabouts at 9 a.m. and take pictures of innocent citizens who ought to be goddam ashamed of themselves (above). And then send them to me via text because she is awesome. I mean seriously. We're talking invasion of privacy, subterfuge, negligence, mockery, disrespect, cruel humour ... it's ... omigod, I'm crying. I'm actually crying tears of unbridled maternal pride and joy and relief. Whorrified will never die! Whorrified will live on! And perhaps even scale new heights of snarkasm, thanks to the fruit of my sordid loins. The only thing that could make this spiritual moment more fulfilling would be if God personally assured me that Piggly Wiggly will pick up where her mother leaves off. Which, considering the almost textbook-whorrific way she's being raised, doesn't really seem too unlikely.

piggly wiggly, whorrified, marie sutherland,
THE HEIR TO THE SNARKASM THRONE, A.K.A. PIGGLY WIGGLY,  
being groomed for the job in the only way we know how: Hooker wigs.