Revenge is a dish best served....

I got him! I really got him this time and he definitely deserved it. Yesterday we went to go see the lady in the white coat. She poked, she prodded, flat sticks, bright lights, cold steel, the ears, the eyes, the head, the neck, the back, and a few other places that I will only speak about during my deposition. Without so much as a peck on the cheek after it is all over, she jabs a freaking needle into my leg and then sticks a patch over the top of it.

Today "The Dude" gets the bright idea to rip the damn patch off, along with half of my leg hair (yes, I have leg hair already). I just about hit the roof. I'm not just going to sit back and take this kind of abuse, so I took my time and came up with a plan. I fed a little bit extra today and held back on old number one as much as I could. I also slept a bunch to take my mind off of the pressure building in my nether regions. When "The Dude" came to wake me from my late afternoon nap I knew that the time was right. I waited for him to sit down onto the couch and then I let forth a torrent of liquid that would have made Noah tremble. My bathroom bag, check. My onesie, check. "The Dude's" T-shirt, check. His arms, check. His shorts, check. His underwear, check. The carpet, check. The towel on the clothes changer table, check. You should have seen his face, as he lept up off of the couch and sprinted into my room with me in his arms leaving a trail of old number one in our wake. He had to change my bag and my clothes as well as the pad on the changer table and everything that he was wearing. To top it off I got to watch him dab old number one out of the carpet as Mom rocked me to a blissful slumber. I could have cried it was so beautiful (if I wasn't a man, that is).

It turns out that revenge is a dish best served warm...and wet.