Sit Down Comedy … March 13th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sometimes, snarky, stupie, smart-ass boy shows up just about the time I’ve convinced myself that I smothered the little bastard during his last attack. Yet he is a persistent little prick–stomping and bitching his way into the room, verbally pooping on the carpet set before me, simply because it isn’t red enough.

It happened this morn.

We had decided to get up early since family was passing through and could only stop in for a little while for a visit. So as we retired for the night, we set the alarm clock to awaken us.

I had not set an alarm clock for nearly three years.

I do not like them.

I’m not alone in this—just look at the name:

Alarm:  As in, to frighten and force attention in an unwanted direction.

Clock: “Tick-tock. Get your ass moving. The day has begun, whether you wish to believe it or not.”

This morning when it rang its off-tune proclamation, I cursed it—not with profanity, but clever repartee.

“Your mother was jilted by Big Ben.”

“You have very small hands.”

“You always run a little behind the times.”

“I don’t like your face.”

It didn’t make any difference.

The alarm continued and the clock pressed on, warning me that in no time at all, I would be the sluggard who failed to heed the call.

You see, I don’t like snarky, stupie, smart-ass boy—but you also must note that I am already defending him. He is that part of me that still believes Hershey bars are as healthy as vegetables; all girls should say yes when you ask them on a date, and swimming trunks, when placed on your body, should turn you into a muscle-man.

Because snarky, stupie, smart-ass boy believes life is not fair, he spends all of his time lamenting injustice instead of pursuing betterment.

I did not want to get up.

Let me rephrase that. If I had I been battling insomnia, I might have wanted to get up as long as it was my idea.

My snarky, stupie, smart-ass boy doesn’t want anything to be your idea, life’s idea, nature’s suggestion or even God’s will.

He honors one opinion, and that is the one seeping out of his present mood.

I am not alone. Most of the people who want to be President of the United States have their own little snarky, stupie, smart-ass boys and girls, standing ready in the wings to be brats at a moment’s notice.

I don’t know whether it is possible to eliminate this sinister child, since the twenty-first birthday party failed to do the trick.

But at the very least, this dick-head, who is not suitable for contact with other human life, needs to be identified quickly and hustled out the door before he can insult one of the innocent souls who still hangs around, insisting on their loving attention.