Back that ass up

For Lent, I gave up continence. And Mommy keeps reminding me that Easter is over so would I PLEASE learn to hit the box again?!?!

I gotta give her credit; she did give us a fresh box on Thursday morning. Which I promptly missed. Three times. Now, y'all know I *~*heart*~* pooping on the floor, but I also peed on it. See, she's mad 'cause I don't back my ass up into the box. Oh, no, I go in headfirst and let my ass hang out for the world to admire. That means I piss everywhere. It brings me joy. You know how senior citizens can be brassy and outspoken, and we are simply required to regard them as our elders (i.e., people we don't bother correcting anymore)? Well, that's me -- I'm 63 in human years, and as the token "old broad" in the house, I will piss wherever I goddamned well want to.

Mommy, however, had other ideas. When I hopped into the bathroom sink this morning for my tap water toddy, she washed my ass and grabbed the scissors and sculpted a work of art on my ass. I bitched and moaned the whole time, even though my ass smells like her antibacterial soap (Moonlit Path, from Bath and Body Works) and NOT like poop chunks.

Perturbed, I took my sopping wet ass and plopped it on her tax forms, 'cause the lazy bitch STILL hasn't gotten her taxes done. Tee hee. I LOVE exacting revenge for Happy Ass Washing Days!!!