Sweet Dreams, Sleep Tight...Don't Let My Foul Mouth Bite

As Will and I were getting ready for bed last night, this was the conversation that preceded our sleep. It's just so touching, that I thought that I should share it.

Me: "Are you okay, Mister Blister?"

Will: "Whatever, Mr. Douche-bag."

Me: "Why did you call me a douche-bag?"

Will: "Because you called me one."

Me: "No I didn't. I called you "Mister Blister"..."

Will: "What? Like a herpes blister???"

Me: "No, just...I don't know, it rhymed with "Mister"."

Will: "You mean like, twister?"

Me: "Yes, like twister."

***At this point, Gomez is sprawled out on my pillow licking his crotch as though it's a buffet and it's making us both nauseous.***

Will: (irritated) "WHAT is Gomez doing???"

Me: "He's licking his cock."

Will: (disgusted with me) "BUBBA! He's a little boy dog, he doesn't have a "cock"!"

Me: (I merely repeat myself) "He's licking his cock."

Will: (even more disgusted) "BUBBA!! HE'S A LITTLE BOY DOG! HE DOESN'T HAVE A "COCK", HE HAS A "PEE-PEE"!!"

Me: "Okay, he's sucking his own "pee-pee"."

Will: (completely exasperated now) "GAAHH!!! Good night."

Me: "Good night, Bubba."