Too full of ribs. Can’t speak. Food has moved past belly, broken into some form of meat mash, and filled all the nooks and crannies of my body. Honestly. If I cut my finger, pork would ooze out.

Mmmm. Appetizing.

My Father has hogged Command Central Monkey Pants all day — before and after supper time — hence the late hour and and my propensity to burp atomized meat particulates onto the monitor. My bad.

Please allow me to mollify your desperate yearnings for my concise and heartrending reflections on life in contemporary society (quick taste: “fluffy kittens = good; blood-drenched gila monsters = depends on situation”) with a brief glimpse into the world of competitive thumb tasting:

I think he’s winning.

As much as the assemblage present in the hospital room strove to deny it…

The wee Nugget has Sweeney toes.

I dare say they may rival mine.

That word you are looking for?

“Prehensile”.

My Lovely Wife will be so horrified.

(As will any woman he ever dates.)

Well, I’m an uncle. Again.

At 10:20 last night, the world’s supply of natural resources — e.g., whipped cream, pencil sharpeners, the racing cars in Monopoly sets — was further impinged upon by the arrival of Clarke John Sweeney Adams.

10 fingers, 10 toes.

No flippers.

(I guess we can’t have everything.)

As I was picking the wee Nugget up for the first time, mysisterwhoeatspoofortwo said, “Say hello to your Uncle Monkey Pants.”

I can live with that.

Hmph.

What’s the point of having your freaking water break if you don’t actually go into stinking labour?

WHAT’S THE POINT??

[Simmer.]

Why… NO! There is STILL no news on the whole frickin’ mysisterwhoeatspoospawningsometimeinthenearfuture front.

And YES! You are CORRECT! There IS the distinct possibility that the Nugget-To-Be is actively striving to STEAL MY FRIGGING BIRTHDAY!

AAAAAAAUGH!

The 13th is mine.

Back off, squirt.

I had a post ready to go, full of wit and verve.

Then the phone ran.

My sisterwhoeatspoo called to give me a quick heads up that her water just broke and she’s moseying on over to the hospital.

So please excuse my diminished capacity to make wurds fit sum gud lik smurt talkinfnagus