Q.Whenever X—(not her real initial) sees a bug on the ceiling she says “Ooh, there’s a bug on the ceiling.” That means I’m supposed to kill it or talk it into leaving right this minute, mister.

But the bug-fearing little boy inside me says “Holy crap, that’s no bug. That’s a Volkswagen.” Would it be cowardly to try to pass the bug to X— (still not her real initial)?
A. Does Z— cook all the meals in the house?

Q. Yes. To my exacting specifications. And by the way, it’s X that isn’t her real initial, not Z (which is also not her real initial.)
A. Open and shut case. You are the in-house pest-assassin, the burglar scarer-awayer and the uh-oh-bible-thumpers-at-the-front-door-get-your-holy-butts-off-my-porcher.

Q. But I make the bed everyday. Shouldn’t that count?
A. Save it for the made-bed line at the Pearly Gates. Expect delays.

Q. Did I mention that I also provide comic relief around the house? At very reasonable rates.
A. Don’t make me laugh. I become homicidal.

Q. Ha Ha. So, there’s this bear, see, and he walks into a bar…
A. Look, pal, you better testosterone-up. Grab your newspaper and swat the crap out of that bug.

Q. But I don’t get the newspaper anymore.
A. Why not?

Q. They replaced the news with something called content. It sucks mud through rocks. So I canceled.
A. What do you use to line the bottom of your bird cage?

Q. I don’t have a bird anymore.
A. And why the hell not?

Q. It talked too much.
A. Talking birds can be a great comfort.

Q. This one asked too many questions.
A. About what?

Q. Aren’t I supposed to ask the questions?
A. Is that what you told the bird?

Q. Yes.
A. And what did the bird say?

Q. He said ask me anything. I asked what I should do about a huge bug on the ceiling.
A. What did he say?

Q. He told me to swat it with a rolled up Sports Illustrated. When I said I didn’t get Sports Illustrated, he tried to sell me a subscription. I have a strict policy against buying anything from a bird.
A. You know, you can kill a bug pretty handily with a rolled up ESPN the Magazine.

Q. Won’t I get the guts of the bug all over the cover?
A. Read the magazine before you launch your attack.

Q. What if I see a bug while I’m reading a good article?
A. Take off your shoe and whack it.

Q. I tried that, but it left a footprint. When X—(not her real initial, which rhymes with A and J) saw it she accused me of walking on the ceiling. She has a strict policy against that.
A. Hmm. Do you own a gun?

Q. No, but I have a bolo knife.
A. Useless. They’re only good on bolos.

Q. Tell me something I don’t know.
A. Being alive causes cancer.

Q. Everybody knows that. Look, can I ask an unrelated question?
A. Since we’re unrelated, sure.

Q. Why is life so farouking hard?
A. It’s a rule.

Q. Who made the rule?
A. God, of course.

Q. Why would God make such a rule?
A. Life used to be easy. The only rule was the Golden Rule: Do unto others and so forth. But people took advantage. They started saying things like “Hey, one beer never hurt,” and “It’s not about the money,” and “I’m running for president because I have a new propeller beanie,” and “I bet I can eat forty of those,” and “I want to spend more time with my family and my family’s nanny,” and “Congress is such a hoot,” and “By the time the globe completely warms up, I’ll be long dead, and, like Congress, could give a hoot.” Do you feel me?

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.