Holy shit am I tired. I needed to give you a disclaimer. There it is. So evidently Russia is fucking
excited for me to rip the shit out of them. How do I know this? Because my shit has been lit up by the Russia
twice this week. That's right, it's so exciting that it drew me out of my fortress of shit and diapers, just so that I could write more. What was I going to rip on Russia for? Raccoon sex. Unfortunately, I lost the link that had the article. From what I could tell though, it sounded like Russians were having sex with and/or around a bunch of raccoons, and the raccoons were not prepared. There was talk about PTSD, rabies, babies, and other sexually transmitted things.
Now of course, my wife showed me the article and I immediately start to laugh. After all, Russia is known for vodka, Communism, and the color grey. that and 80-year-old grandmothers competing in caber-toss. Of course the Russians would think, "What is good animal for new sex? I know, I use trash panda. It even wear grey coat. It will be like furry midget." Now before you bitch and moan, yes I know that midget is not politically correct. You know what else is not politically correct? Fucking a goddamn raccoon. The article even showed a raccoon in a tree, laying there like it needed a cigarette.
Speaking of cigarettes, I still haven't smoked my victory cigar to celebrate my kid existing. I need to smoke two because he finally learned how to nurse. I may smoke a third, simply to insure that I have developed a chemical dependency. I joke. I have enough caffeine in my system to replicate cocaine. I don't need shit else in my system.
I am becoming an advocate for aggressive hugging. I started recently, but the idea has been around for at least 15-ish years. As an ornery child (which I always pronounce as awnry), my folks would sometimes hug me. They always said it was that, or choke me. I didn't know what that meant until I was changing my son, and he literally shat as I was securing the new diaper. And not a simple little poo. His goddamn butt exploded. It looked like a mustard bottle died in his diaper. It was violent. He literally started fighting with the poo-poo. My son started kicking and punching like, "Fuck you bowels, I command you to move!" I ducked for cover and prayed.
I got him changed (again), and my son started screaming bloody murder. At that moment I held him tight. I figured it was safer than covering his mouth and nose. I took this same approach in Krav Maga. As it turned out, we learned bear hugs and chokes. When it came time to fight, I naturally rolled my shirt into a mid-drift and started aggressively hugging them. I would calmly squat down, point, and yell "I'MMA HUG YOU!!!!! 'MERE!!!" Evidently people don't like that. The irony is that, in fighting the hug, I would then start to choke them out. One person I fought had a knack for always putting themselves into a headlock. I wouldn't even try.
On a different note, my son has gotten into a habit of wanting to sleep on either my wife or myself. Now I understand part of this. In theory, our heart rates help him sleep, and our body temperatures help him to regulate his own temp. At the same time, it is incredibly awkward when we do. With my wife, he is likely to maneuver himself into a nursing position. With me, he shimmies up my body until he is laying across my through. It is like he wants to choke me out, but can't, so he just lays there instead.
Moral of the Story: My son is an awkward sleeper, I'm an aggressive hugger, and Russians like to molest trash pandas.
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