



The original title of this post was: "The Cutting Room Floor: Things My Wife Told Me Not to Put on the Internet - Possible Divorce Edition." That was too long. So I cut it down, much like I do many of my posts.



Sometimes, at my wife's urging, I cut sentences or paragraphs out of a post. Sometimes I scrap entire posts, or relegate them to the purgatory that is "draft" status. My wife, who is my sun, my moon, and my stars, is also my editor. She is the voice of reason, and she has a certain amount of editorial control over what I do and do not put on the internet. So today, in complete defiance of our arrangement, and in a test of the tolerant and forgiving qualities of her love, I've compiled some of the things she's "suggested" may be a "little too much" into a single post.



Remember, these are completely out of context and taken from multiple posts that may never have been seen. Some of them didn't make them in because I took a little too much poetic license. Some of them caused my wife to punch me in the arm and say "JOHN!!! NO!"

Snippets from the cutting room floor:







"I want to be the Mr. Miyagi of spanking. I don't want to spank my kids, and I want them to know that I don't believe in spanking. But I would like them to know, somewhere deep in their subconscious, not to mess with me because I am a secret spanking master, schooled from birth in the art of the spank - which I'm not, but I'd like them to think it."

"I was asked the other day if I, as a man, feel awkward seeing my daughter naked or changing her diaper. Honestly, it doesn't bother me at all. At some point after becoming a father, vaginae stopped being magical love caves and became just another place I need to clean poop out of."

"I think it is important to know that there is a HUGE difference between throwing your kid out of a window and wanting to throw your kid out a window. A skilled parent can communicate the second one with only their eyes."

"I don't hate my kid today. I just hate having a kid today."

"My wife and I are having a silent war over who's going to clean the bathroom next. Neither one of us has brought it up, but we both know it is going on. Our bathroom is slowly approaching hoarder status. And I'm not talking one of the cute hoarder episodes where the guy has too many bunnies. Oh no, we're talking diapers and tissue and possibly a cat in there somewhere. I will not lose this battle. I don't mind peeing in the back yard."

"My wife farts in her sleep."

"It wasn't like I lost her. I could still hear her. I just didn't know exactly where she was – possibly in the wall."

"Let's talk about vasectomies."

"If you pee in the shower and look down and realize that you've just peed all over your kid's Thomas the Tank Engine bath toy, do you HAVE to throw it away? Or can you just wash it? I mean, I don't throw away everything she pisses on. She can deal with my piss for once dammit!"

"Does anyone else feel incredibly uncomfortable with term 'child rearing'?"

"When duchess was born I wouldn't hold her if I had had a sip of beer in the last half hour. With Captain I've found that when positioned correctly he makes an adorable coaster."

"I broke one of Duchess's noisiest and most annoying toys on purpose the other day. I took it out back and sacrificed it to the sanity gods. I placed it on the concrete, looked at Dora the Explorer's smug half smile, and kicked her skull in. SING ABOUT THAT DORA!!! YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO TELL ME HOW TO SAY HELLO IN SPANISH WHEN YOU HAVE NO FACE!! AAAGGGGGGRGHHH!! Then there was some spitting and possibly tears. I don't know. I kind of blacked out. "

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.









A few disclaimers.





No, I didn't actually consider throwing my kid out a window. I just thought it sounded funny. Then I decided that it wasn't funny. Then I decided it was. Then I decided that if I couldn't decide, it was best left unpublished. Then I published it.

My wife does not fart in her sleep. This is not Stevie writing this. I am in no way being forced to write this. Really.

The Dora thing didn't really happen. It was more of a Tarantino-esque rage fantasy. Dora is safe and sound, in the back of my closet. Duchess can have her back when she is 30.

I had no idea that vaginae was the plural form of vagina. Oh well...















