For the last month, my eldest has endlessly pestered me about adopting a particular kitten from a friend’s recent litter. I had no issue with this, save for one prerequisite: Get a job, Sean! In fairness, he’s been out there, looking (in that teenage way of hardly looking at all). But until he could afford to take care of it himself, I made it clear the little critter had to stay put. So of course he came home with it, still unemployed. And of course I said yes.
Am I chump? Oh, I’m a chump deluxe, especially for a sweet face. I mean, look at that mug! I want to hug her and squeeze her… but, sadly, I can’t name her George. Her name is Eighty. As in, one better than seventy-nine. As in, best decade ever. As in, happy birthday, you octogenarian fuck. Yeah, it’s weird. At least it’s miles better than our other kitty, whom we named (wait for it) Kitty. Don’t let kids christen things. Kids huff paint; kids are morons.
Where was I?
Ah yes, the cute justifies the means. I’m not discovering anything new here, as the adorable have always had a leg up on the horrible. If polar bears looked like naked mole rats, that ice couldn’t melt fast enough. If pandas possessed Snooki-like properties (beyond the pudge), we’d shoot them as a punishment for humping to save their dwindling species. And even though he went against momma’s wishes, my son still has his skin because he gave me eighty darling reasons not to flay it off. With a butter knife. A wooden butter knife.
- pre-made pizza dough
- pizza sauce
- mushrooms, sautéed
- marinated artichoke hearts
Preheat oven to 450˚. One package of dough makes 2 calzones. Stretch dough into a circle on a floured cutting board. Spread pizza sauce on dough. Place about 1/4 cup ricotta on half of dough, topped with other ingredients. (My kids take theirs with no veggies and I add them all.) Like any pizza, you can add whatever toppings you like. Fold dough over to make a half circle and pinch edges together. Place on pizza stone that has been heating in the oven and bake for 10 minutes. Serve with extra pizza sauce on top.
The moral of the world is this: Be super cute and non-ugly, and people will give you free shit. Having great boobs helps, too, so book that invasive surgery soon, ladies. I’m not judging—it’s not your fault Mother Nature rolled snake eyes in your bra. I’m gonna write a children’s book.
TWTG says, “Hold on, I’m busy getting short.”