MattOnFire

~~BOOOOOOOOOOOOM~~

Cat [jolted from a deep sleep on my pile of clean clothes]: What in the eff was that?

Me [making a sandwich (as usual)]: I…  I don’t know. Did a transformer blow?

Dog [feverishly tap dancing with his dog-toenails across the hardwood floor and trying to hide under the couch]: HIDE! OH MY GOD! EVERYBODY HIDE!

Me: Calm down, sissypants.

Cat: Aw, man! I was dreaming about looking out the window.

Dog: [whimper whimper whimper] GET UNDER THE COUCH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! [whimper whimper]

Me: I think a transfor…

~~KABOOOOOM~~

Cat: Oh hell no. What is going on, here?

Dog: [whispering] Dear baby dog Jesus, please make it stop. Make it stop.

Me: Maybe someone dropped something really heavy off a roof or something. Or a truck is backfiring.

Cat: Yeah right. It ain’t no damn truck. It’s a plane breaking the sound barrier.

Me: That makes sense, actually. It very well could be.

Dog: I don’t care what it is, just MAKE IT STOP.

~~smaller BOOOOM~~

Cat: Did you hear that one?

Dog: I heard it! I’m a dog. I can hear lots of stuff.

Me: Weird.

-LATER-

~~skippiddyBOOMBOOM~~

Me [watching Dr. Phil. I mean doing work]: Here we go again.

Dog: HIDE! EVERYBODY UNDER THE COUCH!

~~POPPPP~~BANG~~

Cat [sprinting downstairs like he's running from a Chinese chef, then pretending to walk calmly when he sees me looking at him]: Oh, hey. What’s going on, fellas?

Dog: LOUD NOISES! UNDER THE COUCH!

Me: I don’t think that’s a plane.

Cat: Me, neither. Welp, if you need me, I’ll be upstairs tearing up the shower curtain.

-LATER-

News: ... a series of loud bangs in Chesterfield County has residents on edge. We checked with the people who fly planes, and they weren’t flying planes. We checked with the people who make loud noises, and they weren’t making loud noises. We checked with the people who make power, and they didn’t have any transformers blow. So, basically, we don’t know what the hell caused the sounds.

Dog: There’s only one possible explanation here.

Me: Oh?

Dog: Aliens.

Cat: … BAAAAHHHHHH HAHAHAHA.

Dog: I’m serious. Aliens were breaking into our atmosphere and making loud explosion noises. They’re undetectable by radar, you know.

Me: I suppose it’s possible, but I think it was just some kids playing with homemade pipe bombs or something.

Dog: I swear to everything holy, if I hear another loud noise, I cannot be responsible for the damage caused to your coffee table or the pee that trickles onto the carpet.

-A LITTLE BIT LATER-

Me [blowing into a paper bag and twisting it off, sneaking up to the sleeping dog and cat, then popping the bag]: ~~BANNNGGGG~~

Cat: [springs awake and runs up the curtains] AHHH! ALIENS!

Dog: [Slowly opens his eyes, looks at me, then closes them again] Nice try, numbnuts.

Jan. 14th:

Hey, Matt. We are looking good for closing on Tuesday. We just need one more thing. Can you give us a copy of your bank statement from December?

Sure. No prob. Sending it now.

Great. See you Tuesday!

Jan. 15th:

Hey, Matt. Got your statement. Thanks. We’re looking good for closing on Tuesday. Just need a copy of the gift letter from you mother-in-law.

Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll send that over to you right away.

Good. We’re all set, then. See you Tuesday.

Jan. 19th (Closing day):

Hey, Matt. I’m sorry, but the underwriter has to have a letter of explanation from your bank that you deposited money on your account on 12/11.

Huh? What? Can’t you see it on my statement?

Yeah, but we need to source where the money came from.

It was just some money I deposited for Christmas gifts.

Yeah, well they need you to explain that. But we’re all good, we just need that piece of information and we can get this thing done today.

Fine. Let me see what I can do and I’ll send it to you.

Great. We’ll see you this afternoon.

Later…

Hey, Matt. We’re gonna have to push back the closing a couple of days. We need a letter from your doctor that says you are, indeed, a human. Apparently the underwriter can’t sign off on a loan for people who aren’t human. You know, like a dog or something. We can’t give loans to animals. Or plants. Just a simple technicality, but we’ll get this thing done by Thursday at the latest.

What?

Jan. 20th:

Hey, Matt. We’re looking good for today. Or maybe tomorrow. But apparently your sister, mother and aunt were all born with a sixth finger on one of their hands. Is this true?

Yeah… why?

Well, the underwriter can’t approve this loan if the recipient is a mutant or related to mutants. She’s really concerned about a mutant takeover. I think she watches  X-Men movies way too much, but it’s just a simple technicality. Can you write a letter of explanation that states the extra digits were removed at birth and that you were not born with that weird deformity?

What? Are you serious? Fine. Whatever.

Cool. We just need this and we’re all good to go for tomorrow.

Jan. 21st:

Hey, Matt. We’re looking all good for today. We just need one more thing.

One more thing? Really? This is getting ridiculous.

Yeah, I know. It’s a pain, but just one more thing and we’re all set. Can you ask everyone your wife has ever met to write a letter verifying that they have met her? And if possible, can you get them to give specific dates and times of the meeting? And maybe just a short paraphrasing of the conversation?

C’mon, man! Seriously?

Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, this is the way it is. You know, with the housing crisis and all. The underwriter just wants to make sure we’re covering all our bases. You can understand that, right?

Whatever. I’ll see what I can do.

Great. We’ll get this thing done tomorrow at the latest. I swear.

Jan. 22nd:

Hey, Matt! We’re are looking good! Let’s get this done today!

Finally! Yes, let’s get it done.

Just one more thing, though. Can you have your blood drawn by a medical professional, then have a DNA sample analyzed?

Really?

Yeah, I know… I’m sorry. The underwriter isn’t convinced that you’re not a mutant. She really, really has a fear of mutants. You know, with their powers and all. Yeaaaaahhhhhh. I’m sorry.

Fine, I guess I can do that…

Wait, there’s more. The doctor who takes your blood has to be a government employee who still believes in Santa Claus.

Huh?

Yeah, I know. I know. I know. This is nuts, right? But really, it’s just a simple technicality and then we’ll be all good. We’ll get this thing done Monday at the latest.

Jan. 25th:

Hey, Matt. Thanks for being so patient. We’re going to get this thing done this afternoon. I promise. One more thing, though. I swear this is it, and I’m sorry. Can you verify that you believe in Santa Claus? Or maybe just write a letter that states that your open to the possibility of there being a Santa Claus? Just a simple technicality, really. We’re all good for this afternoon if we get this letter to the underwriter by noon.

Fine. Whatever it takes. I just want this to be over with.

Great. Thank you.

Later…

Hey, Matt. Got your letter. Thanks. One more thing, though. And I’m sorry, but it appears your wife has met your sister before.

Yeah, duh.

Well, we have medical evidence suggesting that your sister is a mutant.

*sigh*

Can you have your mutant sister write a letter explaining that she never touched your wife and got mutant germs on her? This is really just a simple technicality. But we’re going to have to push back the closing ’til tomorrow. Yeaaahhhh. I’m sorry.

But I’m pretty sure that would be a lie. I can’t ask my sister to lie!

I know, and I’m soorrrrrrryyyyy. Just a simple technicality. This really won’t affect anything, legally. Just have your sister draw up a document explaining that she never infected your wife with gross mutant cooties.

Jan. 26th:

Hey, Matt. We are really, really gonna get this thing done today. 4:30PM at the attorney’s office. Be there!

Yes! Thank you. We’ll be there.

But first, I need to ask you for one more thing.

You’re kidding me, right?

Sorry, I wish I was. But no. Can you show me some type -any type – of proof that you believe in Santa Claus? I mean, do you have any Christmas decorations in a box somewhere that depict some representations of Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick?

Yes, I suppose I have plenty of Santa decorations.

Great. Excellent. We’re all good. Fax those over to me and we’ll get this thing done tomorrow.

Fine.

Matt?

Yeah.

I’m sorry, but I need to ask one more time. Do you have any special powers? Like, can you bend steel with your bare hands or can you teleport yourself or anything like that?

*Silence*

Matt? … Matt? … Can you see through walls, maybe?

Today, Jan. 27th:

???

I’m thankful for my family. Most of them live far away. Miss them, but they’re not all up in my face everyday, so that’s a good thing, I guess. I can’t get suckered into mowing my parent’s lawn if I’m 550 miles away!

I’m thankful for my pets. They’re turds, but they give me an outlet for anger and make for good victims of my pranks. Okay, they make for good company, too. They give me someone to talk to when there’s a commercial on TV.

I’m thankful for coffee. Without it, I wouldn’t get a lick of work done or be able to change from my PJs into my comfy jeans.

I’m thankful for losing my job. Seriously. It sucked at the time, but I’m much better off now. I’m immensely happier now… following my passion blah blah blah and doing well financially blah blah blah.

I’m thankful for my friends. They like football and beer and internetting and watching my dog when I go out of town for the weekend. They help me fix stuff that I have no clue how to fix, like a broken toilet. They let me borrow a leaf blower, screwdriver, cup of sugar, paintbrush, ladder and other household necessities that I’m too cheap to buy.

I’m thankful for the people I work for and the people who are helping me get my business off the ground. I truly enjoy the work that I do with your companies/organizations and hope to have a long professional relationship with you. Having said that, can I get an advance on next month’s pay? You know… holidays?

I’m thankful for my internet friends. The Twitter people. They tell funny jokes. They promote charitable organizations. They offer links to informative articles and videos. They spam me with viruses and bad porno.

I’m thankful for my iPhone. I don’t know how I got out of bed without it. Still waiting for the Make Me A Sammich app, though.

I’m thankful for our real estate agent. She’s gonna find us a kick-ass house that we won’t be able to pay for, but we’ll love it for the month or so that we live there.

I’m thankful for these blogs: Café Darkness, Filthy Richmond, Fluid Pusher, Not Always About Monkeys, Tobacco Avenue, and the one who inspired it all, The Checkout Girl. I check them every day (sometimes 7 times a day). They are all great writers who have distinct (and sometimes nasty) humorous styles. Reading them makes me want to be a better blogger and better human being. Just kidding. I’m already a pretty rad human being.

I’m thankful that I discovered that coating the inside of a taco shell with queso dip before filling it with meat and stuff is the most delicious thing ever. EVER. I’m thankful for tacos. And cheeseburgers. And pizza. And pizza rolls. And anything else I have to lie about eating.

Last but not least – and seriously – I’m thankful for Wifey. She’s my best friend. She’s the hardest working woman in the history of the world. She’s great with kids. She’s good with money. She almost gets as excited as I do about Taco Night. She listens to me complain. She listens to me ramble. She puts up with my nonsense. She lets me watch hockey and hang my jerseys up in the basement. She laughs at my jokes. Whenever I sing a song, she tries to join in – even if she doesn’t know the words and is horribly off key. I’m thankful for everything she does and I truly appreciate her in every way possible.

So happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And now, if you excuse me, I have to let out the waist and sew in some more elastic in my special eatin’ pants.

I’m no meteorologist, but I’m pretty sure this hurricane Ida was supposed to come ashore somewhere in the Gulf Coast. You know, Alabama or something. So why has it been raining non-stop in Central Virginia for the past 2-3 days?

I’ll tell you why, and please don’t confuse this story with Bill Cosby’s brilliant Noah & God Conversation, or the turd of a movie Evan Almighty.

I was watching the weather report on CNN the other day. Sitting on my favorite chair. Wearing my favorite pajama pants and a shmedium hoodie. I was drinking tea, as I recall.

“So Ida will come ashore late tonight or early tomorrow. Dauphin Island will take the brunt of this slow moving storm. Flooding and high winds are to be expected. Now back to you, Rick Sanchez, you smug little jerk. And yes, we’re all fully aware that you speak Spanish.“

The dog walked into the room and opened the front closet door, which was odd because he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, therefore making it extremely difficult to open a door. But he did. I saw him.

“Hey, have you seen my waincoat?” he asked. (He can’t pronounce his Rs or Ls.)

“What? No. Why do you need a raincoat, Dog?” I replied.

“Uh… because this system is going to staww out ovuh Wichmond and we’re gonna be effed.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Wemember Gaston a few yeaws back? Wemember how I was swimming in your apawtment?”

“Yeah. That was crazy.”

“Wook, I didn’t wanna tell you this, but I spoke to God wast night.”

“You did what now?”

“He said we wuh gonna get wain for a wong time and I need to make shuw we stay safe.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“He asked me to buiwd an awk”

“A what now?”

“Awk.”

“What’s an ‘awk’?”

“Awk! Awk! A-Oww-Kay. Awk!”

“Oh, an ARK. Gotcha.”

“Anyway, I need to get stawted on this awk. It’s supposed to be pwetty big, too. Do we have a saw somewhewe?”

“No.”

“You don’t have a saw?”

“No. You’re not building an ark.”

“Yes I am. God said so.”

“I don’t have a saw.”

“Do you have some wumbuh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Wumbuh! Wum-Buhh.”

“Lumber? No. What do I look like, Home Depot?”

“Fine. I’ll have to find these matewials somewhewe ewse.”

“God talked to you?”

“YES!”

“What does he sound like?”

“Wike a wewwy deep voice and kinda wike a bwack guy.”

“God is a black guy?”

“I dunno. Kinda, I guess.”

“Interesting.”

“By the way, do you know what a cubit is?”

“No. I think it’s one of those biblical measurement terms. Roughly equal to some king’s forearm or something.”

“Gweat. He gave me all these dimensions in cubits. This is gonna be hawd.”

“Yeah, well you better get to work. It’s supposed to start raining tomorrow.”

“Wight! I’m on it! Oh. Wait. Any idea whewe I can find a coupwe of giwaffes?”

“The zoo?”

“Yeah, I need two of ‘em. And I need paiws of other animaws, too. Wions. Beaws. Deew. Gowiwwas. You know, animaws.”

“Can’t help you there, buddy.”

“I awso need to make suwe the awk is stocked with wots and wots of cat food, fow some weason.”

“…”

“…”

“Really, dog? Cat food? Think about that for a moment.”

“… I’m such an idiot.”

Just then the cat burst out in laughter and jumped out from behind the couch holding a megaphone.

“Yo, dawg! I need you to build an ark because I’ma make it rain like a mofo up in here!” he said into the megaphone. Then he rolled around on the ground laughing hysterically. “Cat food! Priceless,” he shrieked. “What a dummy!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, too. The dog is really gullible.

“You guys aw juhks!” the dog sobbed and sunk away to hide in the bathroom.

“What’s a cubit?” the cat repeated, still rolling in laughter.

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!