Not to sound irreverent or disrespectful, but that is honestly--verbatim--what Isaac told me right after I wiped his ass tonight.
At that very moment, I was inspecting with disbelief a coil of feces the size of an antelope's dick that had somehow emerged from the colon of my 36 pound son. (No shit your "tummy hurt" dude)!
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well God lives on the moon. He made everything. All of this stuff. And he's everywhere. So you're standing on him and his stuff now."
I looked down at my feet, which were indeed perched on a plastic step stool from Home Depot. "God sure knows how to make a high value piece of Chinese plastic!," I did not say in response. All I said was "uh huh," lazily punting this theological discourse for another time.
That's because I was distracted thinking how I had not posted a "Zuckerberg's Fuckerbergs" feature on O.H.M. in some time, and how this ad for "Spouse Day" brought to me by Stayfree feminine hygiene products called out for recognition:
I had no idea that: (a) there was such a thing as Spouse Day or (perish the thought) what such a day would entail; (b) that it would be sponsored by a maxi-pad; or (c) what these two things have to do with each other.
As far as I can tell, this is another one of these unholy and incongruous sponsorship alliances, like Sabra hummus being the official dip sponsor of the NHL. Wrong, wrong, and wrong.
Even more wrong than trying to explain God to a four year old who has just dropped a deuce that was easily, and preposterously, a third of his body weight.
Just another day in the life, my friends. Just another day in the life.