The Benevolent Maxpot

First of all: yay, Spring! I know it’s only March 8, and although I’m not entirely sure what a Philadelphia spring entails, I’m pretty sure we’re going to get some more nasty weather. But right now it’s 59° and sunny, and loud-voiced business men at coffeeshops are ordering “like, my first chocolate frap of, like, the season,” so there’s room for optimism even here at the Headquarters of the Mean.

(The tulips were from Valentine’s Day. I didn’t think I cared for tulips, but these lovelies brought meaning and hope to February. Husband gets bonus points, and, hell, some clean laundry or something.)

It’s amazing that, despite long, snotty blogging absences, you lot have continued to click on over here for a dose of whatsit. As your sister/child/imaginary friend (looking at you, Gertie)/actual friend/loyal subject/dejected slave/destination for such search terms as “dead man hanging from tree,” “maud nutbrown” and “mom ass,” I thank you. More than that, Max thanks you. The Benevolent Maxpot thanks you.

Max would have us believe that “Maxpot” is another, sleeker term for “Despot,” but frankly, we’re not buying it. “Crackpot” seems much closer to the truth. True, many despots may have frolicked about the palace, sprinkling poop in their collective wakes, but to my knowledge, none of them were composed of six-year-old Jell-O in a fur-encrusted burlap sack. Ahem:

Not that Max has ever had trouble getting the ladies; he hasn’t. Me, I prefer a combination of brains and brawn, and fortunately, I’ve got just the person. Please refer to this unstaged (really) photograph of my charming husband studying Latin grammar while doing the plank.

“Welcome to the 2010 Nerd Olympics! Representing the U.S., it’s Thaaaaaaaaat Guuuuuuuy!”

Crowd goes wild. Wife breaks down in tears. The Maxpot finds bitter solace in his cups.

~ by themeansister on March 8, 2010.