I'm An Earthling

I’ve decided on a title for a new book; Women Are From Earth, Men Are From Penis.  Seeing as I haven’t been able to come up with even a working title for the book I’m writing I thought if I came up with a title before I started my next one it would work out better. 

So here’s the premise, men come from the planet Penis.  They call themselves Dickwadians, well maybe it’s just the women that call them that, and instead of living in communities they live in penile colonies.  They call their moon Beaver, and fly in phallic shaped rockets and try to land them in the deepest hole where they try to mine for gems but actually just end up daydreaming all day.  The hubby thinks it is a kickass idea.  His exact words were, “That’s about as close to man’s psyche as you can get.” 

The hubby has featured on and off in this blog and I think I have to come up with a better name for him then “the hubby”.  Me thinks that he needs a pirate name.  A good one.  Like Iron Bess’s Man, or Sid the Parrotless, or Frownin Fred, or No Neck Nick.  I think I will try out a few and see how it rolls off the tongue, or the fingers, so to speak.   

So Frownin Fred went out hunting this morning.  Hunting here means sitting in a “blind” (see Bunch of crap leaning against a tree) and waiting quietly, and still, for an unsuspecting Bambi to wander by.  Ha-ha-ha!  If I know one thing about No Neck Nick staying still is not in his vocabulary, his genes, or his jeans.  This is the guy who will work himself to death, whine, snivel, and bitch about it, then when he has about four hours of rest immediately becomes restless and has to go out and build his self a gee-rage, or pour a concrete floor.  I’m thinking that Bambi may possibly be safe this year.  I’m sure he is out there right this minute dreaming of the days in the mountains when he could wander around the bush looking for game.  Sitting there must be killing him.  Poor Sid the Parrotless.