I’m not doing dishes,
The laundry can wait.
I’m taking a break
Before I self-immolate.

I was patient ’til two,
When fit pitching commenced.
Why do days have more hours?
It doesn’t make sense?

The Minion keyboard,
And the too soapy bath,
Your unbrushing of teeth,
They aroused some wrath.

I won’t take it out
On my brood suburban.
Instead I’ll hunt Mordor
And drink all the bourbon.

You go commando,
And eat with no forks.
Mom’s in the basement,
Slaughtering orcs.

I find video games to be very therapeutic in a sort of violently fun way.  I’m about 65% of the way through the Game of the Year Edition of Shadow of Mordor.  I might be able to finish it by the end of the summer, since I don’t play it in front of the kids.  Then it’s on to Witcher III.  My older kid is a Minecraft nerd.  Raisin’ ’em right.  Gonna have some little engineers around here.

Also…there might be some typos because that bourbon isn’t a prop.  C’est la vie.