You know what? There's no way that anyone you know has one of these:
(Yes. She is holding a beaver. A beaver that swallows.)I'll give you a minute. Take your time. Yes, you're reading it right.
What. The. F*ck.
McLovin and I were out this weekend with the Indoor Homeless People and froze in our tracks.
[Editor's Note: I've been Bogarting Lydia's Little Terror Suspects, but it dawned on me that my offspring are less terrorists, and more beggars. They beg me for food, they beg me for money, they're filthy and only occasionally brush their teeth, they don't have jobs and the don't do anything all day. They're homeless people living in my house. They're Indoor Homeless People. And, while I realize some of you will find this offensive, let me assure you, on occasion, my children are offensive. So, fitting.]
Lefty, who's just learning to read, sounds it out for us: "Pup - pup. Pets. Puppets! That. Swe - swa. Swall. Low. Swa-Low. Swallow! [then loudly] PUPPETS THAT SWALLOW! What do they swallow, mom?"
I had to sit down. Immediately. In the middle of the street. People stopped McLovin. They thought I was having a seizure. He says to me, "Stay here with the kids."
Like I was going anywhere.