Patrick is bugging me. I just got done telling him to quit acting like a smartie butt at the table. He began wondering about his butt's IQ and speculated that it was rather low. Um, ok, whatever, just quit acting like a smartie butt.
The only way to become a saint is 1. to be really really famous, or 2. to die in a church, he continued... .
"Did you know the Nazis hate juice?" he asked when I served fruit juice. Elf and Emperor had no clue that Patrick knew so much about the dietary habits of the Nazis. We're reading Maus and see, it never mentioned this factoid. "Yeah, they can't stand the juice," he told them. "You didn't read history, did you?"
The kid removes a plastic ring from the top of the cheez-ball container, places it atop his head and proclaims himself king. Everyone else must do his bidding. "No, no, you not a king!" Rose shrieks. Yes, I am... look at my crown/ No, no! NOT a king! goes on for a bit.
Bleh, just pour the cheez-balls already.
"Goodness gracious, great balls of cheese!" he exclaims as he pours bunches of cheese balls onto his plate. Not content with that joke, he acts all gangsta and says that this is gub'mint cheese. I told him it is not, either, any such thing and good grief I paid enough for those cheez balls.
Right now the children are holding cheeze balls and saying, "This is you." *crunch crunch* "I just ate you!"
Dinnertime with Patrick is always funnnn. He had some complications with his surgery called "dry socket," but he is feeling much better now. Back to his silly ol' self.
Update: Patrick observed I was writing a new blog post. I should NOT have told him it is all about him...