O Schmamm... how hilarious that your return should forever be remembered for this zany conversation betwixt you and my kid. At least it will be in my mind.
You were beyond description last night with your drunkenness and lack-of-sleep loop-factor. My daughter, meanwhile, was her usual crustily honest self. You probably don't remember it so here's a script of some of the highlights:
You started mumbling some stuff about going to Montana. But to the kid, that word is not an American state -- but the last name of a teenage demigod. Yeah, Hannah Montana. Not that i am all right with that.
Sam: "Shmack shwack garble garble... going to Montana... garble...."
Kid: "What? Did you say Montana? Hannah Montana?"
Sam: "Who is that? Garble... scraawww... that chick sucks."
Kid: "No she doesn't. I saw her on a movie." The kid screws up her face into a sneer that should not be possible in the face of a child so young.
Sam: "Why do you like her? She suckssss...."
Kid: "But she's on a movie." (If someone puts you on tv, it must be because you are good at something....)
Sam: "Warf. Scraggle snabsnab... she sucks."
Kid: "Nuh uh.... She's a rock star. A rock star."
Mom: "Honey, you could be a rock star if you learn to play your piano." (Motherly guilt-jab, trying to coerce my child into musical perfection...)
Sam: "That chick sucks." Head plops onto plastic table, shaking it all over. Cans of Miller High Life go rolling off.
Welcome back, Uncle Prettyflowers. But next time you pick up my kid and start swinging her around, don't get so close to the basement stairs.