HOPE on a rope. HOPE on a stick. HOPE with gravy. The more I talk the more things lead back to the subject of food.

WARNING. The following post will make this much sense.

I'll be honest, this week's word (HOPE) had me groaning. (sorry Jan) That's a pretty hard word to squeeze a decent penis joke out of, even for me. The word hope conjures up images of cherub like children gazing at sun rays and butterflies. Hope IS NOT a college party with guys tea bagging each other. And if you know me but at all, if I had to pick which situation to blow up into a picture and wallpaper my bathroom wall with, it's team teabag all day long. (a tea bag theme bathroom. Oh the possibilities! Tea bagging toilet paper! Tea bagging air freshner, tea bagging toilet seat cover...).

So hope, let's see hope......um, hope is a middle name not a first name. Hope sounds like a happy balloon... but whenever I think of balloon, I think of people who get caught at the Mexican border with balloons of cocaine stuck up their colon hole. Seriously. If you say balloon, a thought bubble pops up in my head that says, "....up your ass, full of cocaine" in comic sans font. That's just the type of person I am to the very core.

I know, my children are blessed.

This Focus52 weekly challenge is a lot more difficult than I had HOPED it would be. I HOPE that I can write up a decent post but I can see right now that it's a losing battle. You know who's a famous HOPE? Bob Hope. Can you believe he's partly made most his living telling you to cut off your pet's baby makin' junk? (Did I just squeeze a genitals joke out of HOPE?? Oh I hope I did!!) And yet behind the scenes, Bob Hope humped the Barker Beauties.... shit. You know what I did? I just confused Bob Hope with Bob Barker... ...oooh awkward! Which one's dead? Like it matters.. anyways, let's jump off this thought train shall we? Hold my hand ..1...2...3... GO!

Phew. I HOPE you're okay.

Hmm, isn't it funny how a word starts to look all weird and misspelled the more you say/see it? That happened to me 10 years ago with the word DIARY. I don't know why the fuck I was looking at the word dairy for so long but it warped on me and it's never been the same since. It still looks weird to me now. It's almost like I shared a unintentional drunken grope with diary and now I don't see her as 'just my friend.' I don't know why diary would be a 'she' but if it was a 'he', he most certainly would have flat ironed hair, black fingernails and describes his outlook on life as 'brooding.'

A baby reaching into their own diaper, grabbing handfuls of poo and painting the walls with it is sort of like what I'm doing with the word Hope right now. I HOPE you know that the baby shit smearing story is a true story and is a worthy chapter in my husband's life.

If you've reached the end of this post and you're still not completely annoyed by me, I will reward you at the finish line with a random, money saving DIY TIP:

HOMEMADE BABY WIPES:
(because even if you don't have a baby, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower for your leather cheerio. Sometimes, when one gets too busy for hygiene, baby wipes is a cool and refreshing shower, period. )

1 roll of soft, absorbent paper towels
1 tall container with tight-fitting lid
2 tbsp. of baby oil
2 tbsp. of liquid baby bath soap
2 cups of water.

Cut the roll of paper towels in a half with a serrated knife, and remove the cardboard tube. Place half the roll, on end, in the plastic container. Mix the liquid ingredients, pour the mix into the container, and close the lid. The towels will absorb the liquid. Pull the wipes up from the center of the roll as needed.

THERE! Now you can't say you didn't get anything from this shit smear of a post!

So until we meet again, I really HOPE (the cherub children kind, not the teabagging kind) that you have a wonderful day.