Meet Steve.


Steve was born last week at camp. In arts and crafts. Chase is his crafty father. I don’t think Steve has a mother. Poor Steve.


I believe that Steve was conceived with but one purpose in life. To torture his Uncle Noah.

The Scene – Every day for the last seven days:

Chase: No-aaaaaaah!! Say hi to Steve.

Noah: Get that thing away from me.

Chase: But it’s Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve. (Wave Steve back and forth).

Noah: Mom , he’s doing it AGAIN.

Chase: Steeeeeeeeeeeve!!!!! Steeeeeeeeeeve!

That’s how we ride in our house.

I feel sorry for Steve. Not so much because he is the bastard puppet child of an eight year old with questionable intentions but because his life expectancy is approaching zero.


Steve is about to go on the lam. Into the puppet protection program. It’s for his own good. Just pretend this post never happened.


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