X-Rated Dust Bunnies
My wife can't stand the sight of even one dust bunny. When she sees two, she goes into orbit. She doesn't want them taking over our house and forcing us out on the street.
On a mission to save the dust bunny culture, I made my den a dust-bunny sanctuary. For six days a week, I protected them from genocide weapons like vacuum cleaners and brooms. As long as those fluffy little critters left my computer alone, I was happy to give them a home. On cleaning day, however, they scatter for cover. That's why my wife scheduled den-sanctuary intrusions while I was still eating breakfast. She knew that food means more to me than any dust bunny, and took advantage of that flaw in my nature.
Once I heard the vacuum cleaner hunting its prey, I gulped down the rest of my breakfast and headed for the park with the funnies and sport section under my arm. That way, I didn't feel as guilty about not being there to protect those innocent critters.
The epiphany came when I decided to help my wife reduce the dust bunny population explosion. Trying to do my part, I spent a night looking for the dust-bunny-breeding site. Sure enough, I was able to find one. The dust bunnies seemed to be having their orgies on my top shelf. Now I had a clue and was ready for action. However, after getting a ladder and checking that site, I found the dust bunnies trying to open my hoard of Viagra. Even for me, that was too much. That's when I joined my wife's dust bunny crusade.
After I had their breeding site shipshape and clean, I started feeling complacent. I shouldn't have. Despite all that I did, they still multiplied. They obviously had an alternate Viagra supply. They procreated so fast that my wife threatened to clean up my den three times per week. Her once a week forays just weren't enough.
When my overworked wife continued to complain about me harboring these fugitives from dustpan and broom, I tried to be fair. I attached ten flypaper stringers down from the ceiling. I figured that should keep those dust bunnies in toe, or at least trap them before they got out of hand. That didn't work either. After flypapering my nose, ears and mouth five times in one day, I decided that my defensive measures weren't worth the trouble.
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