Stories of Fasha: Saturday Chore Day

Note: this post in particular contains a lotta swear words. 

SORRYYY!

Anyway...I present to you, "Saturday Chore Day"...

Growing up, my dad always implemented the consistency of Saturday chores. Before we could play, before we could do ANYTHING...our chores had to be done. Dad would bust into our rooms at the crack of freaking dawn and wake our butts up to get started.

God forbid we ever sleep in past 7am...because that would just piss Fatman off and double our chores.

 Nick and I would sometimes have our own personal lists, but usually we'd have to split up the chores ourselves.

The way dad wrote the chores was in his secret stupid code, too...little symbols would replace words...everything would be abbreviated.

 Then, Fatman would meet us in the kitchen in this ridiculous Saturday Chore Day outfit. Old tattered sweat pants, tight at the ankles...and an old zodiac crew neck sweater with the sleeves ripped off.

 Then we'd get to work.

My dad would do all of the ridiculous and intense chores outside.

Cutting down trees...

Moving boulders...

Yelling at squirrels... 

Meanwhile, the brother and I would be doing less intense chores...

like weeding the gardens, cleaning the pool, washing the cars...

All the while goofing off and giggling...making the most out of our Slave Saturday. 

 But all of that fartin' around made our chores take longer and we'd half-ass them all. Which made my dad come out of no where and yell the funniest things at us.

He would explode at us, but my brother and I would catch him smiling as he stomped off. 

And once the chore list was tackled, we'd be able to goof around with Dad. 

Obscenities not included.

The End.