Diarrhea of The Mouth

I realized today that I could really use something between my brain and my mouth, that will stop me from saying half the half the shit I say…a mouth governor of sorts.  A little filter that turns me mute when my brain thinks something completely rude, sarcastic or inappropriate (though admittedly, that would mean I’d be mute A LOT!)  I guess you could say I have diarrhea of the mouth.  If I think it, I’m probably going to say it, and even worse, I’m probably going to find myself entertaining and not change it without an intervention, such as a mouth governing filter.  Here are a few examples of times I probably would have been mute so far this week, with a few humorous conversations thrown in.

Random shit I've said this week, with or without thinking:

The only thing he’s sick with is dumbass disease.

 Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.

 You get called an asshole a lot, don’t you? (Is this the same thing as calling him and asshole?  Hmmmm.)

I am a homosexual man, trapped in this body.

The most successful intimate relationship I’ve had has been with my dildo.

If I wanted to hear from an asshole, I’d fart.

You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown.

I’m not your type…I’ve got a brain.

Don’t think of yourself as short…just vertically challenged.

They’re either fucking or fighting, but can’t make up their minds about which they want to do when.

Conversations with or about my kids:

Me and my 11 year old son after he heard me refer to a very yummy food as a mouth-gasm on the phone:

Son: MOM!!!  You said orgasm!

Me: No I didn’t.  I said mouth-gasm.
Son: NO YOU DIDN’T!!! You said ORGASM!
Me: Son, you wouldn’t know an orgasm if it jumped up and squirted you in the eye!

Yes, I’m waiting on my mother of the year award any day now.

Son: Can I sleep with you tonight?

Me: No.
Son: Please?
Me: No
Son: Pretty please?  Can I please sleep with you?
Me:  No, now go to bed.
Son: (As he walks down the hall with slumped shoulders, puppy in hand, he stops, turns around, glares at me, then says to the puppy) See that woman?  I know you love her, but she’s not mama…she’s a mean blonde headed monster. (Well thank you for noticing, son)

After an argumentative phone call with my son about going to his tutor

Friend: Don’t you love kids? (sarcasm noted)
Me: Yeah…I’d love to drown them!

(For some reason I still haven’t gotten that mother of the year award.  Maybe it will be in the mail tomorrow.)