One of the things I like best about Rovey (other than his ginormous wang, of course) is his dedication to whatever might be the task at hand. Whether it's working on his novelty restroom sign collection, teasin' and pleasin' his baby, or getting himse…I mean, his boss re-selected as President, Rovey will stop at nothing to see the task through to completion. Problem is, this means that sometimes Rovey has to bring his work home with him.
Now I don't mind not knowing if I'll be powdering my nose in the "buoys/gulls", "chief/squaw" or "bucks/does" room, and so long as I've done the exercises the therapist recommended, I've got no problem tucking my ankle into my underarm for upward of 45 minutes while Rovey perfects his angle for Sacred Squatting Turtle of the Sticky Half Moon (We've been playing with a book Jocelyn Elders left behind!). But lately, I just cannot get my Cuddlenumpkins to stop fussing about that silly election! I mean for heck's sake - it's almost a whole year away, and he doesn't even know in which one of the Democrats' hedges he's going to be planting the special safety cameras yet. (Isn't that sweet of him? Even though some of these people are his opponents and say really crummy things about him, Rovey cares enough about them and their families to make sure that they're being watched all the time so nothing bad happens to them! Heck - sometimes he's even so kind as to keep an eye on people they worked with, their ex-girlfriends, old teachers, maids…)
Still, I think he's a little fussed about that cranky ol' Howard Dean, who just doesn't seem to appreciate the attention my Rovey is giving him. And I could tell Rovey didn't leave that thundercloud at the office, 'cause it sure rained on his parade when we were trying out Flexible Mongoose and Hooded Cobra after Pudding Time last night. His Grand Marshal stopped marching before it even reached the town garden, so I told him it was okay if we just flipped on Carson Daly and snuggled. Well, Rovey started making his cute little sleep-toots pretty quickly, but it wasn't long before I heard him start to mumble something. At first I thought he'd mixed his nighttime Kaopectate and Gold Bond regimen with fuzzy food from the back of the icebox again, 'cause I remember him saying that had been "pretty trippy". But then I made out "caucus", "blog", and something that sounded like "assroots", and I realized he was saying "Joe Trippi". He's the guy who has my Rovey's job over on Dr. Howard Meanie's side, and while I don't want Rovey knowing I said this (Shhhhh! RoveHos' honor!), I almost hope that he's as good at his job as Rovey is. Why? 'Cause while I love that my Rovey is such a Mr. PowerPants in politics, it just takes up soooo much of his time. If Mr. Dean wins the election, I'll have much more time with Rovey's erection! And he won't have to worry about finding a job anytime soon - I've got quite a nest egg built up from selling my hair and used undies on eBay (not to mention from the RoveHos who are willing to pay a pretty penny for Rovey's worn-out Speedos - extra if I haven't put 'em through the laundry first). And besides, Rovey and I are sooooo happy, we can just live on LOVE!
Still, I hate to see my baby all knotted up like that - last time was when he couldn't stop craving yellow cake. I know it sounds silly, but he was sleep muttering about it all the time, and he didn't feel better about it until he called an old friend of his. But now I think that silly Rovey must have misplaced the recipe Mr. Novak gave him. Oh, here's hoping Mr. Novak will be able to help him out with this kerfuffle, too!