Why don't you drive off a cliff?

I'm not going to lie.  This thought occasionally runs through my mind when people say or do something I'm not super jazzed about.

This morning, as I prepared to load the Yoys up in the big red bus, Little E did just that.

He was riding around the house on one of the thirteen toy vehicles we have purchased/inherited over the past few years.

As Little E came to the threshold of the door that leads out to the garage, he had an Evil Kenevel moment.

He could stop, or he could gun it.  Down one, big step.

Much to my dismay, he gunned it.  I heard a loud, crashing noise and then wailing.


I ran over to Little E.  His body half underneath the front of the car.  No bleeding, so that was a plus.  He would definitely bruise, though.  Just in time for a visit from the extended Yoyser family.  Sweet.  Now they will suspect I'm abusing my kids.

Is it wrong that the one thing that popped into my head as Little E took his fateful leap was:


Yes, I just made a Billy Madison reference.  'Cause I'm awesome like that.


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