Breaking Dad

Let’s break Walter White down and do some comparisons shall we?

Husband: Yes, got one of them, slightly younger, much better looking and would NEVER wear Y fronts without my explicit permission, which has been never.

Father: Walt, having one of each, would be known in these parts as having a Gentleman’s family. We have 3 lovely daughters and my husband’s ever warm, loving friends christened him Sissy Mickey after the birth of our first child. By the time our third one came along I had christened him the Queen of Sissy Mickeys. We’re still working on rebuilding his confidence.

Teacher: Many a life’s lesson was thought to my children by my very own Mr Heizenberg up to and including, ‘if you don’t cut that out it will end in a crying match.’ Which it usually did and I’d end up comforting him and telling him to man up, they’re only kids and they were NOT ganging up on him.

Cook: I had a 6 month stint of full time work and for the first month or so I had a pain in my hole eating pork chops, boiled in their jacket potatoes and tinned beans. He’d occasionally make it interesting by opening a tin of peas. He got better though, occasionally he’d get his mother to make something nice and of course there was the beautiful goats cheese salad with lemon pips.

Multimillionaire: We haven’t a pot to piss in.

Psychotic Killer:  Yes, that’s me. We had mice last year, big fuckers that came in through a hole where the outlet pipe was for the sink. Big Brave Hubby filled the hole, set the traps, grabbed his skirts and jumped on a chair. We caught a few, one was a clean kill, bagged up and offered to our then next door neighbour for food for his terrapins. His partner absolutely refused to have it in the freezer, wimp. The second was not so lucky. After a good nosh up of soap and dried cat food it went for dessert, a nice smear of Nutella on a trap. Unfortunately for everyone involved, including the rat sized mouse, it wasn’t a clean kill. The trap had caught it, flipped it down to the bottom shelf and broken it’s back. I, that’s me, not Big Brave Hubby, had to get a shovel to pick it up, still alive, and bring it out to the back garden where it would die with dignity. After an hour or so and the mouse still alive I had to take matters into my own hands. Shoveling it into a black bag I had to batter it to death, but not before I had sent my husband to the pub to settle his nerves.

Car Wash Owner: Yes, we have a yellow sponge.