We Are the Butt-crack Family

Yes, I know. I've posted about it before, but this time I must offer the explanation first that they really don't have much chance in stopping the use of the word. In untimely situations, it is going to be used.

From the lips of my sister and adopted by all in the family
I've got to get up at the butt-crack of dawn.

Chris gives old songs new lyrics. New words were given to the Diego Rescue Pack tune--

A poop attack

You better watch your back 

You're gonna need some toilet paper for your butt-crack.

So really what chance do I have. Yesterday we were on our way to the library.
Momma (I know enough now to start praying at the first mmmm sound.)
Yes, I replied with great trepidation. I wanted to go to the library and knew we didn't have time for another Does-God-live-in-a-dark-and-gloomy-place conversation.

Will Daddy still be able to sing the butt-crack song in heaven?

I don't know. (I wish for a certain answer, but how am I to know for sure that the One who created the man who writes such songs doesn't enjoy a good butt-crack lyric once in a while.)
Well, in her quite reasonable, perfectly logical voice, God doesn't have a problem with the butt-crack song. He just has a problem when we sing it too much and annoy our parents.
OK. Really, I ask, what else was there to say.

Besides after another conversation--

Your daddy is funny. 

Yes, Daddy is funny. And Simon is funny. And I am funny some of the time. . . .

After waiting till I was uncomfortable. What about me am I funny?
Without skipping a beat, No, Mommy, you're not funny.--
I don't think I have any authority on humor what-so-ever. (I console myself with the fact that when anything serious, sad, scary happens I am the one run to. Apparently non-funny parents are useful when the situation is dire.)