I took down last night's posts because they were made me sound like a little bitch. I am all for being a bitch, in fact I plan on voting an all Bitch ticket in November, but being a little bitch just ain't kosher. And, after watching Euro Trip, which is actually pretty funny, I decided that angst ridden guilt is meant only for teenage girls, hair dressers and the French.
I am still not terribly happy with the parental units, and mother didn't help her case by referring to me as a little faggot pussy in the twenty plus voice mail messages she left today, but she has called me worse, which doesn't really make me feel better but it does provide a fairly substantial case for matricide.
I made some demands of daddy dearest, actually an ultimatum would be closer to the truth, and he agreed to abide by them. I seriously don't believe he will, however he is the male progenitor of the seed that created the man, the myth, the Bob so I am giving him a chance. And, if he does revert back to his semi-dishonest and unscrupulous ways, I am going to kick him in the nuts and move to Peru.
Oh and want to insure one particular person, whose mother entrusted some very valuable merchandise to the auction, that whatever misgivings I have about dad's methodology, he does it in order to generate higher prices. In other words, he is a cad, but one who bilks to the buyer, not the seller, i.e. your mother. And, assuming he doesn't get kicked in the nuts, I promise that the pieces will do better with me than anywhere else. Cause I am kick-ass, and have access to dad's black book of old people with too much money who like to spend it on stuff from their youth even though they will soon be dead.
Go to Hell