Saturday, October 09, 2004

It is Saturday night. What am I doing; writing a blog entry about doing nothing on a Saturday night. Go me.

I have the giant multi-dimensional spider and hamster devotees to keep me company, at least.

Anyway, I noticed a certain someone visiting my lovely domain of inane verbosity quite often. This special lad, lass or stupid ass hails from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Curiosity is a goading bitch, which makes me wonder who this person is. Most of my regular visitors I know personally, or at least, of. Do me a favor and drop me a line, or comment on this message, as to how you found this bastion of hate and why you continue to read it.

I am about the personal interaction with my readers. Actually, I am curious how all of you came to read this site, even the ones I know. I encourage my regular readers, all twelve of you, to answer the two aforementioned questions.

Go to Hell
Better Left Unsaid
A True Story from an Hour Ago

The Cast of Characters

Mom-My Mother

Issy- My Little 8 Year Old Brother

Pete- Family Dog

Me- Resident trailer-bound Cynic

Background: Issy left the back door open which allowed Pete to run wild. Mother searched high & low for several hours but could not find the puppy gone lost. Late Saturday night, Pete came home and all appeared well, but was it really?

Phone: Ring, ring, ring, get the fuck up, ring, ring-a-ding-ming

Me: Hola, comment ca va?

Mom: Why didn't you go into work?

(I can clearly hear Issy playing in the background.)

Me: I am tired.

Mom: It is 1:oo pm, how can you be tired?

Me: I went to bed at 2am, and you know I need twelve hours of sleep to function properly.

Mom: You are killing your father.

Me: He is old. Old people die all the time, don't try to blame me for cell degeneration.

Mom: Bitch.

Me: How is Pete doing?

Mom: I should kill that dog, stupid bitch.

Me: Last night, Issy said Pete smelled funny.

Mom: He was probably out fucking.

(I hear childish laughter coming from Issy and the phrase "Petey was fucking" several times.)

Me: can't say that in front of your son.

Mom: You know what fucking means.

Me: I meant in front of Issy.

Mom: Fuck you, you are the reason he is bad.

(Issy picks up the line in the kitchen)

Issy: Petey is a dog fucker.

Me: Shut up. You have no business saying that.

Issy: Bobby is a dog fucker.

Mom: Yes, yes he is.

Me: I am not.

Mom: Click

Issy: Can I am come over?

Me: No!

Issy: Dog fucker. Click

El Fin