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
Saturday, October 09, 2004
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: Mom...you 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
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: Mom...you 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
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