Is it a disease? Well no
Sounds like one though right?
My Brother's Wife
So yesterday I was a little pressed for time, and I looked over last night's post and realized it created more questions than it answered. So without further ado, the explanation of butt lovin', dog biting and other debauchery.....
Will not be posted today, because I feel like talking about something else!
I will post that stuff tomorrow, but in the meantime, I realized I spent a lot of time talking about other people in my family and not enough about myself. The average reader would assume that with all of this crack, pole smoking, anal destruction and general debauchery that I was somehow immune. You are wrong. Listen as I regale you:
Well first off when I was born my mother gave me the middle name of her super gay friend D (no I will not tell you what my middle name is), in the honest-to-goodness hopes of turning me gay. Let me explain. My mom always wanted a flaming homo son. She was, for the most part, very disappointed that none of us (until later apparently) turned to the calling of the swollen cock. I say apparently because my older brother has made some statements, which I will post without bias so you can interpret them as you will, that have made him a fan favorite with her.
My mom also loves telling anyone who would listen that I was so goddamn ugly that it was a chore to breastfeed me, and that on top of all that I was incredibly mean to boot, biting people and getting some kind of joy out of it. I am not sure if she remembers this all that well or if she saw The Omen and got us mixed up...
During preschool, I was quite the young exhibitionist. This went on until the 3rd grade, whenever the teacher was out of the room I would jump up on my desk and regale the ladies with the man beef. I got into trouble every time. Awesome. I also killed our class pet twice by throwing it out the window onto the playground. During nature week I stepped on and killed the caterpillar the class was looking at. On a whim I took a crowbar and punched holes in my wall trying to make a connect-the-dots. I failed, but only because I got caught. I also set fire to all of my mom's clothes after dousing them in gasoline. The week after that...
It's funny, because I knew every time I would be beaten savagely by Mr. Stick, a 3 foot long broom handle wrapped in tape with a face drawn on it in marker that my mom used religiously, though it was usually my brothers and I that were howling "Oh gawd!" like Mr. Garrison. I knew I would be beaten, and yet I did not care.
More tomorrow, I might also talk about getting molested when I was 5 numerous times by our babysitter Trina, though that should have been a happy ending (in retrospect she was kinda hot) it was not because when I was old enough to want to pound that she informed me that I was too fat... but I digress.