Thursday, September 20, 2007

We didn't start the fire

Drafty Windowpane
A ghetto fridge on the porch
Yep, that's my bro's house

The crappiest car of them all

So my dad at one point while I was still living there got a job with my uncle, who is a successful mechanic. I personally assumed all would be well with him, because Janet had left him, strangely leaving all of her kids there, none of whom seemed in the least bit worried that their mom was gone "for good", as the note so eloquently put it. My dad wanted to stay home and cry the sadness away until she returned so he could eat her out again or whatever (I would not have been too surprised if he had tried to eat her while she was trying to take a shit... he was THAT obsessed...), but we informed him that he needed to go to work so we could at least eat.

I knew he was going to get fired when he started calling home every 20 minutes to see if Janet had returned. I wanted to tell him that she would probably be back when he got paid, or kidnapped, so don't worry about it. He would call, make small talk kind of like "Hey son how are things enough with all that is Janet there?" When we would tell him that, just like the last time he called 20 minutes ago, that no she is not there, there would be this long pause on the phone, and he would hang up on us. I could hear the sadness, and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see him in such misery.

My grandma, like an idiot who sees his wife sucking the rock hard cock of another yet still believes her when she tells him it all happened by accident, to this day refuses to believe her Son is on any kind of drugs. I am sorry when he smells like crack and is constantly licking his fingers and checking his pockets (probably for more crack) something is up. He also, when he was high, could not stop moving, doing a strange kind of shoulder-shrug jig (ask me the next time you see me and I will gladly visualize this for you) as he stood in place...

Anyway, my grandma gave my dad an '84 Cavalier, a little stick shift that ran pretty well (for a Chevy) and didn't have too many miles on it. This all changed once my dad got it. He never changed anything in that car. One of the things he did not bother changing were the brakes, which after awhile would make this horrid squealing sound when you tried to stop the car, and my dad said nonchalantly was metal grating on metal.

MK - Janet's nephew, who was 23 and still living with us, to share in our bountiful rations of cinnamon rolls and eggs we ate every day for all three meals, was expected to drive out to pick my dad up. Why this was the arrangement instead of my dad driving his own damn car is beyond me.

So we get out to Lenexa and pick my dad up, and as we leave MK says something about how much louder the screeching and grating has gotten. My dad just mumbles something about "don't worry about it" and turns the radio up even louder. We get almost all the way home, to Independence avenue at Troost, and the brakes start working REALLY well. My dad seems surprised, then says that it must have been a nail or something in the caliper. All of a sudden smoke starts pouring out of the front of the car. All 6 of us (yes 6 people in a tiny ass Cavalier) pour out and stand there like 5 idiots and a crackhead as the car catches fire. On the way home my dad is blaming us for not telling him that the brakes are bad. When we get home a few hours later he smokes crack to make up for it instead of trying to look for a new car. Great success!

Side Note: that week, my grandma bought my dad an '85 thunderbird, digital dash, gunmetal gray, beautiful car. This was the car I bought from him 4 times. It's great that she will constantly purchase a crackhead vehicles to give to his dealers so he can consume more crack than a standing army can ammunition, but refuses to let me put her address down so I can get a job near her house to make money and better myself.

Another side note: When dad got paid, Janet came back, a beautiful new cold sore festering on her lip where earlier int he day dried spunk was gently nestled (she told me it was snot, but I know what jizz looks like I have shot it into many a face in my day)... this was the start of a pattern, where Janet would leave as soon as dad was broke, and show up at his job on payday, ready to take him back. Awesome!

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