Monday, October 1, 2007

Mystical Retard


Undies held by hand
balls taking the gentle breeze
The Smeags has arrived

Mystical Retard

No I am not talking about the smash 80's pop group, the Mystical Retard is what I called my mom when she was on the rock almost as hard as my dad. Before I go any further, my mom no longer smokes crack, and has been clean for almost a year now. My dad, not so much. I think he is clean, but he is still kind of acting like he is engaging in the cracketry. Anyway, my little PSA done, on with the story.

My mom was a mystical retard when she smoked crack rocks. I attribute this to a few things: one, she was not 100% there before, she had always been kind of bipolar or manic depressive, but the crack really rounded out her insanity nicely. She would sit there and talk about nonsense, not really caring where she was, always something embarrassing, and do this almost like Smeagol like moan at the end of every sentence, telling us how spiritual it was, like the time we were walking through the mall and she stopped at a vending cart with chips and salsa and was making a fucking home in it (I do not think that is so much the crack, she still does that but now it's funny because she has the money to purchase it and yet never does), moaning with pleasure at each bite as JJ and I tried to act like we did not know her.

She finishes the chips and tells us "Wow those were so good, that's the best chips I have ever tasted, almost as good as sucking Jeff's dick!" The exclamation point is there for a reason, she was practically yelling this. She then started talking about how spiritual giving blowjobs was, and how sad she was that neither JJ or I were gay. Smeagol entered my mind for a second, gently massaging his balls in a dark corner somewhere, a raw fish in his mouth complimenting his permanent scowl, grunting angrily when someone looked at him in disgust, but then I was able to put that out of my mind as my mom was now asking some complete stranger, thankfully a woman, to grab her tits because they were real and they were awesome.

The first time my mom met the girl I THOUGHT I was going to marry, she grabbed her tits and grunted in approval, then told her to grab hers. If it had not been my mom but some other hot chick, I would have filmed and then jerked. This, however, was not so hot. She did the same with the girl I actually DID marry, and with most of the skanks in between. She then regaled them with the tales of how incredibly ugly I was, "This little motherfucker-" she would say with pleasure, pointing at me -"was sssoooooooo ugly, I did not even want to breastfeed him. And meaaaan too! He would kick and bite everyone, with his little brace and bar between his feet. I hated him. But one day I was trying to look at a book instead of him as he was nursing, and he grabbed my face and pointed it towards him as if to say 'you look at me', and it was so spiritual... man I need some crack."

Of course the last part was implied, as she seemed at that point in the story to become a babbling incoherent mongoloid, droning on about how spiritual my shitty diapers were and the like. She also likes to regale everyone with the tale of how she and her doctor both thought I was a girl until I was actually born with "a handle on him". As if I did not already feel self conscious about my minuscule penile implant size.

Side note, when my first son was born, she regaled the doctor and the nurses with the knowledge that "All Wallace men put a handle on their babies" with pride and joy, and then started oohing and aahing over my kid's penis, telling the nurse he was going to plunge that into some lucky girl soon. Awesome.

As the crack took more and more of a toll, she got stranger. She threw herself from a moving car for seemingly no reason, took her clothes off and ran around the parking lot at Jeff's house. She constantly wanted to see JJ and my genitalia, to make sure we were treating our ladies right. No we never showed her. She would order bacon, and then always send it back, telling the waiter/ waitress that she wanted it crispy but not burnt, and made a big deal about how she liked her bacon like she liked her dick: nice and hard but melting in the mouth (This happened so often it was not funny, ask anyone in my family). She would ask if the soda she was drinking was certified, and not drink anymore if it either wasn't or (which was more often the case) the server had no idea what she was talking about.

There was more, though my dad's fall into the bowels of crack was a lot funnier, and I may regale you, the reader, with these tales. It is good to get these down for posterity, as like I said my mom no longer smokes crack and I am told threw my dad out the last time she caught him doing it, making him sleep in his car. I am sure that though Haggard was in love with Mystery, he would be happy as even before the crack came along my mom had no end of fun boob slapping my fucking Burger King manager, and that asshat never gave me a raise for it either.

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