Friday, November 9, 2007

Dad and the 3 liter

a show I would watch daily
ah, those were good times

Spread Eagle

So soon after Janet had moved in, we were all sitting around, bored because Dad could no longer afford cable and her fat fucking human waste of a piece of fucking shit asshole fat ass jerk shithole of a son Fatso had taken up the Sega for the third day in a row, constantly playing video games and only taking breaks to attain more food or stink our bathroom up with his numerous Cartman-like bouts of hurried intense shitting.

Anyway, we heard Dad and Janet arguing over something, probably money or that sweet rock, and Janet stomps out and leaves. We start a game of Sock Fight: what this is is we all get together a bunch of socks and roll them up into balls, and put them in a big pile in the middle of the living room. We then assemble teams and turn all the lights out and grab about 4 socks a piece and hide, until someone tells us all to go and then we all sneak around, throwing balled up socks at one another. Hey it was either that or watch hardcore porn in a room full of dudes, which happened a lot also, and is very awkward when you have the 2nd smallest dick in the room.

Anyway I had decided to hide by my dad's room, and since it was cracked I opened it a little further to be able to see if someone was coming my way. I leaned in, and saw my dad, butt naked, spread eagle on his bed, gently jerking it while also whining like a bitch, presumably because Janet had just left. I also accidentally knocked over one of the 3 liters he kept by his bed and filled with urine, because he was too lazy to get up and make the LITERALLY 10 FOOT TRIP TO THE BATHROOM. Fucking gross, dude!

I tell ya, no amount of therapy can take away some of the stuff that happened there. Janet's nephew, who was 23, let's call him Mike, inexplicably moved in with us as well, and commandeered a bed and a healthy portion of our food. He had a pretty nice car, which I remarked on and wondered aloud since he did not have a job where one could get a car like that without, you know, cash.

He informed me that he took the car on a test drive and just never took it back. Alrighty then, nice. I wondered if he knew the police would be out looking for him, something he did not seem terribly worried about. He did pioneer a few things, though: he was the first person to call my dad Steve-o, outside of his dealers of course, and was the first person to crap on our living room floor when we moved out of the Duplex, which is a tradition of sorts with them.

Back to Fatso. Damn I hated him with a passion unmatched in later endeavors. He had asthma, almost never bathed, clogged the toilet up all the time and would get one of us to bring him food so he did not have to stop playing video games. I would frequently fantasize about him dying from asthma or from shitting his guts out, which was not that far out of the realm from the noise he made while deucing it up. Not to say I never acted on these impulses. I once set all the clocks 5 hours ahead and got him to go wait on the school bus at 3 in the morning, and let him stand out in the snow for almost a half hour before he came back in crying because he was cold.

I think I am going to hit up on some more Smeagol Monday...but maybe not since I have it off and I do not like to touch computers or put on clothes when I have an extra day off...

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