Friday, December 14, 2007

When you really love someone...

We call her Greyskull

but that insults Skeletor

Should I rename her?

I think I may have told you all, but my family is not very close. Or normal. or sober. Or clean. In either sense of the word (drugs or hygienic). Or Proud. From my uncle shitting in Walmart bags and throwing them out the window to my dad not being able to tell us definitively that he never sucked a dick for crack, we have been through a lot.

At this point in my intrepid tale of my life, my dad had already taken all of my money I made whilst working, alienated me from any chance of having steady friends as they would come over to him whining about how badly he needed pussy, and then asking them if they had older sisters who were over 18, and life was strangely spiraling downhill. It was the day after Christmas, 1996, and I had finally had it. I had been taken out of school to watch Janet, my dad called every 15 minutes at LEAST, Smeagol was doing better than I was (even if only because he was paying for his room and board by giving the Smeagol Snausage to Mystery on a daily basis, so maybe he was not doing as well as me), and I was wearing dirty clothes all the time because I had finally run out of money that I used to wash my own clothes at the corner laundromat.

I had moved in with a friend for about a week, but my dad threatened his parents with the law, so I was returned where my dad told me if I left home again he would "Whomp up on your butt boah!" I wasn't sure what it was, but it sounded gay, and the hand on the knee that was just funny before Janet came along, when the three of us would call eachother gay and laugh and then eat food and enjoy heat and other utilities, was becoming more gay with each iteration, especially since I always thought about how he probably sucked a cock for dope.

We had phones, but no gas, water, but no lights, and I was sitting outside the shitter, listening to Janet queef out another fucking mud baby, grunting like a stuck pig, and I finally decided. Fuck this. I am done. I get up ad call my dad at work, and tell him I do not intend to watch his crackhead wife smoke crack for the rest of my life, unlike him I planned on being something. I mean, fuck! This man made fun of me because I did not want to become a junkie! He had told me in the months leading up to my 16th birthday that when I turned 16 he would buy me come crack, some coke, LSD, paiote, opium, weed and other shit, let me try it all and see which one I wanted to start using. I told him that I planned on going back to school and trying to graduate, to which he replied that I was an uppity asshole who thought I was better than the rest of them.

Yeah, pretty much, I did think like that!

Anyway, my dad told me to stand outside the bathroom and he would deal with me when he got home, and I told him to shove it up his ass. I hung up and got my meager belongings together, I only had 1 trashbag worth of shit to my name, and called my sister to come get me. I went and sat in the living room, ignoring JJ's grumbling as since it was his turn next to watch Janet he had to go up.

Dad got home before my sister got there, and he was mad. "You made me quit my job, you ungrateful little shit!" He spit at me... well, I did not make him do anything, and I was bigger than he was at that point, who the hell did he think he was talking to?

I informed him that I did not intend on staying there and becoming a loser like him, and that I was leaving for good and he could watch Janet on his own if he wanted to. Well this insolence was not going to go unpunished, and he lunged at me.

Let me explain the circumstances here, because this was different from the Dad that fought the Smeags all those years before:

1. The old dad weighed 280 pounds, and was still out in the field, doing manual labor at his job. New dad stood at a register and snuck food all the time and maybe weighed 195 or so, due to the crack.

2. Old dad was not on crack. New dad was, and this somehow made him more dangerous, though weaker if that makes any sense.

3. Smeagol, at his prime, weighed 170 pounds and was 5'2. After 2 years of football and no food, giving me plenty of time to exercise, I was 240 pounds and could bench almost what I can now, which is not anything to scoff at.

Dad was not thinking of all this, and I knew that, because his favorite phrase, outside of "Is this the 5 o'clock free crack giveaway?!" is "You may be bigger, and stronger, and faster, and younger, but I'm meaner"... and he was about to test this theory.

I would like to say it was a battle of epic proportions, but I felt sorry for the guy. A few well placed punches and I went to wait outside while he talked shit from inside the house. I was finally on my own, a bachelor, free in the world, what could go wrong now?

We find out all the shit that can go wrong Monday.

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