taco, tostada, and flan
suck shit through a tooth
Sorry for the late post, today is take your kid to work day and it is tough keeping tabs on my cultivated baby gravy and being brilliant.
Anyway, on to the story. I am not sure if you all knew this, but my dad smoked crack. This made holidays and get togethers embarrassing. Today's recollection occured during this time.
My grandmother gave my dad an old '84 cavalier to run around in, and run around in it he did. I will admit in the early days before the crack gestapo infiltrated our ranks and took my dad to the Failure concentration camp, funnily enough ran by Frau Smeagol. Sorry last night was World War II night.
Anyway with a tiny 4 seat car, of course the crack made my dad think we were clowns, and on the day of this tale all 7 of us poured into this tiny car to go register for school. Ah, the lovely early autumn sky was beautiful, able to whisk a young lad's thoughts to conquests more aesthetically pleasing than other seasons offered, or at least I would assume, since I was sitting bitch while my dad's elbow constantly came thisclose to contacting my balls as he shifted the car... nice picture in your mind, huh? (If that is a nice picture, you need my patented Formula 833 Stevester's Magic Man Seed, on sale in stores everywhere). We were all grumbling, as it was hot in that damn car and someone (I can now admit it, it was me) had blown ass and the windows were fogging up. My dad was blabbing about how we all needed to start helping out more, but everyone in the car knew he meant me and my brother, as no one else was listening, still listening to their awesome cd players while JJ and I wore little more than cloaks of failure.
My dad had just informed me that I was going to need to get another job, as he had just been fired from ANOTHER gas station for stealing product, and it might take longer to get a new job, as people knew who he was now. I said something like "Maybe if you laid off those rocks you wouldn't need to go work at another damn dildo factory", and he slammed on the brakes, right in the middle of downtown with cops all around, and levied this threat at me: "You want me to whoop your goat smellin' ass boah?" I was shocked. First, the logistics of getting me out of this sardine can in order to "whoop" my "ass" "boah" seemed mind boggling. Second, with all the cops around, was he really willing to engage in fisticuffs with me with the very real knowledge that he would go to jail for a very long time afterward?
"Look, boah, I've done some foolish things, things I am not proud of. But I know with love and support from my family (here he looked at Janet, who was giving some thug the Panamanian Sex Eye while he massaged his crotch gang style) I can pull through this. Son, I have been a foolish, foolish man, and I promise to do better in the future. But you will respect me or I'll whomp on your butt! (How gay can that sound? Pretty fucking gay) I am the man of this house (unless he has been kidnapped), and you may be bigger, stronger, faster and younger than me, but I'm meaner and I'll kick your goat-smelling ass, ya got me?!"
"Fuuuck youuuu" I rambled, and looked out the window. It would be the first time I had ever defied Toboggan Boy, but not the last.