Friday, December 12, 2008

ZInfandel of Justice!

A crisp breeze beckons,
couples embrace, shut out cold,
yearning warmer climes

You ever notice the uglier a kid is the less you want to hear them cry? As a young lad, my mother took every opportunity to inform me that not only was I hideous to the eyes, but a damper on the ears as well whenever I began talking or asking for assistance because I fell down the stairs that one time. I said that to try to persuade you to not think me a monster when, at the local mullet hunting grounds, otherwise known as Walmart (I am serious, nowhere, not even Santa Calgon, has as many magical mullets, too tight shirts with the dirty ping sweatpants on a fat older lady or magical cameltoes of justice), when I saw a young man crying. Had he been attractive, clean or clearly not from the ghetto I would have simply smiled knowingly and moved on to get great deals at unbeatable prices. But this child was hideous. He had that permakoolaid lip, where you get that ring of red around your mouth but not from staying at a prison? And that constant snot drip, much like an iv of desperation, kept injecting his persona with an aura of ghetto that would make a certain raptor's cloak of failure bow in tribute.

I looked upon the little heathen in complete disgust, and crop dusted on my way past him. Why don't some of these parents care anymore? I would beat my kids retarded if they started rolling around on the floor screaming like they lost their damn minds. His mom was just standing there, saying over and over "No Bryce, you know this hurts Mommy's feelings when you do that!" While he was snotting all over the place, probably waiting to shit in plastic Walmart bags and hang them in a tree, I dunno.

Anyway, I am going to try to pick Smeagol up this weekend to allow him to see my house. I took the Wii upstairs to better keep an eye on it, as even though he does not own one and has no plans to ever own one, he would still steal controllers and games for one. I also need to take a dishwasher to my sister's house. I might somehow combine the two for effect, why shouldn't I get anything out of it?

What else, what else... of my wife brought home a damn cat she got off of is essentially what it sounds like, you go post your crap that you are getting rid of and someone comes and gets it. No word yet on whether or not someone will bite at my posting of my old underwear. Anyway we were posting a washer on there, and she started looking through the bummables, and found this fucking cat. It was owned by some old lady, who according to my wife is a very stereotypical cat hoarder. 8 or 9 cats, smells like cat food, poor communication skills (no diploma son!), ratty clothes, no furniture, horrible house/ yard keeping practices, you know the type. Anyway she brings this fuckin thing home, and it immediately scratches my dog and starts messing with Nubbies, my madly obese completely declawed cat, who I like. Fuck that! I was right about to feed this damn thing to the dog when wifey informs me the old lady called her and told her to bring her cat back. Apparently, the cat she gave away had had kittens, and she said one of the kittens was acting sad, thus we had to give her her cat back.

First of all, how can you tell a cat is sad? They mope around all the time anyway, and when they do bother to recognise your presence it is only to get some food or to keep you from walking by running in front of you.

Second, my wife specifically told her the cat was a Christmas present for the boys, which is funny because upon meeting said cat, they just shrugged their shoulders and went back to playing Mario Galaxy. But why would you ask for a cat back when you were told it was for three small children? What kind of fuckin no talent ass clown do you have to be to take a present away from small children? Apparently she informed my wife that she did not care about my kids, she wanted her cat back.

So she's driving me to k-rat, telling me how mean this old lady is, and I told her to tell her that the cat was supposed to be a meal for our snake, and did she have any other small animals she was willing to get rid of? This would have a dual purpose: since the thought of ruining Christmas for small children did nothing for her (and I told my wife it wouldn't have, cat hoarders only care about their fucking cats, not about anyone or anything else), the idea that one of her cats was going to be dinner for a snake could (pleasegodpleasegodpleasegod) cause a heart attack, and 2 it would have stopped her from putting stuff up she wasn't really going to get rid of. Of course my wife, like a dweeb went and tried to appeal to her humanity, telling her "There are three little boys at home crying right now (they didn't give a shit) because the cat I was going to give them for Christmas is being taken from them, I hope you're happy!" To which the old lady did not pay any attention, just like I said she wouldn't, simply taking her cat, inspecting her Precioussss to make sure it was in good condition, and shutting the door in my wife's face. Why do I have to be right all the time?

On another front, I have a bit of wisdom to share with you. When someone asks you for a Christmas wish list, tell the truth. Don't joke around and write things like "Anal", "a blowjob", or "Cleveland Steamer followed by a donkey punch with a rimjob to top it off". Those things, much as we all want them, should be relegated to verbal wish lists only, and not written on paper, creating ample blackmail opportunities. It could also cause a raised eyebrow or two when your wife takes said Christmas list and opens it at the store where your mother in law is standing next to her, both of them reading it for the first time. Not that that happened to me, just wanted to make sure it didn't happen to any of you.

Merry Whatever.

1 comment:

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