The Barbecue
I don't feel like writing today. I'm in a space of uninspiration. That is a word. That has got to be a word. What do ya know, That's not a fucking word.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I've been on this baked potato kick lately, seasoned with Cajun spices. Specifically, Cajun spices. It helps me keep my girlish figure and by girlish figure I mean my wide hips and thick juicy ass. I'd love to be skinny, but I love food and sitting too fucking much.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I have this... acquaintance. He annoys the piss out of me. He is constantly back and forth with how he feels about me, one second he's hot, the next second he's cold. I mean, I know how I feel about him. I can't fucking stand him. I just wish he would make up his own fucking mind about not liking me either.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I remember the last time I saw my dad conscious. It was on my twenty third birthday and he was screaming at me in a restaurant in a drunken stupor. His girlfriend was telling me that she was using reverse psychology on him to get him to drink less by leaving more alcohol in the house. Ya gotta be kidding me. He was a fucking alcoholic, reverse psychology doesn't work like that ya dipshit! Anyway, he drank himself to death a month later.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
So my brother, sister and I went to make funeral arrangements the day after he died. We were all puffy eyed and kinda shocked. It was unexpected. Yeah, he was drinking too much, and yeah he was ready to die, but the hospital did something they shouldn't have and BOOM. Dead, six hours later. Anyway, we're talking to the funeral director, making arrangements, he's teling us about the creamation process and my brother asks about maybe getting the titanium screws that were in dad's knees back. My sister, LIT, THE FUCK, UP. "We get to have those back?! I can't wait to look at them underneath a microscope!" So she and my brother start talking about how cool it would be to dissect bone fragments, and to look at and touch the ashes, while the funeral guy tries to understand what the fuck is happening in this room thats supposed to be full of grief. And finally, my brother asks him "Hey man, when is Dad's barbecue anyway, and do we get to be there for it?" This poor guy. He drops his head into his hands, starts praying to his God that our session is over soon, and then he looks over to me to make sure that I'm okay. So I say "Yeah, when is the barbecue." Us three, we laugh hysterically, and the guy looks at us like he's got tears in his eyes. And wouldn't you know, that fucking asshole did not invite us to the barbecue.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I've been on this baked potato kick lately, seasoned with Cajun spices. Specifically, Cajun spices. It helps me keep my girlish figure and by girlish figure I mean my wide hips and thick juicy ass. I'd love to be skinny, but I love food and sitting too fucking much.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I have this... acquaintance. He annoys the piss out of me. He is constantly back and forth with how he feels about me, one second he's hot, the next second he's cold. I mean, I know how I feel about him. I can't fucking stand him. I just wish he would make up his own fucking mind about not liking me either.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
I remember the last time I saw my dad conscious. It was on my twenty third birthday and he was screaming at me in a restaurant in a drunken stupor. His girlfriend was telling me that she was using reverse psychology on him to get him to drink less by leaving more alcohol in the house. Ya gotta be kidding me. He was a fucking alcoholic, reverse psychology doesn't work like that ya dipshit! Anyway, he drank himself to death a month later.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
So my brother, sister and I went to make funeral arrangements the day after he died. We were all puffy eyed and kinda shocked. It was unexpected. Yeah, he was drinking too much, and yeah he was ready to die, but the hospital did something they shouldn't have and BOOM. Dead, six hours later. Anyway, we're talking to the funeral director, making arrangements, he's teling us about the creamation process and my brother asks about maybe getting the titanium screws that were in dad's knees back. My sister, LIT, THE FUCK, UP. "We get to have those back?! I can't wait to look at them underneath a microscope!" So she and my brother start talking about how cool it would be to dissect bone fragments, and to look at and touch the ashes, while the funeral guy tries to understand what the fuck is happening in this room thats supposed to be full of grief. And finally, my brother asks him "Hey man, when is Dad's barbecue anyway, and do we get to be there for it?" This poor guy. He drops his head into his hands, starts praying to his God that our session is over soon, and then he looks over to me to make sure that I'm okay. So I say "Yeah, when is the barbecue." Us three, we laugh hysterically, and the guy looks at us like he's got tears in his eyes. And wouldn't you know, that fucking asshole did not invite us to the barbecue.
But hey, what are you gonna do?
