The
Rant
It was my dad's birthday a couple of days ago. He's like 65 or something. To tell you the truth I don't care. I didn't even come and visit. I mean, who would like to visit an alcoholic freak that keeps harping about ducks in the winter. Only Aunt Phoebe comes, her husband never does. They never did get along, even before the marriage. My dad keeps calling him a no-good polo-playing mother fucker. I like my uncle. He gave me one of the best gifts for Christmas. He does fuck around, my uncle. But then again, who doesn't?
One thing dad always talks about is his cat. Forgot his name though. He'll always talk about the day he left mom and called the cat. He swears up and down that the cat did a double take and followed him. Like I give a shit. Who cares about a lousy cat anyway?
So why am I telling you this? Well, dad has been in and out of all sorts of institutions. Whenever people see me, they tell me I remind them of him. And then their eyes would just spell out, loony jr. That just fucking gets my cow! I have been consistently been in the top of the class since like Kindergarten. I have AP classes coming out of my fucking ears. Got so many academic awards, I treat them like fuck friggin' toilet paper. And with all this, they look at me as my father's son. I get to be treated as the Son of Frankenstein. I am a freak. A half bred, well-off, uber-geek, freak of nature. I am way past pissed off, I'm telling you
So anyway, two weeks ago, Nelson, that no-good goat bitch, called me and told me that there's going to be a kegger or something Friday night. Asked me if I wanted to come. Hmmm.... let's see, alcoholic father is to Frankenstein as Frankenstein's son is to drink beer. Right. I told him to fuck his momma, the doctor who delivered him and the horse they rode on, gave him the finger and thanked him for inviting me and walked home. So, now, I get this black eye, and a broken nose for being polite enough to thank him for the invite.