Well, look who’s late again, it’s my bitch cousin Catherine, calling from the other side of I-90 talking about how “there’s been a horrible accident and now one of the lanes is shut down.” Pathetic. I mean, Catherine is extremely familiar with being late, of course, what with her vast personal experience with rawdogging it in the hot tub at my high school graduation party and all, but I really thought she’d pull it together this year and get to my house before noon like I’d asked her to in order to help me set up for Thanksgiving dinner. But no! Typical Catherine! Just fucking typical. If it’s not lying about having her kids baptized or showing up late for mom’s funeral, you can’t count on her for shit.
Now, thanks to Catherine’s fucking incompetence, I’ll have to ask that useless stack of scrunchies I call a daughter to help me finish setting up. Do you know what Isabella said to me the other day? Do you? She accused me of “bisexual erasure.” I don’t even know what that is. All I said was that I loved that Kristen Stewart was in that new gay movie where she’s actually playing a gay person, and bam! I’m the bad guy for not properly acknowledging her relationship with Robert Pattinson—you know, that relationship that ended when Izzy was 7, the same age she was when she called her ex-best friend, McKensleigh, a, quote, “smelly dyke,” and I had to explain to her why that wasn’t a nice thing to say? Well, I remember, Izzy! You can’t bisexually erase that or whatever.
Speaking of 7-year-old Izzy, this was her favorite song at the time. Horrible.
- “Why don’t you ask your son to help you?” Sorry, Wyatt’s super busy thinking I can’t hear him jerking off in his room right now.
- “What about your husband?” Like father, like son.....