So the semi-tard got married… to the Goodyear Blimp.
If you remember my tard post, I got the order of kids wrong. A few months back the tard and semi-tard’s mother had a stroke, she’s slowly bouncing back though. But I have no contact with these fucktards, why should I? The old bitch only wanted gossip out of my mother when she asked her why she didn’t speak to her any more (let’s not lie old harlot, the whole neighborhood’s racist and my psycho dad’s PR). Anyway, she and her husband (whose Stogies that killed him almost 10 years ago) had three sons: a normal who married a blond with fat hair (now she’s just a blond who’s fat) when I was in high school, a semi-tard (can’t work but could restrain himself), and a full-on squawking, screaming, straitjacket and lithium cocktail-ready retard (after paw-paw kicked off the Stogie money went toward his much-needed meds).
Well now the mortality bug has finally bitten and semi-tard needed a
nurse wife that will also look after tard BIL since normal (a garbageman) and his SAHMoo do not have the shekels to front for decent hospitalization and can’t make room for tards with tweens in their digs. I was coming home after 3 hours in the most magical place on earth- THE DMV to renew my ID when I saw Mr. Rain Man and his Mrs. Sow (with her three chins) picking up their DII grocery shopping that exploded from one of the hundred bags they were lugging! They technically close a 4pm, but work doesn’t stop til about 8. But I wasn’t huffing or puffing since I started DIM-Plus and Inositol two months ago. I haven’t had a rage attack, my screaming has subsided greatly (after 15 years), and my depression has lifted. I’ve been at an even keel for the first time in my life, and let me tell you, it’s not easy adjusting to this foreign feeling of, “Meh, it’s not my problem.” Because of dad I’ve always been pressured to put on an act in front of the relatives. But they’ve always cut us down. If I talked too much I was a disrespectful noisy little bitch, and if I didn’t, I was a lazy uncaring little bitch. Mom just moped around and gave blank stares as she took abuse. I’ve come to terms that I will always be resentful of her and my father thrusting us head first into the cowpile of poverty, and that Mom has gained a semblance self-esteem since returning to work in 2001.
And now I learned that my late Aunt Sadie’s mum, Leona, is a death’s door from her battle with lung cancer. Her bottle blond pig-in-a-California-beach-blanket DIL Joelle had flown to Florida to watch over her near corpse. She called early today to report that she was no longer talking and had to be fed, she won’t last much longer. And grandma’s other SIL, Lucrezia, has been receiving radiation for her breast cancer that her kids kept secret, because no one is allowed to know their business, but they HAVE to know ours. Gossip makes life full, you know. Oh yeah, and somebody at the ghetto charity hospital Mom temps at also had a surprise visit from the Grim Reaper. Ronald, the office supply department head (and heavy smoker) went into cardiac arrest in his office and an hour later they wheeled him into the morgue. It’s just as well, he was scared to death of the layoffs and his department was being cut off at the knees.
I don’t know what everyone is fussing about, the damage has been done, they’re all fucked. Maintenance was privatized, entire wards have been shut down, the
homeless patients will be shipped off to some shithole in Harlem, and whoever that hasn’t been fired will be doing 50% more work for the same (or lower) pay. Then the hospital will be shut down, sold off, razed, and band-spanking-new condos and matching shopping mall will rise from the ashes for the revitalized Roosevelt Island. And everybody and their babymamma will soon be chowing down at TGI Foodpoisoning, snatching up iPud2’s at Best Lie for knockdown prices, and getting the best bargains at Kunts, all in the shadow of the United Nations on the iridescent Hudson.
And I almost forgot, our new neighbor almost got burglarized last week. As it turned out Mom saw a suspicious character walk up our stoop and peek in the storm door to case our joint that very night. Our house is usually inhabited at the midnight hour- but it’s deceptive. My shitty light and thermal (HA! HA!) curtains do a good job of blotting out the majority of the lights, the other asshole works the graveyard shift, and grandma’s basement apartment has few lights on since she’s usually watching the broke-ass mega big screen tube in the second floor whose living room has no windows. So the neighbor is building a higher wall facing the alleyway side of the yard. I’m not surprised, there’s been a rash of petty crimes in my area. The further this economy sinks into the shit, the more people will be looking to get guns. And now Plan B will be harder to get in Illinois because 2 fundie assface pharmacists refused to fill scripts for women on religulous grounds. Skydaddy will be pretty busy I expect.