My Children Suck!

I’m not sure how old my daughter is at this point – gotta be in her late teens, I’d guess – but she has already reached an advanced developmental stage of turning out a right bitch.  Walking around with her pug nose in the air, eight pounds of make-up giving her that extra bit of whorehouse flavor, too good to even say hello to the old man when she passes me in the hallway.  My asshole daughter Kelly is fast on her way to being the town bicycle, which everyone gets to take free rides on.  The hell with her, that no good cu- oh, wait, Kelly’s her sister – Sandy’s the slutty one.  Yeah, the hell with Sandy.

But Kelly’s no walk in the goddamn park either.  That rotten, Ben Gay smelling troll takes after her sister with the attitude, but at least I don’t have to worry about her getting knocked up by some skin tag with an erection.  No guy with half a brain or eyesight would touch that monster kid of mine.  But even if you could somehow overlook her gross ass appearance, she also happens to be just about the meanest pig-tailed, pig-faced demon seed alive.  Her brother Todd is lucky to still be breathing after all the beatings and torture Kelly laid on him over the years.  More about that douche son of mine in a bit though.  Me and the old lady really dropped the ball not drowning that fucking Kelly straight out of the womb.  The world will suffer more and more everyday for our mistake.

I’m sure Sandy will try to make her up someday, if she dares to put her hands near Kelly’s mouth with its jagged razor teeth, and then both of those tramps can prowl the streets earning bucks in the backseats of abandoned Oldsmobiles by rotting train trestles, and then blowing their money on cigarettes and tattoos of monkeys masturbating.  At least they’ll be out of my goddamn hair.

I might be getting some of this confused.  The slutty one is the oldest, I think, our first born, and really why we continued having sex after that I couldn’t say.  I think Sandy popped out of the old lady the minute the Challenger exploded, to give you an idea of the doom that awaited us.  That’d make her what now?  Sixteen?  Twenty?  Fucked if I know.  Sandy?  I don’t think the oldest is Sandy.  Maybe it’s Karen.  Don’t even get me started on Karen.  She’s the worst of the bunch, by far.  Unless Karen is the oldest, in which case, that’s more than enough about that trollop.

And Todd!  Fucking Todd!  That ungrateful little shithead better never get within arms reach of the old man again or I’ll rip his goddamn ears off and stuff ’em up his ass!  My oldest son, born…third?  Fourth?  What difference does it makes, he’s as much a dick with three older sisters as with two.  Maybe if he had an older brother he’d have caught a few more ass whippings growing up, straighten him out.  But I sure as shit don’t wish more kids on myself, no goddamn sirree.  I’d sooner dive in front of a fucking truck.  Thankfully the old lady ran off with Sandy’s prom date last May, so no worries there, huh?  Oh happy day for me that was!  Sandy?  No, Karen’s prom date.  Sandy’s the one with the scabies.  Isn’t she?

Todd!  That bastard son of a whore!  Shanked me in the thigh when he was nine, then stole the car and got arrested in New Mexico with four she-males giving him eight half-and-halfs in a row.  What a goddamn freak – at nine years old!  Came back home, house arrest til he was 12, shanked me again at 14, got me right in the spleen.  Kidnapped his sister…Kelly?  I can’t remember.  The one with the mullet.  Ran off to Tijuana.  Lost four toes doing something with firecrackers, cerveza, and a gay Federale.  Now the rotten scum is back under my roof, killing squirrels with a bow and arrow from his bedroom window.  And his sister with the mullet will now only speak Spanish around me, just to dick with the old man.  That’s gotta be Karen.  Sandy, I mean.  Not the whore, the slightly trashy one who use to have the mullet and calls herself Pilar or Lupe or some shit.  I can’t understand her accent.

And then there’s that other kid, what’s his name?  It’s some stupid shit his mother insisted on.  Hunter or Logan or something?  That damn kid that’s always cracking wise about my hairline?  I get my hands on that little shit I will beat the living piss out of him with these two hands, I swear to the merciful Jesus.  Man do I hate that kid!  I’m not even sure he really is one of my kids, he might just be some neighborhood flunkie waiting around for a ride on Meredith.  Er, Kelly.  What the hell is her name?  The one who wears fishnets day and night?

Karen?  She might be the slut one.  Don’t really remember.  If not, don’t even get me started on the one I think Karen is.  She’s the queen of all misery in this godforsaken hellhole of a house.  She’s the worst of the bunch, and this bunch is pretty rotten.  She makes Todd look like Gandhi.  She makes that slut Sandy look like Mary Magdalene.  Oh wait, she was a whore too, wasn’t she?  I don’t understand my Bible sometimes.  Why was Jesus trucking with some nickel and dime sex worker?  That Christ is a mystery, but a great one.

All I know is, one of these nights when the kids are all chained up secure in the basement, or the attic, or the refrigerator, I’m gonna pack up my few meager possessions and light a match to this den of sorrow, finishing off this pack of bastards for good and all.  Am I worried they might read this?  They might be searching the Internet for bomb ingredients and perverted cartoons?  I could care less.  Let ’em.  I’ll be down the hall on the left where I always am, kids.  You better come prepared for the fight of your life you want to take out your old man.  I’m worth any three of you, and at least six or eight of that cock Todd.

Bring it the fuck on, children. I will battle to the death with each and every last one of you bastards.