Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Package from my Pa. Every year I get a check for fifty or a hundred bucks that sadly goes to some emergency bill, rent, or porn situation. Last year, I think i got a sweater, which my girlfriend was quick to snatch. This year, though. Oh this year. I got...check it, A phone card. Which I think is my father's way of dropping a hint. A thirty dollar card gift certificate thingy for the Olive Garden Restaurant. Which is awesome. Everybody knows I'm emaciated and bone-thin. Maybe I'll get some meat on my bones? Yeah, right. Suck it. I like being thin. I'm a wispy god doing whatever the hell I want. I'm going to save the card and put it towards their bread sticks and salads. It'll last me for eight months. I should be a supermodel. And a check too. What the hell? It's for...hold on....50 bucks. Wow. I'm a little nervous. Last time I got this much from him, he kicked me out of his house. This is making me paranoid. What's happening, Roge? And there's more!
A Santa Claus Pez and three...THREE Simpsons Burger King watches. I didn't even have to eat there.
Now this is where it makes me totally grateful and happy, but nervous.
I've written both about my affinity for Pez and my desire to purchase those Pez watches here. He has never heard me say anything about either of them.
Now what does this mean? Is my father reading this site? Did my sister tell him? Cuz' she wasn't supposed to. And he doesn't know I have this. Not that I care, but I don't like people peeking over my shoulder when I write. I know that people read it. Shit, I want them to. C'mon-you guys are going to help me get rich and famous, right? But under no condition should I ever stop to think what somebody else will think about what I just wrote. That destroys it all.
So father. If you're reading this. Tell me. So I could boot you the hell off of this thing or switch the name to Mr.stinkass.blogspot.com or something.
I love you and all, but you need to go away.
p.s. I love my presents too. Send more.