It takes a lot to make me mad. I’m naturally fairly calm and easy going, and generally give people the benefit of the doubt.
So when I say that I am seething red with anger as I type this, just know how rare that is, and how much it takes to get me to that point.
In my last post, mama was stomping her little Satan hooves because I wouldn’t buy her a trailer. I told her for the millionth time that I was not her bank, and since I apparently owed her a mobile home because she birthed me, I was no longer any son of hers. I told her good riddance.
When I woke up this morning, there was a text waiting from her.
“Would you like to meet your father? Its not who you think it is. You can get a DNA test if you want. I know who it is and you don’t.”
I can not explain my rage. If she had been in front of me, I’d be asking you all to chip in on bail.
So I replied, “What I would like, you crazy old bitch, is for you to leave me the fuck alone. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. You can live on the curb like any trash for all I care. It’s exactly what you deserve, and the next time I hear your name I hope it’s someone calling to tell me I need to come home so I can spit on your grave. Fuck you.”
And then I blocked her number.