Chapter Twenty Three: Grandpa’s House

I see you decided that I was right, and grandpa’s house was your only option. I know that the sting of your mother’s lies is still there but together, we can work through it. I assure you but you must learn to listen to me the first time. I may be harsh Bess, but I’m always right. 

It’s a lot smaller and smellier than I remember and I’m pretty sure your Grandpa belongs on Hoarders: Buried Alive because I can’t see even an inch of the hardwood that I know should be under our feet right now. I’m almost certain I just saw a rat race across the piles of junk in the hall and the smell of death lingers under my nose. I’d be mad but this may work out in my favor. That damn dog of yours may have a chance of dying from unnatural-hoarding causes which you won’t be able to blame me for; however, I’d enjoy poisoning the little f****r.

“Well, well if it isn’t fat a*s.” What is with the men in your family and their inability to be kind to you? I mean, they all f**k around with skanks nicknamed blue waffle and yet you get the bullshit that spills out of the intoxicated mouths? If I were you Bess, I’d punch him like you did your father then you can start running this household. Then we could begin clearing out all this mess without as much as a peep coming from this old prick. We can start with his insane obsession with porcelain clown figurines. You know how I feel about clowns, Bess. 

Child molesting, face-eating monsters! 

I think I’m going to have nightmares if we don’t figure out a way to escape this one and only bad idea that I’ve come up with. Why didn’t we just tell Grandpa to move in with us? After all, it was his house before he gave it to your dad, god rest his poor, poor butthole. Which is probably get so much attention that he’s probably decided against women and turned on me, never allowing for me to be his better half. 

I have wedding fantasies, too, you know? You aren’t the only one allowed to be obsessively in love with someone.

 

Grandpa, what happened to the house? 

I’m pretty sure you asking this question is stupid…

“What the hell do you mean? If you got an issue with my house then you can march your little a*s back home.” 

Grandpa, I can’t go home, dad’s in jail and mom ran out on me again after she took off with my savings, again. I just mean, why do you have all of this stuff?

“It’s not his stuff, it’s mine and since me and your paw got married this is also my house. If you don’t like it then you can get your lard a*s to work and organize my collectibles.” 

I can’t believe there is another stick of a w***e bad mouthing you and ordering you around. I thought I’d never say this but I wish Trevor were here, at least he has the balls to defend you. I thought you became a stronger woman when you stood up to Candice but clearly that was just a fantasy I played so long in my own head that I began to believe the lie. Go on Bess, start cleaning otherwise they’ll toss your a*s back on the streets and I don’t want us to wind up in the system. 

Can you imagine what kind of freaks would be willing to foster a sixteen year old lard a*s? You’d be a slave to all kinds of odd balls, at least here you know your Grandpa is a loud mouth drunk married to a hooker that used to go by the name of Pepper. 

Let’s at least clear out the hallway so you can make it to your bedroom and the bathroom when necessary and then you can call and cry to Trevor while I figure out a way to poison that filthy b***h.