Home Sweet Home

Look Bess, dad cooked for you tonight.  He must have some good news because usually he leaves four boxes of meat lovers pizza on the table and ignores you while he engrosses himself into some trash television. 

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I think his favorite is cops because he's hoping to find his idiotic ex wife cracked out on the streets, caught with her lips around... 

Yeah, you're right I shouldn't talk about your mom like that.  But look, he's even whistling.  Maybe it's the brown curls atop his head or the masculine biceps or possibly the honey brown eyes... but your dad looks sharp in the suit and tie.  Oh wait!  Bess, you completely forgot or maybe I have?  Your dad had an interview today.  It's quite possible that he's been promoted to bus boy!  Ha!  Of course I kid you and of course being the manager at McDonald's is a lot better than some lousy bus boy. 

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Maybe with the promotion you and your father can finally get your own place instead of living in his parent's basement.  Which reminds me, has he told them yet that y'all are living down there?  Oh, did he? So where did he stash the bodies?  Oh, well that's interesting. Luckily for him, his parents spend too much time in Australia or Finland (or some other more interesting country) to notice.  However, the smell... 

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So since the suit is for a promotion and not some hot nobody that he's picked up at the local Quick Trip, do you think it's time that I make my move?  I'd love to feel those peeks behind my quivering hand. Oh come on Bess!  It's not like you didn't spend the entire day drawing pictures of Trevor Melbourne rubbing his hairy, under cut finger-nailed hands all over your.... uh, stuff... and PLEASE DO NOT DRAW ANY MORE!!!  There is only so much I can take Bess, haven't you pained me enough?  You've literally burned holes into my... wait, I don't have eyes, do I?  How about you draw a picture of me why don't you Bess.  And while you are at it, let me describe myself... 

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Seriously Bess?  When did I ever tell you that I looked like a four foot tall troll that lived under a bridge in Fartville?   Just because you think I'm a witch with a b, doesn't mean I'm as hideous as the wart under your left armpit.  Which, by the way is growing it's own repulsive growth all on it's own.   No, I look more like... give me the pencil... 

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Ah yes, the perfect beauty queen.  A nice, country girl with braided brunette pig tails and a soft, delicate hazel eyes with a hint of the green pulsating to bring out the right shades of the browns and grays... soft, simple lips and a face that didn't need an inch of make up because the face was built upon perfection... 

WHAT?!  Of course it's bullshit Bess, no girl can look as good as me. I'm not even real and quite honestly, believing I am and even responding to me at all proves that you're more psychotic than your mother hocked up on ecstasy and licking the acid off the tip of a man's... well... while singing "over the rainbow" and wishing she had ruby red shoes to send her back to Kansas where her stank a*s belongs. 

No offense, Bess.  You are much more inspiring than your sleaze of a mother, however you're just as ugly but you may not be as worthless. After all, I did notice that Trevor did make a double take at you today in class.  Either he noticed the wart's after labor or he liked the scent of your strawberry rat nest of hair.  Either way, it may be a sign that the days to come are a little less s****y.  I mean, when you are the under the rock at the rock bottom cafe, then things can ONLY go up from there, right? 

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Here's to hoping!  Now sleep well my dear and maybe you'll shower, shave and wax that uni in the morning and see who sits next to you tomorrow.  

Author's Note

Please ignore the -photo-(s) as they will soon be replaced with actual drawings once my illustrator is done with them; also keep noted that it's possible to see more photos that what the photo marks show you.

I do not care about grammar mistakes, misspellings or anything else of that sort. I only care to know what you think of the story, itself. If grammar mistakes bother you to the point that you do not find interest in my story, tell me that and I'll take it in consideration but do NOT use that as an excuse to point out my mistakes, or my flaws. I am aiming to entertain an audience that gets me and where I come from, not a group of English teachers.

Overall, tell me what you've enjoyed and what you didn't. Be blunt, honest and don't be afraid to be honest. I can not entertain if I'm being told a batch of lies.