“Oh, give me a Home … “

Wednesday, June 19th, 2013

To:  Fuckhead Demonseed & His Bleeding-Out-the Anus, Rape-Ruined Goddamn Crew
From:  Crabby McGrouchpants
Date:  06/17/13
Subj:  RE: Life

Dear “Patty’s Doormat”:
 
Well, since no-one believes me — that Jeanne promised everyone a “rude awakening,” something David mocked her for, years ago, at the Camp — I’m still the jerk.
 
Who else could she have left the remaining 50% to?  Rattle off the names of the other two cousins who’ve “left the nest” — as though it’s a free-for-all, as though she had any sort of relationship with any other than me (and David, by extension — but, only during childhood).
 
It’s still true: I never met Gerald because of you — and your worthless mother, Betty — and it’s too late to compensate for that.
 
(“He had no right to it!  She’s my aunt!” you told Inga Gustafson — as though the need to say so isn’t a dead giveaway!)
 
 Everybody left Jeanne to die, miserably, stuck in a house like you — like Aunt Mary in Florida, but with no escape — since, you can’t like without a “grown-up” around (i.e., your aged Aunt), and your wife didn’t even bother staggering the interval between becoming able to take over the mortgage fully for the house she moved us to another school district for and serving you with divorce papers (I mean, why not be utterly transparent about it, right?  Who needs tact?), so . . . where else to stay, newly single, with a full-salaried pension?
 
The “blood tie” between me and any “blood relations” was, as far as I’m concerned, altogether severed when Jeanne died — I saw how unhappy she was, the last Christmas I was home, but, of course, I’m half-awake and you people aren’t even that — so I’ll take my model as my never-met-by-me Uncle Gerald:
 
“Enjoy the silence!”
 
 
Fuck off,
Christopher J. Snyder
A.B., Univ of Chicago, English Language & Literature, ’94
 
P.S.  Stick your fingers in my ass when I was an infant, did ya?  That explains why I cringed, inwardly, throughout my childhood — and why you need to fuck up other things and “apologize” for those.  (I’m all healed now, though, thanks!  Have been since one morning in July of ’07 . . . able to put both feet on the ground, and everything!)
 
P.P.S.  Patty’s odious for saying what she said to me when I was at my lowest — as though I hadn’t outclassed her whole peer group, let alone most of the country, just by where I went to school, by then — but covering up for my violation as an infant makes her complicit, as far as I’m concerned.  She’s been paying “rental” on the four bookcases of books that took me years to accumulate which she has “on display” in her newly-redone basement, as far as I’m concerned: don’t she look “smart”!
 
P.P.P.S. Jen sent me on a needless errand (“Jen’s got a ride with her friend, Colleen . . . but she wants you to come get her!”) just so I’d be separated from my girlfriend, Brenda, in the critical hour before her mother came to get her.  Guess my kid sister doesn’t like me having a girlfriend!  Guess she wants to be my “B.F.F.”!  Guess Brenda and I will have to be separated — and separate — and miserable, and, further still, unable to isolate the juncture at which our lives went “off track.”  Jen ain’t shit — she deserves what I got from you, as an infant — which is certainly not my problem, though!
 
P.P.P.P.S.  What am I supposed to say — sorry it took this long to pull all the strands of my life, then-emergent, back together?  “‘Scuse me for livin’?”  Ya’all ain’t gonna keep stable, current “selves” going, without me to “feed” off of, like you have been . . . see what ensues, though!  Time will show!

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