Soapbox Diner
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A New All-Time Low |
06.22.07 |
Last night I got home, full of hope and lulled into that old warm feeling of anticipation. I was going to BBQ Steak & Play Darts in the Grass Whilst Drinking a Nice, Cold Beer and Listening to Some Hip, Happenin' Tunes. Lovely, correct?
Only when I got home, there were two subpeonas taped to my front door JUST like two little scarlet letters proclaiming my sins to the neighborhood, or at least whoever might happen upon my front door. You see, they were not in envelopes, and the names of all the parties and the charges were right there in plain sight. Fuckers. My kid came home to that, assholes. Could you not have AT LEAST had the fucking courtesy of putting them in an envelope? Or how the fuck about this; how about having my fucking ADVOCATE, who hasn't bothered to communicate with me AT ALL in the last two and a half months, call me and get permission to mail them to me, which is a perfectly admissible form of legal service. THAT way, my kid doesn't have to come home and freak the fuck out, and the neighbors don't have to know all my damn shameful skeleton-like business.
Jesus fucking Christ, the lack of respect and dignity is disgraceful. Fuckers.
So instead of enjoying BBQ Steak & Play Darts in the Grass Whilst Drinking a Nice, Cold Beer and Listening to Some Hip, Happenin' Tunes, I did it all anyways, but I told the kid to go play over at his friends, got really, stupidly drunk all by myself, and hollered over to the grody male neighbor that stands across the street ogling at me to come over. Then I proceeded to make a complete ASS out of myself by trying to molest him in a vain and wasted attempt to seduce him. See, he's got the gout and other such ailments, apparently, and he just had his testosterone shot so He Didn't Feel Good.
God, I can't even get smarmy, icky guys to gimme some. That's just pathetic, but how pleased am I today that I am not soiled? Oh, very.
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