Oh you thought this miserable saga was over? No chancey miss awailen (my dad says that, I dont think it's a real thing). But this is the last of the fucked up funeral shit becuase if I write one more word satan herself is going to haul ass up from the seventh circle to hand over her pitchfork and yours truly just can't take the heat.
But I digress.
Last night, on the phone, mother is both stark and raving. Telling me about the divvying of the assets. Turns out g-pa didn't leave much for her but, get this, he set aside a shit ton for her brother, my uncle, a man I've met once. Naturally, I'm all "What the shit??? How is that fucking fair??? I want (you to have) a piece of the pie too."
"Well," says she, "dad thought he should set aside some money for Robbie what with him being slow and all, you know, on account of him being born with the cord wrapped around his neck."
Turns out I have a retard uncle and I dinnae even know it! And I can say retard now, because I'm related to one!
"Well he's not slow slow, he's just not as quick as everyone else."
"What like Reilly? Hey, you better not be planning on giving him extra money just cause he's slow."
"Your brother's not slow!"
"Well he isn't sharp. Like are we talking like butter knife dull or plastic spoon dull? Either way, you better split things evenly."
"Lucky for you I don't got nothing!" she said with the vigour of a poor, crippled lady. (This is true, my father is worth more dead than alive. You should never explain life insurance to a child with a temper. It was touch and go for him for a while.)
"Oh great, thanks, I look forward to paying off all your debts"
From there it segued into her asking what my worst memory of my childhood was (answer: I don't answer trick questions) and then advising me as to what qualities I should look for in a man (answer: one who can cook. Also, one who likes flower gardens. -Whyyyyyy? Becuase they're nice. -Ahhhh so.)
...is something burning? It smells like my soul is on fire.
Stay alive kiddos.
So what's in ViaSteel that makes it work?
Mostly just your greasy palm.
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