[I started to post this in MPSIMS, but decided I was still too pissed. So please bear with me. I’ll try to use levity to ease my ire without injuring anyone too much.]
Some background: My mother and I used to be close, until I was around 13 or so and began to, hopefully, think for myself. Needless to say, Shitler (a cross between Sybil of the multiple-personality fame and Hitler, obviously) doesn’t take well to her minions not marching in goose step, so a chasm began to form. Over time, it widen to the point of almost zilch communication within the past year plus for a variety of reasons, all on my end. Add to that our completely exact opposite beliefs on everything, especially what’s deemed important, and her views on my life’s problems… IE: my mental illness is all “just an act because I’m lazy, an attention whore, don’t wanna work, am a good actress, etc., etc.” and how I handle them. The last straw came when she decided that I had no right to deal with ending my marriage on my own. I’d had it and I’ve basically not looked back since then.
Of course, at that point, I really didn’t think she could stoop any lower than what occurred then. Her asking if I’d be willing to take a DNA test to prove that I must have been switched at birth and not really hers. Fine. As long as she pays. 
Anyway, what little interaction we’ve had in the interim has been on my terms. Finally. And in the spirit of Christmas, I felt we should somewhat bury the hatchet (someplace other than our skulls) and aim for tolerance through the end of the year. This is where I made my mistake. :mad: In the midst of much of her usual bitching and griping, I got subjected to her armchair psychology and analysis, proselytization, and plenty of rebukes, demands and exasperation. Which all was pretty much expected and rolled right off my back since it was coming from the Manson family matriarch and her lackey(s).
But I really should have seen more coming. I mean, there is NO way that this woman would’ve been content just letting me be quasi-punished. I haven’t suffered enough or as deeply as I should. So, after being told I’m (and these are all direct quotes) “homely,” “food is not my friend,” “a slut,” “a liar and cheat,” and “no way possibly her daughter,” what else is/was there?
Well, my friends, believe it or not, there are depths yet to be explored. 'Cause I was unbelievably wrong. She found it too. In her version of Christian fundamentalism, where she’d make Falwell look sane, she’s come up with this scenario after the past four :eek: years (and has shared this opinion with my ex-youth minister who presided over my wedding vows)…
Drum roll please!
I am…
Are you ready for this? (Trust me, you can’t possibly be.)
::: sigh :::
I don’t really know if I can post this after all, it’s so fucking embarrassing that someone who’s living in the 21st century can think such a thing realistically. So, here goes anyway.
::: deep breath :::
Do NOT laugh (very much – please) at the gravity of what I’m about to say. Although, that may be the only normal recourse.
::: dons tomato (and holy water?) proof suit :::
I am DEMON POSSESSED!
Yes, you read that right and here, first! :rolleyes: Now. What. The. Ever. Loving. Bloody. Hell!?!!? I understand she believes I’m headed straight for the firey pits in an express handbasket. I get that this is very real to her despite any circumstances. That must be the root of my mental health problems and everything else. I also don’t honestly give a shit and feel her ideas are about on par with the TimeCube person or that guy who’s trying to take over the internet. Have I mentioned that Michael Jackson makes more sense? Regardless of how I view this, it’s so incredibly disappointing, demoralizing and disheartening (all those D words) that I had to vent about it here. It’s not that it truly matters. I could be a perfect mirror image of her and it still wouldn’t be good enough. But to think someone would stoop this low to degrade, hurt and manipulate their only child is kind of enraging. Though since she no longer has any sort of hold on me, I suppose this is as good as the frantic can give.
Unreal. 
So, to end up my rant, what things in the future can I say to her to solely amuse myself? I’ve already taken to calling my otherworldly hitchhiker/overlord “Bob.” I mention bringing him to dinner. 
What else? Like my title implies, if I should strive for higher up the evil ladder, what should I include on my platform? How to go about funding, running mates and brainstorming for my inevitable win? Is a 666 tattoo under my hair necessary? Where are my horsemen? Help! I’m sure there’s so much more to know before I rule this mortal coil and I grasp that having Captain Howdy just now aboard (or unawares, over the past four years) won’t past muster on breaking me into the proper black arts ropes. Any guidance will be appreciated in the forms of the sexual deviants of your choice. No use handing over the inexperienced to the devout, IMHO. The chosen deserve infinitely better.
I’m looking for guidance. If you’re up to it, I’m sure in my future world order, I can make you a star. Just tell me which vice is your pleasure and what you can do for me first.
Thank you.
~not just your ordinary aspiring antichrist
P.S. Gah. This would be so much funnier if I didn’t know the weight they place on this accusation, but damn, it’s not like I can buy a test at Wal*Mart to prove that I’m not a female Damian. What an untenable situation and my mother, one of the most foul wastes of flesh to ever grace the universe. Would calling her a bitch be vitriol enough? Or does this require something much more damning?? However, I refuse to weep. It’s her morality in question over this particular judgment, not mine. No sir, no weeping here. EVER.
Over loud speaker:
< Lois! Price check on the Satanic Influences Kit on Isle 5. Yes, the ones on clearance. ::: pause ::: The one that has a red strip for positive and a picture of Tom Arnold on the box. >
Thanks hon. That’ll be 7.96 with tax. Guess getting up to a little ‘devilment’ is really cheap these days! HAW. HAW. HAW.
::: cracks gum :::
I slink out with my pointy tale tucked between my legs and ready for another viewing of that movie with Pacino as a lawyer. Gotta prepare.
::: hums :::
“Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a (wo)man of wealth and taste…”
Yep. If I’m made the next big boss, I gotta make those Stones boys the in-house band! I love sychophants. Therefore, who wants to sign up next? A little blood is all I’ll ever need. Bwahahahaha. Excuse me, I have contracts to tend to. Come Keanu.
