Dude, I would SO PAY to be a fly on the wall at the Sampiro holiday table. You could sell chances to that event!
Dear parents:
Sometimes I’m too far stuck up my arse to know it, and sometimes you make it very, very hard for me, but I love you guys. I really do.
That’s all. (I do not have stinky feet, Mum. And Dad, stop being a maroon.)
Kyth
Dear Mom: You know I’ve always believed in life after death and we used to talk about it all the time. When we lost you, I didn’t feel so bad because I figured I’d see when you came back to visit…where are you, i really miss you…
For Dead Loved Ones:
Dear Dudley- How are you sweetheart? I promise if we’re ever reunited I’ll cook you chicken and eggs every single night and won’t even have a bathtub or flea shampoo anywhere around you. Big kiss on your little sweet nose.
Dear Mustang- damn you were a cool old man. I wish I’d known you now that I’m an adult. If I ever get old I want to be just like you, except not in Billingsley Alabama. And damn can you believe all that stuff that happened between your kids over your house? Ooh chile.
Dear Daddy- Having now lived with or around my mother for even longer than you did, I understand one hell of a lot more about you. If you’d lived we’d still have fought constantly but I’d have shown more respect. But I still think Roy Acuff sucks, no offense.
Dear first boyfriend: I learned so much from you about myself, Hitler, the Beatles and relationships in general. I am glad I knew you regardless of how it ended. I loved you and am sorry your life ended the way it did. I am very sorry that our relationship, once so promising and wonderful, ended in the utter clusterf*ck break-up that it did, but I think we can both agree, you from the Great Potential Beyond and me from down here, that it was your fault for being a completely selfish narcicisstic philandering inconsistent asshole. [Sam Jackson]YEAH I’M GLAD YOU DEAD, I HOPE YOU BURN IN HE-YULL![/Sam Jackson] Okay, I didn’t really mean that last part but… well, okay, I kinda did, but not for eternity or anything, just for a little while to get you back for screwing around with Rick. And Bernard. And Jay. And Mark. And the ones whose names I don’t remember or never knew about. And for the other stuff and the self exoneration. In fact actually I hope you get put on a ledge in hell between Charles Manson and Katie Couric, and I also hope that… okay, this is getting weird- you just keep doing what you doing, it really wasn’t a good idea to talk again. Thanks for the mix tapes though. I’m sorry I pounded them with a hammer and then put them in a Cuisinart and returned them to you. It was an accident. And I really wish I still had a couple of those songs, like the “I would do anything to hold onto you” one that I don’t even remember who sang and that you said was for me and then I found out that you’d been chea… well, that’s all in the past, and so are you, and that’s a good place for you.
Dear Meemaw: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send your lemon poundcake recipe! You shouldn’t have gone without imparting that.
Dear Grandmother D.: I’m sorry to hear that your post mortem marriage to Satan broke up, but I do want to remind you for when I die- my name is on the same restraining order as the one Satan got, so keep your distance. No less than 3 rings away at all times- capece? And if you see my first boyfriend, give him a kiss for me. That’ll teach him to f*ck with me.
On the contrary, it sounds sweet. He’s saying “I think so much of you that I’d give up my favorite hobby for you.”
To my coworker:
There are many attractive women in our office. Occasionally, I fantasize about having sex with them. But not you. Not once. Nope, I fantasize about being married to you. Growing old with you. Being buried with you (but not, like, in a creepy way or anything). I love you. Leave your husband.
To my father:
Dad, I love you very much. And I love talking to you on the phone. But when it goes into hour three, it’s no longer a conversation, it’s a freakin’ endurance test.
Easy:
"No, I will not pick up your >insert large heavy appliance here< with my truck.
I bought my truck to carry lumber and basic building supplies, and it really isn’t meant to carry that stuff. Just pay the 50 dollar delivery charge, because all my truck has to show for hauling your stuff is wear and tear. Additionally, I am not a delivery man and don’t want to jeopardize my health carrying appliances.
Furthermore, you never have extra help to load/off load, and you never have a hand truck.
While I am in shape and quite healthy, carrying a 2500 dollar stainless steel appliance 40 feet in mid-air over fragile marble cannot benefit anyone.
I don’t pick up my own furniture and appliances with my truck, so take the hint. Also, I have a nice tonneau cover that keeps my plywood and framing materials dry and safe, and that is why it is there. Like a convertible, it really can’t be removed when it is 29 degrees outside."
What stuff? 
Lawsuits, arrests, hate mail, my mother sending poison pen letters from jail to her brother’s grandson telling him he was illegitimate, pistols, eh… big mess. You’d think my grandfather left a $50 million estate the way his heirs fought over it. He left a small house, a five year old Dodge and a couple of acres in Billingsley, Alabama and it caused 20 year war that ended when my mother broke open a bottle of expensive whiskey and drank a toast to the brain cancer that killed her brother. Sorta messed up.
Your mother was in jail?
Oh, and add me to the list of those who would pay money to see you come out to your sister. I’ll even bring the popcorn.
stage whisper Come on, y’all…keep asking him questions!
My mother was arrested two consecutive Christmas Eve eves (December 23) for two unrelated offenses. The second time was for not responding to a summons (that she never got) to appear in court during a lawsuit with her brother. For the latter she spent almost a week in jail, most of it writing letters, including one to her brother’s grandson informing him that
1- his parents weren’t legally married because the kid’s mother hadn’t divorced her first husband
2- there was much debate about whether or not his mother’s husband (who she wasn’t legally married to anyway) was his biological father anyway
3- she um… shared some news about her sister-in-law’s father (who would be the nephew’s great-grandfather) and something that um… happened with a farm animal (I’m so not making this up- I wish I was almost) and was big news in Billingsley, AL in the 1920s.
So basically this 21 year old learned that he was probably illegitimate, but either way his great-grandfather had an unnatural interest in cows, and by the way, you did know that your grandfather you love was a coward who wounded himself in the eye to stay out of active duty during WW2? Just thought you should know, type of stuff.
To her sister-in-law my mother, a fairly good freehand artist, sent a portrait done from memory of her (the sister-in-law’s) father and a calf.
Long after being released from jail my mother would drive deep into Georgia to mail anonymous Christmas cards with death threats to her brother. Ah, Christmas memories.
Sorry for the hijack. We now return to our regularly scheduled thread.
Okay, what, did the preacher catch him doing more than milking the cow?
Ayup. It was a calf and uh… I’ll just leave it off there.
A calf? Did its mother object?
To my friend:
You have been my friend for years, and I have been through a lot with you. I love you dearly. The reason I don’t come around much anymore is because I can’t stand the drunken pity parties. Your SO loves you. He has supported you through thick and thin, through you cheating on him numerous times, through you refusing to find a job even though the two of you are in bad financial trouble, through your children stealing from him and from you. He puts up with you screaming at him first thing in the morning, when he has a hangover and has to go to work. He puts up with you bitching at him the second he walks through the door in the evening. He has stayed with you.
And you sit there on the couch, drink yourself stupid, and moan that he doesn’t love you and you’re going to leave. Right.
I tried to get you and your children to go into counseling 8 years ago when your son was murdered in front of his twin brother. You refused “those people don’t know anything, they just fuck with people’s heads.” Well, you need help, and so do both of your sons.
I care deeply about you, but I just can’t sit there anymore and listen to you bitch and moan. Your SO does love you, but love can be killed and you are working on it. Both of your sons are well on their way to becoming alcoholics.
It hurts to watch someone you care about flush themself down the toilet.
(Damn, but that feels better. And I have said these things, maybe a little more politely worded, to her. She won’t listen.)
I’d hate to generalize and say that it must be a fundie woman thing, because, hey, that can’t all be like that. But two years ago I got the strangest letter from my fundie aunt. She’s always been a little off, but this was really weird. She and my uncle had just gotten separated, and were looking at a divorce. She sent me this long handwritten letter about how both my uncle and God were being deliberately cruel to her. Everything that went wrong in that marriage was either my uncle’s fault, or God’s fault. None of it was my aunt’s fault. It was one long whine that went on like that for two pages. Even though it was addressed to me, there was absolutely nothing personal in it. It may as well have been addressed to “To whom it may concern.” I can only assume that other family members got letters as well.
My uncle went crawling back to her, by the way.
Dear Lying Ex-Girlfriend,
After you dumped me for taking and alcohol, your best friend—yeah, the one who told you she didn’t smoke pot or take pills anymore because you couldn’t stop bitching at her about it even though she lived a perfectly fine life with all that—she got me high on pain pills, then she and I made out all night and she told me everything you lied to me about. (BTW, last I checked, “three” isn’t the same number as “everything with a in the state of Arizona”.) Then I smoked pot with her. At least you didn’t lie about not having any STDs. If that test came back positive, believe you me, your buddy Tim—yeah, the one you started cheating on me with a couple of weeks into our relationship—he would’ve heard some interesting news about the new meanings of the number three. I’m sure you told him the same things you told me. I hope he gave you herpes and got you pregnant.
Oh yeah, and I’m clean and while you’re cheating on whoever you’re seeing now I’m getting a new job with long-term job security better than anything you could ever hope for.
Sincerely Yours (Not Anymore),
fetus.
Am I the only one thinking that Sampiro should host a combination Family-Reunion/Dopefest?
Hell, he could sell tickets!
:eek: Is there a new filter that takes out “drugs” and “penis”? What a great way to fight ignorance!
If not, it must’ve been something on the public computer I was using when I submitted that post.
Guess not. Kudos to my apartment complex, then. :rolleyes: