Larry's Journal

TV Time

6:00 p.m.

Just got home from work or should I say the bar?  I consider that part of work.  I've carefully crafted it so that I get off work at 4:30 but everyone at home thinks I get off at 5:30.  Fuck 'em, I need some "me" time.

As expected as soon as I walk in the door Susan is all up in my face.

"What did you do today?  Did you take out the trash?"

Blah, blah, blah, what did you do today Susan, the mailman or the local grocer?

"Yes babe, I did all of those things.  Work went a little later than expected."

"Well, fine, what's for dinner?"

I don't know.  You're the bitchy slut fuck that stays home all day not doing shit.

"I don't know and I don't really care.  What would you like?"

Jesus Christ, the shit I put up with to avoid a divorce.  I don't want to deal with all the bullshit and explaining stuff to people so I agree to anything.

6:30 p.m.

I leave to go pick up the food.  I pretend to call it in but then wait until I am almost there to do it.  It's an old trick to buy some extra time at the bar and away from old nag nag.  Heh heh, I am very pleased with myself.  I feel bad for the kids being stuck with her—I really do—but it's survival of the fittest.

7:15 p.m.

Show up a little staggered with bags of food, feeling nice as fuck.

7:30 p.m.

We're all sitting around the table about to eat when Susan says the dumbest shit I've ever heard in my life.

"I think we should say a prayer since we're all here at the table."

I choke on my tall glass of vodka I've disguised to look like water.

"Sorry, sorry. What in the hell?  Ok, sure, what a great idea, kids bow your heads."

Susan starts to pray and I'm just trying not to bust out into tears.  Has she ever read the bible?  She breaks at least six commandments daily.

"Dear Lord, I'm not really sure how to start this out—"

No shit!  How about please forgive me for being the biggest sack of waste in six counties for starters?  Then maybe something about jumping on every dick around town?

"—but I just want to say thank you for this meal, with my family," she says in a pleasing tone, as if the Lord didn't see her riding the cock all day.

Am I in the twilight zone?  I'm fucking being punked, seriously.  We are eating a meal from Applebees, sitting around the table, got the quiet one who all thinks we're a bunch of shit mongers on one side, crazy ass nine timer over here.  He's probably too busy counting the words in your sentence to pay attention to the dick shit that just came out of your cock hole.

"Amen, very nice, dear," I say, trying not to vomit and laugh simultaneously.

8:30 p.m.

We are all sitting around.  Susan is watching that stupid fucking show about all the nerds that are cool on TV.

She says, "Hey, why don't you guys pay attention and watch this show?  It's very educational."

What the fuck is she talking about?  I'd like to think I'm a pretty smart guy and I don't get half of the jokes.  Plus I find it repulsive that being a nerd is considered cool these days.  No, being a nerd isn't cool.  Dressing like a nerd is cool.  Butt jock society can't even let nerds be nerds.  I swear when I walk down the street and see muscled up dumb dumbs wearing their Flash t-shirts it makes me want to stop in my tracks, scream, "EXCALIBUR LIVES!" and rack their fucking ball bags.  "Ok hon, let's watch the show."

Fuck me, she laughs at parts that aren't even funny.  I'm seriously irritated right now.  I find myself staring at her and trying to set her on fire with my mind.  That'd be some good god damned entertainment.

9:30 p.m.

It's time for kids to go to bed.  I take Timmy and Susan takes Kaley.  Lucky bitch.  There Timmy and I go.  Thank god there are 18 steps on our staircase or we'd probably have to move.  And of course he's counting them as we go up.

"One, two, three—"

This is a five minute ordeal because he has to land on 9 and 18 perfectly or we start this insane bullshit over.  Finally, I get him into bed.  I just happen to peek around the corner where he can't see me.

I hear, "ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR—"

I see him pulling the covers over his head and back down vigorously with each count like he's sending fucking smoke signals to Sitting Bull up in the Dakotas.  It looks like a bee flew into his bed and he's having a seizure simultaneously.  I stand there watching trying not to laugh.  I mean I love this kid but he's fucked in the head.  Good god, I'm going to try to get in bed before Susan gets in there.  Then I can fake being asleep so she can't run her gum flaps a million miles-an-hour.  Until next time...

Larry