Oh, the drama! The catfights! Sweet lord!

Even though my child is currently grounded for three and a half weeks, there still manages to be drama of the utmost ridiculousness. In other words, there still manages to be drama worthy of Mary-Sue Vrees.

Mary-Sue Vrees, in case you didn't know, is the mother of all drama queens. To give you an example of this, she once took a fit after Jason was smacked in the head with a baseball bat in math class and proceeded to spread a city-wide rumor that the perpetrator of this frankly childlike assault was actually a child prostitute. Long story short, the whole thing got way out of hand. The poor girl never recovered from the accusations, started shooting crack and is now in juvey for fraud. Also, that math teacher got fired from his job for "pedophilic tendencies", the principal is in long-term therapy, and one of the secretaries only has three fingers on her left hand now. The other one is dead.

Please don't ask me to share the long story. Please. It will take me five hours and I am not in the mood for this nonsense at the present time.

Anyway, so yeah. There is a continuum of drama queen-ness, and it pretty much goes like this:

Teen idols -> Britney Spears -> the paparazzi -> Johnny -> Oprah -> Hannibal -> Jessica Simpson -> Michael -> Mary-Sue Vrees

Yeah. Pretty much.

About forty or so minutes ago, Michael burst out of his room and barged into the living room going, "WHAT THE MOTHER OF GOD."

I sighed and I'm all, "What now." He's been acting rather awkwardly (read: irritably, irrationally, inconceivably) for about a week now. I don't understand. Is this puberty??

Michael then proceeded to look kind of like a beached whale. "C'DWARD EULLEN IS A WENCH AND SO IS HIS MOM."

I'm all, "DO NOT talk like that about Matilda! Or her step son! For the love of God, Michael, what on Earth did that poor boy ever do to you?"

"HE IS TRYING TO TURN JASON INTO A BUTT PIRATE. JESUS LORD ALMIGHTY OF ALL HEAVENS. WENCH."

There is one sure-fire way to know when Michael has gone into what we like to call his "dark zone". He begins to punctuate his ravings with Biblical terms and names of the Holy family.

Dear sweet mother, what has become of my poor angry child? He was so sweet before he learned to talk. WHAT HAPPENED?

"Michael, stop quoting Father Whatshisface and talk to your MOMMY," I pleaded. And then I realized what he had just said. "Turn Jason into a what now?"

But Michael did not answer because he had picked up the phone and, before I could say a word about his being grounded, had dialed and was impatiently waiting. After a few seconds his mask becomes pure evil and he's all, "JASON! WHAT THE WENCH! ... You know exactly what I'm talking about. What did you do after you left my house on Christmas Eve? Huh? ... Oh yeah, I'm sure. I'm sure you watched A Nightmare on Elm Street. Bitch. You had phone sex with Cedward, didn't you? (At this point I very clearly heard Jason's strangled voice going "WHAT????!?!?!?!!" with multiple exclamation and question marks from the other end of the line) ... BITCH PLEASE. Do not lie to Michael. Michael knows when you are bullshitting him! Traitor! You defected to the side of the awkward gay losers who pick their noses. ... Don't act all confused. Matilda posted it on her blog! You were WOOED, Jason! ... Oh my God, why am I even friends with you? ... Fuck off. Your mom's a whore. ... Shut up. ... Jason, please. I'm not handicapped like you, so stop BULLSHITTING ME. ... I never thought you would stoop this low. ... You can act all grossed out all you want, you fugster. ... Yep, pretty much. You're ugly as fuck. No wonder the only person who's ever liked you ever is Cedward Effin Eullen. ... You play with CRAYOLAS. ... You're hideous. ... Fuck off. Freddy would not have had PHONE SEX WITH CEDWARD AS A PRANK CALL, BITCH. STOP BLAMING OTHER PEOPLE FOR YOUR LEWD ACTIONS. ... Yes, I've met Freddy. What the MARY MOTHER OF JESUS CHRIST are you insinuating? ... Mother of God. You whore. I no longer enjoy you as a person. Go wench yourself on streetcorners. ... You can't come over in a month and play Manhunt anymore. Hah. Haha. So there. ... It wasn't Freddy, bitch, it was you. IT WAS YOU. YOU WHORED YOURSELF TO CEDWARD, AND NOW YOU HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. GO GET RUN OVER BY A PLOUGH."

Michael hung up the phone and ran (and by ran I mean walked awkwardly slowly and stiffly) upstairs into his room, where he proceeded to blast the following playlist:

Korn
Korn
Korn
Korn
Korn
Korn
Mr. Sandman
Korn
Korn

I now have to go up there and make sure he doesn't Korn himself into oblivion. Please excuse me. I must go tend to my motherly duties.

Oh, the drama!