Well... that was awkward.

Johnny is still mad at the wok. It is quite upsetting. Hannibal took a shit fit about it yesterday and decided to go "visit his family in the distance" (which means he is probably cheating on me with that Clarice woman on his speed dial again). As a result, I have been mildly depressed. So has Robert, who gets depressed when I get depressed. Which his sweet, but then what does he do? He invites his Philosofriends over to play PhilosoClue and completely ignores me. They are still here. None of them went home last night. They've been playing their little game since three o'clock in the afternoon.

I don't even think they went to bed. At all.

Which is awkward.


Michael is trying to make me feel guilty for grounding him. He sat on the couch all morning like a loaf of bread, sighing repeatedly as he watched game after game of hockey on TSN. And then he watched a really creepy tape of pre-recorded Wal-Mart commercials they made, after which he got up, looked at me and said, in an extremely exhausted tone, "I'm just going to go lie down."


It's not going to work. I have no pity left in my system for the little twat. At all.


Dear Lord. Sweet mother.


Wednesday the 13th was Lispeth's epic dinner party. And I mean epic in the literal sense of the word, not in the many dysfunctional ways Mike and his little friends seem to enjoy using it.


Speaking of this, look what I found while inspecting Michael's text messages on Friday morning:


Michael: duuuuuuuuuude. :o there is some funky shit going on.


Jason: (I have edited Jason's replies to make them more legible) I don't understand.


Michael: Hannibal is being a fugster again.


Jason: So is my dad. He's drunk.


Michael: When is he not drunk?


Jason: When he's on crack. I wish I was drunk.


Michael: I wish I was on crack. At walmart.


Jason: I'm slightly pumped for the party tonight.


Michael: :) Me too. You should tell your dad to bring some crack LOL.


I'm not quite sure what the significance of all this is, but it can't be good.

So yeah. On Wednesday, Jason called our house at seven o'clock in the morning. I got out of bed reluctantly and answered. "Hello?"


Jason was all, "Oh shit, it's you!"

I'm all, "Yes."


He hangs up.


At 7:02, the phone rings again and I pick up on the first ring so Michael doesn't have time to answer. "Jason, stop calling us. Now."


"How did you know it was me?" Jason asked, sounding extremely confused.


"Oh dear..." I sighed. "Jason, honey, we have caller ID. And I know this grounding is punishing you, too, so for that I apologize. But it's only for a little while longer. And then you boys can go to Wal-Mart aaaaaaaaaaall you want!"


"Mrs. LSD, can I please talk to Michael? Pleeeeeeeeeease? My birthday is in exactly five months and I need to remind him that he's invited."


I said, "I'll let him know."


"No, I have to give him his invitation in person! ... Over the phone!"


"Jason."


He sounded like he might be on the brink of tears. "I have to tell him something about tonight's party... thing... which I don't know the purpose of... that we're all going to... and... oh, I'm so confused!"


He hung up.


Yeah. That was awkward.


We only made it to Lispeth's around five-thirty because Michael had a very hard time deciding which blue jumpsuit to wear, but that was okay because other people showed up really late too, namely Stephenie Meyer and her Chinese adopted daughter Sella Bwan. They enjoy arriving everywhere fashionably late by at least three or four hours. Which is okay, because nobody really likes them anyway.


I have to say, Lispeth really outdid herself this year. The house was beautiful... or at least it was beautiful at the beginning. Then it got completely ruined when Freddy decided it might be interesting to spike the chocolate fountain.


This happened around seven thirty, right after Lispeth's youngest daughters had been put to bed. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong. But then Mike and Jason were downing glasses of chocolate straight from the fountain and Jason suddenly keeled over and dropped to the ground. And then Mike just looked at him, shrugged, and kept drinking the chocolate. By this time, I was fairly confused. No one tried to help Jason, which was quite awkward. Obviously, Mary-Sue was not in the room at the time.


Suddenly, Michael looked rather confused. He pinpointed Lispeth and walked up to her and he's like, "Lispeth... I have something to tell you. You know Freddy's a pedo, right? Like, he's a toooootal pedo. Totally."


Lispeth just stared at him going, "Michael... have you been drinking?"


"Whaaaat?"


Lispeth's daughters are usually very helpful and courteous at her parties, but I started noticing that they were flopping about and I found it quite unfortunate that they were all wearing dresses. Suddenly, a still-sober C'Dward noticed that Jason was all flopped on the ground and he very politely went over to help the poor dear up (Such a polite child, that C'Dward. I often find myself wondering why my rotten apple of a child doesn't appreciate him as a person), but then Michael noticed this and he was all "WHAT THE FUCK!" because for some reason he was screaming out all of his words now. I said, "Michael!" but he ignored me, obviously, and he trudged over to were C'Dward was aiding Jason (which reminds me... I still have no aida cloth. Note to self - buy aida cloth immediately.) and he said, "What is going on here?"


Jason was all, "Bluuuuhhh. Mikey, is that you?"


Michael was all, "DON'T CALL ME THAT. Are you on crack?!"


Freddy jumped up from his chair and he said, "Actually no - he's on LSD."


Jason let out a very strangled laugh, which made C'Dward jerk back in apparent repulsion. Jason was all, "Mikey! I love you, man! Huh." And then Michael was poked in the stomach.


And then Jason was thwacked in the face.


C'Dward was all, "Jesus!"


Michael was all, "Excuse me, wench?"


C'Dward was like, "Well, you shouldn't be so mean to Jason. He's always so nice to you. What is wrong with you? Everyone is always so nice to you and you treat them like shit! You're actually soooo mean! Stop being so frigid, you whore."


Michael looked deeply shocked for like two seconds before he frowned furiously. He’s all, “BIZNATCH!” (which, by the way, is the one word Michael uses only when he is extremely angry. And I know this because this was the first word Michael said after he was shot in the head at school.) and then he leans forward and literally whacks C’Dward in the face.


With his fist.


Jason was all, “What’s going on? I’m so confused...”


This was when I decided it might be a good idea to intervene.


I walked over, grabbed Michael by the arms and pulled him backward. I was furious, so I spoke through gritted teeth. “That is enough. We are going home now. Obviously, you cannot be trusted to behave. Keep this up and I’m going to send you over to be homeschooled with Ghostface!”


Michael struggled. “EFF OFF, MOM! He called me a whore!”


“You obviously are not a whore, Michael,” I said patiently.


Then C’Dward was all, “Not that you know of, anyway!”


Michael was all, “WENCH! YOU FUGSTER!”


I was all, “I swear to God, if you say ‘wench’ one more time...”


We went home. Michael struggled mentally. For three hours. On the floor. In the bathroom. With his cell phone. It was dying. He kept telling me, “MoooooooooomMMMmmmmmmmMMMM!!!” varying the intensity and volume of his M’s like a cow in distress, “My phone needs to be CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGED! And also, C’Dward is going to like, rape Jason. And you are going to feel like SHIT if that happens because you forced me to come homeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” He then proceeded to wail like a Beluga for three point five hours in his bedroom. He sounded like Dory in Finding Nemo. Which drove me nuts, Jesuschristlordalmighty. I told him to shut the hell up, but of course, he ignored me.


He literally slept the entire next day. And I mean we actually couldn’t wake him up.


What the shiznatch, as Johnny would say.


But anyway, all of that is over now. Lispeth, thanks for organizing that party for us! Despite the spiking of the chocolate fountain, at least it was more of a success than last year’s. No offense.

P.S. - For some reason, Hannibal was acting very strangely the whole time. I still don't really understand why he was so twitchy and awkward. Maybe he was just embarrassed by Michael's existence. I wouldn't blame him, currently.

The bus is a mistake. And so is C'Dward Eullen's face.

Eff off, mom. You thought you could control me? Well, think again. You turned out to be just like Sam Loomis the pedo-loon, shitwench. :)

Good God.

I went to babysit at Lispeth (my hero)'s this weekend. She actually knows what she is doing as a mom, kthxcool. Like actually. She doesn't ground people for three and a half weeks. I wish she was my parent. My only parent. LISPETH, CAN YOU ADOPT ME? PLEASE?

So yeah, I went to babysit Bertha because for some awkward reason, her dad like rejected her at birth or whatever. You know like how panda moms see their tiny-ass children and they're like WHATTHEFUCKISTHISSHIT and try to eat them? And usually succeed? Well, that's pretty much Bertha's predicament. Except obviously her dad didn't eat her because she's still here and needs to be babysat. But whatever. You know what I mean.

Anyways, this is the situation: Lispeth was going to the spa for an entire weekend with her eldest daughters, and then like W. Desnay was probably off with some theme park wench, from what I understand. And she asked me to babysit her little brat. So yeah. It was just me in Bertha's fucking wing in the house aaaaaaaaaall weekend with no supervision. :)

Well now, what are we going to do about that? I asked myself this question several times on Friday as I pondered upon the hideously epic adventure which awaited me.

And then I went over to Lispeth's. Thank God I got rid of those four wench-poopies for an entire weekend! Legit, I needed the break. And deserved it. Because I am SUCH a good son. And nothing I do is ever appreciated. So whatever, those wenches can all suck my dick if they actually thought I would be unsupervised for an entire weekend and not get up off my ass.

Hah. They are so epically dumb. They're like Johnny's friend Rob Zombie, except smaller. Because Rob Zombie is like a bodybuilding gargantuan. He thinks being a gargantuan is hot, but actually, it's fugly as fuck. You look like a caveman. Actually? Go on a celery diet. Now.

Aaaaaaaaaaanyways. So I got to the house, grabbed the massive telephone, and called Jason. And his mom answered. Epic fail. So I hung up. So then I called his cell phone. And then his mom answered. And I was like "what... the... fuck... stalker." But it wasn't actually his mom. Jason was just probably wearing that belt that he insists fits him... but really, it doesn't. It really freaking doesn't. And pretty sure he sounds awkwardly like his mom when he wears it. Which is really retarded. And scary.

So I was like, "Jason, that belt does not effing fit you. Take it off. THEN COME TO LISPETH'S."

"What? Lispeth's? Did you run away from home?" Do you see how he just completely avoided the belt issue? Fucking typical, man.

But whatever. "Yeah. Lispeth's. I'm babysitting. For the whole weekend. Just come over, wench. We can watch Freddy's new videos and raid the mini-bar."

"Won't your mom find out? You can't be grounded for any longer. We haven't been to Wal-Mart in like two years."

I'm all, "I know, right? That's exactly what I told that wench the other day. No messing with the Wal-Mart, seriously."

"Totally, I mean she could have just taken away the Korn or something!"

I'm like, "No. No messing with the Korn either."

"Oh. Alrighty then."

"You are a fugwench. We are going to Wal-Mart tomorrow. kthx." Then I hung up.

So Jason showed up at Lispeth's about point two seconds later. He probably just sprinted here because he's such a fugster. You have to feel kinda bad for him, though. He's a bit of a retard and as a result, he only has me as a friend. Which is epic, and he got lucky, because I'm a REALLY EPIC FRIEND.

So yeah. When he got here we put on some of Freddy's home videos, as well as one we videotaped at Edna's. Of me flipping out. Which was slightly embarrassing. But still funny because by the time we got around to watching this one, we had consumed so many coolers from the mini-fridge that we were both laughing our asses off and slurring verses of "Mr. Sandman".

I have discovered that Jason is extremely tone-deaf when tipsy. Or maybe he's just always like that.

Anyway, at one point, I remember we tried to figure out how the shiznatch we were getting to Wal-Mart tomorrow. So we called up Freddy on two phones. "Duuuuuuuuude, tomorrow can you drive us to Wally?" (This was Jason talking, by the way. I am nowhere near this retarded when hammered.)

Freddy was like, "What? Um... if you want to rent Wall-E, you can just walk down to Blockbuster. You know it's like two o'clock in the morning, right?"

I was all, "OhmyGodseriously? That's SO funny. But yeah. Stop being a wench and drive us to Wal-Mart tomorrow. Ksweet."

"Are you two drunk?"

Jason was all. "Holy fuck yes, we're totally krunded."

"And by that he means that we are drunk," I intervened. "WAL-MART! TOMORROW! JESUS WENCH! STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT! YOU'RE STARTING TO SOUND LIKE JASON WHENEVER SOMEONE MENTIONS HIS GAYASS FIVE-INCH BELT AND HOW HE SHOULD TAKE THE FUCKER OFF!"

Jason's all, "What?"

I'm like, "Shut up. Stop being a tard."

"I'm so confused."

"I know you are. Go fuck the couch again."

Freddy's all, "Ooooooooooooookay. Well. Hate to tell you this, bitches, but my car is completely totaled."

I'm like, "Wonderful."

"Yeah. Some fugger named Ghostbutt Hammerfuck or something inbred like that seemed to think it was a good idea to rip shit at me for egging his house the other day. And by rip shit I mean the asshole destroyed my car."

I'm all, "Wow, man, that's like tragic or something, anyway I kind of have to go now because, like, Jason just passed out on the floor beside the couch and you're starting to get really effing boring, so like, I'll call you tomorrow or something whatever and we'll pretty much hitchhike there okay? Or something? Seeeeeee you tomorrowwww."

So I hung up, all set on this hitchhiking experience. Then Jason woke up at about four, sat straight up and said, "CANWETAKETHEBUS?"

So we did.

We lurked over to the bus stop which is like three miles away from Lispeth's because our street is so retardedly long. As in, after a while it just awkwardly becomes farmland and there are like fenced-off mad cows staring at you as though they want to eat you for breakfast. And it's really awkward. Especially since me and Jason had two massive hangovers of life and Freddy messed up the bus schedule, so we ended up awkwardly standing at the corner of the street like wenches for about forty-five minutes. And we had to drag Bertha with us because like... I was babysitting her?

Freddy's all, "Sorry guys. I thought we had to take the #7, but really, it's the #5. My bad."

I was like, "Dude, Freddy? The #7 goes to CRYSTAL LAKE. How in the fugwench did you mix them up?"

Freddy had no answer to this.

I'm all, "Yep. That's what I thought, wench."

Jason's all, "Man... don't be dissing Crystal Lake."

I'm all, "Crystal-Lake-is-a-fugly-hick-town-full-of-inbred-deformed-simple-retards."

I'm pretty sure Jason actually cried, but sometimes it's hard to tell with him. Was he crying, or were his sinuses congested? Or was he having trouble with his bowels? His fugmask makes it kind of impossible to tell.

The bus finally showed up, and it picked the right time to do so, since one of the cows was getting almost dangerously close to us at the time. Then the bus driver opens the door all surprised and he's all, "Dude... I didn't know people actually lived here."

We got in. At the very back of the bus, there existed an awkward three-person seat, and it was unoccupied so we grabbed it. And we made Bertha sit on Freddy's lap. Freddy didn't seem to mind this. By this time we had a hard time to sit still because we were extremely excited to get to Wal-Mart. Or at least I was, since I'm grounded and I am currently deprived of literally all of life's epic wins.

And Jason was too, since he is forbidden to go to Wal-Mart without me.

And also, Jason always gets stupidly excited for no effing reason. Like this one time when we were like... seven, we were playing with some old pocket knives near Crystal Lake where Jason almost drowned once and then faked his death to escape the clutches of his mom for a couple of weeks, and then Jason found a huge-ass rock and he was all "OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THIS ROCK! MICHAEL! LOOK AT THIS ROCK!!!" It was absolutely retarded. I took the rock and threw it in his face. Then I got bitched at for three hours by our dear Pam, but that is so not the point. The point is that people shouldn't get excited about rocks. It is stupid and probably means you will get excited by pink and purple phones later on in life. Like Jason.

So yeah. He was hyper as fuck.

He pulled out his phone. "Hi mom! I'm good. Mom guess what guess what guess what!! WE'RE ON A BUS. Me and Mike. ... No, mom, Freddy's not here. ... No, I won't talk to strangers! ... Yeah, it's really bouncy. ... It's really bouncy. ... IT'S REALLY BOUNCY? ... Mom? ... Oh, okay. LOVE YOU. kbye."

I stared at Jason for like two minutes. He was like, "Whuh?"

I'm all, "Why does your mom call you every five minutes? It's actually the creepiest fucking shit ever."

"She just loves me."

"Yeah, she's about the only one."

"What?"

"I didn't say anything, you tard."

"Oh, okay!" He smiled weirdly, like a moose. "OH MY GOD MIKE I'M SO EXCITED. Wal-Mart, BITCH!"

I'm all, "YAY!"

Then this lady in the seat in front of us turned around and she's all, "WAL-MART?" And then she started telling us her entire life story, and it was really awkward. We just zoned her out.

We finally got to Wal-Mart. Thankfkngod.

As we walked through the parking lot, Freddy's all, "I would laugh so hard if we ran into Ceddy here."

I frowned. "Um, excuse me while I regurgitate a cow."

Jason's like, "Yeah, C'Dward's a fugster. Except I can't regurgitate a cow... because my dad's Jewish and he gets really pissed if we eat non-kosher. But I'll regurgitate like a block of tofu with you. Does that work?"

So yeah, we got into the Wal-Mart. And it was heaven. kthx.

Long story short, we ran right into Cedward and Sella Bwan. Sella Bwan was all like, "HEYBESTFRIENDDDD!!" to me and it was kind of weird since I've never spoken to her in my life.

So I just glared at Cedward. And Jason pretty much hid behind me. Which doesn't actually work since he's... well... I don't want to be mean, but he's kind of burly. Y'know? And... I'm not? So he can only like... half hide behind me?

Yeah, I'm confusing myself now.

C'Dward was all, "HiJason."

I said, "Wench please. He actually kind of hates your face. Right Jason?"

"I don't enjoy being at the centre of this."

"FUCK YOU."

Sella Bwan was all, "Wanna come to Aqua Massage?"

I was like, "No." But Freddy and Jason were like, "Yes."

Motherfucker.

So we went to Aqua Massage and it was actually kind of epic. They closed you into these big spaceship-looking things and put you in like a body bag and then squirted water all over you and shit. Epic win. But that wasn't the best part. The best part was that Sella Bwan was like, all out. She got a 20-minute session and we all got to stand there while she instructed the worker to bring up the intensity of the water jets.

"Is that hard enough, honey?" the worker asked, and then Sella was all, "No, harder! Harder!"

Can you say LOL?

So then we bailed from Aqua Massage. Pretty sure Jason and I were still kind of drunk, so we were laughing our asses off at Sella's, um, outburst the whole way back to Wal-Mart. And then, when that stopped being funny, I started laughing at the back of Cedward's head. That just never gets old. Fuck. Someone's hairdresser was on coke.

Then we went to McFuckwad, which was rather uneventful because this one is actually not a prostitute.

Then we returned to Wal-Mart and lurked in the awkward towel aisle that no one ever goes into, except this time there was this forty-year-old hobo woman there, and I'm pretty sure she was on ecstasy because she was grabbing like every towel off the shelves and giggling to herself in pure glee. It was really effing awkward.

All of a sudden, like RIGHT out of the blue, and I mean like, we were just minding our own business and then right off the bat, C'Dward pulls out some eggs out of his pocket and starts THROWING them at us.

What. The. Fuck.

I'm all, "What the wench!"

Cedward just kept dousing us with the wenchy eggs. When I was completely DRENCHED in egg whites to the point where I must have resembled a half-melted snowman, C'Dward and Sella just turned the fuck around and ran away.

I WAS PISSED.

So I ran after him, eggs and all, and tackled him to the ground. Then Jason jumped on us. Freddy was awkwardly just standing back and watching the whole thing go down. He might as well have been holding a bag of popcorn.

"Jasongetoff." I yelled, because I couldn't breathe.

Then security came and took Cedward away. Apparently, some kind Good Samaritan customer bitchwench witnessed the whole thing and feared for the safety of the poor innocent child with us (Bertha), so she called the cops on Ced. I for one could not have been happier about this.

C'Dward was all, "BYE JASON!" as they dragged him away.

I said, "Hope you get effed by corpses in prison, Wenchdward Fuglen! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Jason felt bad. And then he was just confused. "Michael?"

"What?"

"Why do I feel bad for C'Dward? Even after he awkwardly pummelled us with eggs?"

I'm all, "Because... you're retarded?"

We just left, because there was nothing left in the world to do except raid the bar at Lispeth's. Not the mini one. The big fucker. Besides, it was like six o'clock. And the bus came at like... seven forty. Which was awkward.

On the way to the bus stop Jason flipped the fuck out because he'd lost his precious pink-and-purple phone. "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY WENCH! WHAT IF MY MOM TRIED TO CALL ME????"

"She'll survive," said Freddy.

"Um... that's debatable," I said. Then I said to Jason, "It's probably in your bag, you tard. Call it."

Jason's all, "WITH WHAT?"

"My cell?"

"Oh yeah."

"You're not the only coolster with a phone, asswench."

"Just give me the fucker."

So he called. The phone didn't ring. It actually wasn't in his bag. Impressive. He might actually be growing a brain, finally.

Suddenly, Jason looked distressed. "Um... hello?"

"Who the wench are you talking to?"

Jason ignored me. "Ummm... yes, I lost my phone... why are you talking like that? ... um... what? ... WHAT THE HELL? ... Just a second... Michael! I'm confused..." He gave me the phone.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed it. "Dickwad. Hello? Who's this? ... Oh, fun, you're a French tourist. Well then. ... Mon ami a perdu son phone, ou es-tu? Dans l'bus?"

Freddy and Jason awkwardly looked at each other. "Is he speaking English right now?"

"I think he's speaking drunk," said Jason.

"Ah, okay. Merci." I hung up. "Your phone's in the bus. Good job, Voorhees."

"IN THE BUS?" Jason exclaimed. "But I'm so confused..."

"You tard."

We got the phone back when we boarded the bus, which was approximately forty minutes late. Awesome. The bus driver looked so much like Jason's mom that at first we thought she'd hijacked the bus to come find him.

There were forty-five missed calls on Jason's phone. Two from C'Dward and the rest from his mom.

I'm all, "Epic fail, Jason."

We got back to Lispeth's, put Bertha to bed and then we got completely smashed and totally trashed the entire effing ward. And also, we watched more home videos.

Lispeth is coming home soon, so I'm going to have to head back home. But this was a pretty epic weekend.

Oh, Lispeth, and my mom, if you're reading this, all of this is part of your imagination. Legit. None of this ever happened. And also, mom, you are a complete wench. And you have auditory hallucinations. Which is why you think the cops called you yesterday.

Jason... you left your machete, three pairs of socks and a substantial portion of your mask at Lispeth's. Oh, and your Wal-Mart bag full of crap.

Epic fail.

Our week-ish in a nutshell

Oh boy.

Here we go again.

SO sorry for not keeping you updated of our shenanigans all week. First these random people who just moved into our neighbourhood came over for dinner so we were BUSY... then the power lines outside our house were literally snapped in half by some angry miscreant (read: Jason Voorhees – and I am using his full name because I am PISSED) so the power was off for like four days because that’s how long it takes the damn Haddonfield effing power people to come down and fix our lines (and in case you’re wondering, we never call the Crystal Lake power people because Crystal Lake is a hick town and it HAS no power people).

So yeah. Allow me to make up for my absence by spelling out our entire week to you. Sound good? Good.



Saturday

Michael finally gets out of bed at one P.M. and he’s all, "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." and I'm like, "Whathoney?" This was the first word he said to me since we parked him on the loveseat with the cell phone. So it was slightly surprising.

He's all, "Apparently there's this awkward fugster that just moved in across the street." Again? "And he's got a mask on. Whatthefuck."

"Michael."

"Fudge, then. Whatthefudge."

I'm like, "Who told you this, now?"

"Freddy. He was egging Stephenie Meyer's house and then this awkward-ass moving truck pulled into the driveway next to hers down the road and then this van that looks like it belongs to some wench that only dates men fifty years younger than she quickly followed. And then buddy with the fugmask got out."
I tried to make sense of this alien-language-based explanation. "So a single mom and son moved into the house next to Meyer's that's been for sale forever? Well, that's wonderful."

"Not so much wonderful, mom. The fugger is trying to be me!"

"MICHAEL."

"What! I said fugger!" he yelled. "With Gs!"

I started doing some thinking. Eventually, I decided it would only be proper to welcome our new neighbors to the area by inviting them to a wondrous seafood dinner that very night. Just me, Hannibal, Johnny, Robert, Mike and our brand new friends. Hopefully Michael can finally make a "dude friend" that doesn't/isn't A) vastly intellectually inferior to him, B) eat people, C) completely embarrassing to be around, D) a complete bad influence and/or E) have a massive gay crush on him.

Oh, and/or, F) smoke lots of dope.

Almost forgot that one.

"Mom, can we invite Jason, too?" Michael asked hopefully as soon as I informed him of my little plot to make the new neighbors like us.

I said, "No. You're grounded."

Michael crossed his arms, "Well, then you wenches aren't getting any Demon Squares. You know that, right? Jason always holds the pans and does the dishes after. No Jason, no Squares."

"I'm sure we'll survive."

"YOU'LL LEARN TO REGRET THIS!" he yelled before running upstairs to lock himself in his room and play some Korn - punishment inflicted upon the entire world for scorning him.

So I called up the operator and asked for 45 Rippergrove Road. “You know, that random long-ass street right on the border of Crystal Lake and Haddonfield.”

“It’s 544-0468,” said the operator.

“Okay,” I said. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“... I’m the operator.”

“But how did you know that so fast? You spat out that number like it was a lightning bolt about to strike the Earth.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“Was it something I said? Oh – I’m sorry! Was I sounding like Margaret Atwood again?”

She hung up on me.

But whatever. I had the number. So I called.

After the third ring, a cow-like voice exclaimed, “Yelloh!”

I’m all, “Uh... hi. I’m -”

The... person... on the end of the line promptly interrupted me, “WHAT’SYOURFAVORITESCARYMOVIE?”

I’m all, “Are you on drugs?”

Then, simultaneously, two more voices added themselves to the conversation, “Ghostface honey? Are you talking to a girl?”

“MOM!”

And then Michael was all, “The fuck is this? Mom, are you having a phone threesome?”

“MICHAELHANGUP.”

Anyway, after a few moments, only myself and the other lady remained on the line. I was all, “Okay, that didn’t go exactly as I had hoped.” And she laughs and she’s all, “Do not worry, lady. I know what it is like to have offspring who do not respect the authority of their post-pubescent parental units.”

I’m all, Why is she talking like that?

So I invited them over for dinner. They showed up around seven (two hours late – dinner was cold. I’ll feed it to Mary-Sue later), which was perfectly fine considering they brought about fifty pounds of Belgian truffles. Which happen to be my favorite.

Michael was all, “BELGIAN TRUFFLES?” and ran up into his room sobbing dramatically like the drama queen that he is.

He kinda hates Belgian truffles. Oh well. He would come back downstairs eventually.

When he did, at around eight fifty, he plopped down on the couch next to our new masked little cutie-pie Ghostface, muttered “belgiantruffles...” and then looked at Ghostface with pure hatred for about fifty seconds.

“What?” the poor dear asked innocently.

Michael’s all, “Who the wench are you?”

Ghostface raised his chin in indignation. “I am Ghostface Hammersmith. And who are you?”

“I am your worst nightmare.”

“Michael -” I said patiently as I chatted with Ghostface’s single mother, Marcia-Poppy Hammersmith, who is a single mother. Which is a tragedy because it appears that therefore, the poor child is a bastard. “That’s Frederick’s thing.”

If looks could kill, Michael would have quite brutally gunned me down.

I can’t say the visit didn’t go well. I think we’re all going to be quite civil with each other, thank you very much. Also, the boys did have an actual conversation at one point, which I found impressive coming from Michael, who isn’t usually very good with new people. Usually he just sits there and doesn’t say anything, all the while looking in amusement/contempt at the poor, hapless soul in question as if this is the dumbest piece of poop he’s ever encountered.

Hopefully this awkward type of attitude will disappear once he turns twenty-one. Because everyone in the United States of America knows that once one turns twenty-one, one is officially a perfectly responsible adult, magically becoming mature and socially conscious with the magical age.

We love twenty-one here in America. And twenty-one will love my dear son. It will. He won’t rebel or like, go on a bloody massacre or anything. He’s getting all the “rebel” out now, I just know it.

So yeah. They had a conversation! And it was quite awkward but it’s a start.

Michael said, “D’you, like, go to school?”

“No, I’m homeschooled,” said Ghostface eloquently.

Michael’s all, “Why? Is there something wrong with you?”

Ghostface looked disconcerted. “Um... no. I just need time to do my shit which school does not allow for.”

“And what shit is this?”

“Oh, I develop video games,” said Ghostface nonchalantly.

Michael’s face lights up and he’s like, “LIKE MANHUNT?” Aww, he got all excited. It doesn’t happen often. Especially not when he’s grounded.

“Kind of like Manhunt, actually, although I find that game to be fairly poor in taste and quality. What’s your favorite scary movie?"

Michael’s all, “EFF OFF. Don’t be dissing Manhunt, wench!”

“Sorry.”

“You’re like this huge nerd, aren’t you?”

“..."

“So what nerd video games did you make?”

Ghostface was all, “Well, now I’m working on a new project I’m uber-proud of called Mathacre.”

“Called what?”

“Mathacre.”

“What?”

“Mathacre.”

“Do you have a speech impediment?”

“NO! It’s about math! Math-acre.”

Michael tilted his head in confusion for a few seconds and then he was all, “What the Christ!”

“You have to kill the bad guys, but to do so you need to answer math equations correctly. It’s actually helpful for kids who hate math – you should try it. Not kidding. The tagline is “4+5 = DEAD”. Isn’t that awesome? I’m actually quite thrilled about this one.”

... Okidoky then!


The next few days nothing really happened, so they can all be summed up in point form. Don’t you love point form? Me love point form. <3


Sunday

- Pretty much the only thing of importance that happened Sunday was that Michael went over to Edna’s. She suggested we make her home an extension of ours for the duration of the grounding. Michael seemed pretty content with himself when he came home. I don’t know what she did, but it worked, and I’m starting to think she might be a type of deity.

- Oh yeah, and our power got chopped by a machete. Yeeeaaah. And Michael, whose electronics can all run by battery for extended periods of time, amused himself by laughing in our faces for twenty minutes. He would probably have laughed all day had I not politely informed him that he would be grounded for an extra week should he not shut his trap.

- Hannibal crisised. It is a verb when applied to him, yes. He actually went downstairs and cleaned the whole basement in rage.

- Did I mention HANNIBAL CLEANED THE BASEMENT? Yeah, okay, just making sure.



Monday


- Johnny and Robert were both acting extremely awkwardly. Michael went back to school, as well. I’ve never seen him more thrilled to return to school. He was legitimately giddy. You’d have really thought he was planning on jigging all day to sniff glue in the woods.

- Or at Wal-Mart. Knowing him.

- Johnny bought a new wok that he says will work much better than the last one, which he threw into the lake behind our house the other day in anger. The new wok is misshapen and looks like it might have been possessed by a demon in its previous life. I still don’t understand how the last wok was retarded. This wok looks pretty effing retarded to me, just saying.

- Robert got an e-mail with one of those “Happy Bunny” strips and he literally laughed/chuckled for four hours.


Yesterday

- Frederick and Jason threw eggs at Michael’s Plexiglass bedroom window in the dead of night AND IT BROKE. Busted. The window AND the miscreants. Michael was pissed. He was like, “HOW DO YOU BREAK PLEXIGLASS WITH AN EGG?” And then Frederick was all, “Bitch, you told us to use rocks at first. So suck on that.”

- Michael had no reply to this.


Today

Michael just went to bed. Before that, he, Robert and I argued like fools for a good two hours. At dinner, Robert kept nudging his fork against his plate in a way that was extremely annoying while attempting to hold up “X-Men and Philosophy” in his right hand, turning the pages with his mouth. This was all very annoying, admittedly, but it was not Michael’s place to demean him like he did. I won’t even go into what he said in case one of the younger children in the neighbourhood should stumble upon it. But I mean, this man could be his FATHER. So I confronted him loudly and openly and he’s all, “Unground me and I’ll stop mercilessly abusing your husbands.”

I’m like, “No.”

He’s like, “Yes.”

I’m like, “Michael.”

He’s like, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I WANNA GO TO WAL-MART.”

I’m like, “Too bad. Once you learn to respect other people’s feelings and take responsibility for your own actions, then you can go to Wal-Mart.”

So then he starts like bitching at me as typical, you know, “wench” and “gerontophile” and “fag hag” and “you and Pam are probably lesbians together” and whatnot. Just the regular gripes. But Robert has always despised this so much and he basically snapped, yelling at Michael to go to his room immediately or he would force him to recopy the first page of Philosophical Elements twenty times.

To this Michael replied, “Go fuck a wench.”

And I said, “Room-now.”

He didn’t move and we just all kept fighting. At this point Michael was pretty much verbally assaulting us. Johnny and Hannibal were staying out of the way, I knew, just trying not to get involved.

Then Michael’s all, “Me and Jason haven’t gone to Wal-Mart in like twoooo yeeeeeaaaaaaaars.” As though this would make me reconsider his grounding. Pssht. He thinks I’m soft.

Then Robert’s like, “Michael, you are going to have to get used to the fact that in real life, you cannot see your friends every day. Hate to break it to you, but if you want to go to Wal-Mart with Jason every day – every single day – you’re going to have to marry him.”

I looked at Robert. “You know, I really don’t understand how he can even stand that little whiner every day.”

Oh, wait. Did I say that out loud?

Michael ignored me. He said to Robert, “Yeah? Yeah? Hah. You just watch. Now, just to spite you, I’m totally going to go all queen on you guyses asses and then I am going to get married to Jason and you will all come to our fucking Wal-Mart wedding. Oh yeah. Can’t wait to see your face, DAD.”

And now he’s upstairs, and Robert and I just stood in the kitchen looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments before I came in here and posted this.



So yeah. That was our past few days or so. We have new neighbours, Edna reformed Michael for a day, we have to go to the window shop, the power people finally fixed our damn electricity, and my son may or may not be planning a gay marriage out of rage.

Yeah, it’s been a pretty boring, regular old week.

Oh, P.S. – Lispeth, Michael can certainly babysit for you at the weekend. I’ll let him do it even though he’s grounded. Babysitting is an excellent way for him to learn responsibility! Anyway, I’ll give you a call tomorrow hon, just to get the details, but it’s really no problem at all. :)

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! 

What do C'Dward Eullen and the McDonald's at the big Wal-Mart have in common? They're both awkward a-hole fuggers with two mommies.

Oh, and they both charge you for sauce.

Yep. I'm not kidding.

Jason showed up at my house at seven o'clock in the morning today and he's like, "TsgodosomeChristmasshopping." He's been sounding like a possessed demon - in other words kind of like Edna's kid Damien - and understandably so ever since we found out that that wench, C'Dward Eullen, apparently is in lurve with him.

Isn't that gross?

And since Jason has a purple cell phone with pink stars and red hearts, as well as a baby pink cloud van which he actually WOULDN'T rather die than drive in public, I have come to the conclusion that we must rid ourselves of C'Dward before the latter succeeds in wooing our poor simple Jason. I've been telling him at every opportunity, "Jason, listen to me, man. You start chilling with that Cedward fellow on a regular basis and you will - not might - catch the swine flu. And by swine flu I mean an infatuation with C'Dward Eullen. Who is gross."

Jason always smiles and nods when I tell him this shit, but I can't help but be afraid for his safety. He smiled and nodded when I told him not to go to the big mall on Boxing Day last year, and guess who went to the big mall on Boxing Day last year and escaped its indecent claustrophobia and unnecessary solicitation only to go outside and get run over by a road-raging cell phone user? Now, I'm not the type to say "ITOLDYOUSO!" like a snotty three-year-old... but you catch my drift.

As much as we all like having Jason around, sometimes... well... he ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Let's put it that way.

Yep. Getting rid of C'Dward is the only way to get us all out of this period of nonsense at this point. Dude, sorry Matilda.

So I took Jason's little gay cell phone and I called up our little effer and invited him to come to the big Wal-Mart with us. Figured we'd have to suffer a bit in order to obtain just reward. C'Dward was like... weirdly, stupidly excited to come with us. I cringed and hung up the phone.

I said, "Okay Jason, all you have to do is be really gross and retarded all day. If that doesn't make Fugward stop oggling you, nothing will."

"So basically, just be myself right? That's what you're going to say?" Jesus Christ, this dude gets so defensive for no fucking reason all the time. That's what happens when you live with a freaking menopausal borderline-schizophrenic woman.

I'm like, "Holy PMS. No, actually, being yourself probably won't be enough to get this mofo off your tail. We have to surround ourselves by an environment that will allow you to reach your full grossness potential."

"You mean like McDick's?" Jason gasped.

"Stop calling it that. It makes you sound almost as homo as that phone makes you look. But yes. McFucker is exactly where we're going."

"McDonny's is where it's at."

"You're trying to sound chill and it's not working."

"But I don't understand."

"But you don't have to. Oh... and I'm pretty sure this has a way better chance of working if we drag Freddy along."

Jason laughs and he's like, "Yeah. He tends to scare a lot of potential friends and crushers away."

I'm all, "Yeah, that too. I mostly meant he's pretty much the only way we're ever going to get to the big Wal-Mart. Ever."

"Oh. Yeah."

So once we had our little plan all figured out, we called Freddy up and at first he was pissed off because he was busy filming some shit that's probably really epic, but once we informed him of the situation at hand, he departed into hysterics and told us he'd be over (with his inconspicuous camera-fedora, which is almost awkwardly red, and thus makes him look like a very evil, Mexican Santa Claus) in five minutes. When he showed up, Jason’s all, “THE FUGGER!” I ran to the living room window and, indeed, Freddy’s car was in the driveway. So we, like, bailed.


“Dude we’re not going to the tiny, awesome Wal-Mart like usual.” I told Freddy this when we hopped into the back of the vehicle. We always lurk in backseats. Freddy would be stuck with C’Dward as shotgun. Sucks to be him. We weren’t about to tell him this, though. “We’re going to the huge, efftarded one attached to the big mall.”

He’s all, “Yeah, gathered that when you kept saying ‘BIG!’ over and over again on the phone.”

I ignored this. “Yeah and by the way we’re picking up Fugward. Can’t risk him not being able to find a way there.” Freddy gave me an awkward, stick-up-my-ass face. I’m like, “He’s kind of the whole point of our excursion, dude.”

“Like actually,” Jason added for good measure.

So we showed up in front of the little mother’s house and had to honk like fifteen times before his brain finally turned on (if that’s possible) and he came skipping through the door. He epic failed on a patch of ice on the way out of the driveway, which was, um, AWESOME.

He’s all, “Helloeverywuun” very nasally. We all grunted in response. Except Freddy, who is always annoyingly vocal about everything. He was like, “Hi, bitch.”

Freddy calls everyone “bitch”, even his four dads. It’s really awkward. But slightly awesome as well.

We sped toward the big mall at around twelve thousand miles an hour. Then we got stuck in traffic for like twenty minutes, all because a fucking eighteen wheeler was trying to turn left, which requires like six lanes and people were too moronic and jello-brained to let the poor fucker through. Then this dude actually passed in front of the buddy in front of him to turn left, cutting us off. We all gave buddy the finger. Except C’Dward, who gave him an awkward Spock sign.

This is how we found out that C’Dward is a huge Trekkie. Yeah. Which is awkward because Pamela Voorhees is not only Jason’s mother but also the mother of all Trekkies, which means that, by association, Jason is kind of slightly a Trekkie as well. Which makes Cedfucker twice as likely to be able to woo Jason. Which makes him twice as likely to be poisoned by a bad batch of Demon Squares; sorry buddy, but that’s how it works around here. Tough luck for you. I shrug at your protests. You don’t just woo innocent Jasons like that. Actually? No. Fuck off.

RIGHT FREDDY? FUCK OFF!

Cedward’s like, “Why didn’t we just go to the small mall?” He’s been yapping at Jason the whole ride, which is awkward. And Freddy and I are just sitting there. Lack of manners much?

Jason’s all, “Because we wanted to go to McDi – OUCH! I mean McFucker!”

“Ooh! I love their McChicken sauce!” You fucker. You flirt like a granny. I’m sure you love Jason’s McChicken sauce, too. Huh? That’s what you were insinuating by that disgustingly suggestive remark. Don’t lie to me. You can’t lie to Michael. Michael knows when you are bullshitting him, you asswench.

I could not wait until we got this bastard out of our masks once and for all. Apparently, Freddy couldn’t either because he started honking like nuts at the truck.

Eventually, we got to McDonald’s. We had to park in the sticks, but that’s okay, because it allowed Jason to bring out an exaggerated version of his “burlesque deformed handicapped limping man about to kill you” walk. Freddy looked sceptically at me and I hissed, “Don’task.”

C’Dward just stared at the poor, sorry fellow.

WITH LUST.

There was a lineup the size of my mom’s friend Edna and all her husbands combined at McDonald’s. I said, “Jesus Christ, all we want is a couple of McChickens.” And for this fucker to be traumatized all the way to bloody demon hell, I added in my head in regards to Freddy, who was repeatedly clicking two of his claws together nerve-grindingly.

And about C’Dward too, obviously.

So we finally get up to the counter and the lady’s like, “Can I help you?”

I jumped in front of C’Dward. “Yup! I want a Crispy Chicken.”

Then Jason, Freddy and C’Dward ordered. Typically, C’Dward ordered Snack Wraps. Snack Wraps are potentially the gayest thing ever to be offered on the McDonald’s menu ever, so it seems fitting that C’Dward would order them. And three of them, no less. They look like sticks full of ranch sauce.

C’Dward Eullen has three sticks.

I had instructed Jason to order something which requires a lot of McChicken sauce to properly consume... so the fucker gets an upsized quarter pounder meal. What. The. Fuck.

I hissed, “WHOPUTSMCCHICKENSAUCEONAQUARTERPOUNDER.” Jason’s all shrugging like, whatever-too-late-now-I-already-ordered. As we stood there waiting for our grub, I decided Jason slobbering all over a McChicken-sauce-filled quarter pounder was pretty much the grossest thing ever. Which was our goal. So it was all good.

So we got our food and the lady’s like, “Have-a-nice-day,” and I just stood there and I’m like, “Can we get some McChicken sauce? Like lots of it?”

And I swear to God this happened. The lady looked at me like a cow looks at an oncoming train and she was all, “Actually, I have to charge for McChicken sauce.

We, all four of us, were like, “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?” The world had just come to an end.

“McDonald’s is a prostitute!” shouted Freddy inappropriately. Everyone just kind of looked at him for two seconds before going about their business, a.k.a. pigging out on McShit.

I looked at the lady. “Are you serious, wench?”

She nodded solemnly.

“Well, it’s not like I’m just going to NOT get McChicken sauce. This is a power play. I do not approve.”

The lady nodded solemnly again.

We all pitched in and got ten bucks worth of the white shit.

Jason goes to take a straw and this pimply employee dude who looks like he probably jizzes to a poster of Ronald McDonald at night is like, “Wait, now. It’s fifty cents a straw.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

I’m all, “Take this fucker down, Jason.”

“Wait,” said Jason. He looked at the straw like a stranded moose. “I’m so confused!”

“Are you the only effing McDonald’s that charges for straws? And McChicken sauce?” exclaims Freddy. “Because I’m pretty sure you are.”

“WHAT A TRAVESTY!” yells C’Dward, who is obviously trying to impress Jason with big literary words. It isn’t going to work, you jaundiced hermaphrodite. Jason has to my knowledge never read a book in his life. His dyslexia stops him. So save your big dictionary wooing terms for someone who actually reads the whole dictionary every night like you. Kthx. Go masturbate to your mommies’ old-ass Webster’s. Kcool.

We went to sit down, but not before being charged 8.50 to use the table. We go to sit and he’s like, “Fifty cents for the chairs.”

We gave him the fifty cents, grabbed the chairs and left the store with our McShit and our pile of McChicken sauce. In your face. McFuckOff.

We get to that one aisle of like towels that no one ever goes into in the big-ass Wal-Mart, and I’m all, “Let’s park here.” We set down our chairs and then Jason immediately starts shitting the McChicken sauce onto his burger. Like ON THE BURGER. Not even inside. Right on the damn bun. Then, when the top of it looks like it got snowed on, Jason’s all like “YUM!” in a tone very reminiscent of Hannibal, and he actually picked up the bun and slathered the whole patty with sauce.

“Appetizing,” commented Freddy.

Jason basically squatted very disgustingly on his chair and tried to shove the whole nasty mess in his mouth at once. He had to sort of peel off his mask slightly to do this. Which is why my mask is so much better than his. Mine actually has a mouth hole. His is a hockey mask, so if he made a mouth hole it would just look retarded.

This is epic. This is going exactly according to plan.

C’Dward was just entirely traumatized at this point, trying not to stare at the massacre currently happening before his eyes. His lust appeared to be replaced by disgust, WHICH IS WHAT WE WANT.

Just for good measure, Jason belched about fifteen times on the way out of Wal-Mart. He also scratched his ass a lot when he was walking in front of C’Dward. But apparently, C’Dward has a higher grossness tolerance than I do, because once we got back in the car, there fucking Cedward was, talking to Jason again the whole way back!

Motherfucker.

We dropped him off first and I yelled “WENCH!” out the window at him as we drove off.

Then Jason has the nerve to say, “Dude, maybe you shouldn’t be so mean to C’Dward.”

I’m all, “What?”

Freddy’s all, “Oh bitch. Bitch bitch bitch.”

Jason’s like, “What? He was nice to us like, all day.”

“Jason. What doesn’t your little fluffy pink and purple brain understand? HE IS TRYING TO WOO YOU. HE IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO BE NICE. HE IS TRYING TO GET INSIDE YOUR PANTS. DO I NEED TO SKETCH YOU A PICTURE.”

“Well -”

“Look, I know you’re not used to being fawned over, so I’ll give you a bit of a break, but FUCK OFF WENCH. It’s C’Dward Eullen. It’s like feeling bad for a corpse. Do you feel bad for corpses, Jason?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be nice to corpses, Jason?”

“No! Jesus fuck!”

“Do you want corpses in your pants? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you get all nice and friendly with Cedward. You will get effed by corpses.”

“I really do not care to be effed by corpses. Okay. Fine. So we’re not going to be nice to C’Dward. Cool. Jesus Christ.”

“Great,” I said. “Glad we have an agreement.”

Freddy – who’s been like “oooooooooooooooooookay...” the whole time, by the way – dropped us off at my house. Jason kind of looked like he wanted to come in and maybe play Manhunt for a couple of hours, but quite frankly, I, and not C’Dward apparently, was rather disgusted with the asshole at the moment.

So I just called him Shitface and went home.

Since apparently NOTHING grosses this fucker (C’Dward) out, we now need another plan to get him the eff away from us (and especially Jason). If anyone has any ideas, let us know.

kthx.

Ironically enough, C'Dward saved the day!

So Michael and Jason were fighting for like a week and it was awkward.

And by "fighting" I mean they stayed shut inside their rooms and avoided each other like the plague. Which is what they always do when they fight, and which is so much more awkward than if they were to just bitch each other out every day and plot to egg each other's houses like they do when they get into disagreements with Frederick.

I hate seeing Michael and Jason have a fight because Michael always gets extremely "Oh-my-God-eff-my-life-I-have-no-friends-everyone-hates-me-even-the-deformed-hockey-fanatic-across-the-street-who-drives-his-mommy's-pink-cloud-van!"

And I'm afraid to get a phone call from Mary-Sue Vrees informing me that Jason climbed on top of Alfred Benedict's shitty green snow plough and jumped.

So obviously, I, having quite enough on my plate without this nonsense - and without Johnny literally SCREAMING at the wok downstairs for the past four days - I've been trying to get them to reconcile. So after a couple days of Michael blubbering and trying to be a "tough guy who doesn't give a shit about anything so eff off wench" in his room, I knocked on the door and quite frankly invited myself in because he wasn't responding.

He's all plopped on his bed with his face in the pillow like someone who needs medical assistance, and I'm all exasperated like, "Michael... why can't you just call Jason and TALK to him?"

Michael blubbers, "Because we don't TALK. That's not what we DO. GOD Mom."

I shrugged like a science nerd who is socially awkward and exaggerates her movements. "But WHY? Michael, you didn't even go to school this week pretty much because you didn't want to have to face him. Isn't that cowardly? You're never going to fix things if you hide out like kicked puppies in your room for a year! You know that!"

Michael just sits up stiffly and glares at me. "TheonlyreasonIstayinmyeffingroomalleffingdayisbecauseifIgotoeffingschooleffingFreddyandothershittyeggfreaksaregoingtomakeusdoa"Michaelvs.Jason". And there is NO WAY we're making a "Michael vs. Jason" because Jason and I made a frigging spit swear when we were like four that never in the entire history of our lives would we EVER fight on camera. A SPIT SWEAR MOM. You just don't go back on that shit, like actually."

I smiled fake-sweetly. "Awww, that's touching. NOW GO ACROSS THE STREET AND TALK TO THE POOR CHILD BEFORE HE COMMITS SUICIDE."

Michael crosses his arms. "Or what?"

"Or you're grounded for fifty years," I said.

Michael plopped back down handicappedly onto his bed, muttering "wench" under his breath.

He didn't go across the street. Apparently, not ever the menace of being grounded for fifty years could make him talk to Jason at this point. Then randomly, he came home from school on Friday, slammed the door behind him and said, "Oh by the way mom me and Jason are friends again."

I just made a huge smile and said, "OH THAT'S GREAT HONEY. You finally talked to him?" I was all proud of my boy. Having the courage to admit responsibility for whatever it was he'd done? Yeah, that's what I teach my child here. I've taught him well!

And then he was all, "Nope. He called me last night at like seven while you were out playing poker with Edna. Apparently they got invited to C'Dward Eullen's house for dinner, and - OH BY THE WAY C'DWARD EULLEN HAS TWO MOMMIES. Isn't that awkward?"

"Michael! Stop discriminating!"

"Sorry, it's just fudging hilarious. Anyways... so like he calls me from the bathroom on his awkward purple phone with pink stars and red hearts on it which he says belongs to his sister, but he doesn't have a sister so that makes no sense -"

"Michael! Get to the point?"

"Jesus Christ mom, let me talk! ... Anywaaaaaays, so he was all like, 'Okay so I know we're not speaking to each other right now, but EDWARD CULLEN HAS A CRUSH ON ME. AND I'M IN HIS HOUSE. HELP.' And I was like... 'Dude who the FUCK is Edward Cullen?'... but he meant C'Dward obviously. He's just dyslexic and it's awkward and annoying, but whatever. So then it was so incredibly hilarious that C'Dward Eullen apparently has a thing for Jason - because it's JASON and he's a fugster - that we were like AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA and we totally forgot we hated each other. So yeah. We're friends again!"

I said, "YAY!" and it was like a small yet giant weight was lifted off my slightly robust, chair-like shoulders that have an air of bittersweet triumph to them. And that sounded like Margaret Atwood. Which is really very silly because she is Robert's favorite author and I hate her and want to burn her books at the stake.

I am only now realizing that I have no sweet clue what this giant week-long feud between my Siamese twins of a son and an "adopted son" was actually about. As in, at all. I should probably ask Michael about this tomorrow. Then again, I might not because quite frankly, I am seriously tired of this bullshit.

No really. I am.

Got laptop battery back from China! Oh and also, tree is up! Finally!!

So on Saturday we all got up and realized two things. The first thing was that the Special Christmas Dinner we have every year was that night. The second thing was that our stupid green piney excuse for a Christmas tree was not yet up and decorated.

Yep. Hannibal forgot.

It was approximately eight AM when I bolted up in bed and shouted, "WE HAVE NO TREE!" It was an epiphany of sorts. I suppose Hannibal must have heard my shriek of terror from the barn because five minutes later, he was inside the house, shouting about "silly American traditions" and "Christianity", and also at Johnny, who was in the kitchen mentally wrestling the wok into submission.

Michael came downstairs, and by this time I was pacing in the living room, and I was all, "Michael! We have no tree." And he just shrugged like the arrogant teenager he is, picked up the cordless phone and hit speed dial. "Yeah. My mom's taking a total shit fit because Hannibal forgot the tree. ... Yeah? Yeah okay, right. Just get a tree. I don't care how tall it is. Shut up. Yeah well your mom's a bitch. Whatever. K."

I frowned and said, "Michael."

He's all, "What? Jason's house has woods in the back."

I could have argued with him for about seventy-six minutes on the subject of unlicensed tree-chopping being an absolute, complete felony, but what would have been the point really? After all, my son is a fourteen-year-old rebel, and as a result, he obviously knows everything, MOM.

So I just said, “One day you’ll get your bachelor’s degree in applied forestry just like your infirm aunt Beatrice wants, and then you’ll see how wrong it is of you to impose such a liability on your poor dear dyslexic friend Jason Vrees.”

Michael just looked at me like my face was a toxic waste plant in its disgusting, smelly entirety, and he’s like, “Oh my God mom you’re embarrassing can you not speak English for two seconds?”

So Jason shows up ten minutes later in a hijacked baby pink van with the inscription “Crystal Munchies” in big huge swampy green bubbly letters on the side. Atop the van was one massive mother of all trees. It was nice and green, but it shedded a lot into our driveway and that made me assume it would also shed excessively onto our living room floor, and I felt kind of bad for Hannibal, who would have to clean it all up in January.

“Jasonyouactuallychoppeddownatree?” I exclaimed, shocked beyond my wit. That’s an expression my mother used a lot, “shocked beyond my wit”. And by a lot I mean teeth-grindingly, nerve-splittingly, horrendously OFTEN. She’s dead now. My mother, I mean. She was murdered by a group of teenage boys in the woods a few blocks down. It was disastrous. They cut out her jaw.

Jason just got out of the van and he’s like, “Yup. Well – actually I kinda got my drunk dad to help me out. That’s why the bottom of the stump is a little bit jagged. I hope you don’t mind.”

Michael came outside and looked at the tree and then looked at me and then at Jason and then back at the tree. He was all, “Dude, the HELL is up with your van?”

Jason’s all embarrassed. “Tsmymomsasshole.”

I don’t think Michael noticed his justification for the fluffy pink cloud-van, unfortunately for Jason. He lunged toward the tree on the roof of the van and I had to somehow hold him back so he didn’t harm himself. Hannibal came out with his duster and several portions of a vacuum cleaner and started untying the tree in the frigid cold. We pretty much just went inside.

The actual decorating of the tree was fairly uneventful, so instead of wasting your precious Christmas-season Wal-Mart-hopping time (speaking of, would anyone be willing to give Michael and company a drive home from Wal-Mart on Sunday night? I’m afraid they might just steal some poor sap’s vehicle if no one picks them up. I promised Johnny I’d go to his thing. Which thing this is, I’m still not too sure.), I will simply condense my rambling into a clear-cut, simple point-form summary of what happened.

Actually no, you know what?

I’M GOING TO MAKE A TOP TEN LIST! Like the ones on Yahoo! News every second day, except way more accurate.


The top ten happenings during Gertie’s Christmas-Tree-Decorating Shenanigans (this one’s for you, Edna!)

10. Tree goes up with rope Michael keeps in his room (look, they’re even in present tense!). Slightly drunk Johnny comes into living room and says “Shiznatch”.

9. Michael and Jason have slight quarrel over who gets to hang the sandy bell. Everyone holding breaths hoping the tree and house stay up.

8. Frederick Krueger shows up. This is an event upon itself.

7. Robert starts singing “Jingle Bells” from upstairs; everyone laughing and spilling eggnog all over the place (non-alcoholic eggnog – what kind of a mother do you think I am?). Hannibal gets mop.

6. Mary-Sue Vrees calls me to warn me not to give her child alcoholic beverages because his “life-threatening fear of water” is “worse when he’s loopy”. Dear sweet Lord mother of all that is holy was that ever the most awkward phone conversation.

5. Jason has slight breakdown over crystal ornament shaped as raindrop.

4. Frederick “goes to the bathroom” and now there are no eggs in the fridge.

3. Hannibal announces halfway through that he needs to go take a piss. TMI, Hannibal.

2. Hannibal very nearly drops the bucket of hooks and goes “UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!” like a legitimate hippopotamus in heat.

1. Michael pretty much in hysterics over Hannibal’s hippo noises. Angry Hannibal takes large bucket of dirty mop water and throws in Michael’s face, thereby splashing Jason. Michael goes to the bathroom for two hours. Jason in foetal position on living room floor for three and a quarter. Upon getting out of the bathroom Michael tells Jason to “fuck off and get out of my house”. Jason still on floor until people get here for dinner.


Oh, and since you asked, the dinner went well, too. I mean, it went so much better than expected, considering. We had turkey, stuffing, cucumbers... you know, the regular. Sam Loomis now has a healing black eye, Stephenie Meyer had to put Sella in therapy, Freddy refused to eat his cucumber, the house is now three feet farther away to the left than it used to be thanks to Samara and Sadako, Edna’s son Damien pretty much recited the entire Necronomicon to us, Michael and Jason currently are not speaking to each other, and Johnny is still drunk.

But hey, it’s better than last year! Right folks?

Update you again soon! Time for a little shut-eye... that is, if Johnny ever stops dancing with the broom and humming “Here Comes the Bride” downstairs.

Love you all! :)


Hugs,
Gertie

P.S. – I’m feeling much better now that my battery is in my computer and not in China. Thank God Sella Bwan’s relatives didn’t get their hands on it, is all I have to say!

Jason and Michael have issues

Johnny's gone. I've stolen the desktop in the master suite. I'm listening to Boney M on it! RA-RA-RASPUTIIIIN! She's no Susan Boyle, but hey. The CD's downstairs and I'm too lazy to go. I'd ask Michael to but he and Jason are giggling like schoolgirls about something or other in his room... and do I want to know? I think not.

Wait, is that "Mr. Sandman" I hear? Dear God. Dear Lord.

You know what? On second thought, I think I might have to just go and see what's going on in there. Be right back.

... Well, I'm back, and slightly traumatized. Soon as I walked into the room, Michael leapt up from the desk, where he and Jason were busy doodling on a sheet of paper like the conniving masterminds they are. He goes, "MOM! HAHA! Check this out..."

So I walk up to the desk, right? And all I see is a sheet of paper full of messy handwriting and glue-sticked pictures of people.

I'm all, "What did you two do?"

Jason's all giddy as usual. You'd legitimately think there were caffeine fumes in our house. He's all, "WE TOOK PICTURES OF AWKWARD PEOPLE LIKE BEORGE GUSH AND CINARY HILTON FROM NEWSPAPERS AND WE STUCK THEM TO THE RAPER -"

"Jason!" I interrupt, alarmed. "Jason, honey, calm down, your dyslexia! George Bush, honey. Hillary Clinton. PAPER."

Jason blushes and then he's all, "Sorry Mrs. LSD. I got a bit excited."

Michael rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah so ANYWAY, we took the pictures and we put captions next to them - like dictionary captions! Like what word in the dictionary these people would be next to."

I'm still shaking my head. "Oh, you boys. Must you always make fun of people?"

Michael and Jason just kind of exchanged a look and then just kind of nodded.

"Okaylet'sseeit," I said, holding out my hand to receive the sheet.


George Bush - Monkey

W. Desnay - Senile

Richard Anderson - Alzheimer's

Hillary Clinton - Partridge

Sam Loomis - Pedophile

Sella Bwan - Illegal Immigrant

Pamela Voorhees - Awkward

Adam Lambert - Flamingo

Hannibal Lecter - Hideous (I said "Hey! That's not nice!")

Rob Zombie (one of Johnny's work frenemies) - Gargantuan


I'm all, "Not cool, boys."

Michael grimaces and he's like, "You have no sense of humor. You're frigid."

Jason's like, "Difgrif?"

Michael's all, "No."

Yep, they have issues. I think I might tell Hannibal that it might not be a good idea to have both of them helping him with the tree... let alone Frederick. That might prove to be disastrous, don't you think? I don't know. I just don't know anymore. Y'know?



 

  

[Insert title here]

All right everyone.

We are home from the hospital. Jason is obviously not dead. My mom really likes freaking people out for no reason. This is because she is an attention whore.

I wasn't even worried, for God's sake. Everyone knew he was gonna make it. Obviously. After a couple days he just kind of sat up in bed and said, "Did I miss something?"

Meanwhile, my mom drained her laptop's battery so much during our stay there (no outlets in the waiting room, awkwardly enough) that she now has to get it replaced. She called HP and they're making her like send her "defective" one to China or something and then probably some relatives of Sella Bwan who work at the awkward Chinese HP factory are going to send her a new battery. Personally I don't really get why she can't just get one at fucking Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart has everything. Including crutches. We got some crutches for Jason because he's not expected to keep his balance for a few weeks. I personally think the doctors are crackheads because how on Earth are crutches supposed to help you with your balance? Won't you just fall down anyway but get like battered with your crutches on the way down? Fucktards. But whatever, it's not like we could just ignore the doctor's orders. We couldn't just be like, "NO" and throw a sheet of plexiglass at them. Though I did suggest we do that.

Anyways, my mom just wanted me to update everyone because she can't, since her laptop is currently a corpse. I'm writing this from Jason's. Awkwardly enough Johnny never wants to share any of his five desktops at home. My mom is pretty miserable without her blog - and her computer. She actually had to go buy Susan Boyle's new album at Wal-Mart because all her Susan Boyle songs were on her iTunes and without them she starts twitching after a few hours.

So yeah. Jason's fine, my mom is confused due to her lack of a computer, Hannibal is at the casino, Johnny's working late, and Robert is at home practicing for his speech at Harvard on Monday. Which is why I'm currently not in the house. Jason's mom just baked us some pink cherry muffins. I asked her if we could make some Bloody Demon Squares earlier but she just looked at me like I was dumb.

Oh! One more thing. Hannibal decided that Jason, Freddy and I get to help him decorate the Christmas tree! :) Epic win.

Aaaaaaaand also everyone in the neighborhood is invited to our big-ass Christmas dinner next Saturday with a freshly-murdered fat turkey. My mom actually just called me to tell me, in a strangled-sounding voice, to pass this on.

Follow-up on Jason's condition (read "Bad news" for the beginning)

Emotions run rampant here in our waiting room camp-out. A nurse just came in and told us Jason had to be put on life support. Sad... but I'm sure he'll pull through... I mean, when you think about it, life support is really just a technical term for "you got five blades in the side of your head and we must now help you breathe while we attempt to repair the damage." No biggie. They should really stop trying to scare us with ambiguous hospital terms! Golly gosh!

This news caused Michael to swear at the nurse, wish death on her and run (and by run I mean walk awkwardly slowly and stiffly) out of the room. Hannibal immediately got up and muttered, "WHY THAT LITTLE RUNT" and stomped out after him. Robert stood and leapt out into the hallway, alarmed. I could see his frantic eyes searching his mind for the best possible moral to deliver. I for one was more preoccupied with his knees. I'm all, "ROBERT! YOUR OSTEOPOROSIS!" He slowed down a little bit, probably more to shut me up than out of concern for himself.

Sigh. Men. I'm fortunate enough to be stuck with four and a half of them (the half being Jason Vrees, who I am only partially stuck with and might soon not be stuck with at all anymore).

Before the nurse came in, Michael and Frederick got into this big argument along the lines of, "Why did you have to go shove your HAND into his EAR?", so to be fair, Michael was already on edge when she delivered this news. Not that it excuses his behavior, though. I'll have to chat with him once this entire ordeal is over.

I will update you again soon.

Love,
Gertie xox 

Bad news

Jason Vrees is in the hospital in serious condition after an accident during their filming last night involving a glove, our set of kitchen knives and Alfred Benedict's old rusty machete. At this point we're all still kind of waiting in limbo to see what's going to happen with him. Michael is also in the hospital now, technically, because he refuses to leave. So is Hannibal because he refuses to let Michael refuse to leave. So is Johnny because he refuses to let Hannibal make an utter fool out of himself in front of professional doctors and such by refusing to let Michael refuse to leave. So is Robert because he feels that without regular philosophical citations, this entire situation will soon become a full-blown family crisis. So am I because I'm afraid of sleeping alone in my large-ass house. And finally, so is that miscreant Frederick because he's all "OHMYGODWHATHAVEIDONE." Yes, of course he's the one who caused the accident. The film was "Freddy vs. Jason 3.5" after all.

Oh, and Mary-Sue Vrees is here too, obviously, although Alfred Benedict complained about lack of sleep and stayed home. I keep forgetting about Mary-Sue because although she is in the hospital, she is not here in the waiting room with us. Upon arriving she was hysterical and attempted to attack Michael and Frederick with a spork. She is now in the psych ward under observation.

Michael keeps asking me, "MomwhatifJasondies?"

I reply in different variations of "That would be sad." Which is true, because Jason is Michael's best friend, and as such he is kind of like my adopted son. Not that this adopted-son thing doesn't have more to do with Mary-Sue's insanity than anything, but let's not rub that in right now. Except on my blog.

Also, if Jason dies, I think we might as well just give up hope entirely of ever getting the mask away from my dear child. We will also have to move away from Mary-Sue before she goes on a rampage (one-sided conversations included), killing all the children in the neighborhood, wearing a bright pink tee which reads "If I can't be a MOTHER, NO ONE CAN!"

I just got through changing the gauze on Michael's shoulder. He came running home last night all of a dither, going, "OHMYFUCKINGGODJASONLIKEDIED! MOM! MOM!", and apparently, his panic was so great that he did not notice the small knife in his shoulder. I pulled it out and placed gauze on it. I have been having to care for his wound because apparently, he could not care less.

I'm going to have to have a talk with these three about why they feel it's necessary to create such violent films. I mean if you want to make a movie, fine, but Jesus Christ do you really have to kill each other in the process?

This whole thing was probably Frederick's doing. Maybe I should just talk to him.

At this point it doesn't matter much... we're just hoping with all our hearts that dear Jason Vrees makes it through this (and also that Michael does not get gangrene in his shoulder, because it's his writing arm). Our fingers are all crossed for you, honey! Get better!

I'll let you all know as soon as the nurses stop being understaffed and we receive more news.

Love,
Gertie xox 

If you give a Vrees a pancake...

Well, last night ended up being quite a story. Do you want the long version or the short version? Take your pick.

Short version: Jason Vrees is now staying in one of our guest rooms for a few days.

Long version: Mary-Sue and her husband, Alfred Benedict, are getting separated. Why? Well, according to Jason, it's because Alfred snores too much and apparently just got a DUI for driving his snow plough at ridiculous speeds down Main Street after consuming steroids, and apparently, Mary-Sue was all, "THAT IS THE LAST STRAW." and a huge fight broke out, ending in a ten P.M. call to the lawyer's home to receive divorce papers.

I'm not sure I entirely believe Jason, though - or Mary-Sue, for that matter. I do believe this whole situation is probably more Mary-Sue's fault than Alfred's, because everything always seems to lead back to Mary-Sue at some point, and of course, Jason is far too much of a momma's boy to not believe everything that comes out of her mouth. I always knew her overtly intense protection of this boy due to his "delibitating, life-threatening dyslexia" would someday harm him... Oh well. It is neither my business nor my place to make judgment, which is why I only do it here, on my blog.

So this is what's going on: last night, Jason fled from his painfully small home across the street because he just couldn't take the infernal spoon-throwing and "Wellwhat'sgoingtohappentoJASONNOW?"s in the kitchen. He's always been a fairly sensitive boy. So I took pity on him and told him he could stay with us until the whole thing is resolved. I'm not entirely sure Michael knew about all this until this morning. As typical, he'd been "doing his homework" (and listening to Korn on maximum volume) in his room when it all went down... and we put Jason straight to bed, afraid the poor dear would asphyxiate himself with all that hyperventilation. So, judging from Michael's excited display of "OHMYGODWHATTHEHELLJASONWHYAREYOUINMYKITCHEN!!" this morning, I think it's safe to say that that infernal Korn made him pretty oblivious to everything until just recently.

Come to think of it, I'm starting to regret letting Jason stay a little. It didn't seem like such a bad idea until I saw the kitchen and had to tell an irritable Hannibal to go clean the breakfast items scattered on the ceiling and walls. Oh well. As long as I don't have to clean it, I'm good. Still, Michael and Jason are the type of kids you tell teachers to separate in school if they want them to learn any semblant of a thing throughout the entire school year. And also if they themselves want to avoid their classroom becoming a smaller version of hell.

Meh. I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle for a few days. As long as they don't get into any little quarrels... that is not something I ever want to bear witness to again, thank you very much. Once was quite enough.

Things are going according to plan so far, though. Because we have company, I didn't want to make the regular, boring old grilled cheese I always serve up for breakfast, and so as soon as I woke up, I went outside to the barn where Hannibal sleeps and I delicately shoved him, trying to wake him up.

He's all, "Hmmmmmuuuhhhh?" and I said, "Hannibal! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes, and I said, "Hi, honey. Did you sleep well?"

He's all, "I WAS sleeping well, before you rudely interrupted..."

I decided to ignore this. "Can you please come to the kitchen and make pancakes?"

"WHYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYY?" Hannibal grunted whinily, variating the intensity and volume of his Ys like a woman PMSing, or like Michael this one time when some jerk from school shot him in the head.

I sighed and crossed my arms, annoyed at his immaturity. "BecausehoneywehaveGUESTS. And the only thing I can cook is grilled cheese!"

Hannibal threw his head back like someone was repeatedly electrocuting him. "Some housewife you are! ... Ask Johnny to do it?"

"You lazy ass..." I sighed again. "Johnny is at work, slaving over camera angles, and we need to be grateful because he is the primary breadwinner for this household."

"AskRobert," Hannibal hissed.

I looked at him like a deer might look at an oncoming scooter that it thought was an eighteen wheeler from far away and that scared the shit out of it - or like my dear son might look at some crazy girl at Wal-Mart hitting him across the head with a two-by-four, like, Is-that-really-all-you've-got? This actually happened. We had to get a restraining order. "Hannibal, have you SEEN Robert's cooking? Come on, for poor little Jason Vrees's sake, GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MAKE THE BOY SOME FREAKING GOSH DARN PANCAKES."

Hannibal got up. "You know his name's Voorhees, right?"

"I. Don't. Freaking. Care. Make. Pancakes. Now."   

Hannibal Lecter cannot write the next "1000 Baby Names"

There is a terrible baby name generator. His name is Hannibal.

"If-we-have-a-child," said Hannibal just now, "Can we call it Bertha-Loomely? Or, if it's a boy, can we please call it Stanislas?"

I said patiently, "We already have a child."

And then Hannibal said, "WTFTHATTHINGISNOTMYCHILD."

And then Michael said, from upstairs, "If you value your life, I seriously hope you're talking about the wok!"

I just thought I'd mention that, because now Jason Vrees - oops, excuse me, Voorhees - is knocking madly on the door going, "HELP ME HELP ME HELP MEEEEEEE!". I shit you not. I really must go open the door to the poor child now.

Eff my life.

"All we have to do is convince my mom to drive us to Wal-Mart, and then we'll take it from there," were Michael's first words when he came in from school yesterday. Peeking surreptitiously around the corner, I saw Jason Vrees was with him. I just imagined Mary-Sue popping up around the corner with her dagger and having a one-sided argument with herself as she pointed the thing at my throat. I mean wouldn't you be a little paranoid if she basically had a restraining order against your child and her child was in your house with your child?!?

So if this all wasn't bad enough already, then Michael said, "I took a twenty from one of the awkward guys that are married to my mom. Y'know the one thing that's great about this arrangement" - he tries to appear like some big genius when he's with his buddies, but I seriously doubt he knows what "arrangement" means - "is that any one of them could be my dad, which means it's somewhat morally acceptable for me to take money from all of them."

Somewhat morally acceptable? "Well hello Webster's Dictionary," I said, popping out right in front of the two little snots in the hallway. This scares me somewhat - what does it say about a mother when she's picking up tricks from her own son? Nothing good, that's for sure. "What are you two up to? Jason Vrees, go home. Please. Your mother is about three playdates away from filing a legitimate restraining order."

Michael scoffed in a very you're-embarrassing way. "Playdates? Seriously?"

We actually heard the infernal vaccuum cleaner in the hallway shut off and then stomping footsteps as Hannibal appeared in the hallway. He looked like he may have just eaten a very sour pickle. He was all, "Yousmartassstopgivingyourmotherahardtime!" And Michael was all, "YOU can't tell me what to do because YOU'RE not my FATHER." And with very bad timing as always, Jason Vrees said in a very matter-of-fact way, "Well-technically-you-don't-know-that."

So anyway Hannibal basically threatened Michael to have him be the meal at dinnertime if he didn't go up to his room immediately and clean the closet for punishment. So he went to his room, followed by Jason Vrees, who, I’m sure, is only always at our house because he doesn’t want to be in the presence of his mother. Which I completely understand. I mean hell, if I had Mary-Sue Vrees for a mother, I’d rather help clean out a sketchy-looking closet than be at home, too.

They were speaking extremely loudly from upstairs, which very conveniently allowed me to inconspicuously keep following their conversation.

“Which one of the guys did you steal it from?” Jason Vrees said, and then my dear child was all, “The one that’s awkwardly in Pirates of the Carribean.”

Jason just absolutely went apeshit then, squealing, “OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCKTHAT’SMYFAVORITEMOVIE!”, which Michael totally ignored as usual, saying, “Yeah and pretty much every Tim Burton movie too.”

Jason Vrees didn’t seem to understand this, because he didn’t say anything.

While I was listening in from the living room doorframe, Johnny barged through the front door and, completely ignoring me, went into the kitchen. I heard a loud BANG-CRACK, indicating that Johnny had taken the wok from inside the oven and slammed it against the counter.

“Bad day, honey?” I asked him.

“MmmmmffffIdon’treallywanttotalkaboutitokay.” I assumed this meant that “that bitch at work” was giving him a hard time about camera angles again.

“Did you notice something bizarre about your pocket money, hon?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He’d started yelling at the wok. “CAN YOU TELL ME WHY YOU WON’T WORK.” I didn’t really understand what he wanted the wok to do, for it was basically just one big pan, but considering Johnny’s bad mood I didn’t say anything.

I clued in. “Wait a second – MICHAEL!”

“What?”

“Come down here!”

He came down, and – God forbid – Jason Vrees actually wasn’t walking on his heels. “Whatnow.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why did you want me to drive you to Wal-Mart?”

This is how I discovered that Frederick was in the hospital after yet again burning his entire face in yet another house fire that he probably started. According to Michael, they had to go to Wal-Mart immediately to get the delinquent a get well card. I wasn’t very impressed.

“I don’t feel sorry for him at all,” I said somewhat contemptuously. “Maybe this time he’ll finally learn to stop being a miscreant and start leading a productive life. And maybe then I’ll let you hang around with him.”
Michael looked completely unfazed, although he kind of always looks like that. His face always looks like a cold, dead version of William Shatner. I know, I don’t understand either. “Freddy is not a miscreant. You’re a miscreant. Stop getting up in my business, wench.”

I’m all, “Excuse me?”

They took the bus and I’m not quite sure where they are at the moment. I’m not worried. Michael does this every couple of months. He goes out for a few days after we argue and then comes back with a shitload of money and credit cards. I don’t know. I sent Robert and Hannibal out to hunt for him, but only Robert went because Hannibal made a huge scene about the fact that I “didn’t understand his hobby”.

Mary-Sue Vrees has called me exactly thirty-eight times, demanding what has happened to her dear sweet child. The last time I pretty much lost it, I’m ashamed to admit. I basically yelled, “IDON’TKNOWWHEREYOURBLOODYDEFORMEDCHILDISSTOPBEINGAPSYCHOBITCHI’MCALLINGTHECOPS!” I know, it was a bit extreme... but she was sort of asking for it. So it’s not that big of a deal.

I’m listening to Susan Boyle’s new album. Because that’s what I do when my child goes missing and when my $350 wok from Wicker Emporium gets broken my my raving, angry workaholic husband. I depress myself further by listening to Suzie. As the teenagers say these days, eff my life.

Curious crystal-digging business and conversation with Mary-Sue Vrees

The day has been relatively peaceful so far. Mike got up this morning and noticed there were no Froot Loops, but he didn't get angry. Not openly, at least. This, as I soon found out, is because he had a piece of "important news" for me which he wasn't sure how I was going to take.

Michael is now under the impression that he, Jason and that miscreant Frederick are going to a four-week camp this summer located in what I imagine must be in or near Montana. From what I understand (which is not too much considering he was speaking like a robot on a caffeine high), they are going there to dig up crystals at the bottom of a lake. Sounds pretty fishy to me. Let me tell you, I am now under the impression that this is both not a legit camp and that it is also not a place I will ever allow my only son to go spend one day, let alone his entire month of July. So I let him finish his little I'm-an-independant-big-kid-now-and-this-is-what-I'm-gunna-do speech, then I looked at him and I very calmly said, "Over my dead body... unless you want to give me that mask."

Michael is now at school, doing algebra problems and plotting my death.

I actually just got off the phone with Jason's mother, and only now am I realizing that I probably should have asked her about this curious crystal-digging business, since the whole thing was probably her idea in the first place. It sounds mean of me to say, but trust me. That woman is crazy. Insane. Completely off her rocker.

She called me disgustingly early this morning, right after Michael had caught the bus. Hannibal was the one who answered the phone, taking a break from his power-dusting. "Gert-phone," he said quickly and without any trace of a comma, as usual. I answered from the living room. I barely got out the "hello" before she was all, "This is Gertie?" in a very icy, snobby voice. I said, "Oh, hi Mrs V," which I know sounds like something a loser of a 39-year-old mother who's trying to be "hip" and "in touch with the teenage culture" would say, but it's not. I just can't pronounce her last name.

And not only that! I also don't know her first name, despite the large number of infernal summer barbecues I attended at her house this past year. I swear to God, the first time I met this woman, she threw out her hand and said, "HelloI'mMissesVrees". She never said, you know, "Call me Cathy" or "Call me Carla" or "Call me Bob". Nope. Just a cold, impersonal, "Missesvrees" for Gertie.

I gave her a name. I did! I will admit I baptised her. I called her Mary-Sue. Now, in my head, every time Jason's mom calls, or when I see her, I'm all, "Ahp, there's Mary-Sue comin' along." I think it's a fairly fitting name for this woman considering she looks suspiciously like Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter movies. But that's just my opinion. For all I know, her name's "Deidre" or something along that line of naming. So it's not like I can just answer the phone, my normal bubbly self like I always am when the house is this empty, and be all, "Oh hiiiiii, Mary-Sue!" That would quite possibly cause her to come to my front door with a dagger in the middle of the night and have an awkward conversation with herself in several different high-pitched voices on my doorstep before killing me. So I can't do that. And I can't say "Mrs. Vrees" either, because that would make me sound like I am on a special underground type of opioid drugs.

So I call her Mrs V. Sue me.

Anyway, so I say "Hi, Mrs V.," and she's all, "WHATDIDYOURDERANGEDCHILDDOTOMYPOORINNOCENTJASON."

I considered this for a moment, quite shocked at her loud, expressionless tone. My ear still hurts a little bit from that. Honestly woman, the last thing this family needs is another trip to the family doctor's office. So I said, genuinely confused, "I'm-not-quite-sure-I-know-what-you're-talking-about." And she's all, through gritted teeth, "Last night... Jason came home... from hockey practice..." - which she forces him to go to, by the way - "and he refused... he refused... to remove his hockey mask."

I said, "Exactly what are you insinuating?"

And she was all, "Michael. Is. A. Bad. Influence. On. My. Dear. Sweet. Child. You. Keep. Him. Away. From. Us. Or. I. Will. Go. Out. And. Get. The. HOSE. And. I. Will. Douse. That. Little. Psycho. In. Cold. Garden. Water." She hung up the phone.

Well, so much for being civilised with each other! Golly-gee! Whatever happened to "it's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood"?

As soon as I hung up the phone, Hannibal, who had obviously been "inconspicuously" eavesdropping the whole time (in other words he was standing in the doorframe and staring at me as I conversed with Mary-Sue Vrees), came up to the couch and began his regular ceremony. "What was that all about? What did she want? What's she insinuating about me? What's she bitching about now?"

I went to bed for about an hour with a cup of hot tea and a good book, and now I'm back downstairs, waiting for Michael, Johnny and Robert to get home so we can pick from a hat and figure out whose turn it is to cook dinner.