'Fly over for a long weekend' you said, 'meet mom and pop - they're sweeties'. So like on Friday it took three hours to clear immigration staffed with people so dumb they can only write in BLOCK CAPS and can barely read cursive script let alone understand that the label inside my shoes says Lobb and MY NAME because they were made for me back in London and the stitching looked funny because it was done by hand because that's how you make shoes dumbwad.
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The appalling overcooked quality of Friday's dinner wasn't due to my lateness but to the fact that your mother CAN'T COOK. Jeez, is she so afraid of catching something from beef that she needs to roast it for 4 hours? FYI we like our beef so it's pink and running pink juice, not something that looks like it's a sun-dried racoon turd. And ONE glass of wine? ONE? Is it any surprise I bought those fifths when we were out Saturday - I sure needed something to get through Saturday's abysmal meal. And thank-you to your dad who did such a good job of escorting me up to my room. So OK, I didn't dare try sneaking to your room, but it's YOUR house ferchrissakes you could have come to mine - and a BJ wouldn't, strictly speaking, have broken the promise you made your mom, now, would it?
Is it any wonder that my poor digestive system, plus jetlag, plus rotgut hooch got me out of bed at 4am Sunday? And all your doors look EXACTLY the same from the corridor, which is why I went downstairs to use the bathroom there - no way was I going to blunder into your parent's room by mistake (and why does your dad need THREE fucking handguns anyway?)
Who else but your dumbfuck family would LOCK internal doors downstairs and you're just so fucking lucky I didn't twist that ugly, stupid little toy excuse-for-a-dog's head off!
So all that sniffing and checking the freezers and the toy-dog's arse for your mom's 'awful smell' yesterday was POINTLESS because it was me! Now FIND IT! And good fucking riddance!!!