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I love you. You gave me life and quirky personality peccadillos. You gave me shelter, food and you were probably a lot cooler and more fulfilled before you had kids. Let's get the love thing down first. Much respect and love.
But this madness has got to stop.
It's been ten years since your genitals started repelling each other like polarized magnets and the vow of "til death do us part" became "ehhhh...not so much" and you got divorced. Instead your respective genitals started latching onto other peoples naughties like there was Elmer's glue on them. That's cool. Statistically likely, even, but how about now, we all start acting like fucking grown-ups.
Look at your spawn, me and my brother. We are not, as you seem to think, human telephones. You being responsible for our genetics would be AMAZED by the lack of dials, button and digital wires on our persons. Should you ever need to use the telephone to contact each other, I would recommend AN ACTUAL TELEPHONE. Yes, it will involve verbal communication with your ex, scary I know. But if that's too much, email can swiftly communicate all of the curses and epithets you have for each other in one fell swoop.
You are both remarried. You get along with those spouses. You have high level exec jobs where I assume you have a maturity level above that of a sixth grader. You have friends. Perhaps even some of your co-workers or spouse of friends are people you do not like, but you manage to treat them civilly, don't you? Let's play a game where you treat each other like that!
Yes, Bro and I played you little game for the last ten years, but I'm officially putting the kybosh on it today. I really do not care if you now hate each other with the burning intensity of a thousand suns; the moment your gametes merged and created a child, you got stuck with each other FOR LIFE. Deal. The. Fuck. With. It.
Mom: Thanks for being my biological roommate for nine months. I'm sure Bro feels the same. Very cool of you. But you are a career-driven distant lady and probably bipolar. It's okay. Lots of people are. And accept that you cheated first and married the man you cheated with. Yeah, Dad's got some resentment. Accept it and don't resent the resentment, that's lame. You don't have to be best friends with Dad, that would be weird. But if you have something to say to the man, FOR GOD'S SAKE just say it. The Chinese Whispers needs to stop. I will not ask a 50 year old man to get in touch with his son. I straight up won't (even though I think he should). If your opinions are so strong on the matter, may I kindly suggest you TELL HIM YOURSELF LIKE AN ADULT. I've got my own stuff going on and I don't really care how people mess up their kids. My role as your mouthpiece ends right now.
Dad: I just said I wouldn't tell you this, BUT CALL YOUR SON, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. Seriously? Seriously. Bro is 19, an overweight underachiever, he could use a strong male role in his life. Think you might be the one he wants, maybe? Because my awful stepfather is "step"ping right into that part. That should send shivers down your spine. When he wants to visit you, he doesn't need you hovering over him like a child, but a weekend away from Casa de Crazy and Mom and Stepdad. Seeing your kids is not an unreasonable request. If you're resenting him for sharing genes with someone you hate, how do you think that makes me/us feel? Classy.
Stepdad: Stop trying to my friend/friendly. It's okay, normal even if we're not best buds. I can count on zero fingers the number of people I know who are friends with their stepdad. I wouldn't like you even if you weren't CREEPY AS FUCK. I'm your wife's daughter, man. Stop hitting on me. The slightly too long hugs. The time you walked in on teenage me masturbating and DIDN'T LEAVE AND APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY AND STARTED A CONVERSATION ABOUT WHAT I WAS DOING INSTEAD. The time I was nude modelling to pay for school and you said you should sign up for "art lessons" (pukes). Last summer when I was playing with your son, wearing a short dress and you kept "accidentally" moving behind me. Just stop. Mom, if you ever tell me how "good he is in bed" again, I will vomit in your closet.
Stepmom: You're cool as hell. I've got no beef with you. Except maybe that your dogs are maniacs. Get Barkbusters in on that shit.
Parents. Phones. Use them.
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