My Aunt Sarah is a prime example of what scientists are calling "a filthy cunt." When my late Aunt Ruth passed away, she (with the help of her twin sister) soared down like the fat turkey vulture she is to secure her position on Ruth's only surviving son's good side so she could get her cut of Ruth's lawsuit settlement. When I first moved to Florida, she promised my parents $8,000 and went back on her word, thus resulting in what my parents refer to as "our worst Christmas ever." Needless to say, I felt smug when I diagnosed the problem with my Aunt Carrie's computer that she, the supposed NASA-certified computer technician, spent several days of virus-scanning trying to identify.

My Aunt Carrie (mentioned above) is the token alcoholic of the family. Her oldest son, David, is a fuckwit who thinks he's gangsta to the degree that he stole a $100 pair of shoes from the Edison Mall even though he had $1,000 cash on him at the time. He also tried to do a drive-by shooting but failed miserably. Carrie herself had to pay for facial reconstructive surgery so David would look human after he got pistol-whipped by a rival hip gangsta wanna-be. She likes to feed chicken to her annoying parrot and make decisions for my dad (more on that later).

My Aunt Loretta is a greedy bitch whose life accomplishment is working as a manager for CVS. She was in cahoots with Carrie and Sarah in an attempt to screw my late Aunt Ruth out of all her lawsuit winnings; but that failed because my Aunt Ruth is a crackhead bitch who is too set in her ways to go more than six weeks without an ounce of rock.

My Uncle Tom is supposed to be taking care of my Aunt Ruth's only surviving son, Justin. I really can't say that much about him since he at least has his head screwed on right.

My Cousin Justin is the epitome of the word "lardass." He was a crack-baby who grew up without discipline and, with the help of his mom, drove my late Grandfather into an early grave.

My late Aunt Ruth was a conniving, scheming crack-addicted bitch who lived to advocate human suffering. At her height she was able to hold a job at Eckerd (now CVS) and attempt to raise her kids, but that ended three days later. She lost three kids and a father in a short period of time, but not even that could keep her off the rock forever.

Now, attacking personal faults (especially those of the deceased) may seem low, but I think they all deserve it; my aunts especially. My late Grandma Shirley (who I'm relieved to say died when I was only 5 years old) had a philosophy which basically focused on screwing my dad over: "I had sons to protect my daughters." The concept itself isn't as bad as the fact that she pounded this into her daughters' heads so they expect my dad to repeatedly sacrifice his own happiness for their sake.

In their eyes, my dad never should have gotten married or had any children. He should've been the sacrifical lamb on standby-- ready to injure or kill innocent people and answer to their every beck and call. To this day they can't accept the grim reality that my dad says, "Fuck that!" This is evident when they call once or twice a month to say, "I was talking with Loretta/Sarah and we've decided that you're going to take custody of Justin." Or something to that effect.

The point in all of this? If you don't have a right to bitch, kindly shut the fuck up! Thanks.