Family Conflict

Why do I always think of killing that little shit when he gets home from school? Oh, I know, it’s because he’s a little shit. Every day he saunters into MY HOUSE and demands everything. “I’m hungry, I want food, I have to go to the bathroom, I want to watch my cartoons, I want this, I want that…He never stops.” Sometimes I just want to scream at him to shut his stupid little mouth and then slap him across the face with a tire iron. Yeah, that would be nice…

It wasn’t always like this though. I used to enjoy his company. Hell, I even used to enjoy the company of my wife too. Now she’s the same way. First she needs money to go shopping. Then she needs more money to go out with her friends. Then, she gets really tired from all that spending and flops down on the couch and demands attention. Whore. That’s all she is. Going out every night with her whore friends too. I can’t even bring myself to tell you what I’d like to do to some of her friends. Oh yeah, I can imagine you know what I’m talking about. Hold on a sec…the bitch calls…

I can’t even believe the shit I have to deal with. Her car broke down and now I have to go fix it. God forbid she’s late for lunch with her trio of trollops. It’s bad enough I have to work in the shop all day with people just as stupid as her, wondering why their car sounds funny after jumping curbs at 40 miles an hour and not changing the oil for two years. I think I’m going to kill her first, then the kid. Hell, he’s not even mine.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the kid. He’s my wife’s. She said there wouldn’t be any difference whose kid it was, we would be raising him from childhood. Well, let me tell you, it DOES matter. No son of mine would wine every three seconds and spill jelly on the floor, the couch, the carpet, anything nice that I bought. How do you even spill jelly anyway, IT’S GELATIN!? I swear to god every time I’m not looking he spoons it out of the jar and rubs it all over everything. Arrg, even writing about it makes me want to dismember him slowly with a rusty pocketknife. Especially after he took that pickaxe and slammed it into my car, claiming he was making “speed holes”. If I had my way, I’d hang him from the ceiling by his eyelids and use a hot fire poker to make some speed holes of my own. What kind of twenty-two year old is still impressionable by stupid cartoons? I swear, one of these days, I’m just going to snap…

I never would have guessed it would happen this soon. I came home from work and the kid was just sitting there in the middle of the carpet, eyes wide open, unblinking. I gave him a friendly little kick and told him to get off his ass, but he just sat there staring. Naturally, I kicked him harder, hard enough to bloody his nose and snap him out of his little trance. Probably drug induced anyway. After I kicked him, he sprang up and exclaimed, now these are his words exactly, “Hey, Eddie tells me you can’t treat me like this!” He’s a very funny kid, can’t you see? Maybe it would be a little funnier if you knew that Eddie is nine years old and he’s helping the kid with his English homework. Pretty funny huh? Yeah, funny enough for me to pick him up and throw him across the room into a mirror and grab that fire poker I’ve been talking about and bash his skull in with malicious glee. I won’t ever deny how good that felt. I’m going to tell everyone I can how gloriously wonderful it feels to kill stupid people. Everyone should do it, I know they think about it…you MUST think about it from time to time. Why don’t you try it? You’ll feel so much better afterwards. I felt so good, I burst out laughing, and wouldn’t you know, not two minutes later, the dirty little cunt comes home.

If I had known I’d enjoy senseless slaughter twice in the same day, I would have prepared better. I wish I had the chance to prolong the pleasure, but as soon as she came in and saw the carnage, she turned tail and fled. Figures, it’s just like her to run away from everything. Luckily though, I can run much faster.

It didn’t take me long at all to dispose of all the evidence. In about four hours I cleaned everything up, made the necessary arrangements with my realtor and put about seventy miles between me and the ashes of the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever experienced. It was so easy in fact; I think I’ll just keep on doing it. From this day foreword I only listen to the whispers in my head and live my life accordingly. Soon, they’ll make a song about me: You better watch out, You better not cry, If you’re really stupid you are going to die, that’s right, Santa Clause is coming, to town.