Day 143
Jared (son #2) has
re-connected with a girl he knew in high school. As I type this, they are copulating in the
room down the hall. Rose and Jan have
also gotten down to business, though theirs is the feint and parry of their
verbal sparring. Screams of ecstasy and
rage are surprisingly similar at two in the morning.
It’s bizarre to lie in bed
and hear people scream ‘Fuck you’ and ‘fuck me’ from different directions.
Day 144
Jan and Rose’s fight from
the previous night was apparently over a gift. Jan wanted to spend $300 to
purchase an elaborate tea sampler kit for his brother. Rose told him that the
family was on the brink of bankruptcy, and they couldn’t afford the tea. Words
were said. Little of this is worth mentioning until I noticed that Rose sort of
slaps the side of her belly when she makes a big point in the argument.
Rose: We can’t be spending
$300 every time you see something shiny that catches your eye! [slaps belly
with left hand, producing a flat crack]
Jan: But we need to get the
set with 25 varieties. It’s not classy otherwise.
Rose: I don’t give a
SHIT!!! [double-slaps belly with both paws, producing larger sound]
Jan: [visibly intimidated]
Fine. Whatever!
A victorious Rose ordered
the still-subservient Jan to fetch her a snack.
Day 145
When Jan sneezes, he
releases a mighty grunt or audiblization. It sounds like a man who's just
had a massive orgasm. In sequence, there's this massive inhale, the
'choo' part of the sneeze, and then a mighty "uuuuuuuhhhhhh!!!" as
though he's just deposited a load of spooge into the vicinity of Rose's flabby,
gaping vagina*.
Mental rape. In reality, this is just fallout from Jan’s anal fistula. The
passage that’s formed between his colon and the skin around his asshole is-
Oops, mental rape again,
eh?
*On that note: I have never seen Rose and Jan kiss, hug, or (fortunately) dry
hump. Not once.
Day 146
Rose has begun to question
Jan’s “achoo” sound as well.
Day 147
Some days I’m so frustrated
by the situation that I do mean things. Like mess with Jan.
At first this was fun. Remember
when I tried to get Jan involved in ultimate fighting? Yeah, that was good.
Other times, Jan would make some ridiculous claim, and I would ask him for
details until it became clear he was talking out of his ass. For example, Jan
claimed he could build a thermonuclear warhead (Side note: He did this during
an episode of Mythbusters. This may
have inspired me.). I begin asking him specifics. I asked him what he would
need to build the device (“Plutonium or Uranium, plus some wires and a metal
suitcase”). I asked him what his targets would be (“Probably the fat cats that
take all the money”). Then I told him that, with his technical prowess, I was
legitimately worried he posed a hazard to our country. My fears could only be
allayed if he recited the pledge of allegiance. No, not just the words, but
standing with hand over heart. Thank you, Jan. You are a true patriot. We’ll
let your seditious talk slide… this time.
Over time, however, the
thrill has sallowed. Today a bill collector called while Rose was gone. As I’ve
written before, Jan is not allowed to answer the phone when Rose is out. This
rule stemmed from an ill-conceived scheme where Jan began paying off one credit
card with another, effectively doubling the family’s penalty fees in the
process. As he was trained, Jan made no move to answer the ringing phone, which
quickly went to voicemail. The bill collector left a standard message,
something like, “This is so-and-so, calling for Rose. I need you to call me
back as soon as possible. This is very important.”
“What do you think that was
about?” I asked Jan.
“It’s probably a scam
artist.”
“Really,” I asked,
intrigued with the conclusion the big man had drawn. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s just trying to get my
information and get into my bank account,” Jan said dismissively.
“Didn’t that guy call like
three times today?” I shot back.
“That’s how these guys
work,” said Jan.
“A guy calls you three
times, leaving his full name and number and asks you to call him?”
“Some of them,” Jan
proclaimed.
“Jan, how often are you scammed?”
“They try constantly at the
store,” Jan said. He then tried to change the subject by re-telling an old
chestnut about a misprinted circular from three years ago. I cut him off.
“I think we should tell
Rose about your theory, Jan. She’s totally buying into the notion that these
are legitimate bill collectors. Maybe we could sue them…” This was great bait.
Jan frequently expressed a belief in his ramblings that, if you sued a company,
you would somehow be given ownership of that company.
Jan was in full backpedal.
“They might sue us.”
“Jan, are you going to live
your life in fear of an overly litigious scam artist? At the very least, you
should insist Rose call them and tell them off for their audacity to come after
you.”
Rose comes home. I browbeat
Jan into telling her his theory. Rose tells Jan he is a retard. Then Rose eats
Chips Ahoys and Jan drinks inexpensive wine until it’s time for bed. I feel no
glee at Jan’s ditherings. Perhaps I am depressed.
A girlfriend once told me
of her first kiss. The boy was a terrible kisser, so bad she was forced to
question her sexuality. “Midway through
it,” she said, “I was thinking ‘Gosh, I’m really not enjoying this like I
thought I would. Perhaps I am a lesbian.’” In this house, it may be me who is
the misanthropic lesbian, only I’ starting to question my sanity.
Next Time: Noah may be the
only person in the house who brushes his teeth.
