So my brother, The Youngest, posted on FB last that he was “In a relationship, but it was complicated.”
So i commented on the post, and I said, “So who’s the whor…ahem…girl this time?” As a joke, right? Because at this point, I had no idea who the chick was. Well, turns out, it’s maybe not an ACTUAL whore, but it IS someone who has crapped all over him several times in the past. Which is unfortunate, ya know? I mean, he’s my brother and everything, and I don’t like to see the boy heart broken.
So anyway, I found out who the chick was, and I typed this into the update: “Well, being the bigger guy here, both literally and figuratively, I’m going to take the high road, and just send texts to The Youngest about her behind her back.”
About an hour later, I get this message on Facebook:
I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish by posting rude comments about my daughter on facebook, but if you were truely attempting to take a high road, you might want to start with refraining from placing ludicrous comments about a seventeen year old on fb. You would think that you might eventually get some kind of life of your own and stop picking on people out of boredom.
I typed that in a UNC blue. Because UNC is cowardly and gay.
So yeah… As soon as I read it, I tried to reply, but she blocked me. At first I thought she had created a FB account purely to send me the message, which I would believe, seeing how stupid she is. But alas, no, I’ve just been blocked. Isn’t anonymity wonderful?
I’m disappointed that she only really gave me one spelling error to make fun of. And that’s “truely.” I like how she uses a lot of “big” words, but then can’t handle that one. The only other thing is that I never called her daughter specifically a whore. To be honest, I don’t think I would say that about a 17 year old girl. 18? Yes I would. Cause that’s legal. 17 though? Naw. That’s not classy. To be specifically honest, I didn’t call anyone a whore. I typed “whor.” That’s a different word. That means, “person who goes and cries to mommy about things.” I think I nailed it, right? I mean, I got that message and all.
But. The Youngest has asked me not to go any further than this blog and I will respect that. So it is here that I will type my reply, and she will more than likely never read it, because she’s holed up in a home with her 45th husband and is busy just hitting the closest thing to a “block” button on anything that has my picture.
I would just like to take this opportunity to demand an apology from you. Because I feel like I’ll never get that, I’m very pleased to say that you’ve been selected at random for this letter. It would be great if you could exercise any amount of parenting control over your 17 year old daughter. Really. It would. But, I understand that since the most stable relationship you’ve ever been in took place in a car that was on blocks instead of wheels, you’re going to have some control issues. Your daughter is what people like to call, “bad news.” She’s broken my baby brothers heart several times, and to be quite honest, I’m not sure what the little siren does to get him running back all the time. Before we go any further, “siren” isn’t an insult. Just so I don’t get another message from you on some kind of medium where you can’t manage to block me. Something like a phone call. Or face to face. Not hidden behind the bushes in Facebook. Yeah, Facebook has bushes. They’re in Farm Town. I’m sure you play that game. I’m sure you’re on level 399 and I’m sure you love it to death because it gives you something pretty to look at when the stress of your 34 step children all asking you to sign a permission slip just becomes too much to bear. Don’t get me wrong here, lady. I’m not mad. Not anymore. I was mad last night. Mad that you chose a cowards way out instead of handling it like the grown “has a life of their own” person that you mentioned in your little note. I have a life. It’s called my blog. That’s right, you’re somewhat famous now. At least 100 people are gonna look at this and know that you can spell ludicrous, but you can’t spell truly even though Facebook has a squiggly red line underneath it when you spell it wrong. No, it’s not a decoration for the word. It means you’re stupid. Good luck raising your kids, and good luck on that next note you write someone. Hope you can manage to crank it out in between those permission slips.
The High Road
So yeah. There you have my second post for the day, all before noon. I’d welcome your thoughts and comments, and for sure, if my readers deem that too “much,” I will tear it down faster than the Iraqi people tore down that statue of Saddam. But to be truthful, it shouldn’t surprise any of you. You know how I roll.