Playing With Fire

I have a lot of balls in the air.

Yesterday I heard from my miserable Uncle Ben regarding my retarded legal struggles. The police, on the strength of this blog, are going to go ahead and try me in A COURT OF LAW. Ooooo. I am shaking in my mother fucking BOOTS. Fuck the cops, fuck the court of law, fuck the LAW, and fuck my goddamned useless lawyer, Uncle Ben, for giving me up.

And all of you can shut the fuck up; I know he did it. I thought I should tell him about my blog, because I heard somewhere you tell your attorney everything, so I did, because I am an IDIOT. I told him it was all make believe, that I want to be famous (not FAMOUS famous, but you know, internet famous), and that I wanted to write novels when I GROW UP and that this is great practice (HA HA HA HA HA), and he was like, “Pendel, you always seem to choose the least intelligent path. Why is that?” Oh my GOD.

ANY-FUCKING-WHOS, after I tell that rice-eating bastard about my “made up” website, and tell him that it might be best if he KEEP THIS KNOWLEDGE TO HIMSELF, my mom comes busting into my room that very freaking night asking me what the hell is wrong with me, why did I do it, why do I hate her, how could I get hooked on psychedelic drugs and foul my temple (that’s what she calls a person’s body—so gay and gross), why have I forsaken MY GOD—yes, that’s right, she fucking asked me why I have forsaken my god—and I looked her right in the eye and I said, what god, mom? The one that gave you such an awful son? Oh man, she wailed like a stuck Irish pig at that one. She said that if I hated this family so much then I no longer had to be a part of it, and that she’s sick of my lies, and that I have embarrassed her so so badly in front of her DEAR BROTHER, who was so kind to try and help me out of the MORASS of TROUBLE I have created for MYSELF and EVERYBODY AROUND ME. I said if you want me out of your lousy, stinking house, I’ll leave. Just show me the FUCKING DOOR. AND! I told her that if her brother wanted to help me so badly, then why the hell is he TELLING THE WHOLE FUCKING TOWN EVERYTHING I SAY TO HIM?? What the hell kind of lawyer DOES THAT? I am so pissed. I could bite the head off of a fucking Rottweiler right now.

Uncle Ben, if I end up going to jail, I am going to kill you. My own goddamned lawyer acts like he thinks my website is true? I swear to god, I will boil you in your own flow-through pouch until you are tender and fluffy and I will eat you with chicken. Make book on it, asshole.

My court date is a month from now. It should prove to be very stimulating.

The other day I tripped acid again, but it was on the golf course with Sugarbear and Johnson. It was insane. After we all parted ways, my head was still buzzing like a downed power line after a tornado, everything just pulsing with such a hilarious energy, and I knew I didn’t want to go home for a few hours yet, so I wandered the sunset until I accidentally (?) came across Mr. Hanson’s house. My friends, I saw some crazy ass shit.

And I will tell you all about it later. LATER.

6 thoughts on “Playing With Fire”

  1. … well, what the hell do you want me to do, PENDEL?

    Your the one who left the story at a “cliff hanger” and i was just stating what i stated above.

  2. Yes moose, she did. And what’s even more stupid, is that the comment was something I had originally said on ME’s post, and that person simply copied it over. So it’s a copy of a copy of something I said. Douche bags. Both of them.

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