Saturday, December 15, 2007
A Lawyer's Insertion
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Hey Dudes - Blog it!
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Starting Over
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Stand By My Man
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
From Nurse Sinclaire
One of the patients under my care is Victor Rorg, who currently is awaiting a spleen transplant, after his original spleen was punctured by a small knife more than a week ago.
Although Mr. Rorg is a Managed Care Specialist with Complete Wrap Health Insurance, he is unable to obtain coverage for a new spleen.
In my opinion, the sucker is better off dead. He slaps my ass whenever I adjust his catheter. He fondles my breasts when I turn him over on his side, he whispers "I love you- have my baby" into my ear when I sponge bathe him, and he has masturbated twice while student doctors accompanied his primary care physician during examinations.
He told me today, he has "ways of getting the money for a spleen." I told him spleens cost upwards of $80,000. He told me he knew where he could get hold of a "black market spleen" through a friend of his at his health insurance company. He said he would have it fedexed to his room in three days and would I "french kiss him while Wheel of Fortune was on."
I told him it better be a baboon spleen cuz I don't want no part of no Chinese dissident body organs. And then I told him no matter what spleen he got I would leave it out in the alley for the cats to fight over.
He passed out at that point, but when he woke up I told him I was kidding. He told me he hadn't really passed out, and that he was watching me through the tiny slits in between his closed eyelids.
I poured ice cubes over him from the water pitcher, and submitted my resignation. I hate this place.
Ex-Nurse Sinclaire.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Where Are You?
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thanksgiving Memories
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Spleen Not Covered
Friday, November 16, 2007
Compassionate Libertarianism
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
What Have I Done?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Telling Transcript
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
The Facts
Monday, November 5, 2007
I'm Here!
My brother is dead. He wanted you to confess to all you've done, and now he's dead, too. Just like your grandparents. I loved those people. They were idiots but I loved them. Your grandmother was a corrections officer and your grandfather was...well, you've probably guessed by now, haven't you?
It's almost midnight so you better show up. I've had 3 beers and a bar poundcake. You know how gnarly a bar poundcake is? Who even knew that bars would sell poundcakes? You just have to ask the right questions in this world.
You know, people are out lookin' for me. I jumped bail. Not like you who got released honest and square. I'm a runaway. But I got a reason and you're it.
You'll be happy to know your little girlfriend, Kwannie, just showed up. She's alone and she hasn't seen me yet. She doesn't look comfortable in here, in all this cigarette smoke and under these red lights. Makes me laugh. She thinks people are gonna vote for someone like her? Showin up at places like this? One of these guys might ask her to do a dance! It's political suicide.
Clock's a tickin...
Uncle Vick
Sunday, November 4, 2007
I'm Not Runnin' Anymore
This Thanksgiving will be one year since my grandparents and the social worker died. I'm not going to live with this anymore.
You can't live with lies. My father couldn't. I can't either.
I'm sitting at the Park Presidio. I'm writing this by hand and then I'm going to transcribe it at an Internet Cafe. I'm sitting on the rocks west of the Bridge and the air is cold - smells of brine and the waves are high in a strong wind. People are out on their sailboats, living lives that aren't anything like mine.
Uncle Vick, you can meet me at the place you took me here when I was 21. Remember? I'm not afraid of you. I guess, I never really was. Meet me there at the same time tomorrow as when we visited way back then.
Thank God, I've got a warm navy coat on. Some young guy followed me around all this morning asking me if I wanted to come home and live with him and his girlfriend and their mom. He said he was a cognitive therapist, but he was twitching slightly like his therapy might come from a little vial in his pocket. He said he knew Candice Bergen personally and that he'd introduce me to her at Christmas.
I told him thanks, but I had more important things on my mind.
Until tomorrow, Uncle Vick.
And Kwan, I love you as much as you are capable of receiving.
Irv at the Ocean.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Happy Halloween
It's Halloween. Isn't that great?
Hey Irv, I'm lookin for ya! Trick or Treat! Ha! Nice night, right?
Dumped the Lexus. Officer Beth has too much air freshener in that thing. Made me wanna puke. Why did she need so much air freshener? I miss my KIA, but I got ways to get around.
Hey Kwannie! Vick here. Bet you coulda guessed that.
Nice city you got. I like the apartment building you're staying in Kwannie. You sure know how to use people to get nice places to stay. What are you tellin' those friends of yours you'll do for 'em, huh? Screw 'em all like you screwed me?
Hey out there, Kwan"Johnson" fucks like a steroid bunny! She used to scream so loud the pitbull next to our house would bark like aliens were landing.
Funny, huh Kwan? You used to tease Irv that blogs were for people that would write about their cats, and dumb poems and shit like that. Proved you wrong, eh sister?
Too bad you can't see my costume. I can't sit down in it, but you'd like it. Makes everyone say "ew, gross!"
Great city for Halloween. All the queers like Halloween. Saw that fat boy come runnin' out of your apartment building, Irv. He sure loves you. They all love you.
And my brother, Lonnie. He's celebrating tonight as a corpse at the morgue. Rough deal.
Rough Rough deal.
Uncle Vick
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Red Alert!!
I read in the paper this morning that Lonnie Rorg, Irv's dad and Uncle Vick's brother...was found dead - shot through the heart, in the front seat of his red Prius.
I'm speaking at the Asian Cultural Symposium tomorrow morning. Title of my talk is "We Are All Refugees...yes, we are."
How can I keep it together when such a tragedy has occurred?
Whereabouts of both Irv and Uncle Vick are unknown.
I'm a wreck tonight! And I'm scared. My friends are also sad. They were going to cut my hair for me, and then they were so freaked out they got drunk, and well, I've had much nicer cuts...
Kwan Johnson
www.electkwanjohnson.org (under construction)
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Truth Hurts
James says I'm being released today. Insufficient evidence to hold me. James is a good guy.
I'm 38 and I'm just now admitting certain things to myself. I've been protecting my dad. I lied and said he wasn't at the Thanksgiving dinner last year, and now I'm ready to admit he was. Why did I lie about him?
I just didn't want to believe the truth. The truth about my whole damn family.
God, I really need a shave. My sideburns are losing their points.
You see, if I believe the truth about my family, then there is a bigger fear. What will it mean about me??
My grandma was a corrections officer...and I only recently found out who my grandpa really was. And look at their two sons! One is a psychopath, and one is delusional.
What does that mean for me? I'm scared. Maybe that's why I was a stunt man back in the day. Fear is something I'm familiar with. I replace one fear with another to escape them.
Whatever. It's cold up here. James is going to lend me some cash. I'm not sure I want to go back to Kwan. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't even know if we've still got my new corvette. I paid for it with Vick's American Express Card, so the car must be repossessed by now.
Maybe I'm no better than the rest of them. Why would I steal a 12 gauge from Vick, if I was any better than he was?
Shit, I've got to toughen up, but the more I let myself believe about my family, the more freaked out I get.
Irv
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Report From Officer Beth
To anyone reading this blog. At 5:40 this evening, Victor Rorg or "Uncle Vick" or "That Asshole Next Door" as some people called him, jumped his bail. His whereabouts are currently unknown.
I am Officer Beth. I am writing this report from the jumpee's home in Southern California. The same home where the body of a social worker named Tappy Marie was exhumed from the backyard several weeks ago. Escapee is thought to be armed with a small handgun, and a garden axe.
Escapee is considered psychopathic and is believed headed for San Francisco to take care of "family business" after reading recent entries in this blog.
Escapee was wearing a gray pair of sweatpants with chocolate stains on the right leg, Nike tennis shoes, a brown pullover, and a silver pinky ring.
Escapee is driving my car (a gold Lexus). License plate IAMHOTYA. Escapee claims we had a sexual relationship in a bathtub which I adamantly deny!
Officer Beth
Monday, October 22, 2007
I Don't Need A Dad! Let's Get Something Straight...
I seem to remember that this was supposed to be MY blog. Look, Lonnie, I don't need you. As a dad, you were never around. I actually feel sorry for you. I'm the one in jail (and btw I finally got a shirt from the desk clerk, James, who likes me, I think, and let me use his computer to make this entry).
And Kwan, if you want to exploit my story for publicity for your campaign, fine. Use this entry to investigate my father, Lonnie. He was at Thanksgiving Dinner last year with Uncle Vick, my grandparents, the social worker, and I. Ask Lonnie, who killed the Social Worker chick. Ask Lonnie who buried her in the backyard, when Uncle Vick had Lonnie's gun trained on me?
Ask Lonnie.
He's so scared the truth will come out about what he did, that he thinks he can pin the whole thing on his own son. "Can't bend fully over." Ahhh, how sorry-ass sad is that? Balding and paunchy old man can't possibly be to blame. Yeah, right.
I was so angry at him for months, that when the Labor Day barbecue came, I was terrified what I might do. But he didn't show up.
He actually tried to get me to "confess" in that motel room when he held me and Kwan hostage overnight. He believes his own story. That's sick shit. I'm your son, Lonnie!
I'm not scared of Lonnie and I'm not scared of Uncle Vick. Neither was grandma and she's dead because of it. Her poor husband, my grandpa, just happened to be in the room that horrible night and had to irritate everyone asking for another helping of yams. Well, grandpa got it, too, with half a yam dripping out of his mouth.
I'm the only one who doesn't have delusions of grandeur. And because of it, I'm in jail. That's America. But I'm a survivor.
Gotta go. James is winking at me.
Irv--
Friday, October 19, 2007
You Can't Turn Me Away
Dear Irv--
It's me, your father, Lonnie Rorg. You think you can avoid me by refusing to see me when I come to visit you in jail?
You think it's that easy? You need my help now, son. Prison is not where you want to end up. Believe me. My own mother, your grandmother, was a corrections officer back in the 30s. You know that. The things she saw. The forced marriages that took place there. Maybe that's what you want, but those kind of marriages never last, no matter how many tattoos the bride gets.
Look, I'm coming back again Monday. It hurt that you refused to see me today. I'm an old man, why do you treat me this way? I'm sleeping in the red Prius again tonight. The humidity gets bad with the windows rolled up, but rain is on its way tonight according to the weather report. I couldn't bend fully over before I started sleeping in my car. Now with all the stiffness, I won't be able to use my hip rotator cup or turn my head, but I don't care.
I'm going to see you, son. A son needs his father.
Lonnie Rorg
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Agonizing Decision
It's Kwan. Kwan Johnson. Yes, I changed my name from Tran Van Kwan. My campaign team and I felt that Kwan Johnson was easier to say and more American sounding.
I must tell you that I have been urged by my campaign team to delete this blog. They say its contents could hurt my chances of being elected to Congress. They may be right. I am torn deciding what to do.
My campaign has already been endorsed by ELDERCARE SAFETY RAILS, a large company that makes bed railings for unpredictable senior citizens.
Ever since you threw my macbook across the room and left my friends' apartment, and now that you are in jail on suspicion of murder, I have agonized over what to do about you. I can't sleep. My body aches with stress from not knowing what path to take.
I wasn't there last Thanksgiving when the deaths of those three people occurred. I didn't know Vick then. Frankly, it doesn't make sense to me. Why would your grandmother have a loaded shotgun stashed in the kitchen? Also, no one has explained how the "sickeningly sweet", as you put it, social worker was killed. Vick says you planted his business card on that dead social worker after you killed her. You have never reacted to that accusation.
It's all too much. I should just delete this blog and move on with my life. I've got too much going for myself and for this country, to be involved with strange people like you and your family.
Yet, as ripped up about this as I am now, sitting here by the Bay Window of my friends' San Francisco apartment, in the rays of the morning sun -- I believe the truth will come out. I also believe that I owe it to that dead social worker who you likened to "Katie Couric overdosing on Zoloft" to find out the truth of what happened to her last Thanksgiving.
It makes my stomach sick to write this...but Irv, I must stand up for the truth. I think I will include an investigation into what happened to that murdered social worker as part of my campaign.
Social workers do not deserve to be killed. Sure, some of them deserve to be fined, but none of them deserve death. My campaign will be honest, warts and all.
I'm smiling because my friends are reading this over my shoulder right now, and applauding.
Kwan
Friday, October 12, 2007
I'll Save You, Irv!!
I've written several entries in Irv's blog here. Irv's in jail. Maybe you can read this entry, Irv.
You are my best friend and I will stand by you no matter what. I will come and visit you in jail and spend the night there with you if you want me to.
I was hurt a little when you said that I would "kiss anything" and that you saw me kissing my video Ipod. I was kissing my video Ipod because I have pictures of you on it. I snapped them the other day when you were jogging in Golden Gate Park. You ran your circles and every time you passed me where I was sitting I snapped a picture of you with my phone. I pretended I was talking to my mother about Hanukkah, but I was really taking pictures of you.
You said I'd "kiss anything," well, you're not "anything"! You're a very special man that if I were gay and you were gay I would love and love.
I'm sorry to read that you have no shirt in jail. I'm going to bring you a shirt tomorrow. Kwan said I should stay away from you and that she is going to help you, and then she slapped me, but I won't stay away. I won't!
I shaved my long sideburns to make a pointy end on each side just like yours do. I wish I had a cool name like you - Irv Rorg. That is so much cooler than Marcus Feldstein.
I could go on and on, but I won't. I just want you to know that while you're in jail, me, Marcus, your best friend is also in jail. A jail in my mind! A jail in my heart.
I'm going to eat a poundcake now.
Your Best Friend,
Marcus
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Out on Bail - Guess What?
It's me, your lovable Uncle Vick!
I'm out on five thousand dollars bail. Your father posted it for me. I'm back at the house. I'm watching the plasma screen TV. "The Two Coreys" is on.
The cops read your blog. Yeah. I showed it to 'em. I've got one of 'em here with me now. Hey, guess what? Lady cops aren't all lesbians. The one here with me sure as hell isn't. Her name is Officer Beth. She's spendin' the night again. I think she digs me. She likes my pot belly.
She told me a secret. You already know what it is. She called her friends up in San Fran, and they found you in the Castro and arrested you for suspicion of murder. Ha Ha. I guess I'll be seein' you down here soon.
I heard they put you in a cell without your shirt on. Hey, I bet you meet some cute guys that way! Like on OZ.
Gotta go. The bubbles in the bathtub are gettin' flat and Beth likes 'em bubbly!
Hiya Kwan!
Uncle Vick
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
I Hate Confrontations
I hate confrontations, but I had a humongo one today with Kwan. We were in her friends' apartment drawing up plans for her to make public appearances around SF. The first one she wants to schedule at the Asian Cultural Fair later this month. Right in the middle of drawing up her platform speech, she slams down her Macbook and demands to know if I've been sleeping with the chubby kid, Marcus and if I killed my grandparents.
"No and No," I told her. "That chubby kid will kiss anything. I saw him kiss his video Ipod yesterday. And as for my grandparents. Look, my father has always been deranged. He wasn't there last Thanksgiving. Uncle Vick had taken out his antique handgun collection during hors d'ouvres and my grandmother got scared. That's why she brought her shotgun out from the kitchen. She shot off my two fingers. You know that!"
"But who KILLED YOUR GRANDPARENTS!" Kwan yells, and her friends come in.
"Uncle Vick killed them," I told her. I didn't care that her friends were there listening. "He shot my grandmother "in self-defense" he said, and he shot my grandfather because my grandfather said Vick was a lousy cook. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" ...and I lost it. I just lost it.
I threw her macbook across the room. Her friends freaked out and screamed. I tore a little fake gaslamp light fixture off the wall. I ripped my own t-shirt, pulled it off and threw it at her, and left.
Right now I'm shirtless, at an Internet Cafe in the Castro district. And yeah, I'm VERY popular.
That's why I hate confrontations. I don't handle them well. I do everything I can to avoid them.
I don't know where I'm going to sleep tonight. I don't even care.
Irv.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Why I Grabbed You
I tried to grab you behind the BART station the other day, because I care about you, son. You left me naked at the motel tied to the bed and ran away with your girlfriend, Shanna, back on the I-5, but I still care.
Son, I'm a private investigator and I used to be a male nurse. I know all about fingerprints and dna. I KNOW you killed your grandparents last Thanksgiving. I KNOW you framed your Uncle Vick. You run away from me all the time because I know the truth. You hate me because I know the truth about you.
Maybe I haven't been the best father to you. I was gone a lot when I worked for the police, and before that when I was a nurse. Your mother was addicted to Mezaclodiaphinac. I didn't know she was using my Nurse ID and getting prescriptions filled through the doctor I worked for.
Mezaclodiaphinac was an awful drug. Great pain killer but no one knew it would cause unsightly facial air pockets beneath the skin, when abused. Your mother became unrecognizable. Hell, I thought she was your Uncle Vick one night and that's when we knew it was time to go to rehab!
Your mother was a liar. So are you. But, I still love you. I found my green silk shirt and slacks in the bathroom of the motel, and I look like hell, but I'm not leaving San Francisco until I find you. If you can own up to what you did to your own grandparents and that annoying goody two shoes social worker last November, maybe we can get you the help you need.
Son, you've got to admit you have a problem. Your mother did. Sure, she's dead now, but she left this world an honest woman. Her face was so bloated she looked like Don Rickles does now, but I was proud of her.
Make me proud of you, son. Please. I can't bend fully over.
Your Dad,
Lonnie Rorg
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Hell-O??
My name is Marcus. I'm the "creepy fat" guy that Kwan mentioned in the last post. Is she the kind of person we want in Congress?? Most of America is fat! 30% of America is creepy! She better watch what she puts in print because mark my words it will come back to haunt her.
She's jealous because I am Irv's best friend... who Irv lets kiss him... (not on the mouth, yet).
She's jealous because Irv tells me things that he doesn't tell her. Like when she had that huge stain on the back of her pantsuit because she sat in something at the Arby's. Irv and I didn't tell her because she was about to do the paperwork to record her congressional candidacy. Ha Ha. That stain looked like a runny state of Alaska with a much longer peninsula with strange bubbles in it.
Oh yah, and another thing Irv told me he didn't tell her -- Irv's investigator father is in town. He grabbed Irv the other day behind the Bart station, but Irv broke away.
Irv's my best friend and he tells me everything. It's gorgeous outside. Today, I'm going to go jogging with him in Golden Gate Park.
Irv's going to jog with his shirt off. I'm not.
signed,
Marcus
Friday, October 5, 2007
Jealousy
I've stayed away from this blog on purpose. Now I know why I never let myself fall in love before: Because out of love grows jealousy!
Today, I registered officially with the district as a congressional candidate. My proudest day so far in my entire life! Irv was with me in a tight black sweater and those long sexy sideburns. I've made him my campaign manager. Anyone who has been a stuntman for a living, is perfect for politics.
But, that creepy fat Marcus. He came downtown with us. He said he needed a ride so he could get his flu shot. Well, it's a public train! He didn't need a ride WITH US. He kept staring at Irv with big round eyes, and eating churros out of a bucket. He'd imitate the way Irv walked, with that kind of athletic swagger, only on Marcus that swagger just looks like a drunken cattle drive.
Jealousy! It's the worst. I was jealous of my sister in Vietnam when she flew out of the country first class by convincing the officials at the airport she was Yoko Ono. That took balls. She didn't have to flee the country in a leaky whaling vessel like I did.
But jealousy over love? That's something I vowed I'd never feel. Irv says he's "anxious" about something, but then he lets this Marcus boy kiss him in public. WTF!
It's San Francisco, so it's good pubic relations for my campaign, Irv says. He also says we must be careful not to let our past interfere with our plans.
I don't trust him...and I love him...
Kwan
Monday, October 1, 2007
Blue Irv
I remember starting this blog in August. I was feelin' blue and Uncle Vick said starting a blog on Blogplace or Blogspot or whatever this is called would help lift my spirits. Then, he went down to the 7-11 and picked up a prostitute who had just been released from women's prison.
This blog has lifted me up, but it hasn't cured me. Hell, I'm 38 but I don't have a paying job. Haven't had one in seven months. I'm up here in San Francisco with everyone sayin' they're in love with me. I don't know my way around town.
I used to be a scuba diving instructor in Fresno. Not many places to scuba in Fresno, but "Scuba Dooba" had these huge empty grain silos, bigger than pools. They'd dump some tropical fish in there and charge suckers 40 bucks to suit up and go diving in grain silos. There'd just be one leaky porthole on the side, and the whole "tank" was dark and deep.
I quit before the company folded. I didn't have a scuba license, anyway.
Before that, I was a stunt man. Yeah, for movies! Good pay sometimes, but I suffered injuries a lot. How often can you throw yourself off a billboard onto a mattress?
Hell, I don't know what to do now. Kwan wants me to work for her, but she doesn't have any funds to run for Congress, yet. Says she's gotta solicit donations for her campaign. Says I won't make much money, but I've got a place to stay and meals.
I'm feeling anxious lately. Like we're not safe up here.
Irv
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Hello from Marcus...
Me and Irv have a lot in common. We both have long sideburns (as soon as I grow mine). We both workout (I hold his legs while he does 100 situps in the evenings). And we're both bi (One day I'll meet a girl).
Last summer I won the "Baked Ziti Eat-Off" at the Santa Clara County Fair by eating 5 baked Zitis in less than twenty minutes faster than all 16 other contestants. I won 80 dollars. I also had to be admitted to the Emergency Room at O'Conner Hospital. My health insurance refused to pay for the emergency invasive gastro procedure that my doctor recommended. Luckily, I had my credit card.
Irv says he knows how I can pay off my credit card. Irv also says his uncle works for the health insurance company that refused my procedure and he knows how I can get even.
Irv is my best friend. I kissed him last night and he was fine with it.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Good Ol' Days
Yes, Uncle Vick, I remember the good times. I am weeping while I type this. When my father was gone so often and my mother was in rehab, you took me on hunting trips with the neighbors. You and I would sit in the back of that jeep and you'd get high and drink Jack Daniels and tear off your clothes and try to kiss Mr. Klieg. Mr. Klieg would chew tobacco and spit and hit the accelerator with his boot, and you'd fall off the back and then chase the jeep through the fields naked. Mr. Klieg would finally stop, and he and his weird wife would be laughing, only...I wouldn't. You'd jump back in the jeep with thorns and pieces of grass stuck all over you and then you'd vomit.
Oh yes, those were happy days!
I remember when you fought my own father for custody of me when my mother was in rehab. You claimed my father was out of control on meth when he was really out working on a job with the cops. You said my father had huge "chicken fighting" underground parties at the school auditorium late at night and that he fed meth to the chickens to make them fight harder, and that he could make chickens stay up three days in a row.
It's so moving!
I remember when you ballooned up to 279 pounds on those lemon squares and then went on disability at the expense of "Wrap Around Care" or "Who Really Health Cares?" or "Under and Over Medical Insurance" or whatever bullshit company you work for.
Man! As I watch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge this evening from my new car with my new girlfriend, I wish and I wish that I could have THOSE fucking days back again!
Love,
Irv
Monday, September 24, 2007
From Jail
Irv, I know you are readin' this blog. I read the entries every day. They let me use their computer here in jail.
What happened to our family? Ever since the horrible incident last Thanksgiving when Momma shot your fingers off, I've been scratchin' my head. All I try to do is what's right.
And how do you repay me? By stealin' my girlfriend and jumpin' town? By tiein' up my brother and leavin' him naked in a motel? Huh? Dude, you planted my fingerprints, dna, and geez, my business card too - on that woman's body. I've got a photo to prove it. Surprise!
Cryin' shame our family's been torn apart like this. Police won't listen to me, but it'll all come out in the wash. You'll see. Every family gets revenge, right?
You and I were close. I taught you how to play online poker. We had that running joke about the Olsen Twins. Remember? You had no place to live after you dropped out of community college and I let you move in with me and Kwan. Geez, Irv. I baked lemon squares for us on Wednesday nights when "Lost" was on, and we went deer hunting with the neighbors and got to sit in the back of their jeep. Remember?
What you did to me and to my mom and dad is unspeakable. Plane crash? Yeah, right.
I've got lots of time to think in this jail cell. And to plan...
Friday, September 21, 2007
Rain Rain
Life can change overnight, it's true!
Irv is strong, and in the end he was able to get the gun away from his dad when his dad dozed off. He left his dad in the room with no clothes, tied to the bed, with duct tape over his mouth.
We hit the road this morning. I realized that love is real. We had to put the top up on the Corvette when the rain started. Irv showed me how to scream in the car to get rid of your rage. We took turns.
He told me he hated that he was 38 and had no career, and then he roared for 30 seconds and shook his head.
I said I hated that no one took me seriously because I'm an asian woman and that I'm smarter than most of the white dudes out there, and then I screamed for a really long time! It felt so good. I went hoarse. I shook my arms and kicked my legs.
The Corvette was roaring up the I-5 and the rain was pelting the windshield.
Irv said he hated Republicans and the way people in power screw everyone no matter what you do, and then Irv shouted and roared again.
We were laughing hysterically.
I said I hated how fucked up this country has gotten and there's no healthcare and I hated Uncle Vick and then I screamed again.
Irv covered his ears, the Corvette swerved in the rain, and we stopped laughing while Irv regained control of the car.
We just got to my girlfriend's house here in San Francisco. While Irv was in the bathroom my two girlfriends from Vietnam said they agreed he was a hunk. They're making dinner for us. I'm so happy. I'm going to start campaigning for Congress right away and Irv's going to help me.
Irv seems to like the guy that lives next door a lot. The guy said hello and then dropped over and invited himself to dinner. Am I silly to be jealous?
Kwan
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Silk Shirt Doodah
I'm Lonnie Rorg. I'm a private investigator. Before that, I was a male nurse. I had a motorcycle accident and had to give up nursing in 1998. I'm not able to fully bend over.
Anyway, my son, Irv, and his girlfriend, Connie, and I are holed up in this lovely room here on the I-5. We are not leaving here until I get my son to finally tell the truth. He drives the girls and now I find out, the boys, wild with his good looks, but he has a hard time tellin' the truth.
We Rorgs are good men. Basically. Y'know? I mean, as good as men are able to be. My son, Irv, framed my brother Vick with that body buried in the backyard. I know this because I investigate for a living. Mostly I follow cheatin' husbands and lovers of straights and gays, when their spouses find strange hairs on their coats or phone numbers on torn pieces of paper.
Why do I investigate? Well...because there's always a story deeper than what you see, right? Nothing anyone says is what it seems. No, that's not paranoid, it's true! My parents were like that - may they rest in peace. They'd tell me and Vick things when we were kids that later turned out to be false. Like, we had money in our college funds. Or, "the dental industry is a scam."
Now, my son, Irv, is tellin' whoppers and it's got to stop. But he won't budge. We've spent hours in here, eatin' delivery pizzas. I wish I'd made it to the Labor Day Barbecue because I was going to straighten out my son right then and there. But I got delayed because I dropped my car keys, and like I said, I can't bend over.
Anyway, I wish I'd brought an extra shirt. This green silk number ain't holdin' up as the days tick on and on. And I can't really hold poor Connie here anymore. She's angry at us Rorgs. She says she's wasted time with us that she should be spendin' campaignin'.
But I got the gun. And my son's behavior has gotta stop here. Problem is, I'm takin' No-Doze and I need to Doze, if ya know what I mean. I'm not young anymore.
I want Irv to confess.
Lonnie Rorg, PI
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Last Night
Is that what love does? Blinds you? I guess that's true, because last night Irv's father got out of the red Prius and pressed a police badge against our motel window. Irv was in bed, and I had come out of the motel bathroom (as you know, that's where I like to blog).
Irv yelled: "Stay down!"
I threw myself to the floor, and let me tell you, motel carpeting is not a pretty place to be.
That's when the door got kicked in and in bursts this guy that looks just like Vick, holding a handgun. Balding. Pudgy. Only Irv's dad has a gray goatee and he's wearing a green silk shirt and black jeans. Dark sunglasses too. And it's NIGHT.
God, I thought. Will Irv look like this guy in 20 years? This family is nuts. You're right, reader Susan. What am I doing?? I want to run for Congress and I'm involved with this messed up stuff? Irv is BI for Chrissake. How am I supposed to compete with another man, if Irv swings the other way?
I got all these realizations sprawled on the motel carpet behind the bed in front of the bathroom.
Irv's dad closed the door behind him.
We've been locked in here together all day today. It was horrible. I don't know whether to believe father or son.
Love. It's a fantasy we decide to have, right?
I can't write anymore now. I want to say more, but I've been given the "evil eye."
Kwan
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Kwan Song
I have never been in love like this before! I have never been in love period. Is this what it is like? We drove 340 miles today. We were so happy we sang Barry Manilow songs off Irv's Ipod. We had the top down on our new car and I undid my hair in back and it flowed behind me like I was on a poster!
The last time my hair flowed behind me like that was when the Coast Guard stopped our refugee boat outside of Honolulu and transported us all to processing. I sat in back of the police boat and tears squeezed from my eyes when I remembered the family I had left behind, before the coast guard man told me I would get my hair caught in the engine if I didn't move inside the vessel.
Today I cried tears of joy. The police determined that Vick had killed the social worker they found buried in the backyard. On her body they found Vick's DNA ,and his fingerprints, and his business card.
We heard on Sirius Radio that the cops no longer wanted us for questioning.
We will be in San Francisco tomorrow. I will run for Congress. I knew when Irv made love to me on paper towels that I had found my "Ishi," my soul mate.
I must sign off now. I have a shiver. A red Prius has pulled into the motel driveway...
Kwan
Friday, September 14, 2007
Un-Depressed
We’re at a gas station under bright white fluorescents. Since both the cops and my dad are following us, obviously I won’t say where we are. I just did 100 pushups. My finger stubs are itching like my two fingers are still there.
We ditched my Honda. Lost my dad, too. Ha Ha.
Kwan likes our new car. She picked it out.
Funny, but I’m not depressed anymore. I’m finally taking action in my life – instead of wasting time living with my psycho uncle.
Although, my psycho uncle was right! This sissy blog was a good idea. People read it! That chick that said Kwan should wait until I’m asleep and steal the car – made us both laugh!
Kwan isn’t my hostage – she’s with me by choice
Hear that, Uncle Vick? I made love to your girlfriend last night in our new car. Her idea, too -- on a roll of paper towels. Hear that? I’m not gay.
Not “not gay” like Senator Larry Craig. Dude spreads his feet farther than if he were at the gynecologist’s office. At least, I admit I’m bi. Best of both worlds.
And Kwan and I – we got plans. I’m gonna help her run for Congress when we get where we’re going. I’ll work for her! Yeah, that’s right – me with a job...in politics. The Democrats need people like us.
Uncle Vick is a liar. There is no proof I killed those people.
Irv
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Follow Up Report From Social Services
I was hoping you would return to Vick Rorg's house with Kwan, but no one has heard from you in days.
The police dug up the corner of Vick Rorg's backyard and found the body of the missing social worker from last Thanksgiving. They arrested Vick Rorg last night at his place of employment. The house is now under police quarantine.
They have a description of your Honda, of you and Kwan, and of your father's red Prius.
I must admit, I've been drinking pretty heavily since the Labor Day Barbecue. I've never had a shotgun pointed at me, and consequently, I can't stop thinking about you.
I guess I love you. Maybe it's the rum talking, but I love you, Irv Rorg. You're young and muscular and troubled. You have questionable sexuality, and you have low self-esteem. My gray hair is hanging over my eyes as I write this. How could you love an old woman like me?
I'd follow you out to the desert if I knew where to find you. That hot sun beating down on the two of us together. I'd help to fix you, you misguided social outcast. I love you, Irv. I love you.
Whewwww....I just fell off my couch. Did I say I love you? Well, I do! I just do! I'd sit you on my knee and bounce you up and down and make you laugh. Gawd, I've got to stop drinking. That's how I lost my last job.
Irv, come back to me. We only just met, but I know we were meant to be together!
I've got to go now, my love. Super Nanny is on. I'm kissing this bottle and pretending it is you!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Customer Service
Workin late at Complete Wrap Health Insurance Hotline. Just told a guy we can't cover his broken arm. Setting the arm is "too experimental" for our company to cover. That's what we tell everyone. The only people we actually cover are the families of the CEO and his VPs!
Been 3 days since Kwan and Irv took off in Irv's piece-o-crappo Honda. That red Prius belongs to my brother, Lonnie. Yeah, I really do have a brother. An older brother. He just turned 55 and he's still pissed that Irv killed our parents. Hell, he's pissed that Hillary Clinton is the Democratic front runner. Said he'd go get Irv and the bitch who used to be my girlfriend. Go get 'em out in the desert. Lonnie's a PI, so he knows how to stealth follow people.
Lonnie has issues, yeah. He once threw the neighbors pit bull over the fence when it ate its way through into our yard. That's the first time that dog was ever scared.
Go get 'em Lonnie. Irv deserves it. Irv is Lonnie's son, I guess you figured out by now. God, those two never got along. I thought I could help Irv find his way. Stop bein' so depressed.
Lonnie said to stay out of it and jumped in his Prius and took off after Irv and Kwan.
Hey, Kwan! I miss ya! I can find me a new girfriend anytime, y'know. Pick 'em up every day when they call Managed Care. Sick women are the easiest.
Never said I was nice. But, I'm good in bed, huh, Kwannie? :-)
Uncle Vick
Friday, September 7, 2007
Hot Spot in the Desert
Vick, if you are reading this we won't be here tomorrow.
I'm watching Irv stoke the fire right now with an old skinny treebranch. His shirt is off and he's got a great body. With those pointy long sideburns...I guess I'm lonely. Irv doesn't seem to care much about this blog anymore. He's more concerned with the red Prius that we've seen following us every day.
The wind is blowing that thick black hair of his and I can see flecks of firelight in his eyes. He keeps looking behind him into the darkness. It's actually cold out here tonight. Summer went so fast!
Things change so quickly. I read that social worker's blog. She says Vick says Irv is the killer of Vick's parents. I don't know what to believe anymore.
I didn't have feelings for Vick. I refuse to have any for Irv.
But what do I really know about him except that he started this blog...?
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
A Report From Social Services
My name is Cynthia. I am the social worker for the family of Mr. Victor Rorg. Victor suggested I make an entry in this blog in order to contact his nephew and a woman named Kwan.
Nephew Irv, if you can hear me, your uncle would like you to come home and deal with your issues as a family. Your two aunts have gone home. I must say that the Caucasion aunt looked very much like a man, but that is not pertinent to this case at this time.
I have notified the police regarding your assertion that a previous social worker is buried in the backyard. They came out today and put yellow tape around the alleged burial area. They plan to dig tomorrow.
I am writing from my office in the city. I am afraid to go home after the incident on Labor Day. I have not had a shotgun pointed at me before. Not in all my years of social work. The worst that ever happened to me before last Monday's barbecue was I was once locked in a closet by a woman who said she was possessed by demons. Ironically, the woman was a psychotherapist. She had been verbally abusing her husband and putting printer cartridges in her mouth.
Irv, please return to your Uncle's house. He is uninjured. In fact, after you ran away, he ate two more chicken wienies and a half pound of potato salad out of a pewter mug. He claims you killed his parents and not he.
The police have been notified. It is best if you allow them to question you.
Cynthia
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Irv's Honda
I've finally left Vick! Irv and I drove 480 miles last night. We're here in the desert now. Irv had some money saved. He's 38 but he looks much younger. He doesn't have hair on his chest like Vick.
Irv said I looked like my father when I showed him the family pictures from Vietnam. I held Irv's hand, the one missing the fingers, last night when I took my turn at the wheel.
I know Vick can access this blog, but he'll never find us. He probably doesn't care about us anyway.
All I've got are the jeans and shirts in my travel bag. I'm a refugee again.
You can see so many stars out here in the desert.
Is it possible to laugh and cry at the same time?
I won't say where we're staying. We thought we were being followed.
I'm so angry and so restless. How can I run for Congress when I've left my Congressional District? How can I do anything now?
Monday, September 3, 2007
Happy Labor DAy!
Our Family Labor Day Barbecue "party" is still going on.
Uncle Vick is lying face down on the collapsed condiment tray. He's breathing. We can see mustard rising and falling on his shoulders.
Keep typing, Kwan.
I'm holding the twelve-gauge shotgun, pointed at my two "aunts," while the new social worker, Cynthia, runs around in circles on the backyard lawn, freaking out and screaming.
The neighbor's pit bull nextdoor is too frightened to bark.
I punched Uncle Vick in the face fifteen minutes ago. He's still unconscious. Vodka and a fist to the jaw will do that.
Keep typing, Kwan.
Kwan had shown up early to the barbecue to warn me that Vick was going to do to me what was done to his parents last Thanksgiving.
We had three beers each and I told her I'm fed up with being bullied and threatened.
Around 9, Vick had finished his fourth chicken wienie (he hates ostrich), when he stood up and announced to everyone that I had killed his parents last Thanksgiving. That his mother had shot my fingers off in self-defense.
My fingers itched.
I said, "I'm not the one that came flying out of the garage using the 'German baking knife' like we were at Benihana!" I told him, "You deny people their health care for a living. I know for a fact you don't have any sisters. All your mother said last Thanksgiving was that she had gone through your room."
My two "aunts" jumped up.
Cynthia, the new social worker, used some kind of social worker technique and told us all to breathe deeply and think of the ocean.
I pointed to the corner of the yard and told Cynthia that's where Vick had buried the previous social worker.
"And the police believed it was a plane crash..." I added.
That's when Cynthia started flapping her arms and screaming.
Uncle Vick grabbed Kwan.
I punched Vick in the face. He fell flat onto the condiment tray and sent relish into the trees.
Keep typing, Kwan. Look how scared those "aunts" of mine are!
We're taking my car and the twelve gauge and we're leaving here for good. Just you and I. Right now. Before Vick's brother gets here. If he really has a brother.
Happy Labor Day!
Irv
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Barbecue Prep
I've been dreading tomorrow's barbecue, as you know, for the past few weeks. With Uncle Vick and Kwan gone, this house has creeped me out. Plus, it's so hot outside, all I can do is crank up the air-conditioner and watch videos on YouTube. Saw a video today called "My Cat Wore a Wig and Went Dancing."
I'm not alone tonight. The new social worker has arrived and she's moved in already. Her name is Cynthia. She looks like Angela Lansbury (before she died). Cynthia's here to help our family cope with the first holiday since the killings. She was supposed to be here last Christmas, but there's a backlog of cases.
Cynthia packed the fridge with beer, potato salad, and ostrich burgers. I hate ostrich burgers, but Cynthia says her family used to breed ostriches.
Cynthia went right to work decorating the patio with American Flags left over from the Fourth of July. Really, what is the proper decoration for Labor Day? When she asked me, I said since most companies had cut out their pension plans and employee health insurance, why not little cardboard gravestones?
Cynthia didn't laugh. She told me I should shave off my sideburns since many employers didn't want "alternative lifestyle fashions" in the workplace.
I told Cynthia she should shave her legs.
We haven't spoken to each other since.
I keep remembering that awful meal last Thanksgiving when Uncle Vick killed his parents and the last social worker.
I hope tomorrow goes better...
Irv
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Horrible Women
I'm back at the Paradise Motel. Vick's out drinking at the gas station with some guy named Morongo.
I met Vick's two "sisters" today. One of them is white and one of them is black. The white one is very tall with very big hands. The black one looked uncomfortable and wore a man's stetson hat.
We went shopping at Ralph's -- for food for Monday's barbecue. Vick stole twenty chicken sausages from the gourmet freezer. His white sister stuffed ten of them in her clutch purse. The black one used her hat.
We actually paid for the potatoes and the vodka. I tried to run away but Vick's white sister held me with one of her giant hands in a grip like a Yeti. "This is an important national holiday," she whispered in my ear. She had to bend down to reach my ear.
Vick bought some new bathing trunks on sale, 38 waist.
We watched beach volleyball all evening, and then the women left and Vick went across the street to drink with Morongo. Morongo manages the motel.
I found a way to open this bathroom window. By the time Vick reads this, I'll be gone.
Kwan
Friday, August 31, 2007
Vibrating Bed
It's 10 p.m. and I'm writing from the Paradise Motel, Unit 18. Vick knew where I was because I stole his American Express Card and rented this room last Monday night. The room is in back by the freeway. When trucks drive by it shakes the glass in the window.
I'm in the bathroom with the laptop. They have WiFi here which is hilarious because they don't have bathmats or soap.
Vick is sleeping on the vibrating bed. It's still vibrating. The machine is jammed so the bed hasn't stopped vibrating since Vick got here Tuesday night. It's great for lovemaking but I have to actually sleep on the floor. Vick likes sleeping on the jiggling bed. He says he grew up in earthquake country so it's nothing new for him.
He's going to force me to go to the Labor Day Family Barbecue on Monday. I told him we were through, but he said I was through for stealing his credit card and he would call the police. I'm running for Congress next year so I figured I'd play the good girl.
Vick said he would get me a job, in the meantime. He said one of his sisters at the Barbecue Monday would help me out.
I'm all alone in the world, and it's so hot outside, even at 10:20 p.m.
There goes another freight truck speeding by the bathroom window. Makes the glass chatter like teeth.
Is anyone out there?
Kwan
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Bum Rap
Yeah, my mom shot off Irv's fingers last Thanksgiving. I was there. I baked the holiday squash. I molded the yams into the Traditional Pilgrim Face. And when that little "Meals On Wheels" Sugar Plum Girl tried to force her pumpkin ice cream pie on us, I dropped it on the floor to teach her a lesson. Nobody upstages Uncle Vick!
I don't know how my mom balanced herself in her walker and held up that shotgun at the same time. She was plucky!
Look, Irv. You happy now? We even got readers reading this adorable blog of yours. They care about your damn fingers! You want me to write down how you're really the one who killed my parents...and that little Shirley Temple social worker girl...huh?
I told you I'd get revenge at the Labor Day Family Barbecue next Monday. They got some new social worker comin'. And my younger brother. And my two aunts. They're all comin' and you'll be there, too. Eatin' Veggie Party Wienies. You have no choice. I've got the photos from last Thanksgiving. And I'll post em on this blog if I have to, and then who'll be sorry?
And now, Kwan is gone. I know where she is, too. I know she's reading this. I'm going to her place tonight after work. She'll be at the barbecue, too, whether she likes it or not. I'll see her tonight. Runnin' for Congress. Don't make me guffaw!
I'm a health care professional. I might eat and drink too much - and I might break a window or two at the mall with a hammer, but hey, 20 percent of America is obese, so what's the crime? My sideburns aren't cute like yours, Irv. I've got some gray, and I'm goin' bald. So what! Kwan likes it. I know she still likes me. You got me all wrong.
I'll prove it tonight!
Uncle Vick
Monday, August 27, 2007
Ghost Finger Phenomenon
I'm feeling "ghost fingers" again. I know I'm missing the two middle fingers on my left hand. Uncle Vick's Mom blew them off with her twelve gauge shotgun last Thanksgiving. But sometimes, like today, I feel those two fingers aching, and I reach with my right hand to massage the tips, and....they are gone!
Creepy. I'm getting used to it, though. Without Kwan here with me to get high and watch the giant plasma wall TV, I'm feeling even more depressed.
Uncle Vick's mom should never have been allowed to own a gun. We had all been sitting around the holiday table, around a smoldering plate of sliced meat. She claimed she had shot the turkey herself, but the only wild turkeys around here are in liquor stores. We all knew that "meals-on-wheels" annoying girl had brought the meat. But, you didn't argue with Uncle Vick's mom. It's really her fault. All of it.
"Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader" is saved on the DVR. I'm debating if I should watch another episode, or if I should check Monster.com to see if I got any job responses, or maybe if I should shave a different geometric sideburn pattern into my "burns." I've got the sharpest "burns" and they go all the way down to my mouth. I've had women and men get turned on by them.
But now, I'm alone...and my missing fingertips itch, and Labor Day is only one week off. I figure if I can find the twelve gauge...
Irv
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Cake at Zero to Sixty
Kwan left this morning before sunrise. Uncle Vick had baked her an anniversary cake the day before. I guess the first anniversary since they began fucking, since neither one of them loves the other. Uncle Vick just likes sweets so he probably baked it for himself.
I came down the stairs in my nightshirt when I heard Uncle Vick shout: "I'll just go online and find a new whore to diddle!" Classy, huh? Kwan shouted back, "Go ahead, and while you're at it go on Ebay and find a couple of midget stilts to hold your fat lard belly up when someone gets on their knees for you. It's like sucking off the collapsing Hindenburg!"
That's when I saw the anniversary cake shoot across the living room. Remarkably the blue-iced cake remained intact even after impact on the red and yellow stained glass panes of the front door.
Kwan is gone. Uncle Vick smoked four cigarettes, ate the cake, and went back to bed.
I've got to get a job and get out of here before the Labor Day Party. I'm running out of time!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Kwan at Midnight
This might be Irv's blog, but looks like me and Vick have taken it over.
I met Vick through his job. I called him at the "Complete Wrap" health insurance hotline to get a procedure approved for my ex-boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend had a urinary tract infection which Kaiser said had spread to his brain. "Wrap Care" said that "urinary brain infection" was not covered.
Vick was very consoling and invited me to call him any time day or night for a "friendly voice." No one would help my ex-boyfriend in the states, so I drove him to Tijuana for a treatment of garlic cloves and three unapproved synthetic triglycerides.
My boyfriend became my ex when he died in the back of a farmer's truck in Mexico. I called Vick on my cell and he invited me to come and live with him. I thought this was rather forward, but I agreed, since my ex-boyfriend had paid my rent previously and now I would be homeless.
Thank you, Vick. You're a pig to me now, but thank you for your support back then.
I'm moving out of your house tomorrow.
Kwan
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Move Over - It's Uncle Vick!
He was bla bla-ing about how depressed he was because the Labor Day Weekend Family Barbecue is coming up so I told him to start this friggin' blog. Hey, Schmo! You didn't have to say I was "pot-bellied." What are all those Internet Ladies going to think?
Oh Yah, and that I'm a killer! There's a romance-inducer! Dude, we all know what happened last Thanksgiving. Irv lost his fingers when he lost his mind and took out my parents and that little girl - what's her name - from the church. Little Goldilocks or whatever with the Meals-on-Wheels. May she rest in peace.
Hey, and Kwan, what the Frig are you thinkin' when you write on this thing that you're going to "use" me to get elected?? Boat People?? You came over on a yacht with a swimming pool! You better just delete this blog before you announce your "candidacy."
Hey, you two forget that I support both of you! Huh! I don't see any paychecks comin' from either one of you. Psychopath?? Dudes, it's this government that's gone psycho. Capitalism is evolving into "Screw-You-All-Ism." How Psycho is that?
I'm just a regular guy that tells people off, and sometimes is too close to multiple murders.
Hey, my parents are dead! Ever think of that? You know how close I was to my mom. She taught me to bake.
"Meat Cleaver"? It's called a "German Baking Knife."
We have to have a talk before Labor Day...
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Kwan
I don't know how Vick got the password. It's true, I guess. Vick is a psychopath. I've told him so to his face, so if he reads this -- fine.
Look, I'm no stranger to troubles. I came over here from Vietnam on a refugee boat 20 years ago. You think that was easy?? We were one of the boats that got through. We didn't sink. We took on water, okay, but we didn't sink.
Now, I'm running for Congress. I haven't told anybody yet. But I'm going to run. You know why? Because I've got ambition. My family and all my ex-lovers - none of them had ambition. Sure, the stereotype is that Vietnamese people who come to America are hard workers. Not my family! Just me! I'm the one!
I sleep with Vick because he pleasures me. I know he doesn't love me. Love doesn't exist, really. Just addiction to adrenaline. Vick gives me my adrenaline rush.
I'll use him to get elected. He knows people. Some very big people in politics have chronic health conditions that they get treated with "Complete Wrap Care." Vick has spoken with them. He's gotten to know them.
I know what I'm doing and I've got plans.
Irv just pulled up in the driveway. Why is he back so early, I wonder?
Monday, August 20, 2007
Monday Blues
When he drove off this morning in his KIA, cigarette smoke billowing out his open driver's window, Kwan started bawling.
We both stood on the porch. "He's a psycho," she said. Her black hair covered her face and she was stooped over like she had a cramp.
I put my arm around her shoulders. "We just have to get past the Labor Day Barbecue Party. It's only two more weeks."
"I can't do it," Kwan said, in almost a shout. She stood up straight and threw my arm off of her shoulders. "Pretending to care what other people are doing. Not getting drunk. Getting gas from macaroni. I can't do it!"
The neighbor's pit bull was barking again.
"You've got to," I said. I was feeling the little stumps where my two middle left fingers had been. It was already past lunchtime and we weren't even showered. "It's our last chance."
Kwan had stopped crying. She never cried long. "Are you going to write that in your I Love Cats blog?" She didn't smile. "What if we don't make it till Labor Day?"
Sunday, August 19, 2007
I'm Missing Two Fingers
Kwan says blogs are just a bunch of people writing about their favorite TV shows, and making lists of the "100 things that drive them crazy" and dumbshit self-absorbed crap like that. I think she's bitter because Uncle Vick doesn't love her anymore.
"How can you type without your two left fingers?" she just asked.
I'm grinning back at her. "Same way you can let Vick fuck you without his loving you."
"He's a murderer," she's saying.
And we are both just watching each other now. I guess, wondering why we're both at this house on a hot summer Sunday with the man out in the living room.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The Barbecue
Uncle Vick got me to start this blog.
Uncle Vick always needs a shave and he's got what my parents call a "pot-belly." He told me since I was depressed, I should start a blog because it would help to get out my feelings.
I stared at him a long time - because Uncle Vick's way of "getting out feelings" involves a meat-cleaver. But, as they say, there is good in everyone. I was tired of screaming in the car when I was upset, so I took Uncle Vick up on his suggestion.
We have a family Labor Day Barbecue coming up. I'm dreading it...