I Was Mad Enough To Kill, But My Son Saved The Day

Mad As A Hatter

Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

When did I last get mad; I mean in a rage?
My sixteen year old daughter brought home an eighteen year old recent release from juvy and told me she’s pregnant and wants to get married.
His hair was dyed raven black and he had tattoos from as far as the eye could see up to his earlobes. Speaking of earlobes they were large enough to carry a widescreen through without stooping.
He had a bone in his nose. I shouldn’t have ask, but I did, “Where did you get the bone?”
He held up his right pinky finger. It was missing. “I needed a bone and there was none so I chopped it off.”
I made a dash for the gun cabinet.
Just then my soon comes home.
“Hey, Dad, I want you to meet my new girl friend. She’s moving in. Her name is Trixie.”
She’s a good ten years older than him. She’s tall, pimp-starved slender, and has a beehive hairdo. She has ruby red lipstick and lips that are as big as inner tubes. She has a tight black leather skirt as wide as some of my ties. She has a twenty stuck in her cleavage. She’s popping her gum and trying to lift her weighted-down eyelids from half staff.
“Where did you meet her and how long have you known each other?” I said.
“Met at the laundry mat and about as long as the spin cycle.”
Now that’s woman. My son saved the day; instead of the gun cabinet I reached for the liquor cabinet.



Blather away, if you like.

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