Sunday, May 14, 2017

May 14, 2017

Dear Diary,

Being the type of national goddess queen public figure that I am, I feel that holidays like Mothers Day belong to the unwashed peasants at WalMart the people of this country.  Times are still very difficult for the kind of trash we don't allow to live here most people, and family holidays are free pretty much many of them are left with.

On a day like Mothers Day, I like to take time out to be thankful for everything Satan God has granted me and my own family.  For example, I'm very grateful we have a doorman that keeps out the riff raff.  Ernie is a person of the darker persuasion who does his job with great energy and devotion. I appreciate his warmth and sense of duty, which is why I make sure to never tip him at Christmas.  It would insult his sense of professionalism. I'm very sensitive like that.  I care about other people's wallets feelings.

I wish other people were as considerate as me. Unfortunately, my Mothers Day wasn't terribly exciting. Chel and the Jew showed up for more free food with their half-Jew kids, but when Bessie served the main course, all eyes turned to her husband to see if the food was kosher. Nobody wanted to touch a crumb until he mumbled something in Hebrew that sounded more to me like he was clearing a snot ball out of his throat. Sometimes I wonder why arabs and Jews don't get along, since they both like beards and sound like they're hocking phlegm when they speak in their native languages.

We were all ready to dig in, when Bill spoiled everything by making everyone hold hands and saying a prayer about Mephistopheles Jesus, which got the grandchildren very upset.  Not so much about the prayer, but even at their young ages, these kids know their grandfather.  You never know where his hands have been, and he's not a big fan of washing up before dinner.  The kids spent the rest of the brunch sniffing their fingers and making faces. They didn't touch their food. It was all so unnecessary.

As a special bonus, we invited Dr. Morell, who was kind enough to bring over more sample packages of Zoloft and a bottle of merlot. That man can eat! The kids seem to like him, though, and we all had a good laugh watching them play after he spiked their orange juice with Valium.  Then they threw up.

Overall, I still have much to be grateful for. Of course, I still miss my mom and the good times we used to have.  I think we still have the leather corset we gave her somewhere in the attic.

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