(I can feel the ripples of the piss lake, dissipate, as I flex my knuckles for this one.)
Are we supposed to love our family?
The thing which brought me to the point of writing this is... well, I have a large family. Some are unutterably lovely, some not so much. Some famous, and some who will not remain buried, even after repeated burnings.
But hey, Esther: That's Life!
Well, no, it isn't really. Facebook, sister, story about older brother, not well, feel bad. over.
That's it. I do not feel a fucking thing for this absolute cunt who treated me like the shit from his shoe, when he remembered who I was, and when he found out who I was, ignored me for the rest of his life. Which suits the fuck out of me.
He is not well. Literally, not well. If the thing that is ongoing, ongoes, he will be survived by a couple of other people whom I liked, but because of his poisonous orbit, didn't get to meet with, often enough.
So, at this point I could tell you stories where he backed up the 'family' for whatever stupid reasons (he really was the son of my father), but nah, he was a violent cunt, who beat the crap out of me on Christmas Day, when I was about 9, because I set up his (freshly minted) Liverpool subbuteo team (with numbers) wrong.
He did once kiss my dad, so I suppose there's that. (Yeah, football match, both playing, my dad has a heart attack, he runs, all other 3 brothers going 'What's the rush?')
So... should we love our family just because they are family? Or should we treat them as humans with frailties, like we would anyone (who also happens to be a massive cunt? I have a big family. I have a serial killer in the family. YOU BASTARD, INDEPENDENCE.)
I already know the answer to my quandary.
My aim will be true.
Are we supposed to love our family?
The thing which brought me to the point of writing this is... well, I have a large family. Some are unutterably lovely, some not so much. Some famous, and some who will not remain buried, even after repeated burnings.
But hey, Esther: That's Life!
Well, no, it isn't really. Facebook, sister, story about older brother, not well, feel bad. over.
That's it. I do not feel a fucking thing for this absolute cunt who treated me like the shit from his shoe, when he remembered who I was, and when he found out who I was, ignored me for the rest of his life. Which suits the fuck out of me.
He is not well. Literally, not well. If the thing that is ongoing, ongoes, he will be survived by a couple of other people whom I liked, but because of his poisonous orbit, didn't get to meet with, often enough.
So, at this point I could tell you stories where he backed up the 'family' for whatever stupid reasons (he really was the son of my father), but nah, he was a violent cunt, who beat the crap out of me on Christmas Day, when I was about 9, because I set up his (freshly minted) Liverpool subbuteo team (with numbers) wrong.
He did once kiss my dad, so I suppose there's that. (Yeah, football match, both playing, my dad has a heart attack, he runs, all other 3 brothers going 'What's the rush?')
So... should we love our family just because they are family? Or should we treat them as humans with frailties, like we would anyone (who also happens to be a massive cunt? I have a big family. I have a serial killer in the family. YOU BASTARD, INDEPENDENCE.)
I already know the answer to my quandary.
My aim will be true.
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