Proud member of the wherethefuckarewe tribe


October 22, 2022 :: 8:35 PM

oh, bestie, have I got a story for you…

Let’s start with the title of the entry.

Get the boring shit out of the way.

My dad, in all of his politically (in)correctness, used to tell me we were part Indian.

But not any of the tribes you would find in East Buttfuck, Maine.

Nope. We were members of the wherethefuckarewe tribe. (God, I wish I could type his pronunciation… it was a thing of beauty.)

I always lie when I talk about the things I inherited from my father.

Well, I suppose it’s not a lie if it’s omitted.

Mousy, crap brown hair? Check.

Blue-ish eyes? Check.

Potty mouth and blue humor? Oh, fuck yes.

Sense of direction or lack thereof? Nothing to see here. Move along.

Yeah. I get lost so fucking easily that it’s almost comical.

Eh, fuck it. It is comical.

I got lost today during a half marathon. Between mile markers 2 and 3.

Long story short, I walked 5.4 miles. The majority of those were trying to get back to the finish line,

I swear, it’s a resume worthy skill.

Right up there with making Excel do things that it was never meant to do.

 

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*looks around*

*grabs axe*

*puts axe down*

*grabs gasoline and a zippo lighter*

*walks over to family tree and douses that fucker in gas*

*starts to walk away*

*throws zippo over shoulder*

*strut like a bad ass while the tree goes up in flames behind me*

*zoom in on a shit eating grin*

 

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Take a seat. Get comfy.

Shit’s about to get real.

The other day, I get this random DM with a GoFundMe link from one of my cousins.

Let me set one thing straight:

I. FUCKING. HATE. GOFUNDME.

Nothing says “I only care about your money” like a link to a GFM page.

Which, let’s be honest, is pretty much on brand for that branch of the family tree.

Not a word as to WHY there’s a GFM link in my DMs. Just the link.

So I click on it to find out that in MAY, she was in a terrible accident. Life support, serious injuries, yadda, yadda, yadda.

(I suppose it says a lot that I’m so blasé, instead of treating it seriously.)

Shall we view a timeline?

May: accident happens

October: random DM in my inbox

Hmmmm… let’s see. October less May, multiplied by the square root of cheese, and divided by a pizza pie, gives you, what? Five months?

For five months I had no idea that a person I used to care deeply for was staring death in the face.

I didn’t even know why I was getting the GFM link. There was nothing to put it in context.

So… yeah. Fuck that noise.

Fuck her.