I can’t stand some of my relatives, and I am THIS close, you guys, to telling them to just fuck off.

This is not even counsel-able anymore – I am standing ready at the bridges, with kerosene, a flame thrower, and a back up flame thrower, just in case the flames dare abate before I am completely finished with the task. I am done! I’m so tired of the stupid games, the despicable posing, the backhanded slaps, the one-upsmanship. I refuse. You will not get THIS monkey to dance for you. I will go down in a flaming wreck if only for the wild pleasure of taking your names down with me.

It’s like that song – you know, that song “Jumper” by Third Eye Blind? Here’s the bit I’m talking about:

I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that you’ve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand

It’s just like that…only my version is called “Pusher”, and all my relatives are lined up conveniently in a highly aeorodynamic row.

The only hitch in my diabolical plan is that really – I love them. If that don’t beat all. I love them, even if it is the kind of love that is wrenched unwilling from a Gaylord-Focker-Kung-Fu-Grip, and they repay me by killing me with their rampant idiocy. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

Please, someone adopt me for two months. I will love you forever, and bring cookies.