(from 2007) After being forced to meet up with a couple relatives a while ago I've come to the conclusion I am not really related to any of them. If it weren't for the same blood running under our skin, we'd be complete apathetic strangers to each other if we ever met. Now due to unfortunate circumstances of falling out the wrong cunt and being formed by the wrong jizz, I'm now obligated to put up with all the dumb bullshit of these so-called "relatives". All my relatives suck, I can't even "relate" to them cause they're all into lame garbage. Why do they call them relatives if you can't even "relate" to them? They'll brag about their money or careers, brag about liking diverse music because they like r&b and emo (oh my gawd, you like r&b AND emo, you are the most cultured and creative unique individual ever), and they're deeply religious (ugh, I got a Born Again Christian Aunt, I hope she's "born again" when I kill her, so I could have the satisfaction of disemboweling the bitch more than once). Houses are a big topic with relatives too. When they realize they can't shut the fuck up about how much money they make, or their fancy careers, or their expensive cars, or how great their God is, they will talk about their houses. They always go on and on about the size of their house as if they were bragging about the size of their dick. Their houses are shit though. What does it matter how big their house is; it's the same boring status-quo assholes living in it with the typical furniture and big useless TV. It's useless because all that TV is used for is "the big game" or some worthless Matt Damon movie. Those people are rarely in their home anyways. They're too busy working and being phonies somewhere else to pay for the damn houses. It doesn't matter where you live; it's what you do where you live. If I had a mansion, I'd probably just end up jerking off to the same porn sluts, drawing with the same pen on the same kind of paper, and lifting the same weights as I listen to the same pissed-off music. It's all the same shit I do in my small apartment. Doesn't matter where I live, I will do that shit wherever I can until I die so fuck your overrated mansions where all you have is a bigger place to be miserable. My relatives can go fuck themselves in their stupid big houses. Their houses mean nothing to me just like their obnoxious social gatherings I avoid and everything else they own or "accomplished". They remind me of most people. I hate people, relatives are no exception.
The bitch that I fell out of always wishes I could be "successful" like my cousins. She thinks they're "successful" because of how much they brag about the typical job/car/faith/house/marriage bullshit. But they're all losers in my eyes. They're all just living a boring generic secure life that a million other dispensable yuppie shitheads have. All their obituaries end up being the same except with an interchangeable name. I don't even remember half my cousins! I never get their names right or know which cousin is from which uncle or aunt cause I don't even remember my aunts or uncles either, and I really don't care. All I know is I got a bunch of relatives and share nothing in common with those dorks. My mother is just a sucker, always thinking the grass is greener on the other side, wishing she was as "successful" as them. Sure I'm a loser too, but I don't try to hide that fact by devoting my existence to being a derivative American asshole that creates social gatherings as an excuse to brag and because "it's what families do".
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