My grandfather has always been there for me, but he's such a jerk, he used to beat my grandmother( who I love very much) but that was before I was with them. Now he never lets me go anywhere, you may be like that just a kid thing but he is just so rude and thinks things differently then most. He thinks that when I go over to friends a house I'm using them and that they'll get tired of me. He won't let my grandma's family stay, like my dad because he thinks he's just coming to use us, he wanted to be with me because I had a cancer scare.
He yells at my crippled grandmother. I just have a terrible hatred for him for almost nothing, he hasn't really done much to me, I just hate him. Sometimes I wish he would die. Sometimes I want to kill him myself, then a couple months back I found out he is dieing and I didn't really care. I know that when he does die I'll feel terrible, but at this moment I really don't know how I feel.
When I was 5 years old, I got my first loose tooth and naturally wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible. I bit down hard into an apple. Regrettably, I swallowed the small piece of apple with the tooth embedded in it. My father then explained to me that it would emerge when I sat on the toilet. Over the next few days I wanted to have the tooth and tried passing it, but succeeded only while in my kindergarten. So I brought a nice, fat, brown clump to the kindergarten lady, asking her to find the tooth for me, and then I went back to playing. I confess that because of me that poor woman probably had the worst coffee break of her life.
The time has come to unload something unbelievably embarrassing. I'm in the music business and have my own little sound studio at home where I record bands from time to time. Last year, I had an all-girl, alternative rock band in. The lead singer is genuinely good-looking: nineteen years old at the time, perfect legs and hips, juicy butt, delicious little breasts, an absolute feast for the eyes. Understandably, I start hitting on her. At some point, she accepted my offer to go out for dinner. So I take her to a nice place. After our opulent meal, I don't feel so good, but don't let on. Naturally, she comes up to my place for "a coffee". Luckily, I had pulled out the satin bed sheets and laboriously made the bed again with them. We never get to the coffee, we start making out as soon as we shut the door behind us. I'm still a little bit nauseous, but it's manageable and no reason to "blow retreat". Anyway, we're both naked and start to make love. Great stuff, though she might have shaved her bikini zone a little better, but then she has other qualities. Finally, she turns over because she wants it doggy-style; in the moment when she offers me her pretty behind, I get a nose full of really disgusting fecal odor. I heave, but keep it under control, at least until I see that there, stuck on her backdoor among the hairs, are fartleberries from her last toilet run. Oh yeah, that is where I lost it. I throw up all over her back and my freshly-made bed. What went down after that you can imagine. The very next day the band changed studios. I shouldn't have told my best friend this little anecdote, because he's such a gossip, but unfortunately I did. In the meantime, it has spread through the music scene all over town. This incredibly stupid joke is making the rounds that my recordings are enough to make you vomit. But since my studio since then has become busier than ever, I've had the last laugh.
I must have been about 7 or 8 years old, and I was in a field picking strawberries with my grandmother. It was a farm where you picked your own and then paid just for what you picked, by the kilo! Apparently so many people were stuffing their bellies while in the field that the owners felt compelled to weigh people going in, note their weight and then compare it with what they weighed coming out. Well, I was just a little squirt, but I had this idea, and it made me laugh: when no one was looking, I would just take a crap among the strawberry plants! No sooner said than done. Then, when we were leaving, our bowl full of strawberries having been weighed and paid for, it was our turn to get on the scale. Grandma was fine, but when my turn came and the scale showed that I'd lost a half kilo, and I saw the crazed look on the face of the lady in the cashier's shack, I couldn't help it, I had to burst out laughing. Sorry about that!