Grand Mother-F

my grandmother just got pissed off. yelling and shit. among the many things i don’t understand about that crinkled-up windbag is these two pieces of mmmmmuuulshit.

• why she always got to yell about me to my mom in dialect, like i don’t understand that shit.
• why she always threatens to move out and live in the salvation army, cos that is never gonna happen.

now i don’t speak all that stuff, although i wish i did, cos it would make watching drama serials on cable alot easier. diu le lou mo ok, that’s all i know. and obviously i don’t use that. but that doesn’t mean i don’t know what the hell she’s talking about. telling my mom to tell me not to raise my voice at her. hell i’d shut up if i didn’t have to breathe your mustard gas stench every damn day, grandma. wouldn’t kill you to take a damn bath now and then.

and she can move to the salvation army for all i give a hot diggity damn. hot diggity for emphasis. cos she has been saying that since two years ago, and that shit is never gonna happen. yeah right she comes over to take care of me. that, and the big tv, the nice couch, the toaster oven to heat up her stinking (literally) food, the space to put all her rubbish, and the fridge. man. the fridge has got one shelf for her shit, and sure there’s stuff that stays there one or two days. but there’s been stuff in her shelf in the fridge that been there for about two months.

i bloody counted.