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My deformed son is a real ass hole. Have you read his journal? Have you? No. I didn’t think so. So don’t go passing judgment on me. Not only does the little bastard cost a bundle, but he really has no shame about the whole thing. Get this. Just yesterday he stared at me, tears brimming from his beady little eyes set deep within in that horribly twisted brow, and said, “Father, I know, no matter what my classmates say, regardless of how many adults recoil in fear as I walk down the street, despite the whispers of the majority, all that counts is what’s on the inside!” I mean who says stuff like that? Who? He’s an insufferable jumble of execrable clichés, clumsy sentimentality and sickly-sweet platitudes. I mean it’s unbelievable. And his face. Ugh. He’s got this face. Man. It’s as if some beefy unemployed laborer from a crummy east European country took his big hairy fist and bashed it in my son’s face at its most malleable point in his development in the womb. The overall effect is that of a horrible sucking action, as if a singularity churning somewhere deep the center of his yam-shaped head had been pulling all the flesh, bones and musculature into a point of infinite mush but suddenly stopped mid suck. But my son is right. It is what’s on the inside that counts most. And by any measure he is complete and total dick. “Oh look how brave I am! Oh, hey check me out! I just went to the grocery store! I suffered the stares of the ‘normals,’ but held my big deformed fucking head high! I’m a survivor! Oh, father, father, I looked in the mirror today and wrote a shallow poem about it with the word beholder in it. Oh father, we are all the wearers of masks, they are the masks society burdens us with by deforming our true personalities.” And blah, blah, blah. I mean, it’s bad enough I have to raise him, and feed him for the love of God. But I’m not even allowed to be critically honest with him because then everyone starts in with the unconditional love crap. Well, you listen to him harangue you about the real nature of identity for an hour and tell me who the real victim is.
Date Written: December 07, 2005
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