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so I'm playing bejewled blitz on facebook then it.....

the radiologist

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the radiologist

the radiologist

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Turns out, I recieved a letter with no return address in the mail today. It was from my grandfather, who supposedly died 25 years ago. I was too young to attend the funeral and am still zoning into the crosshairs of cross examining elder family members who've claimed to attend said funeral. I know, deep down inside, this event in the past was a setup for currently unknown reasons. This, I know, in fact, is the content of today's letter which vividly described my penis situation at the age of 2, which only through cloudy negative remembrance I hold in heart from contact of my "late" grandfather.

He was a man of honor, a man known throughout the lower region of the Kukuivac mountain region of Poland as a man who artisticly created wholesome marble bread loaves, and who's facial skin appearance mimicked that of Eckrich Cotto Salami. He frequently dated young Slovak gypsy women who were known to make quick pit-stops that of theivery nature at middle-western European goat cheese dairy farmers. His quick rise in the western district of Poland as the man who fathered as many children as Kevin Garnett in his prime, recieved recoginition or embellished noteriety, and at times applause from onlookers and jealous gawkers. This, is the man I've heard epic tales about, from where I'm told my disturbing, quickly uprising in the most insignificant scenario's of anger erupting instantaneously derived from....for he was, or now shown, is still a man who aquires this personality trait that somehow finds its ways to penetrate the youngest of unshaven female vaginas west of the Mississippi.

Now, you can guess, which you already have probably chosen to, this is a turn of events completely unexpected as I woke up this morning thinking the highlight of my severely reuccring meteocre day would consist of deriving a breakfast concoction of fried salt pork rolls filled with blackmarket Russian caviar and Costa Rican pickled watermelon rind...which on a side note was exceptionally delicious. Yet, I'm enthralled at the end of the days events to realize that my grandfather had timely arrived at my side doorstep 10 minutes after recieving this unexpected, revealing letter...that he merely wanted to play a game of chess splitting 3 newly arrived McClassic wraps over a two-straw eggnog millkshake, only to describe my grandmother as a wretched, slithering, slimey troll who entrapped him where no other 11 year old was successful, by acquiring the knowledge of his life's only weak daily need, a distastefully culinary atrocity to most, the mixture of curdled goat milk cheese & a fermented egg of a 3-year fertile European Fesser ground bird. And by acquiring this salty mixture of a menu, and stuffing it into her vaginal cavity protected by freshly untwined sheep wool sewed through an abnormally large labia, she directed my dear grandfather to the lower eastside of Detroit, where she sexually tortured him by waiting for an unweaving labial ceremony taught by the same Slovakian gypsy's who ventured in for theivery.....had, years later, allowed the conceivement of my father, who in turn, with the help of supposed wine sold in plastic containers, birthed his first seed, myself.

I will have to cut this short, for my visit to familytree.com has become long overdue.

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