Caught Lying

"Have you sent the rebates in yet?" My Fucking Father asked me, in that Snappy, Cranky Old Man form he'll be in now until he dies. I don't need that bastard yelling at me, so I said yes.

After dinner Mother asked me the same thing. "Yes, I already sent it." But she kept going on and on about it; it's because she has a rebate that she wants to send and she wants to put them all together, thereby saving a stamp. Then she asked again: "Have you sent in the rebates yet?"

Yes I did, I insisted. And this is where I may have made my mistake: I asked if I could see the rebate. Maybe I could see it and secretly hand it over to her. No, she has it at the store. So she finally asks, one final time, "Did you send in the rebates or not?"

And I finally fucking relent. "Here," I asked, caught in a lie while My Fucking Father overheard the entire conversation while washing dishes in the kitchen. And in my bedroom Mother warned me about gathering up all my stuff that's on the floor in my room or else he'll get mad. Over a rebate, and a stamp.

Get mad? I should be the one who's pissed! I have to be afraid of his goddamn retailiation now that he caught me lying. He can't even fuckin' see I have to lie to him just so he won't yell at me, and he'll just fucking yell at me anyway. I have to be running scared now that he doesn't like that I don't close my closet doors??? Fuck him!!! Every question is an interrogation with that fuck. Is he going to get all bent out of shape now that he knows I lied to him about his stupid goddamn rebates? I shouldn't back down to him. What's he gonna do? I'll just throw all my shit in the closet while I'm gone -- does that make you happy, Father? Is that what you want? Because you are absolutely toxic, Father, a sorry, pathetic excuse for a human being. And I like that I piss you off to the point where you think you have to fuck my shit up. I should just bring back all the stuff you took out of my room back into my room to see what you'll do!

I await what manipulative bullshit you'll pull out of your fucking ass this time, Father. I'll blog about it here. And if it really gets bad, I think we'll have a "discussion" about it, man-to-man. Fuck you and your fucking goddamn mood swings and the petty attitude I learned from you, you son-of-a-bitch.