You got to be fucking kidding me.  My Fucking Father put a mop to everything in the house tonight.  That's not good.  However, that he didn't act spiteful towards me, not even giving me The Eye, was a good thing.

He even went into my bedroom.  I swear, if he isn't going to put in a lockable doorknob, I will learn and do it myself.  I saw him throw stuff around, move around other stuff and, underneath my desk, tip over my stand of Entertainment Weeklys.  Whatever.

I exercised tonight.  When I came home I put two and two together: My Fucking Father tipped the stand over with the mop, therefore it was wet on the floor.  And so the bottom magazine was in contact with the, uh, wetness of the floor.  I just propped the stand back up and checked that bottom EW, one of the many with Twilight on the cover, and yes, it's wrinkled wet.

Goddamn, My Fucking Father.  He just doesn't give a shit about my stuff, just his work, doesn't he?