My Fucking Father is on one of his cleaning jags again.  Stomping around and wiping shit down all morning.  He was complaining so much about his bad foot yesterday morning that he wanted me to mow the lawn for him.  (I couldn't.  I had work.  Seriously.)  But when I came home from Glam Doll last night I saw that the grass was all mowed, and now this.  Bad foot my ass.

And because this fucking red mist of sterility descended upon him, I knew he was going to chastise me again for not cleaning my room up to his specifications.  But this time, on my way out the door, he opened my bedroom door (which I left ajar because I knew he was going to tear through it), and he specifically pointed out the stuff on my nightstand, I think.  He seemed kind of angry, too, moreso than usual.  It makes me think that he might actually clean that shit out, which would piss me the fuck off.

Man, I just wanted a Sunday where I could see the golf tournament.  I might get into an argument with My Fucking Father instead.