I would kill them if I knew how I would get away with it.
I got home and saw much of my shit thrown in the trash and the recycling bin. Had to retrieve some of it, but goddammit, those retired motherfuckers cleaned me out so much I have to let things go.
But I had no idea how fucking crazy they are to clean everything. They didn't tell me they wanted to move the desk around until yesterday morning. That desk has a locked compartment. I replaced the porn that was in there (thank Buddha) with the booze I kept around that I couldn't get around to finishing. I was deathly scared that they would find a key and open it up. And when I came home and Father asked for the key to that compartment (I lied to him and said I didn't have it), I was relieved they didn't get in but was scared that at some point they would be fucking crazy enough to try and find a key to get in.
So for the rest of the night I was trying to figure out a way to open the compartment without them knowing, then figuring out a way to get the booze into a bag, then sneak the booze out of the bag into my car and into storage. I concluded that there was no way because they both have ears like the Bionic Woman and they would know that I do in fact have a key.
I had to go through my things because My Fucking Mother ordered me to, that bitch. While I was going through them, I saw two torn-up bags. These are the kind you get at the Fair, the light kind, made out of polyester or something, and they looked like a rabid got chewed through them.
I had to ask my fucking parents what happened. They pulled the bags through that locked compartment in my desk. They were so fucking determined to get into that compartment that they decided to fucking tear up bags.
That's not all. They left for me several bags for me to go through. I was going through two of them when I saw the bags. Another one, that was out in the living room, was filled with the booze I put in that compartment. I put those bottles in those bags, and these vicious motherfuckers were able to tear through the bags and pull out the bottles, and then put the bottles in the living room.
It goes without saying that this is a goddamn massive invasion of privacy. They wanted to see what was inside my compartment that fucking badly?! This reminds me of the time they came home from Vegas and didn't tell me. Huh, I'm still fucking scarred after that.
I guess I can look on the bright side and note that they don't seem to care that I drink. Whatever, man, these people are fucking psychotic, and they have respect no boundaries from me.
Not like I have before, but I can't trust these fucking people. No goddamn way.
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