To the Boss:
Your “people” are disgustingly rude! Your “substitute” came thirty minutes late! The kid is NOT that committed! He’s faking his musical ability and holding out his talent for the other two guitarists, who were waiting patiently. He gave me the creeps and didn’t seem to make eyeball contact or smile or wave as much to me like he used to after seeing his weird red hickey mark across the front of his collar bones two weekends ago.
So it’s true. You, your substitute, and maybe your Mom are really after “the money”. And this came from one of our kinds – a very perspective fighter of truth, by the way. As for your Mom, she left noontime for the island that day. I can’t believe she’d leave your Dad to visit the island with her “sister”. I guess y’all don’t celebrate holidays as a family – American style.
Instead y’all busy yourselves with other distractions, such as your stupid friends and their unrighteous/high-brow lifestyles of the rich and famous while riding on the Christian moral conduct of “niceness”. Phooey! Fakers! So when’s she coming back to “unite” her broken family, huh?
Anyway, I “borrowed” Mr. G’s guitar and played simple chords at the first fret. Your Dad was sitting behind me and to this left was your twin’s name. Mr. G offered me to play more but my damn finger nails were too long and I didn’t want to scratch the wooden frets. We sang until 2040 PM, a little over thirty minutes over.
After choir rehearsal ended Tuesday night, one of the leads joked that your Dad was a “lonely man”. So that alluded something along “sexual favors”. Okay. Then I’ll let my neighborhood watchers know that the tallest/loudest singing lead of this group lives in the third house facing north, up four streets northbound on MY long stretch of road.
As for your Dad, he was kind enough to bring a plastic bag of his persimmons prior to rehearsal. He asked if we had some but I told him we had two persimmon trees and had given out our share of fruits. Later, he suggested to one of the lead for us to sing Filipino X-mas music of which I sang the first verse in our language along with him. I told him that I learned that music from our vinyl record, which I motioned with my right hand in a big circle.
Later, he was bragging about wanting to singing Silent Night in French. Then I told him I could sing the whole first verse in German and did so but only half-way. You assholes don’t when to stop your fugly faces from flapping its bragging pie holes! WTF does he give himself too much credit in the Italian culture/language? Are you fuckers ashamed of being dark/fugly monkeys to proud to come down from your high-brow branches? Idiots.
Oh and forget about your Dad attending a turkey meal with his friends. That’s damn creepy coming from an old man without his wife and children. Normally, families celebrate over at “grandma’s” house or other familiar territory of excited preparation for the feast among loved ones. I attempted to invite him but it wasn’t sincere enough because we have celebrated after all these years with our IMMEDIATE family only.
I don’t know if the twit will be joining us because she is too paranoid to eat our food Made in America. Now the boy has awoken to the fact that our human forms will die anyway and that being a health fanatic puts undue strain on the indwelling spirit to enjoy its temporary incarnation as a stupid and violent human/t/oid. He has eaten almost all the organic pistachios (one bag of sea salt and another bag of something with spice and pepper). And I know that my favorite “person” ate thick slabs of steak meat (per an old blog entry)! Hah!
So you see, chump. I’ll ask you for the last time: Will you continue hanging out at our local parish, knowing the people are known gossipers, including your Mom, though harmless but really TOO involved in the affairs of other and sincerely honest with no ill-intent of normal facts of life? Yup. If I had one wish, I’d poof out of there and the only way is to move out of town, which is the only reason/excuse I could think of in order to ESCAPE trouble. Eek!
And for your reference, you had one of my personal checks in payment for a choir gown. That address label contains my current/home/mailing address. Take the last two digits of my home address and deduct six to arrive at the psychos home address. Notice the two middle numbers are the same: that’s Masonic, which means she’s under “their” control symbolically and there’s nothing I could do to stop her mind-controlled insanity. It’s my karma for being VERY naughty towards those I love!
Huh,
Flynn…
P.S. I noticed one sincerely professional “brother” has the potential towards harmless “friendliness” among “bayans”. Of course, the wife is a sweet person but I could see the toughness behind her thin/pursing lips. You’d have to be ignorant like me NOT to “pick-up” of these subtle vibrations/energies/attitudes. I’m getting keener in my observations but must continue my studies among these “humans” to avoid assuming/pre-judging/whatever. They are confusing.
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