You Can’t Fix Stupid (I know, I’ve tried…)
June 25, 2021. Arizona, in the company of heathens.
Dear Teirny….
Listen close, princess….. if I want the opinion of a butthole I’ll bend over and fart…. Wait, wait princess that was rude and it just dawned on me that you can’t fix stupid. And I gotta tell you, oh how do I put this delicately, you’re a dullard, you’re dim. you’re a soggy pop tart… You’re so simple if you were a spice you’d be flour.
You smack your food like heifer chewing cud, you have one volume; super fucking loud and to be honest nobody should be so proud to mouth off the dumb shit that you spout so readily…. but you can’t fix stupid. .
Seriously, you want to be a cook? You can’t cook minute rice without burning it to the bottom of the pan. Let’s see, you’ve ruined six pots that way. You smoke the house out with the black carcinogenic smoke every gawd damn time you cook anything. I’ve personally witnessed you burn microwave popcorn at least 12 times but alas, you can’t fix stupid.
You cant find a trash can to save your life, you leave bloody band-aides floating around wherever you go and your’re too fat and lazy to properly dispose of your nasty filthy used tampons and maxi-pads…. or to wash your own dishes.
If you got hired at McDonnald’s they’d fire you the first time they found one of your fat nasty pussy rag tampons stuffed at the back of a cabinet (which wouldn’t take long) but gawd-damn, you can’t fix stupid. Yeah…. so you just keep lying to yourself and your dad with your pipe dreams of being a chef… Gawd what a dummy!
Princess, its a real fucking drag living in the same apartment as you…. your gross, loud, lazy, stupid and I’m tired of asking you to throw your bloody vagina rags in the trash… You’ve lived with us for almost a year now yet I have to ask every day for at least six days every fucking month that your stinky moon time arrives for you to throw that shit away.
SO, from now on if find that you’ve stashed one of those nasty things under the bathroom sink, or leave it stuffed into an empty toilet paper roll that you’ve left on a counter top for us to find I’m going to start stuffing them into your pillow cases… stupid asshole…. gawd what a fucking bimbo, if you had another brain it’d be lonesome. When you were born your parents should have tossed you and kept the afterbirth.
STOP FEEDING THE ARIZONA COACH ROACHES WITH YOUR NASTY MOON BLOOD.. YOU”RE GOING TO TURN US ALL INTO WEREWOLVES. MOON BLOOD CAUSEs LYCANTHROPY!
P.S. Just to clarify, I’m not shaming her for having a monthly moon cycle, that’s natural…. no, I’m shaming her for being too fucking lazy to put her tampons and maxi-pads in the trash can where the garbage goes. And seriously, for the first three months I asked Jen to pull her niece aside and say something but that diplomacy proved fruitless. Another three months were spent with me gingerly pulling herside and politely requesting the change. Well, it’s been a fucking year and she is still stuffing her bloody pussy rags in the closest most convenient nooks and crannies because she’s a fucking disgusting idiot. Enough is enough. I’m sorry that you’re too dim-witted to have any common sense of hygiene… you’re fucking gross!
June 28, 2021. Phoenix Arizona.
“Tee hee hee,” she trollops like a boob without a nipple, “I’m stuck in the shower.” I played it cool, but inside I was screaming. I wanted to tell her, “It’s push, not pull, sweetheart. Just remember the P.” But I kept my trap shut. I didn’t feel like watching her trip over the punchline all night. “Fuck you Zach!” she burps past her cud… No thanks, princess, I don’t want to contract a case of stupid.
She rolled into town and immediately hit a low note, getting pinched at Walmart. And it wasn’t some high-stakes heist, either. Just a five-dollar phone holster. Nincompoop.
Before the ink was dry, she was playing midnight doctor across the street with Scott—a sixty-five year old relic so greasy he makes my skin crawl. I bet that old man’s junk tastes like a museum exhibit. It’s a laugh, seeing as she’s failing every course in her remedial school. The real kicker? That old man’s junk is probably the smartest thing she’ll ever swallow.
June 30, 2021. Phoenix Arizona.
Princess Teirny, she stood out like a sore thumb; a seventeen-year-old junior high drop-out… a loud-mouthed know-it-all, a gum-chewing bumpkin with a heart full of mischief and a brain full of fluff chewing cud like it was her last meal. The kind of trollop who strutted around thinking the sun rose and set on her fat opinion with a bright future stretched ahead of her, a future of being a spoiled rotten dim-witted nuisance.
She’s had a knack for making my skin crawl; a seventeen year old thumb-sucking, pacifier-slurping burlap sac of duh that refused to get the memo after a full year of tender diplomacy. It was like trying to teach a dog to play chess… pointless, really, and the sound of slamming doors in the still of the night? That’s no sweet symphony, darling. It’s the bitter discord of stupidity unleashed.
Seventeen years old and still craving the comfort of a thumb, a pacifier dangling from her lips, deliberately oblivious of the filth she unleashed with every bloody rag drippin’ and discarded without a care. Disgusting heathen! Diplomacy would only go so far; I chose to peel myself away from this cardboard cutout of humanity, resolving to bake in my van like a forgotten loaf of bread under the blazing Arizona sun because it was a sweeter fate than enduring her daily onslaught of stupidity.
Her father, that charming piece of sleaze, his words still wafting like a frothy vapor, ‘Can I borrow your van? I need to go pick up my fucking retard daughter caught shoplifting at Walmart…’ That line played on a loop in my skull. After nine months of her tripping over her own shadow, I was sold. She was a smudge on a clean window, a simple pimple on the backside of life, a crumby excuse for a person. She was the loose thread on a cheap suit, a cosmic mistake.
