Triste

   
   "Triste"
   
   When they're all against you; next, you know you're on the right path--that path less traveled, not gelled into the gregarious toxicity of Internet porn, envy, false testimony, and all the rest.  Verily, sad is a man with no friends; sadder is a man with no enemies.
   For six years nobody has taken my sick mother outside save me.  Just one phony trip to Carolina, a big, fat red herring.  None of her grandchildren visit, nor her son.  The day of her false diagnosis, we didn't see him for four months.  Was in Europe too, neglecting his mother.
   That son takes a plethora of psychiatric medication for panic attacks, anxiety, clinical trepidation--always thinking he's having a heart attack.  Two of his children are jacked up on psychiatric medication as well, one having attempted suicide, and still contemplates it.  But contemplation is different than attempt--this dude actually attempted.  His father loves teen porn and drinks heavily on the grape.  In Vino Veritas.  
   The French film of 2012, Amour, showcases how a paralyzed woman is neglected and abused by her caretaker; next, smothered by her husband.  I've seen this movie in real life baby.  They detest my mother for being alive.  Doctors said she would be dead years ago, as they threw five Haldol a day down her throat; next, five Xanax a day.
   But I have all the footage of me taking care of her, Sheriff.  I brush, bathe, feed, massage, well, basically do everything, while they wait for her to die, hoping.  I have plenty of video.  Too bad your men wouldn't watch, and phony physicians call me bipolar when I've never been down a day in my life--a cabbage is too brilliantly stupid to be depressed.  I have no loss of interest.  I allegorically make wicked love to your wife and all evil women.   I'll post some of the videos, here and there, before I contact the Feds, if I haven't all ready.  
   Her son and daughter-in-law have done some real wicked shit.  I guess that's why their son was swinging from a rope.  And he's a nice kid, if he only had a father that didn't flog the bishop to teenage porn, but who can blame him, for his wife looks like she's been kicked in the face by a donkey.  
   And of course Rh negatives are nothing but mutations.  Even so, that makes us totally Homo Superior.  The rest of you are monkey bloods, swinging from trees.  Feed the monkey Sheriff.  If only your genitalia was as big as a banana.  Your wife will find me, only telepathically.  I'm kidding.  Or maybe not.  I can't do anything with my mind.  I have a 9th grade education.  Didn't ascend the scholastic ladder of academia and have an eight year vacation in high school and some Bush League college, taking vodka shots out of my frat brother's asshole.  And if I struck anybody with a cane--where's the evidence?  Where's the bruises or scars?  It's called false testimony--to get rid of my mother and me, for we are a burden to a man who doesn't want to honor his vows, and a son who despises his aged mother due to an Oedipus Complex.  If he only knew the words of Solomon, the anti-Freudian:  "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old."