You know what makes me sick? You know what makes me so mad I just wanna suck the stink out of a skunk?
Yeah – you know what my old lady said to me last night? This woman had the nerve to say she was tired of picking up after me. I’m in the kitchen, right… and she marches in there with a head of steam – like the little engine that could. She puts an empty Tostitos bag… three empty long-necks and a pile of toe nail clippings on the table in front of me – and that girl launches on me.
I mean – she starts in like a cruise missile zeroed in on a Al Qaeda big-wig. She ain’t my mother. She ain’t my maid. She ain’t my slave. And I ain’t no cripple. She says she’s sick and tired of cleaning up after me.
She says she’s tired of living with a slob. She’s tired of being the only person in the house that gives a darn about keeping it neat. And she’s tired of the way I treat her.
I says – Okay, Pearl… let’s talk about being tired. I am tired of getting up by my lonesome every morning and making my own lunch samich… on account of you got to stay in bed and get your beauty sleep. Which – I might add – doesn’t seem to be taking.
I’m tired of dragging my sorry carcass to work every day just to keep you and them two worthless kids in pork chops and Mountain Dew. I’m tired of fixing your car every time you run it into the ground. I’m tired of being the only person in the whole stinking house that earns a real paycheck. I’m tired of taking you losers out to the Denny’s every week because you’re too tired to cook. So guess what, Pearl. I’m a little tired myself.
Okay – technically I didn’t actually SAY that… but I did think it.
Wake up, America. That’s right – and I’m not a-scared to think it again – if she keeps pushing my buttons. So lay off me woman – while you’re still ahead. I’m Earl Pitts, America. Pitts Off.