Go. Away.

Tonight we're all set to have one of my favorite dinners. Said dinner consists of fried shrimp, fried scallops, and giant steak potatoes. I'm writing this at four o'clock, were supposed to eat dinner at six. Normally this would be fine, in fact this should be stupendous. I should be jumping for joy that my favorite food is scheduled to be served in two hours.

I'm not. Wayne's parents just showed up.

I pray to god (I don't actually pray, but its a good figure of speech.) that they leave before its time to eat, well before its time to eat. Damnit. I know they won't. Wayne's mom will waddle her unintelligent ass into the kitchen, look around and say “Whatr' we eatin'?”, and then Wayne will totally break and say “Well, were eating...”. Even if one of them doesn't wonder into the kitchen; theres a race on TV. Oh, yes. Nascar races attract and grasp red-necks like bug-zappers hold flies. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. I hope that when I grow up I get this horrible, cold-hearted reputation so that people won't come and bother me at my place of residence. I want to be this horrible person that people don't just avoid, but they step on the gas when they drive by my house. I want the aisles at the Wal-Mart to clear as I walk past, and I want the Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses to casually skip over my house as they work their way down the lane. They need to leave.

(~Time Passes~)

They stayed. I'm pissed. I'm writing about it.

I just finished “eating”, if you could call it that. It was more like a hurried shoveling of food so that I could get away from Wayne's parents and their stupid questions as fast as possible. Wayne's mom asked me “how I liked school” twice. Twice. I hate when people ask me questions about school; actually I hate it when people ask me questions in general. This feeling doesn't apply to my family or friends, I'm cool with talking to them, it only applies to people I don't trust. I don't trust racists, and Wayne's parents are just about as racist as it gets. Racist to the point that I bet they sleep in KKK robes. Damn I hate it when they ask me questions. If I had any information I wanted them to know I'd give it to them. I want Wayne's dad to open my door while I'm listening to some rap music and make some racist remark, I seriously want him to do it. I would turn the music up as loud as my speakers would allow, stand up, and yell straight at him “OH NO! IT'S THE EVIL NIGGER MUSIC! OGGIDY BOOGIDY CRACKER!”. Ha Ha! I'm laughing out loud right now picturing the horrified look that would appear on his face. Oh man, that thought just made my day, possibly my entire weekend. I've gotta' go, If I don't wrap this up and post I'll forget. Peace.