Wench Mum Chronicles

I seriously wonder if my father was forced into marriage/servitude with the Wench Mum. It would not surprise me in the least if she suddenly got constipated, found a "lump" in her stomach, and believed that she was pregnant.

"Papa Wench! Look what you have done to me! Can you feel it moving slightly? That is your doing, Papa Wench! I AM WITH YOUR CHILD! Now what are you going to do about it? Better buy me a rock, and go and see my father to tell him that I am up the duff."

My father being a kind, and honourable man (and somewhat gullible considering that a "baby" is not located in the descending colon of a constapated woman) went to see the Wench Granpa to ask for the crazy woman's hand in marriage. My grandfather being of old school 1) did not believe that people of negro descent were humans, 2) this person of negro descent was knobbing my mother => bestiality 3) would hear no such idiocy as for the two of them marrying. He'd rather see Michael Jackson marry Bubbles any day, but not his prescious little (consipated) daughter to this subspecies!

On June 5th 1972, after the bride had consumed a bottle of epsom salts and "popped" the smelly package, my poor father, like some of his ancestors, became a slave. A slave to the Wench Mum...

And now that Papa Wench has been dead for 17 years I get to see first hand the evil this woman is capable of showing. After a disagreement over an open window her blood pressure shot up and *phew* *pwang* *whoaoooo* (thank god she does not know any martial arts) -- there were projectiles aimed at me with military precision of the People's (Not So) Democratic Republic of Korean army (a.k.a Kim Jogn Il Land). There were tissue boxes, kittie toyz, dirty laundry -- name it, it was flying. She even kicked Belle to get out of her way which started on my deep, calm, but annoying defense.

"Wench Mum, you are 60 now. Please do not act as a 6 year old. Also do not abuse my cats, they have nothing to do with the open window. Just calm down, take a step from you emotions and analyse why you are so angry over an open window. Just take a deep breath and then we can discuss this in a civil manner...."

"WWWHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTT! I AM THROWING THINGS COZ I AM ANGRY!! WHY CAN'T I THROW THINGS!"

(*SIGH*)

"Yes, Wench Mum I can see that you are angry, but is it constructive throw things at me?"

"WWWHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTT! ITS NOT A QUESTION OF RATIONALITY!! I AM ANGRY!!"

(maybe if I sprayed her with the fabreze it would remove her temper and all will be calm...)

Oh if only there was a "kindergarten" to help old people to learn about social skills and etiquette. Just because you have managed to cheat death for 60 years is no excuse for treating fellow humanity -- espeically your progeny -- like their primary care taker. I love you Wench Mum, but no more projectiles, please? It scares the cats, and god forbid if there were grandchildren?! I really do not want to have a court order on you to see your flesh and blood. Oh dear....

Can someone remove her genes from me?