My family comes from the old country. I’m not sure which one, we’re not that close, but judging by their behavior, I’d guess Jurassic Park.

nuclear familyI tell ya, my family ain’t nice. They make the Borgias look like the Bradys.

They’re pretty religious though: it’s always ‘Jesus, what the f*ck is wrong with you, Jesus, have you got sh*t for brains?’ They’re pretty devout, though.

Born Again Satanist, I believe is the denomination. They’re always very strict about keeping the Sabbath, sacrificing the innocent, all of that pious stuff. Of course, the Born Agains aren’t into the tradition as much as the emotion of worship. They’re not traditional Satanists; I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

Henry Miller said that men spend a few minutes leaving the womb and the rest of their lives trying to get back in. My only regret is that I didn’t take more of advantage of the situation while I was there.

At least make some long distance calls, empty the bar fridge, run up the womb service tab, that sort of thing. Of course, my mom won’t even let me back in the house now, never mind anywhere else. She says I’m like a malignant tumor: once you get it out of your body, you don’t keep it around for a souvenir.

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But my dad now, my dad is a typical father, a real patriarch, like in that old family movie, what was it? The Godfather, yeah, that’s it. Shoots his load one time into a faulty condom and he holds it against me for the rest of his life (That sounds really disgusting, but I think you know what I mean).

Thinks he did me some fantastic service (Service? Well, it wasn’t me he was servicing, thank God), coming in the wrong place at the wrong time; ‘I have done you this favor, and maybe I will ask you for a favor some time. ‘ Man, you’d think carrying his f*cking notorious last name would be enough. Just trying to get people to spell ‘Beelzebub’ is hard enough, never mind the name calling at school.

Of course, my mom is very diligent, always out proselytizing from door to door, offering the Blasphemy and f*ck Off magazines. It’s a thankless job, but some b*tch has to do it. If she’s a b*tch, I wonder what that makes me?

But really, my family isn’t that bad. They’re very well intentioned, and if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I for one would like to wish them ‘bon voyage!

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