The Manny Tapes (Final Chapter)

from November 19, 2007:

I wish the boy could actually catch a ball when I throw it to him. We’ll be sitting on the floor and I’ll toss the ball to him, which he stares blankly at as it slowly rolls by him. Rolls over his hand, even. Slowly turns his head to follow the ball as it rolls past. Doesn’t hear me sigh “fucking Christ.” So now after the ball has rolled another 10 feet he excitedly springs into action, taking off to crawl and get it. But it’s not like he crawls to the ball, gets it and brings it back for round two. Cause by now the ball has rolled by the couch, the pile of pillows, somehow snuck through the folded up comforter on the floor, and of course has landed right in the pile of burning syringes that is lying on top of a rattlesnake that is hurt and not looking to be generous with his personal space. And the boy is hurtling towards it, so now I hafta drag my fat ass up off the floor, every bone and muscle snap-crackle-popping and beat him to the gotdam ball. Fucking christ. “Catch.” Grrrrrrr!!!














"Hahahaaha!! Xmas I hope you don't catch no shit disease while wiping my ass, you stupid fat fuck!!!"