My aunt wants me to read the poem I wrote and read for my sister's wedding two years ago, for my cousin's wedding in a couple of weeks in Dallas (yee-fucking-haw). Except for maybe trying to nail a brides maid, I was gonna be low participation on this thing. I've actually not been shaving for two weeks so I can look as degenerate as possible so that the family will leave me alone. Actually with my family what will happen is that it will be assumed that I am now a criminal, and probably into drugs, and I've got some young boy chained to my bed to serve my wanton needs.

There had better be an open bar. My sister didn't have one. Grrrrrrr. I'm just gonna point to the bottle of Stoli or Grey Goose, and mark it with my scent. My bottle, go away, rawl rawl.

I refuse to take any shit from anyone. No matter how much genetic code we share. This is part of the reason I just don't do christmas anymore. I do not censor myself when asked "When are you going to cut your hair?" , "Would you like to lead us in prayer?" , "So, when are you going to get married and have children?" Answers: "When I fucking feel like it old man." , "I would if my brain was numb enough to believe in fairy tales." , and "When some mad scientist straps me down and forcibly sucks the juice from my balls, and artificially inseminates the chick that I'll have to marry because there will be several large men with shotguns pointed at my head, and even then I'll probably tell them to pull the trigger as I call them pussy ass bitches, go on pull the trigger you faggoty ass faggots." Or something like that.

Hopefully my inebriated toast will make it on video. I will make sure to spread copies everywhere. Unless of course I am mysteriously edited out. Then you can only get the footage by ordering Drunken Relatives Gone Wild.