What’s my lopsided love remedy?
Text my brother on his birthday with this.
Happy Birthday bro, despite you not acknowledging my birthday since I came out as a Stay At Home Shemale Comedian outside of texting happy birthday bro once in 7 years.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot, don’t do heroin on your birthday.
And get Hanukkah gifts for all 3 of my kids if you want to rekindle any semblance of a relationship with them ever again.
You’re getting the entire inheritance anyway, once you share this text with mom soon after.
And when you give thanks for Thanksgiving with mom and dad in Arizona without me, my wife or 3 kids, thank your demons for convincing mom and dad that your ex-wife was the driving force behind your decision to add heroin to your resume into your early forties as if doing blow for 4 decades straight, after only hearing last call from the bathroom stall wasn’t enough.
I don’t care about being the sloppy second son anymore.
I don’t care about mom and dad betting against my capacity to achieve full blown independence again.
I don’t care about you being a sketchy, sniveling, drug addict bitch who can’t even muster the class to wish me good luck at my new job on Monday, which is the 1st full time opportunity I’ve had to feed my family in 7 years.
I don’t care about your life always being deemed more important in mom and dad’s eyes because of your innermost need to feel special, compared to the other mere spoiled, dumb son over here.
I don’t care about your opinions on anything, including mom and dad’s judgement of my talents, direction or beliefs anymore.
I don’t care that mom and dad would do dick for me if I wanted to get divorced.
I don’t care that mom and dad don’t treat you like the regrettable dumb fuck one.
I don’t care that you talk shit behind my back in the service of preserving your drug money from mom and dad.
I don’t care that dad gets an extra glint in his eyes when trying to upsell your endless fuckitude again.
I don’t care that mom made Yom Kippur all about whether I’d help you move.
I don’t care that mom wasn’t feeling the need to wish me a happy Jewish New Year in return because she was all over your morose dick again.
I don’t care about how you’re the sorry excuse for why and mom and dad, never spend more than a week or 2 back here every summer to see the kids.
I don’t care that your legal fees and divorce lawyer fees are the reason they reneged on taking the kids to California for Spring Break allegedly.
I don’t care about you not being a conspiracy theorist.
I don’t care about you playing the forced intermediary on mom and dad’s behalf anymore, whenever they want to meddle in my life again.
I don’t care about mom breaking into cankers sores on your behalf anymore.
I don’t care about mom only focusing on the center of your existence whenever she visits back east to see the grandkids allegedly.
I don’t care about lopsided love anymore because God put me on this earth to ensure I don’t make the same mistake with my 3 Pescatarian Comedian friends, that being my children, Matilda, Arthur, and Samuel.
That’s right, like mom and dad you refuse to acknowledge the fruits of my labor, in this case being my book The Koshertarian Comedians, which will sell huge, mark my words, no thanks to any emotive encouragement from you, mom and dad, that’s for damn sure. The follow up sequel hit book will be the Pescatarian Comedians, forget about it.
I don’t care about trying to impress you, making you laugh, or making you feel special anymore, because you’re just going to focus on you and not my kids.
Mom says, you’re making money now. I say, “Take the boys out to a baseball game.” And all I get is more bullshit promises in return.
I don’t care that you, mom and dad are A plus narcissists times infinity compared to me anymore.
I don’t care that lying, deceiving, downplaying, and minimizing has become second nature to you all.
I don’t care because I’m the star parenting genius and your enablers aren’t.
I don’t care because come Monday at my new job, will mark the greatest recruiter winning streak of all time.
I don’t care because I’m taking my family to fucking Jamaica man for Spring Break and you’re not, because you don’t have a family, but I do despite mom yearning for versions of you the most inside.
I don’t care because all of my kid’s teachers want to clone future versions of them.
I don’t care because I’ve got 3 masterful books to self-publish or sell.
I don’t care because I get to work for an older Jewish woman with style, class and a sense of humor now, who’s a loving, local, involved Grandma no less.
I don’t care because I’ve got 136 comedy records to convert into 99 cent E books for sales while having my genius artist son design all the covers after his 3rd grade teacher last night described him as the best art student she’s ever had. Especially, after she laughed long time when I said. That’s why, I call him Millionaire By 10 for a reason, Challah. Thank you very much.
I don’t care about lopsided love from mom and dad anymore because I’ve endless sheets of comedy gold, endless a plus, laugh yanker nicknames for my 3-fuss free, pitch perfect children and Dad doesn’t it, Waste Of Height, because it’s a term of affection but a great title lead for my all-star collection of funny man flash fiction stories, Waste Of Height, Really Short Stories. I like getting milage about my dad’s endless assholishness on my behalf.
I don’t care because I’ve got one more final comedy record special to record from home on Sundy called Spoiled Dumb Son before I start cashing checks 20K commission checks on the regular while you’re hooked up to a weed pen on a forklift.
I don’t care because my Shabbat Shalom Ramble is going to kick into extra fucking high rollicking gear tonight.
I don’t care because before my birthday in April, I’ll have a screenplay Gum King Of New York to blow Tarantino away with.
I don’t care about your hurt feelings of dejection in the face of my towering genius anymore because now I live for watching hacks cry.
I don’t care about lop sided love because this is the winter, I don’t drink a drop of alcoholic, even hard fucking Kombucha, so I can finally achieve Do It All Dad Dunking out glory on my lucky 47th to make Dragon’s Lung’s year finish on fire.
I don’t care about lopsided love anymore because it only illuminates what beautifying magic the opposite can be.
Like Ayn Rand said, “New love is always waiting around the corner. And I plan on being its biggest spreader as I become the Relo King Recruiter of North White Plains as I scurry to score jobs and monster commission rips for any remaining in demand tech talent who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of New York, yet. As Jimi sang on Jimi Hendrix Blues, “I hear my train coming, and pretty soon I’m going to buy this town and put it all in my shoes. That’s what I’m going to do.” Jimmy lives, Challah. I might even pretend to give a shit about my freedom buying success that will allow me to kill on stage eventually down the line too.
Lopsided Love woes in my bruised heart are the off the fucking list, starting now, forevermore.
Thank you, sweet Lord, for my lopsided love remedy blog post very, very much.