Dickerson Cockley Goes to A Family Reunion

 As someone who does not have a family of his own, owing to various tragic misfortunes like reckless abandonment, I often enjoy the company of real families. They prove to me that it is indeed possible, even for a lone sexy adventurer such as myself, to lead a happy and fulfilling life surrounded by people you love.

 My girlfriend Miranda, or maybe it’s Karen, has a family, and she often talked about them as if they were the greatest people in the world. Being the curious and handsome fellow I am, I asked her to invite me to her upcoming family reunion. When she refused, on the grounds that I am supposedly a “dangerous moron with multiple felonies and diseases”, I politely asked her again with a garden hose half-filled with ball bearings. She complied sweetly, or at least her choking mumble sounded like an affirmative answer. Either way, I went.

 When we arrived, it was just as I suspected: there were few beautiful women, and more rude, thoughtless people than one could reasonably expect. It was a disaster, a total catastrophe set off by one hideously inconsiderate person…

 She asked me what my name was, so I punched her in the neck. I’m normally a patient man, but my girlfriend’s grandmother really rubs me the wrong way. She has this little “hearing aid” in her ear that she uses to “hear” things, and it just pisses me off. She’s always rattling on about how much it “helps” her to “hear better”. So when I saw it sitting in its case in the bathroom, I wiped the end of my gigantic penis on it. She later went to the hospital, claiming her ear was on fire and freezing at the same time. I laughed and laughed…

 She’s in the old folk’s home now. They’re better equipped to deal with senile old ladies with ear syphilis.

 My girlfriend’s sister, Deborah, is no better than that crusty old rottencrotch. She had the nerve to call me “erudite”. So I called her a “dumb bitch”, and when she started crying and turned her back, I kicked her son in the kidney for eyeballing me. The police were called, of course, and they rushed in spouting a lot of noise about “abuse of a small child” and “assaulting the mentally-challenged”. I told Debby she should be ashamed of herself, and then threatened to file a lawsuit against the police department for insulting me.

 The police asked me to leave in a manner unsuited to a man in my position. That is, the natural position of a man holding a two-year-old retard with a ruptured kidney upside-down by the ankle. They asked me again, and I once again refused.

 When they advanced, I swung my secret weapon at them.

 The little screaming retard caught the first cop in the face, head-first, and I made good my escape. I dropped the bleeding mongoloid on to the ground and headed toward the only exit: a window some twelve feet above the so-called “door” leading to the “front yard”. I had seen many of Miranda/Karen’s relatives come in and out of this “door” all day, but I wasn’t fooled. Dickerson P. Cockley knows a trap when he sees one.

 Brandishing yet another small child, the sexy adventurer’s weapon of choice, I crashed through the window leading outside. The “window” turned out to be a deviously positioned air-conditioning vent. As I fell back to the floor with the kid underneath me, I realized my first mistake: these police are crafty. How else would they have known that my only weakness is aluminum venting?

 When the crowd gathered round, I stood and brushed myself off, thanking each of them for their concern and assuring them that I was fine. I nearly tripped over some little boy that someone had carelessly left on the floor in front of me, so I leaned over and punched him in the back of the neck. When everyone gasped, I admonished them for such bad supervision.

“This young man could have been seriously hurt, you heartless fools!”

 They were duly cowed by my righteous indignation.

  I had not made it more than five feet away from the crowd when something hard hit me in the head. The last thought I had before I lost consciousness was, “Someone move that old lady nearer the campfire. She’s going to need to thaw before we can make the soup.”

 From my awful experience, I can say that family reunions are the worst thing about this whole wretched country. Stupid, violent people like Miranda/Karen/Herbert’s family should be locked away in tiny rooms with toilets attached high on the walls so they have to climb up and down to go to the restroom or risk peeing on themselves when they try to aim up at it. Also, there should be ninjas and alligators.

To Be Continued…

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