My grandmother, who once kicked me out of her home, likes to pretend that never happened (or perhaps doesn't remember that it did) and periodically has my father invite me to their home for holiday celebrations. So I spent a few hours of Ressurectionfest 2006 there. It was a characteristically dismal affair. The slightest proximity to my uncle Gerald is enough to put me in a state of total misanthropy, such is my revulsion for that ill conceived parody of a man. That's my family. Is that what Jesus died for? At least I got to visit my old books. I have a lot of those. Also, my father makes good very good chicken and stuffing (my alternative to the traditional ham) Now I'm spending a quiet evening in the solitude of my apartment. I get too damn few of those. I thought I would have one last night but got invited to a party at the last minute. Alas, I have too many friends. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful...
Er, very much the opposite actually. Gerald regards the world around him with a fairly benign attitude, I mean he's a fundamentally self obsessed creature to be sure, to the point of being a sociopath (I believe he's read a fair amount of Ayn Rand come to think of it) but he's very nice to most people, mostly because he fears them. He's extremely polite even to people who conspire against him, i.e. Jews/niggers. Gerald does in fact dislike me, but only because I've relentlessly mocked him for many years. My passionate detestation is pretty one sided though.
You don't talk to Uncle Gerald. You don't look at Uncle Gerald. And most importantly, you don't think about Uncle Gerald. Uncle Gerald hates you for breathing his oxygen because it's his and not yours.
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