Today I had to drive my uncle to Weslaco. He had to go pick up some deer head or some bullshit like that from the taxidermy place. We got there and waited for a while for the guy to come out. As we waited my uncle started telling me about smoking pot and how it would ruin my life. The usual bullshit. The guy came out and opened the office for us and we walked in. The whole place was lined with deer horns and what not. It was like a house of death. It was cool.
My uncle and the guy talked for a while and as I listened the guy was telling my uncle how he had bought over $300 in tickets to some wrestling thing in Houston. I stood there and just looked down. The guy went on and soon said, " Well i have to go now. I have to say Happy Birthday to my son." God dammit. The one thing that my father had not said to me on the day of my birthday this guy was saying to his son. Not only that but he got what he had wanted most for his birthday. Fuck you dad. Why couldn't you do something like this for me. I feel like shit.
He fucking told his son happy fucking birthday and my dad didn't tell me shit. I hate my father. I hate him with a passion strong enough to outburn the fires of hell. Sometimes I just want to go up to him and beat the living shit out of him. I can still remember one time. We had gone to Wal-Mart and I went inside while he waited outside in the van. I snuck up on him and reached my hand in and grabbed his neck. Except when I did that, for some reason I wrapped my hand around his neck and squeezed. He pulled the key out of the ignition in attempt to stab my hand seeing as how he did not know it was me. He almost made contact with my hand before I grabbed his hand with my other. I looked at him and he said, " You try that one more time and I will run this key through your hand." When he said that he said it with a sort of seriousness in his voice. For hours after that we did not talk.