Up until now, I've pretty much kept my disapproval of the manner in which this family conducts itself to personal correspondences on the telephone and birthday cards. However, after an absolutely ghastly year in 2009, it's obviously time for a complete and total public shaming of certain individuals who will be identified by their god given names. Back when I was a little girl, we had to wear a big, red letter on our blouses that represented our personal crimes and indiscretions for all to see. In keeping with that tradition, this issue of our Hayes Family Newsletter is going to be devoted to identifying and correcting the abhorrent behavior of my selfish children and shameless, disrespectful grandchildren. You may have noticed that I took a lot of pictures at our family gatherings over the past year. I did that in order to document your savagery because I've grown tired of hearing family members deny committing these acts every single time we get together.
The Chucky Cheese Incident
Almost everything that's wrong with this family was on full display at Mikey's birthday party last year. Frankly, I don't care for Chucky Cheese for numerous reasons. Firstly, the place is absolutely filthy within minutes of it being cleaned and the staff walk around like zombies who've had their souls ripped from them. Those Chucky Cheese murals they paint on the walls look like Soviet era propaganda posters with some giant rat smiling down on you. He's probably smiling because he knows that he's already got your money and it's everyone for themselves down in the mobs of screaming, unattended brats clamoring for their turn on those incessantly noisy video games. I don't understand why anyone would subject themselves to this mindless hell outside of a social obligation. Of course, the enablers that my grandchildren call parents cater to their every whim and create an obligation to attend these sordid affairs in the first place. To add insult to injury, the people which I am embarrassed to acknowledge as my family, are now the only people in town who have been officially and permanently banned from the Chucky Cheese. Out of all the mongoloids and white trash in this town, my family gets singled out as being too unruly for a restaurant that's nothing more than an isolated, indoor riot. While I couldn't possibly mention every single deviant act that I personally witnessed, its safe to say that they may be summed up in the following sections.
The Extremely Poor Choices Of Clothing
It seems these days that age appropriate attire has gone the way of the Dodo bird. Middle aged women are running around dressed up like teenagers and pre-pubescent girls are strutting around like little hookers. Spandex may be age appropriate for anyone who's exercising and doesn't want to chafe but a sedentary 200 pound woman with a 10 pound tumor in her abdomen had better be wearing a circus tent with no entrance. I do not want to see what's under the big top in more ways than one.
The men in this family wear nothing but sweat pants and blue jeans accompanied by a rock and roll T-shirt. I do not understand why a baseball cap must be worn with the bill facing in the opposite direction of it's intended manufacture. Do your necks require shade? You are definitely not fooling anyone into thinking that you're notrednecks by having a creamy white nape through this abortive and unseemly malfunction of millinery.
The only thing worse than all of these offensive and inappropriate items that you people wear are the filthy slogans, in large block letters, which are printed on them. I don't find it reasonable that a 10 year old girl should be wearing a shirt that says "I Fuck For Nutter Butters". After seeing that, I find it impossible to buy any more of these obviously sinful cookies.
Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Do
This may come as a shock to alleged adults in this family like Marcy, Shelley and Phyllis but there's a different standard of behavior in public that is far different from what you believe is acceptable in the privacy of your home. I can assure you that when you have guests in your home and they are eating at the dinner table, it is not an appropriate time to show and tell information about your medical problems. The three of you seem to think that menstruation is some kind of contest where the woman with the worst symptoms deserves some kind of pity trophy. Thanks to you, I've been having difficulty enjoying cottage cheese or tomato soup since last Christmas and I wouldn't be surprised to find out that everyone within earshot at Chucky Cheese won't be eating pizza with cheese and red sauce on it anytime soon as well.
I might be an old woman but I am aware of the boyhood ritual of engaging in a contest where the participants attempt to urinate the furthest distance from a specified point. It may come as a surprise to you but back in my prime I managed to win several of these contests with my brothers. It's cute and innocent when it's done by a group of adolescents, out behind the barn, but when a group of grown men do it in public and use a Skee-Ball machine for the scoring system it's considered an act of indecency.
The Constant State Of Perversion
The obsession with sexuality in this family has now reached the point where there isn't a single object on this planet that does not somehow resemble human genitalia. I am the mother of five children and I happen to know what a penis looks like. Since the majority of objects that you identify as reminding you of penis are not even remotely shaped in that manner, I can only assume that Lois, Gina and Jeannie need to find their second and third husbands in a freak show tent at the carnival.
The men in this family aren't any better. Is there a single representation of the human form that you will not mount in public? If this is all some kind of joke, it stopped being funny about ten years ago. Is it any wonder that little Mikey started bumping and grinding that poor man in the Chucky Cheese costume? It might have been written off as an isolated incident if my lecherous son Gerald and his whore wife, who's name I need not mention, would have kept an eye on my grandson. Unfortunately, after humping the Chucky Cheese robot band with his parents cheering him on, that opportunity to save face was lost.
I Will Write You Out Of My Will
If my five sons and the tramp-stamped hussies they married do not clean up their act, they will find themselves removed from my last will and testament. Since all my granddaughters are turning into foul mouthed little whores, they won't be needing an education and might as well be working at the Kitty Kat Ranch as soon as they turn 16. Since all my grandsons are becoming perverted, unhygienic misogynists, they won't be needing an education either. I'm sure they'll end up as carnies, trailer trash or service station attendants. My money would be better spent on some 300 pound home health care aid from Jamaica that doesn't even know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
Myrtle Turns 100
I bet you're all feeling proud of yourselves now that I've been proven wrong, once again, about the imminent demise of Myrtle and that I will no longer be able to count imaginary money in front of your faces in expectation of winning our long standing wager. Per our agreed arrangement, I am proud (yet in total disbelief) that Myrtle has now become the first centenarian in our family. My offer of double or nothing if that woman sees 105 still stands.