The year was 2009. I was on Call of Duty on my Wii. Yes it is the best version not the fucking Xbox version you filthy liberal swine anyways I was on Call of Duty. As I was cyberbullying the stupid Kindergarteners who were on the game, screaming their racial slurs and derogatory slang, I made one of them cry right on the mic. That's right you stupid child, I can now extract your tears via the headset I am wearing connected to my barely working Nintendo Wii remote controller (You don't wanna know what happened back in 2007 with the bears and the charcoal grill and the ceiling fan). As I was procuring the sobbing of the stupid miniscule liberal on the game, I was the unfortunate witness to yet another one of Uncle Tony's little outbursts. Frustrated, I power off the Wii and send it back into the deepest dankest corners of my closet, where it belongs with the cult of the cockroaches. I enter the room. Uncle Tony is furiously shitting on the carpet, but he had some MAD constipation so only a mere crumb of poop managed to land from his ass onto the fibers of the now-ruined flooring of the living room. The maid isn't gonna like this one, especially after the incident of April 3rd, 2003 when I attempted to summon the Big Jilm himself with nothing but my dad's dying dry-erase markers and a chewed-up action figure of Peter Puppy from Earthworm Jim, all thanks to my dog, whose name was Carole Ann.
She was a good dog, except for when she habitually decided to urinate all over my rare priceless collection of every 8 foot tall inflatable snowman I managed to raid from the warehouse of my local Wal-Mart by fighting off all the feral rats that were attempting to chew into the already soiled cardboard boxes of all 23 snowmen thanks to poor working conditions. I could see the employee's face as I was doing my tasks. She was about as thin as my dyslexic pediatrician. I'm pretty sure that Wal-Mart shut down back in 2005, or was it 2006? Or was it 2007? Or was it 2008? I do not remember anymore sadly. The health inspector managed to find a lone skin cell of the manager, who was about as fat as a pig I saw at a state fair back in the year my mother attemped to consume a bottle of expired ketchup almost as if it was merely fruit punch. That did not end well. And to think why they banned ketchup in my town. Stupid bitch. Now I can't eat my broiled eelworm any longer. After Uncle Tony managed to drop his browned log straight out of his rectum after well over 2 and a half hours of persistence, he yelled at me due to the fact that we had a noticeable lack of salt in the fridge. Does he not know about my nightly habits? What a fool. He is not really a conservative like he says he is. Only real gamers eat salt.
Even after scolding me about the salt, Uncle Tony would not shut the fuck up. I had to endure the next 6 hours of him screaming "PENIS FART POO POO SEX" and other incomprehensible knowledge about something called an "El Macho". Is that some shitty mexican restaurant or something? I pray to the narcissistic narhwhal that I can escape this hellhole Tony has created for me and my one true love, the maid. You may think it's funny with your statements regarding my mother being a homosexual, though you aren't gonna like it when I tell you I have also committed the act of consenual intercourse with her as well, the maid is your mother. Accept it, just like when I found out that so-called professional gamer "Santa Claus" wasn't real. I nearly lost my psyche after that incident. I tried to acquire a "hot dog sandwich" from the refridgerator, but Tony stopped me, pants completely off. Now he was furiously pissing on the ground. It looked as if I had walked into a waterpark made entirely of piss. That disgusting yellow imitation lemonade from his dangling flaccid sweaty cock and balls completely covering the floor, and now my feet. This is degrading. I just wanted a hot dog. Did they ever potty train that moronic ape of an uncle? It appears that they did not. Uncle Tony is 47 years old.
