DAY 182: PROBABLE THOUGHTS THAT GO THROUGH THE FATHERS HEAD WHILE HE PRETENDS TO LISTEN TO ME:

I can't believe she's here again. Every Saturday morning like fucking clockwork. 

And I know she's just here for the awesome lunch. And to drink all my Vodka. Jabber, jabber, jabber. Please can someone just dig my eyes out with a spoon. Or set Pirahnas on my balls. Or burn my face off with a waffle machine. Or intoxicate me with cell phone radiation. Or give me eternal herpes. Anything but this constant jabbering. And watch, next thing she'll be asking me to fix that car of hers again. I hate that fucking car. I wish I had never said I could fix it. I mean, who really needs brake lights? Then while I'm fixing it, she'll probably say something like "oooh, what's that?" and I'll say "It's a spanner." What a retard. In fact I'm seriously beginning to doubt we're even related. As soon as she turns around, I'm going to steal one of her hairs and take it in for DNA testing.