Page 10


I don’t like to speak out of turn. I like to think that I was raised in the days where if you didn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. But I’m going to tell you something I promised I would save for the “Dear Abby” column and Bingo Night: I hate my grandson. I hate the little fuck so much sometimes I wonder what my daughter could have possibly done wrong. My God, he grew into such a horror. Every summer, since when he was in middle school, he’s been comin’ down here and telling me all the stupid shit he’d got his mitts in that year. He told me he’s gonna vote for Jill Steain in 2020. Now, I don’t vote because I don’t think voting in America does anything anymore, but Lord knows I had to restrain myself from telling the shit that he’s not even gonna be old enough to make such an awful decision. Dumb ass. He’s been bringing his Xbox down for the past several years or so, and I hear him until the wee hours of the morning howling about how

I Hate My Grandson By Veronica Toone

memes are going to take over the world. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, but it seems like the beginnings of an Internet dependency. He makes me hate the Internet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the new generation embracing whatever technology they see fit, but the little dick is off scrolling or troll-loling or minecrafting or whatever, 23/7. Why 23/7? Because he uses that other hour to whine and eat my homemade vegan cookies without so much as a fucking thank you. The little bastard thinks he’s funny. And look, I get you need to be patient with kids. I do. And I also know he’s at the age where he’s going to say stupid things without any regards to his reputation or, really, with any cognizance whatsoever. My Pacifist nature forbids me do physical harm to anyone, especially my grandson. But I give up. No more. Now he’s gonna see the demons that Grandma’s had to fight all these years. Am I worried I might be developing a savior complex? Maybe. But something needs to be done. This time, he’s coming with me down to the orphanage where



Listen, I’m a pretty reasonable guy when it comes to family visits, especially for a fourteen year old. I go to all the christenings, I eat the gross easter mint jizz, I even held my shitty second cousin’s shitty kid for like fifteen whole minutes while his mom dipped out to eat a few percs in the bathroom. In terms of familial engagement, I kick ass for my demographic. I’m an overachiever. But when it comes to the infamous “Summer visit to Grandma’s”, I’ve had enough. She’s a nutcase. And I tried to cut her some slack. When my Grandpa Jimmy passed a few years ago, she seemed pretty distraught. I was all six pallbearers at the funeral, and she was pretty impressed by that. But it seemed to push her off the edge, at least politically. She showed up to the reception in a Che Guavara tee, and it was pretty much all downhill from there. She doesn’t give me a second of peace, always bombarding me with DemSoc controversies and Leftbook conspiracies about Sean Hannity and Hillary Clinton fucking repeatedly. I’ve done my best to keep up, but nothing I ever

say seems to please her. I said that Bernie could never have won even with widespread democratic support, so she changed my nickname in our Facebook groupchat to ‘Killary’. She moderates a Tankie Pride group with 38,000 members on Facebook, but complains that I’m “too online” when I check twitter twice while I clean the dishes. I spent six hours last week memorizing the wikipedia page for Al Gore, but she just made fun of me for “being on the goddamn tricorder all the time’. I may be on the tricorder grandma, but it’s certainly better than being on Social Security. God, I better get that fucking inheritance or I’m going to have a coronary right there in the lawyer’s office. Fuck Obamacare, if we were free market capitalists this would have been over like a month ago. You know she asked me to go and throw apples at cars yesterday? Who does that? This isn’t some country lane either, she lives directly in the middle of a six-lane highway. When I said no she went outside to do it herself and caused a nine-car pile up. Not calling the cops on her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve had enough.

I volunteer to see how the other half really lives. He’s coming to the firehouse, the food pantry, and the site of the new elementary school I’m helping build. I had hoped that there was just a bit more good in the little troglodyte, but apparently Grandma’s still kinda fucked up from her Jefferson Airplane days. Things used to be swell. We used to do breathing exercises and throw apples at cars—I really thought his third eye was going to open. I even made him a special star chart for him to hang up in his room. But the little shit would rather put Yakity Sax over videos of 9/11. Fine. I’ve tried being nice.Last year, I offered to take him to a play. Do you know what he said to me? “Plays are for cucks.” I don’t think he knows what that word means. My daughter’s vagina didn’t deserve to push this gremlin out of it. I’m taking matters into my own hands, this time. So get ready, you little beast. ‘Cause Grandma’s not fucking around.

I Hate My Grandmother by Jordan Hopkins

It’s not getting any better, either. She’s tripping acid like, all the time now, and she won’t stop talking about Jefferson Airplane and baking vegan cookies at a ferocious pace. I’m strung out. I don’t even know what a third eye is, but I feel like having it opened would probably hurt. We’ve been here for six weeks while my mom cools down from the divorce, and all they do is binge drink and yell at me for watching Lets Plays at 11:00 at night while screaming about the old days of FDR, ‘a real American socialist’. It’s a hostile living environment, honestly. I desperately want to stay on her good side, but even I have my brown-nosing limits. Is there some way I can tell her that Stalin actually was a cis man without causing a generational rift that definitely won’t heal before the Parkinson’s sets in? I need to know for sure that I’m locked into that will before I start listening to El Chapo, or slinging coleslaw at the local firefighters picnic. Geez, you put Yakity Sax over one 9/11 video and this is how they treat you. Maybe I should just vote for Jill Stein in 2020.

Wet Hot American Nonsense  

Yes! This is our very own camp journal from this summer. Did you steal it out of my dresser drawer? Okay, well, I guess that's fine.

Wet Hot American Nonsense  

Yes! This is our very own camp journal from this summer. Did you steal it out of my dresser drawer? Okay, well, I guess that's fine.