It's been a long time since I've talked about my brother and/or Cuntzilla. That's mainly because I thought they were finally learning some life lessons the hard way. (excuse me while I choke back some bitter, cynical chuckles) Yeah, that didn't happen so much.

Earlier this year, my brother and Cuntzilla declared bankruptcy. Normally, this would serve as a sobering wake-up call; to Cuntzilla, it meant, "Yay! The nice judge made all the bad bills go away, so I can spend money again! True, it's cash money instead of the pretty shiny credit card money, but ... Yay!"

For example, Runtzilla's 3rd birthday is upon us. For most people, that means three candles on a cake. To Cuntzilla, it means three entire parties. Themed parties. One in a restaurant. One with her little "friends". One big family party. All for a child who screams and runs away from anyone besides her mom and dad, and I am not exaggerating. Double Post will back me up here -- as would Dilf, if he still read my blog.

And Sunday was my dad's birthday. My brother and Cuntzilla stopped by, after their restaurant Runtzilla celebration, to drop off Runtzilla. So they could go to the movies. Happy Birthday, Dad! Thanks for the free babysitting. We would've come for your birthday dinner, but... we already ate.

Oh, yeah, they did drop off a present for my dad -- a book of soduku puzzles. The kind you'd buy at the grocery store. Because they're poor!

And this Sunday will be Runtzilla's third third birthday celebration, in a park. The whole family will be there, including Cuntzilla's clan. I'm picturing something like this:



Yeah, the Cuntzilla family doesn't get along very well.

I haven't bought a present yet. I think it's psychological. I can't bring myself to shop.