Early this morning the doorbell rang, so down the stairs I trudged. I could faintly make out the shadow of a slight figure from beyond the front door window. I cautiously approached, careful to avoid making even the slightest sound (I rarely open the door...if I don't know you, I'm not home... What can I say? Living in the Vancouver eastside ghetto rules). Peeking through the blinds I was shocked by the spectacle which greeted me... What's this? Planet of the Apes has finally become reality? O wait, it's just my uncle. Damn he's ugly.

I guess I should be more sympathetic considering his face was severely bashed in a few years ago... But he was nasty pre-beats too. Here's the deal on the bad-ass of the family. During the 80's, whilst uncle alan was in highschool, he dug the whole drug scene. The delicacies ranged from marijuana to cocaine. To support his habit, good old uncle al and his doped up friends would break into cars and steal stereo systems. And strangers weren't the only victims. He knew my grandma's pin for her bank card and would often withdraw her funds as well. Anyways, back to the face bashing. My uncle was spending a late night drinking in one of the local sleazy hotel bars. As he made his way across the parking lot towards the bus stop, he was confronted by three angry women wielding baseball bats. I dunno who they were...maybe they were hookers my uncle owed money to, or maybe they were his pimps and he just wasn't cutting it in the giggolo scene, or maybe they were just a bunch of crazy drunk bitches. So, yeah, they totally beat the shit out of him. He was in the hospital for a while, had his jaw wired shut, and ate most of his food pureed and sucked up through a straw. But he's fully recovered now. Except he's just uglier than he used to be.

So what's my uncle up to now? Did he see the err of his ways? Did he make a miraculous turnabout? Let's see... He's in his early 30's and still lives with his mother. He's unemployed and has been for god knows how long. O wait, he does make money occasionally. Once in a while, my mama gives him a call (like she did today) and pays him to do a few chores. Sometimes it's cleaning our garage, usually it's just to mow the pathetic little tuft of grass (I don't know if we can call it a "lawn") that we've got out back. So the moral of the story is:

"Kids, go easy on the drugs... Let the story of uncle alan teach you a lesson. Peace out."