Today you friended me on Facebook, somehow forgetting the fact that even though it’s 27 years since we met, I have always considered you to be nothing short of a vile little cunt.
When I was 15 I dated your sister who was, I believe 14. Helen was a lovely, sweet and cheerful young girl. Full of life and very clever. Unfortunately she was related to you and the inbred bunch of fuckwits that made up your vile clan of pond life who lived in Bertie Road.
You had a great deal of half sisters and brothers as I recall. This was presumably due to the fact that by the time I met your mother she was on her 4th husband; your dad. I never understood why Helen didn’t want me to visit her family until I caught your father spying on us as we walked up the street. She’d always got me to escort her to the top of Station Road and kissed me goodbye out of sight of your street. When I finally met your folks (and you, you vile little bastard) you lived in a house that would have put Wayne and Waynetta Slob in a different council tax code. Paint peeling off the walls, chips for dinner every night, stinking of tobacco. Your mother was in her 60s even then and was a sour face, fat ugly bitch whose opening line was, “So you’re the boyfriend then? I don’t agree with Helen having boyfriends so keep your hands to yourself!”
By the way, I heard she died about 10 years ago. I hope it was painful and prolonged and they lost the key to the morphine cabinet.
But I digress…
Your parents used to treat Helen with the same level of over protectiveness zest as a fundamentalist Islamic family waiting to force their daughter into an unwanted arranged marriage. We could never be alone together and I vividly recall that one day as I sat with with my arm around Helen in front of the TV, your mother waddled in and smacked her on hand like an infant, shouting “I’ve warned you about this!!!”
Another time the obese fuckwit burst into my house via the back door and her only words to my astonished mother were, “I’m going to kill your son!!!” as I was 20 minutes late getting Helen home. My mother being a tad spineless simply kept her mouth shut and despite not being introduced to your mum, she did nothing while your mother ordered Helen back out of the house. (By the way, we were looking at photos in my bedroom, I wasn’t fingering her).
Your father was a dirty, scruffy cunt. Never seemed to bathe and had the ropiest old blazer I’ve ever seen. He also looked like a pig, with huge flared nostrils. He once shrieked, “PACK IT UP!!!” when he saw me kiss Helen on the cheek (I’ll repeat that…on her CHEEK. And I do mean one of the cheeks on her face) in your back garden. Apparently he’s dead too. Good and double good. Hope that hurt as well.
Final nail in the coffin was when we were out for a walk up Abbey Fields and me and Helen were holding hands. Your mother kept shouting, “Helen, stop being so bloody daft!” and eventually you, you little twat, came up and painfully hit our hands apart with a stick shouting, “She said stop it!”
Helen and me never really had a chance you see. She was a sweet kid with an overbearing, pig ignorant and stupid family of vile fuckers like you. I stopped coming to see her but she was still technically my girlfriend. A couple of weeks later I met her in the street and said it was better if we just ended it, mainly as I couldn’t stand her parents (or you). She looked hurt but accepted it. We kissed goodbye and she walked home. Last I heard she was dating a guy with learning difficulties who was about 5 years older than her and had been arrested by the police for touching up his own sister. Her self esteem was so ruined by that point that she probably thought that was the best she could get.
So…as you can see I didn’t like you and didn’t like your parents and I wish you were dead.
Now fuck off.