Maggots In The Gravy (A Tale Of Relatives)

I’ve been fairly close to writing a cousin of mine tonight. At the moment I’m heading to bed, so I won’t write much about it at the moment. But I have to say something somewhere, and this blank page is staring at me. The problem leads right back to a maggot who thinks that everyone owes him something. A predator who is doing everything he can to gain access to my mother’s apartment in North Carolina. I’d hoped that my mother would be able to spend Thanksgiving with us without being hammered by certain maggots from back home. But this one in particular has already called three or four times since we got here late on Monday night. What he’s trying to do is get my mother to let him go into her apartment, offering to wash her floors or check her thermostat. I figure if he gets the go-ahead, he’ll get the key from my aunt, use it to unlock the door and do whatever it is he’s supposed to do, and then he’ll leave the door unlocked. Then he’ll use the apartment, and come and go, as he pleases. In that event, I think the only proper course of action involves an aluminum baseball bat and someone’s knees.
Well, I should get to bed. I’ve already written two e-mails that I’ve saved as drafts instead of sending. I know the moment I say anything about this it’ll ignite a firestorm. I’m not really keen on doing that on Thanksgiving. So I’ll wait a bit. But I’m already thinking about how I’ll deal with inevitable fall-out from simply asking someone to act like a decent human being for once in his life and leave my mother the fuck alone. What the fuck is wrong with some people?

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