If any of you know my husband, Mr. Rizzuto, you know that he is a biology teacher who lives to love Charles Darwin and the theory of evolution. Mr. Rizzuto has decided to give me a practical lesson on the subject, which I will now share with you.
Let’s say you fall down the stairs and break your ass. You’re almost completely useless. You can’t even sit down comfortably because your ass is broken, so you have to lay around on the sofa all day long and scream at everyone because, despite the fact that you’re in excruciating pain, no one gives a rat’s ass about you. For example, you ask one of your parasitic children to go upstairs and get your pain meds, and he says “why?”. Another example, your parasitic baby refuses to sit anywhere except on your lap which causes sphincter-tightening spasms to shoot up your entire body periodically (like, every ten seconds).
Let’s say you get hungry and your husband orders from a take-out chicken place. Let’s say you spend close to forty dollars on chicken, ribs, potato salad, french fries and fried vegetables. Let’s say someone feels sorry enough for you to toss you one lousy chicken thigh and a rib.
Let’s say you wake up the next morning and there isn’t a scrap left. Not a rib, not a drumstick, not a fucking fried mushroom. Oh, wait. There is a piece of zucchini shaped fried batter left laying around on the kitchen counter. Sorry.
If that happened to you, according to Darwin’s theory, you’d starve to death while your non-ass broken friends will survive and pass along their non-ass broken genes.
Here’s something Mr. Darwin never touched upon. If you say anything about starving to death before it happens, your parasitic family will think you’re a whining bitch and tell you to stop bringing everybody down and get off your broken ass and go for a walk.
I have to go now, my ass hurts.