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"You killed my father, prepare to die..."




I'm not some slick, big-city lawyer..."
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I'm using my next to last paid sick day to skip work today. It's partially in protest of the fact that every single bit of overtime that I applied for was denied...but it's mostly because...fuck those stupid bitches. I got a week of vacation coming at the end of next month (I figure it'll take about seven days to recover from the horror of turning 25), which will leave me with exactly one paid sick day and 1 1/2 paid "floating" holidays to use up in May, which is when I'm gonna quit that sucker anyway.

I spent this morning talking with my dad over coffee, something we haven't done in awhile for various reasons. It was a fairly heavy discussion for so early in the morning, because he approached me about downloading power of attorney forms so that he can bring them to his lawyer to look over. He has to get power of attorney for my mom (because of her current situation) and he wants to give my sister Robbyn and me his power of attorney and make us co-executors of his estate (the fine establishment that it is).

Though my dad assured me he wasn't planning on biting the grass soon, he did impart to me instructions that Robbyn and I are to "sue the hell out of the government", should he die on-the-job in an accident caused by "one of those stupid, white, farm-boy assholes that I work with". He was quite adamant about that, finshing his rant with, "Yeah, git 'em good, precious."

Thinking about your aging parents' departure from the earth does have a way of putting a damper on your morning. Being able to ponder all the ways you could rain terror upon the "stupid, white, farm-boy assholes" responsible for your father's hypothetical demise...priceless.

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