wham, bam, thank you, ma'am // chapter three

This was all I heard. Every single God-forsaken day:

"Dada, me poop. SCOOPY!"

"Father, can you do something about this milk? It has chunks in it—it means it's SPOILED. Do you even KNOW what this milk could do to us? We could get cancer!! Do you even KNOW what cancer is?"

And don't forget the intangible MOAN/ROAR from Thor. Ugggh. The kids just wouldn't stop bitching! It was so freaking annoying! After a week, I wanted to rip my hair out. And it ain't like Loa, Dorchet, and Martel were actually helping. Hell, it's like they WANTED me to do something! Hah!

So one bright 'n shiny day, I'm coming down on a prostitute on the couch. A pretty little thing—nice, long hair, red-coated lips, and these really bangin' double D's. It was my birthday, so I decided to treat myself.

…Well, not really—I just wanted to treat myself.

So I'm getting' into it (literally), and in pops the Ambiguously Gay Trio. Lately, they've been gnawing on my ankles and shit about food, so I expected the same. The little buggers always seemed to walk in at the freaking WORST times imaginable—last time, I was taking a dump. And the time before that, I was reading Playboy WHILE taking a dump. Pft.

"We're hungry," Remington states blankly.

"Whoop-dee-doo," I mutter. "So am I—which is why I have a friend over." I motion towards the door. "Get out."

"Whoooo's shhhhe?" coos Tabby. "She pretty!"

The hooker under me grins. "Aw! Why thank you, little girl—"

"Don't say anything!" I yell at her. "Blondie'll bug you all day and follow you home and stuff. And plus, whores aren't programmed to feel—you shouldn't even be saying anything in the first place."

I am the KING of LOGIC.

And for some reason, Slut Mcsluttikins looks all offended, and gets up and leaves. What a waste of a banana (I'm famous for paying in fruit—hey, it'll help those anorexic weirdoes better than freaking money which will most likely be spent on crack anyway). Bitch. I wanted to strangle those little midgets I called my kids, but I took my anger out on the couch. Which I regret now, 'cause a few weeks after this incident, I was coming down on ANOTHER prostitute (she did it for three kiwis), and like, we had to bang on some table, and one of us probably got AIDs in the process.

So we ALL lose.

"Uh, Father?" Remington sighs.

I roar at him. Like a lion. It seemed smart at the time, but some of my pride when into that roar.

"Acting like an animal won't really help," he replies. "We're still hungry."

"Well, eat some of the wallpaper, or something!" I snap. "I was thinking of redecorating, anyway."

"…Eating wallpaper will result in serious organ-related diseases. Such as digestive problems, considering wallpaper most likely has glue on the other side, thus making it sticky. And glue isn't exactly healthy. So, no, we are not going to feast upon the walls' clothes—which I'm using in a personification-manner, mind you. And I don't know about YOU, but I'd rather not have flower-covered feces."

Yeah. I wasn't even listening. I flipped on the radio to drown out that nasally, queerass voice. (And no, my wallpaper DOESN'T have flowers on it—it's ALL MAN.)

"Tell ya what," I start sayin'. "If you shut that piehole of yours, I'll take you three out for ice cream."

"ICEY CWEAM!" Tabby cheers. Little kids and their sugary treats. It's like freaking taboo, I tell you.

Thor moans. Loudly. And almost orgasmic-like.

"Agreed," Remington says.

Score one for me, zero for the dwarfs.

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"…Shit."

Okay—so we're halfway to the ice cream parlor. Yes, I actually kept my promise. SO not like me, correct? I thought I drugged them while they were sleeping, so they'd be knocked out by noon, but apparently not (which makes we wonder…what the hell did I drug?). They're bright and freaking shining. Ugh. But, you know, I realize I don't have any damn money. At all. My stupidass sidekicks probably took my stash, because they're assholes and wanted to use it as a plot device.

"What's the matter?" Remington asks. He is totally holding my hand—so is Tabby. Thor is holding Remington's. So it's like a chain of awesome with like, three leftovers.

Aha.

…Ha.

"I'm broke," I say plainly. I expect looks of disappoint upon those little faces, but instead, Remington smirks—a smirk that'd rival Envy's (that ho). He whips out some wallet like a Goddamn businessman, and opens it. Inside, it is absolutely PACKED with bills. Bills as in money. Money as in DAMN, THIS KID IS LOADED.

"…Who the hell did you rob?" I ask.

"No one." He put the wallet away like it was some sacred vase or whatever. "Mother is pretty popular."

"So she whored herself away for that much cash? SHE probably has some long-lost kids somewhere that she didn't know she gave birth to…which isn't really possible. But considering the circumstances—and drugs—she can MAKE is possible."

"You're not even talking now—you're just making noise."

"Well, at least I can do this." I proceed in tapping the top of my head and rubbing my stomach simultaneously. Hardcore. Seriously.

"…Yep. But, no, Mother didn't—she's in the military now. And very high up there, thanks." Who ISN'T freaking in the military anymore? Those bitches must cover dental or something. "She's very generous, too, and my allowance is pretty nice."

"'Pretty nice'—?!! You're a spoiled little fu—"

"Why, thank you—but the point is, I never expected you to pay for our ice cream anyway…Maybe a little, but I was overestimating you, apparently; that and I saw your savings jar and it had a piece of paper that said 'no' on it…"

"Oh, shut up. So I'm bad with money—I don't need Richie Rich acting like a banker. And plus, why do you think I STEAL stuff? Some people do it for the excitement, but hell, I DO IT FOR THE MONEY. I'M THE REAL DEAL."

"Father, let's just get some ice cream."

"Good idea.

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Now we're at the stand. It's pretty lameass, too, which pictures of cotton candy and all this other wussy stuff. And I don't see why they have cotton candy decorations in a damn ice cream stand. But they can work how they wanna work—I'm just saying they needed some get some ICE CREAM on their ICE CREAM stand. Freaks.

Some busty chick's the cashier person. And by busty, I MEAN busty. Those things were HUGE. It's a surprise I ordered while looking at her face. Honestly. Even Tabby pulled me down and whispered, "Silicon," into my ear. Just that single word. A hug seemed necessary by then, but you know—PDA and stuff.

And Remington suddenly decided to not be an asshole and buys me a cone—chocolate (I'm old school). So I'm all handing the chick the money, and this little number slips out: "Here's your tits—uhhhh, I mean your ten cents…Um, yeah."

There's a time for sexual harassment (believe me, half my schedule is dedicated to it)—but buying diabetes on a cone is NOT.

Then we're walking away. Remington looks up at me and grins. "Smooth…"

"Yeah, just like the inside of your mom—SHUDDUP."

A/N: It's really fun writing in the point-of-view of a middle-aged man. :D No joke. Whoever hasn't tried should. My dad had to add a new harddrive to our computer, which gave me time to type this chapter up (yes, I've been slacking off), along with few other one-shots. But I'm gonna have a freaking busy weekend...I'm probably gonna go down to London (psst, I live in England!) with my parents, and there's GONNA BE A ANIME CON THERE. Called London Expo. xD It's not only gonna have anime stuff, but yeah. Vic Mignogna is going to be there. VIC. AS IN EDWARD ELRIC. Though, I don't really like the dub. And Ed's voice got annoying after awhile. But it doesn't really matter. :D (What is this, a journal?)

Thanks for reading!