Nov 17, 2007 11:43
When The Brother moved here from Back East a couple of years ago, he seemed really interested in tales of the local hooker horde, them what camped along a couple of streets not far from Ye Olde Flat of Diaz. For a long time, I figured his interest was in the comedy, as there used to be a woman who lived along one of those streets who had a habit of making Pimpsicles and Whorepops by taking her garden hose to them in the dead of winter.
Erm, I think The Brother has a habit of paying for it, folks. Oh, dear Freud.
My friend A lives closer to him in our complex than I do, and sees what goes on at his front door much more than I do. Apparently, lots of skanky-looking women tend to turn up hollering about money, or just to be let in.
*headdesk*
Once I move out, I'm sure he's going to move IN, and before I let that happen, I'm going to have a word with him. Y'know, along the lines of, If you want to fuck skanks and pay for it, I don't give a shit. But the second you bring any of them into The Mum's home, I'm calling the cops and suggesting you might be a pimp.
This may seem harsh, but The Mum has some nice things, and The Brother is a flaming moron. He'd bring a hooker into the place and simply NOT NOTICE she'd stolen everything not nailed down, until he went looking for the TV remote. And because he doesn't learn from simple instruction, threats will have to be the method.
*infinite headdesk*
fuck you very much,
i'm not sure that really happened,
interrobang moment,
sharing my delusions since 1973,
no fair making my brain hurt,
the kinfolk are restless tonight,
can't talk skin crawling