Bless your heart. Beaumont's mandatory evacuation had your ass out on the road at 5:30 a.m., heading north to terrorize us for a few days.
And wow, you haven't changed a bit in 20 years, have you? Someone offers you shelter from the storm and you're still as cu**y as ever - bitching and moaning before you even set foot in the door.
I wasn't shocked that the first thing you did was order us to turn it to Fox News for the latest on Gustav - my guess is that the Weather Channel is too liberal for the likes of you. But when the conversation turned to my mother - your supposed favorite cousin now resting comfortably in peace - and how she stole all of her recipes from you, I had to bite my tongue. First of all - dream on, bitch. Second - seeing how you couldn't be bothered to come up and see my mother when she was ill, much less attend her funeral, I think you need to take a massive gulp from your cup of STFU. Your jambalaya may be the stuff Coon-Ass dreams are made of, but just because you're renowned in this family for your culinary capabilities, that's no excuse for a lifetime (yes, a lifetime) of behaving like a total twat.
Oh, yeah. I know you're from a different generation and fainted when you heard the news of Elvis' death and all - but if you dare drop the N bomb in my presence again, I can promise you I won't be biting my tongue. I'll be too busy relishing the act of ripping you a brand new asshole at the risk of my uncle writing me out of his will. Seeing how he spends all his money in Shreveport anyway, I don't really have much to worry about there.
Another thing you might want to consider is the fact that your father was born in the West Bank town of Ramallah and your mother - my great-aunt - was born just north of Beirut. Which means you're not exactly the whitest slice of bread in the loaf. So kindly piss off back to Beaumont - like right now.
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