I found myself wondering today what old Cindy Lou Poo has to say about my latest blogs that have nothing to do with her.
I’m sure there are a bunch of Twits from her about my father and half-sister. Because that’s what she does.
She’s like Statler and Waldorf all rolled up into one angry muppet.
I’m back at that point I hit every few months where the thought of seeing ill-informed and misspelled opinions about shit her brain could never contain is just too much for my sense of peace.
Now, I’m guilty of dropping a truth bomb here and there myself. Usually I let her make an ass out of herself and then I post a simple comment that sends her unraveling into a thread of epic proportions.
But despite her two tweets using my mom’s full name, I like to focus my mocking squarely on her.
Like the eating fiber on company time and the socially conscious hashtags with no actions to back them up. Or the saying I am somehow jealous of her latest vacation where she spent every day shitposting about me.
I haven’t yet mocked her for her rage at me for posting pretty plates, specifically how she insulted her husband by posting the food he grew to feed her angry muppet ass yet said that didn’t make for a pretty plate.
Or the fact that her aunt and her mother each sent him a loon. Thirty years apart.
Seriously, be like Betty — White, not Broderick.
That goes for both of us. I need some joy in my day. And not that weird porn account she runs that somehow contains those letters.
The last time I stopped reading her, she speculated incorrectly for months about what happened. I didn’t see it till last August when, after several months sober, Mom said, “Oh we have to see how Nutter Butter is reacting to your latest career move.”
My new year’s resolution for mom is to not encourage me to find us some twittertainment.
I will be back someday tho. I am not going to lie like Talbots Basement and I both do and say we aren’t going to read each other again.
It goes without saying that I will feel down about something or, more likely, I’ll be procrastinating and I’ll want something to cheer me up.
NGL, seeing that veggie spiral is always good for a chuckle. Or guffaw. Or chortle. Or whatever else she calls that braying.
But I’ve never regretted blocking this toxicity from my line of sight.
I just wish every sweet soul had the same option.
