Oh mein papa

No, not the song by the man with the golden trumpet.

I'm talking the one I'm (unfortunately) related to. I realised some gimp was thumping on my door, and hoping it was my new books being delivered went to look. No such joy, tis mein papa.

Come in, we can talk.

Of course this is the one thing we actually can't do. He doesn't want to listen to anything I have to say. He tells me how drunk he got. (I'm so impressed). I then get the questions. The same old tiresome questions.

These are:
1) How's your mum?
2) How's your sister?
3) Are you courting?

One day I'm going to really give him an answer to 3) Prolly the only reason I've not done so far is I've not decided which I like best.

"Actually, I'm gay. Ok if I bring my boyfriend round for sunday lunch?"
or
"Money can't buy you happiness. But it can buy you the love of a honey skinned dancer from Brazil."
or
"My cult leader says I must stab anyone who asks that. ~fx: sharpens knife~"

More (better) suggestions on a postcard plz.

Oh, and I got the same old envelope. The one I know will contain the same card as the last 20 years. I think he got them in bulk. But something is different this time.... there's £50 in it. Frankly, I'm not interested in him or his money. I'll prolly give it to Idiot Girl to burn, unless you have a better plan?