crakkah!

Many of you don't know this (mainly because of my abnormally high IQ and highbrow vocabulary) but I come from the darkest pit of Utah. I am talking the bottom of the glass bottle we used to make homemade acid out of. I have lived in trailer parks. First when my mom and "dad" were married during their senior year in high school, and then again when I got knocked up instead of attending my college classes. My childhood was basically like growing up with that asstard Larry the Cable Guy. (Why didn't I think of capitalizing on our lynching of minorities, whiskey swilling, and lazy grammar?!)

Anyway, I was the only one who was fortunate the escape the dirty, dirty projects in the battered child shelter mecca that is Mapleton. My siblings...well, let's just say they were not so lucky. Our teeth were black as tar and the front ones were capped with silver by age 4. We ate pigs in a blankets or tuna on toast every night (if we were lucky!) We were rationed pieces of bologna. And we got our mullets yanked and our half mutated ears clipped if we climbed into the top of mom's closet and split a Chips Ahoy five ways. Oh yes, we moved from dirty Flying J truck stops to even dirtier vacant shacks (with cockroaches in our cup o' noodles and dead hookers between the mattresses) . While everyone was wearing Girbaud jeans, we were wearing track shorts and meth-stained underroos... to school... in the winter. It wasn't pretty. Our "babysitters" locked us in the removable hard top of our Bronco and feed us spoonfulls of "sugar" through the cracks.

Anyway, I digress. My point: Following is an actual email I got from my sister, Mandy yesterday. She married Cody... who fits right in with the slothful, camel toe sporting, career dogs that we are. This email did my heart good. It's nice to see them so happy. And it makes me think, maybe, just maybe, one day they'll get out of that storage unit and into a real RV (even if it doesn't have a motor.)

Start Email:

For those of you who know that Cody wears this particular brand, screw you! It was hot, and I was all outta tube tops!

xoxo Mandy


End Email.
(Please look very, very closely at above picture.)

The scene before the scene (at least what we got from the police dispatcher, Todd Jackson):

EXT. CHRISTENSEN TRAILER HOME – DECK – MORNING

Cody, naked from the waste down, struggles with the screen door.

            CODY
    Have you saw my weekday britches?

            MANDY
    Try pushin’ it open, doortard!

Cody cuts through the screen with a pocketknife, climbs through the hole and moves onto the deck, noticing Mandy’s new top.

            CODY
    Godammit, woman! How many times…? I can tell by your black eye I told you once already, stay outta my dang drawers drawer!

            MANDY
    Now you know how I feel when you stretch my pannies out with all yer junk! 

Cody raises a backhand high in the air, gritting his teeth.

            CODY
    Oooooohhh… You better get yer ass down ta Walmart’s as a.s.a.p. as possible…

            MANDY
    Oh, don’t you worry, you sumbitch. Ima go ta walmart all right, but not fer yer ass.

Mandy rises from her Marlboro hammock and heads toward the tattered screen door, looking back over her shoulder at Cody.

            MANDY
    I heard they’s havin’ a swap meet down there ‘smorin’.
    Ima check out how they’re set fer new husbands.

                            [(CONTINUED)]