So I was farting a lot last night because of something I'd ate. Why the fuck did my dad have such a problem with it? It's good this is a private blog, so I can write letters about stuff like this.
Ok dad,
What the hell is your problem? Ok, I was farting a lot last night. That gives you no fucking right to behave as rudely as you did. You didn't just toe the line of polite company, you damn well crossed it and went a mile on the other side.
Let me explain something to you. Flatulence, in polite company, is under the category of "Does Not Exist." That means that one does not acknowledge the smells, sounds, or clouds of gas generated by a flatulent person. Your best response last night would have been to politely ask me to move, perhaps accompanied by a joke about being in the line of fire. Instead, you choose the worst possible route, making rude remarks about my flatulence and then asking me to sit somewhere else in a very rude manner. Nobody responds well to rudeness. I especially don't. The ruder you are, the more likely I'm going to keep doing what I was doing.
You said something common courtesy. Are you sure you know what that is? You were acting very discourteous last night. Common courtesy is being polite to people you don't like, instead of acting like a selfish little prick.
That bullshit you pulled on me last night was not only disrespectful, but personally humiliating. Let me explain. Is was disrespectful because you blamed me for a natural bodily function I have little to no control over. It was humiliating because you made such a fucking big deal over something I would have preferred remain inconspicuous.
I know you're probably under some stress for finally figuring out the way your mother lives, but you need to find more constructive ways of dealing with those emotions. Bitching at the other members of your family is not nice, and it can be hazardous. I will not allow you to take it out on me again.
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