Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he's not writing, he's volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man's work, please check out his blog:www.thoughtsofapoeticmind.blogspot.com for his latest poetry and short stories.
A VODKA INDUCED NIGHT OF TERROR
My mother, and her hundred proof presence, was half in the can by the time I arrived at my sister's wedding reception. This to me was tantamount to the gospel. Who needs Netflix when you have dysfunctional family members?
My sister, the superficial hairdresser, is a typical self serving American who has no concept of loyalty. And that's one of the many reasons I detest her.
Years ago when I was less of the man I am today, I dated a raunchy piece of trash from the lowest class neighborhood in Pittsburgh. We were bad for each other, our relationship was caustic. She was a vile beast with no manners. The type of cunt to pull your card in public, then fart afterwards. I had to break my lease and move back in with my inebriated mother, just to get rid of her.
I made the pivotal mistake of introducing the beast to my intellectually bankrupt sister. It was all trashy betrayal after that. I officially lost my feeble minded sibling.
It felt like she moved in with us after that day. Those two morons were inseparable. Fights would break out over anything and everything. The beast was emulating the dysfunctional, trashy antics of her trailer trash mother. There was no winning, especially when your own sister is against you.
I experienced reformation the day I walked out on that beast. Although, my sister still claims I'm a piece of shit, plus she stayed friends with her after that to push the knife in a little deeper.
My sister's reception was a pretentious display of materialistic pleasure. There was enough fried food, booze and cake to satisfy the most gluttonous of American citizens.
It was like a trip to the past, only without the nostalgia. I gazed amongst the vacuous crowd of people I once called friends. After conversing with a handful of them I suddenly felt a headache coming on strong.
I haven't seen any of these people in over a decade, but nothing has changed besides their weight. They haven't evolved one bit, and all they wanna talk about is the past, and the beast, (like those were happy times for me).
I felt insulted. They all had their menial jobs they were so proud of. This blew my mind, man.
When it was my turn to talk I told them I've become a writer. They showed no interest, and quickly changed the subject. Irritated to no end, I congratulated them on their fancy name tags and satirical job titles. Then I walked away to get another bourbon.
That's when I ran into my mother. If I ran into her anywhere in this antiseptic congregation of Americanism, it would definitely be at the bar.
She took notice of me and said, "You're a fucking asshole. Why don't you visit your only mother?"
I took a hard hit of my drink and said, "Is it any wonder why? I can't even get a fucking hello from you without an insult."
"Look here, asshole. I will fucking embarrass you."
I reached in my pocket to diffuse the situation by handing her an adderall. I wanted her on top of her game tonight. It was after all a special occasion.
"Just shut up and swallow this, Mom. I know how much you cherish your amphetamines. Kills the hangover right?"
She popped it in her mouth, chewed it up, then chased it with a large mouthful of vodka.
"Thank you, Mario. Sometimes you're good to your mother."
"I treat you better than your own daughter. Did you hear what she originally wanted?"
She drank the rest of her vodka, made the vodka face and said, "No. What did my lovely daughter want?"
"Come on, Mom. Don't be naive. You know she didn't want you here. She calls you 'The Hundred Proof Buzz-kill'."
"Why the Fuck would she say that?"
"I'm assuming it has something to do with your belligerent behavior. It also sounds like a personal jab at your drinking habit."
She ordered another drink and downed it within seconds. Then she said, "If that little bitch wants proof, she'll get it!"
My alcoholic mother is way too naive for her age. Her moronic daughter would never think of something so clever.
She ordered another drink, then took off on a rampage.
I walked over to an unoccupied table, double fisting bourbon. The vacuous crowd carried on in their celebratory ways. The main event of this special occasion was about to begin, but not before I had to converse with the groom to be.
He said, "Yo, what up?" in his extremely banal hip-hop lingo kind of a way. Other words were thrown in to the repertoire like, "gyeah" and "aight." After a single minute I was ready to bust a bottle over his self loathing cranium. This is the clown my dumb fuck sister is marrying.
After another ten seconds I cut him off from his hip-hop monologue to say, "Dude, you're guilty."
He gave me a puzzled look and said, "Guilty of what, yo?"
I took a hit of my non-menthol cigarette, blew it directly in his face and said, "Guilty of being white."
He took a few steps back and said, "What's that suppose to mean?"
"It means, no matter how many black cocks you try to cram down your dorky white throat, it doesn't change the cosmetics. You fucking emulators make me wanna catch a felony. You're a shame to your own kind, and the black community can't stand you."
"Man, what the fuck is your problem?"
"I just fucking told you!"
My sister magically appeared during this quarrel, and felt a need to defend her emulator.
I told her to "take a walk" and reminded her of her belligerent mother as I pointed behind her.
Her emulator turned around and said, "Yo, she looks pissed! I'm out."
He disappeared in the midst of the crowd, taking his hip-hop swagger away with him. I stayed seated for the main event that was conveniently coming to my direction.
My superficial sister appeared to be apprehensive. After years of abuse, you can kinda sense a disaster.
Her sister in law came over to say, "Hi."
I told her "You're just in time for the main event." That's when it began.
My mother's first target was the sister in law. She staggered on by with a fresh glass of vodka and said to her, "How's the lesbo thing going?"
My sister's jaw dropped.
The sister in law jilted her head back and said, "What are you referring to?"
"The lesbian thing, you dumb bitch. How's the lesbian thing working out for you? I heard you have a perceptive eye when it comes to finding a contaminated yeast infection!"
I'm laughing out loud with my finger pointed at my mother's victim to emphasize how much joy I'm getting right now, at her expense.
To my belligerent mother's defense, the woman is not a homophobe. In fact, the only people she hates with a passion are the ones who are of direct relation to her.
My mother's victim screamed, "Go fuck yourself!" as she took off in the opposite direction.
My sister Robin screamed, "This is why I didn't want to invite you!"
At that precise moment the crowd stopped dancing. All the mundane small talk turned into silence.
I was sipping my bourbon, laughing like an asshole. The only thing missing was popcorn. Retribution took years to acquire, but in this special little moment, it was well worth the wait.
This is what you deserve for your disloyalty to your only brother, bitch.
My drunk mother screamed back, "You ungrateful little slut! How dare you speak to me like that in public! Take a look around, loser! Who do you think paid for all these amenities? It sure as Fuck wasn't that thing you're getting married to! He's nothing but a dead-end fiscal failure! The man makes twenty five thousand a year. Pathetic! And you little Miss pretentious, with your ass kissing job as a hair stylist. Don't make me puke up my vodka. You can barely make ends meet! Show some respect, and apologize to your mother!"
I love it.
This is the first time in awhile my name hasn't been brought up for slander. All the drunken eyes were on them.
You could've heard a heartbeat from across the room. That's how zoned in Robin's friends were. I was eagerly anticipating the climax as well.
Out of nowhere, instead of waiting for the possibility of an apology, my mother, the monster, made the wise choice of tossing her precious glass of vodka all over Robin's sparkling white dress.
This was the last straw for Robin. She's been belittled, and humiliated by her mother countless times in the past, but this was the one that pushed her over the limit. This was after all supposed to be Robin's special day.
Robin shoved my mother onto the table, almost hitting me with the body of a drunken loser, who is powerless over her own embarrassing actions.
I can almost guarantee that's when the Adderall kicked in. My mother regained her composure, but she appeared to be different. Her eyeballs were bulging out of the sockets. Perspiration was building up on her forehead. I felt an uncontrollable growth of Adderall induced speed emanating from her inebriated body. She was fucking wired.
My mother the monster, reached back with her shaky Adderall hand and threw it forward with all her extra energy and might, smashing Robin in her stupid fucking mouth. Her mouth followed the hand, and with it a stream of blood. Then she hit her again, and again, and again. It was so fast that you couldn't even keep track of the hits.
Robin was laid out on the ground, still getting bitch slapped by my mother, when screams of terror echoed throughout the building.
I heard someone scream, "The police are coming, you fucking crack whore!"
It was an awesome show that exceeded my expectations. I stood up from my seat to give a standing ovation. The crowd caught on and began to applaud with me. We were all slightly buzzed, or profoundly drunk. We could've been high on marijuana or sober. At that point it didn't matter. There are some forms of entertainment that need no assistance, or helping hand.
Robin took all the hands she could get, and we'll always remember her for it.