My Name Is S. Mann and I've Had Enough of This Nonsense
I guess the title says it all. I'm a reasonable man, but you knuckleheads have worn on my last nerve.
Right now, I can imagine one of you obnoxious upstarts saying something along the lines of: "Oh, Slendy, you're so 2009!" Listen here, bucko, you and your cronies might be done spreading lies through your you tubes and doctoring pictures of me at the photo shop, but your shenanigans have affected my family as well. Yes, you heard me. My family. It's bad enough that you people have sullied my good reputation by presenting me in a bad light, but the fact you've done the same to my wife and child is unacceptable.
Doggone it, I'm so steamed I could spit!
Let's get one thing straight, Junior's pupils are permanently dilated and his scleras are virtually nonexistent. We've taken him to a number of eye specialists and there's nothing they can do about it. I tried telling him they make him look like a character in one of those Chinese cartoons you kids seem to enjoy, but it didn't help. To make things worse, the boy has a bladder the size of a chickpea. Combined, those two factors have caused him problems on more than one occasion.
Case in point, he chose to take the long way home from his accordion lesson one night. Why? Because he was too scared to take a shortcut through the woods. That's right, he's scared of the woods. Well, wouldn't you just know it, nature called and he had to go number one (between you and me, the boy does love a good juice box). Out of desperation, he knocked on the door of the first house he saw and asked to use the bathroom. The woman that lived there must have read your slanderous hogwash because the moment she saw him, she screamed and slammed the door in his face. Junior was so startled by her reaction, he wet himself right there on the spot. Great! Now he has two more things to discuss with his therapist.
No, make that three.
The neighborhood nuisance, Billy Williams, saw Junior's soaked trousers as he scurried home. The next day, all of his classmates knew what happened. Apparently, some girls made a rhyme about it. The principal told me they sing it whenever they jump rope:
"Grab a pair of diapers, 1-2-3, here comes Junior and he has to pee."
While I commend their creativeness, the subject matter leaves something to be desired.
Mark my words, one of these days, I'm going to have a long talk with Billy's father and give him a piece of my mind. Not that it will do much good. Birds of a feather...
And don't even get me started with the harm you twits have caused my loving wife. Mary suffers from a rare condition as well: she cries bloody tears. Considering the heartache she's suffered over the years, I have dried quite a few of those while trying to console her. Some people find her condition appalling, but it doesn't bother me. She doesn't mind my face, or the lack there of, so fair is fair. And the thing about the mirror? I'm not sure who started that rumor, but it's wrong. Mary doesn't have a reflection. Trust me on that one. I've gotten pretty good at applying her mascara and lipstick over the years. Like most women, she takes pride in her appearance, and likes to look her best every Thursday when we have dinner at the local Sizzler.
Golly!
You know, I feel much better now that I've had a chance to get this out of my system. I'm going to put some Perry Como on the record player and cozy up next to my wife. Heck, I might even cut loose and try one of Junior's juice boxes.
Credited to yogi_bugbear
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