Long Island Railroad Family Planning
More unsolicited old school advice as we wait for the 5:33am train into the city
Second in a series of conversations I had with Tom da Lung Eyelund Carpenta as we waited on the train platform for our early morning commute into Manhattan…
“I only sleep four maybe five hours a night on account a da wife sufferin from angziety, goin on and on about dis and dat, fer eggzample:
If Tom, Junia don’t eat his Wheaties one mornin, den he must have da Lou Gehrig’s disease…
If da babysitta is five minutes late, den she robbed a liquor store on the way to da crack house…
If I call she don’t answa, but if she calls and I’m busy, den I’ve abandoned da family and run off with our neighba Paulina Bigtittyfuccio…
Meanwhile da wife is pressurin us ta pump out anodder kid, just what we need, like dat’ll bring calm and relaxation to our lives.
When I push back and tell her we gots two and dat’s good and plenty, she starts ta wonder what’s really on my mind.
Newsfuckenflash, what’s really on my mind is two kids are enough already, we can’t afford or handle a Mudder Hubberd cubberd shoeful of a swarmin fucken brood.
But dat jus stresses her out even more, a problem dat don’t exist and never existed, but dat all of a sudden we gotta ‘work out’.
What da fuck is dere ta ‘work out’?
Da real problem is she’s stir-crazy and semi-employed. I swear ta God she’s a fine electrician, rewired our whole electrical system one day, den wired it right back.
For some reason she felt doin dat was necessary to avoid electrical shock when she spontaneoosly decided to move all our furniture around. You wouldn’t had believed it had you have seen it.
One big Chinese firedrill, Son! She was swappin da living room wid da dining room for no reason, den vice versa all over again until she got to da bedrooms, which I can’t tell apart anymore.
Point here bein, if youse still trackin, dat instead a diagnosin our boys with new diseases every day and keepin me up half da night wid fanciful interpolations about why we don’t spawn more brats, she might wanna tink about keepin herself busy wid a job.
Or how about attendin PTA meetins, or maybe volunteerin at da fire house, or babysittin wid Paulina Bigtittyfuccio to makes sure I ain’t fucken her, or sometin, anyting dat don’t involve gettin on my goddamned nerves.
But no, sorry, Charlie, ain’t gonna happen, at least not in dis life.
Who, me complain? I should STFU and be glad she at least lets me still hit it once in every whiles. If she gets knocked up again I’ll consider it hazard pay.
Dere’s our train, Pops! Some tings in life youse can still rely on. Dat, and never bein able to make ends meet.
You broke yet? How much she take durin youse divorce? Good times comin, even though she took all your coins with alimonies and child support. Let’s rush off ta work so dey’s can spend it.
Have a nice fucken day.”
Enjoying Tom? Dere’s more…
