Assaulted In My Own Home

Yesterday I was assaulted in my own home. And, as they say on all those crime shows Dad loves to watch when he pretends to be working on a script late at night, the victim (me) knew the perpetrators (MOM AND DAD, but mostly Mom because she is more heartless). Anyways, I was just enjoying a lazy Saturday at home -- napping, gnawing on Chester's neck, you know, typical chillaxin' -- when all of a sudden, Mom went crazy. First she washed all the dishes even though it was Dad's turn. (This is always a bad sign.) Then she thrashed around in the living room for a while, moving crap around for no apparent reason. When she vacuumed I knew it was really getting out of control. And when she stormed into the bedroom to make the bed my heart sank. When she came back out, it was just like the streets, yo. She had a crazy mutha-fuckin look in her eye. And all of a sudden she was using a lot of one particular four letter word: BATH. I tried to appeal to Dad but he just shook his head at me as if to say, "This bitch is crazy." I don't want to talk about the actual attack. It's too painful and raw right now. But I will say that my cholo colita got soaked and scrubbed and I think Mom took way too much pleasure in seeing me drenched and vulnerable under that unrelenting fucking shower nozzle. Finally I was freed. And I had the meager pleasure (or, actually a lot of pleasure) of seeing Marcello and Chester get theirs too. Ha ha. Chumps.