thank you for the birthday card.
I am surprised you remembered that yesterday was my b-day, even more surprised that you were nice enough to send a card after the way I treated you last year.
I don' t know what comes over me sometimes and I behave like such a penis-head.
Actually I do know and I have to be honest enough to tell you.
once upon a time there was a seven year old Charlie,well a six year old Charlie about to turn seven. his mother in a rare instance of soberdom and in sudden impulse to play the proper mother card decided to throw him a party. she decorated their trailer with about a million balloons and even bought Batman party favors for all the children.
Kenny from next door showed up and played happy birthday to you on his fiddle as everyone sang and Charlie blew the candles wishing for this moment to never end.
later on the grown ups were listening to Lynyrd-Skynyrd records and the children had separated in Batman-teams and Joker-teams and were staging mythical Gotham city battles.
Charlie's mother as a proper hostess had to go on a beer run around midnight. on her way to her boyfriend's pick-up she came across her son, ran her fingers through his hair and whispered "momma loves you, birthday boy". her breath smelled like a moonshine factory, that was the last memory Charlie would have of his mother.
it's the reason that even though Charlie has smoked-snorted-injected-swallowed every drug known to man he has never consumed a single drop of alcohol.
near sunrise after everyone had left Charlie made some french toast which he drowned in maple syrup. while unwrapping his present, a shiny bat-mobile, the sheriff walked in accompanied by the social services lady, a young Aretha Franklin look-alike.
Charlie spent the next eight years in a chain of state institutions at the same time becoming a expert car thief. before he had a chance to be promoted to an armed robber or something even more prestigious by a stroke of luck he enrolled in a restaurant business course offered by the Jacksonville juvenile correctional facility.
after a semester of potato peeling and shedding tears over a mountains of onions he was given an oppurtinity to unveil his uncanny talent for gourmet food creation.
talking about a blessing in disguise . the fact that his alcoholic mother never cooked, turned Charlie in some kind of kitchen-Mozart. he made his first western omelette having to stand on a chair so he could reach the frying pan, fefore turning five. he made meatloafs, cajun shrimp casseroles, a mean spaghetti carbonara, honey-roasted chicken and his specialty southern-fried veggies dipped in melted cheddar cheese.
after his mother's departure to the great bar in the sky he was derprived of the joy of cooking. now after all this years as he found himself surrounded by pots and pans, the familiar aromas of spices and crates of fresh vegetables ready to be diced and sliced he felt born again.
you pretty much know the rest of the story.
Charlie is me
and Charlie loves U.
I just hope now you have a better understanding why I threw the tantrum when you suggested that we go see that Batman movie last year. I have never seen a Batman movie. or why the stray dogs of the neighborhood ended up eating the cake you baked for my birthday last year after I tossed out the window.
sometimes I can be such an immature shit
pls love forgive me