My sister moves in mysteriously.

Mullet No 2 arrives - my sister.

Don't worry, I didn't skip anyone. I'm telling the story as it happened as far as I was aware at the time. Rest assured, there is a Mullet #1. And #3. Patience, my friend, because this is going to become fucking foul. Fast

After over a month of my father being gone up until 1 a,m. and the truck being gone when he was there, Malia - my sister, suddenly arrives

Like people say, "Cancer ain't good."

Abuse happens in different ways, especially if it's well-thought out by a team of people that can easily predict what you can - or can't do, because abusers watch the abused and who sees the abused. Who they communicate with, their appointments.

My father's role in this game was to be delightful as fuck to everyone as I suffered. You'll see and hear what my father is really like and it's fucking awful. His hand was forced by Raebecca, her crack-dealer and, apparently, the good and hearty kindness that give toys for tots. Plus a really noisy neighbor at 1205 Leafland Street in Decatur Illinois.

Except my sister is a hoarder and wants everything, including to beat the tots. Decatur Illinois Prarieland ABATE member, Russell J Garver Jr himself was delightful giving me a ride to Decatur Memorial Hospital the day I was going to have the drain tubes removed from my back due to kidney failure. On the way there, he's telling me about some kind of goiter or herpes near his ugly wife's eye, and as I'm getting out of his shitty truck, he grabs my arm, jerks me back in, and said "See, she had it right here." And that underage titty-toucher flipped me off, being the "tough ass" he thinks he is.

He sure didn't do that when I punked him out at "a club" years before and his friend, my sister's boyfriend, Frank L Irvin got punked out by, you guess it, me, in 2013 at The Wild Dog Bar on 22nd Street in Decatur Illinois because my father asked me to "take care of him" when I got out of Graham Correctional Prison in 2013. My nephew was there and can vouch for that minor tid-bit.

My sister finally moved in but not many of her items were at the 1175 N Wilder Ave house. Not that I could see, at least. So that month my sister enslaved my father to help her move... somewhere else? Who gives a shit.

I told my sister that we hadn't been to the store in weeks and her reaction was "Do you have a fucking problem with my father?" as she leaped off the couch and into my face. Her crisp, hair-sprayed split-ends of her mullet nearly piercing my lip as one giant rounded bangs ever so gently moved the surrounding air, shoving forth what might be Degree white deodorant scent that combined with chips of many layers of foundation, one of which landed in my mouth.

In that instant I could see who had the problem. My father was one of them, but I was for certain, the bigger, taller, and I might add, rather attractive problem standing before her. Right there. I no longer wanted to be. An agitated mullet, especially one with hardened curling-iron edges, isn't one to scoff at, especially that rare 80s two-toned orange half-hair-dryer dried and half air-dried githerment. Whoa!

I'm smart, and with this moving mystery still tucked into my head and now concern for my father, and every so-decreasing concern for my sister, made me respond as intelligently as anyone could with that visual assault and the onslaught of what could only be described as "dirty hamper" smell.

So I said"If you don't like it, why the fuck are you here?!" Hold your thoughts for a moment, because the only way to describe what she said, but also how she said it can only be done by hearing me imitate her.

The best I can do to express this in HTML-friendly terms is this (wait for it)...