Once there was a little pinhead who became infatuated with another little pinhead. The two pinheads pinned around together and produced five mini, pathetic pinheads. The pinheads lived from lousy paycheck to paycheck, their kids miserable, lady pinhead an anorexic crying mess half the time…
Finally daddy pinhead meets a sexy blonde library pinhead and they start pinning around secretly. Lady pinhead doesn’t like this. Not one bit. She quits her job, quits taking care of the little pinheads…
3/5 little pinheads end up in institutions for various reasons. Eventually lady pinhead takes her turn in the hospital, where they force her to eat little chocolate wedges of cake and watch her go to the bathroom to make sure she don’t puke. She doesn’t come out for several months, and when she does, she cries and mopes at Mother Pinhead’s house.
Meanwhile the eldest pinhead balances schoolwork with watching the youngest pinhead. It’s difficult. The daddy pinhead’s either working or fondling his little blonde pinhead.
The pinhead kids survive on frozen pizza and weed, complementary of dirtbag friends. The littlest pinhead, just 4 years old, breaks down multiple times. He doesn’t understand this shit.
One of the pinheads, 12 years old and autistic, tries to hang himself multiple times. After all, the little pinheads are alone most of the time, and the autistic pinhead gets beaten and bruised by his older brother pinhead. Finally, the autistic pinhead is sent to live with his grandparents, where he does quite well. He becomes happy and confident.
The rest of the pinheads are jealous. It isn’t fair that the autistic pinhead gets a winning ticket out of the shithole.
The remaining pinheads are obligated to visit mother pinhead. It’s a delicate job – it’s tough to support a mother who is more like a needy child. Fuck, it’s tough to take care of your pre-teen self.
The eldest pinhead comes out of the closet to unanimous praise. Ah, yes, unanimous praise.
Fuck this. This is my mediocre story. It seems so overwhelming to think about, but on paper (or in a text box), I’m realizing that I have it pretty damn good, compared to most of the world. I have food to eat, clothes to wear, and an education. 3.5 years and I’m getting the fuck out of here….can’t wait for college, job, relationship?? Perhaps, maybe…happiness? Independence? My apartment won’t feel so grey. It won’t smell like moldering wedding certificates, sad minivans, round holes in the walls, sibling beatings, death, self-pity, secrets, snobby lecturing relatives who view you as attention-seeking assholes.