Every family has its closet homo, the moocher, the genial drunk, the failure(should not be confused with the genial drunk), the over-achiever, the chronic addict(quite often the same as the moocher) and the one rational person that holds it all together. I'm not that guy. I might be any of the previous ones though. Hell, I might even be uncanny combinations of the lot. Like the closet homo who's a moocher - a hoocher! Or the moocher who's also a drunk - a munk! I'll tell ya, one needs quite a bit of mental strength and perseverance to be a munk! On second thoughts I'm probably not that guy.
What I'm interested to know is which category my dad falls under. Gifted with an aversion to the drink and the inability to spell 'Marijuana', he is also far from the rational glue of wisdom that binds us together too. Well, maybe more like a stapler. He is not quite the failure(thank God, a minimum wage father couldn't afford my internet bills!) and for the want of 'Ka-ching!' in his bank accounts, I wouldn't categorize him as an over-achiever. Having mooched off of him for over 20 years and him having never asked for anything in return, I know for a fact that he's not a moocher. Quite the opposite. He's a moochee. So the only evolutionary imperative for his existence is to be a closet homosexual! This needs a lot of looking into...
From the numerous awkward conversations,lectures, words of advice and pearls of wisdom, all morbidly thorough and excruciatingly unnecessary, that I've been made to endure after I'd been caught red-handed indulging in voyeuristic sin of watching pornos( I admit, I was a horny kid), I'd be inclined to conclude that he's not gay. Also, from unwittingly stumbling upon his secret stash of porn, I've come to the shocking realization that he prefers double D blondes...Sorry mom! But then every once in a while, he does something like this...
5 months of toiling in Vellore, being reduced to a lanky, gangling shell of my former self, and I come home to this...monstrosity! Occupying the most revered spot in my room, by the computer monitor, it stares unabashedly at me, it's deep-set shutter eye boring into the depths of my brain, it's swirling beanie appendage serving an obscure and shady purpose known only to itself and it's gaudy pink exterior and bunny ear thingies that lend a misleading appearance of innocence to its coveted purpose! Oh its flashlight mirror plate that stares blank and its twisted metallic stand like the basest form of the most scorned vertebrate, slithering in front of the monitor...it's base proudly proclaiming its dubious name...NIO.
It's a webcam. It's a gay webcam. A gay webcam named NIO. A haunting gay webcam named NIO that's probably going to kill me in my sleep today. The fact that its pink and has a fan-like plastic swirling thingy which I call 'the Beanie', should've been a natural deterrent for any self-respecting person charged with the responsibility of purchasing a webcam. But somehow, this kind of thing can only happen to my daddy greatest...Sometimes, I wonder if these lapses of judgemenmt are a subconscious cry of desperation and a plea for acceptance.
Gay or not, I don't really mind my dad. He's a good egg deep down. What I do want to do is round up all the blundering misfits that constitute this cursed family of mine and scrutinize each and every one of them individually. I shall keep a shotgun handy for the one that sports a receding hairline. I shall blow his head off and consider it a meagre compensation for his mangled genes that he's passed down and I now have the curse to bear. Screw you, whoever you are!
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