I made this meal inspired by Mussolini for some reason. It was so spicy and the tomato sauce was gone bad. I felt horrible my head hurt and imagined Mussolini. I heard knockings. Mussolini appeared in my room. I went into psychosis with Mussolini. I saw him in the pasta. I cried and vomited for a hour. Worst experience ever.
I always had this gross habit where if my nutsack itches, I’ll scratch it and then immediately sniff my fingers after to see what it smells like. I know it’s nasty, but it’s one of those habits I do without even thinking.
So one day I was at work sitting in my office on the computer, just answering emails and doing normal work stuff. It was a quiet day, my door was open, and I wasn’t really expecting anyone to come by.
Then my ballsack started itching really bad. Without thinking, I reached inside my pants and scratched it for like 5 seconds. After that, I pulled my hand out and smelled my fingers like I always do. And I let out this big sigh of relief through my mouth.
I didnt bother looking up or checking if anyone was around because I thought I was alone.
Then I looked up and my boss was standing right in front of my office.
Her eyes were wide open and she looked extremely shocked. She didn’t say a single word. It was just dead silent for a few seconds. My face turned bright red and I started stuttering like an idiot. The only thing I could say was, “I can explain.”
But there was literally nothing to explain.
She just turned around and walked away without saying anything.
Now every time I see her at work, I feel like she remembers exactly what she saw, and I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to act normal around her again.
Half the apartment fucking filled with commodities is worst. On average, once a month, someone steps on a labubu or lafufu (international) lying on the ground and has to be removed at the hospital because they have burrs on the end. In my 22 years, I've had this procedure done about 10 times. A week ago, I went for some random tests, and the woman at the front desk told me to take my shoe off as soon as she saw me xD because she thought I had another commodity fetish in my foot.
The other half of the apartment is filled with Revolution Betrayed, Fascism, Permanent Revolution xD, etc. Every week, my father makes a round of all the newsstands in the city to collect all the Trotskyist weeklies. I was stupid enough to teach him into the internets because I thought we'd save some money on those magazines, but now, not only does he buy them, but he also hangs out on some leftist forums, starting shitstorms with other libs about the best bait, etc. He can scream at his monitor or throw his keyboard out the window. Once, my father pissed me off, so I created an account there and trolled him, posting random sillies in his threads, like Chinese achieve kommunism. My mother couldn't keep up with cooking bigos to calm him down. Oh, and she's already achieved the BAN award on the forum for shitting out 10,000 posts about Stalin.
When the weather's warm, he goes to the social democrats every weekend. For about five years, I've been eating propaganda for dinner every Sunday as my father rambles on about the benefits of eating that watered-down crap. When I got into college, my dad spent a week blabbing about how it's thanks to because I knew a lot of information about the degenerated workers state because it contains truth and my brain works better.
Every Saturday, he and his friend Mirek wake up the whole family at 4 a.m. because they're making noise packing slogans, making sandwiches, etc.
While eating, he always rambles about communism, and every time the topic eventually turns to Stalin. My father works himself up and gets a terrible pain in the ass. Durr, they're not democratizing enough, only stealing, hurr. He turns bright red and leaves the table cursing and goes to watch "Communism in 10 Minutes" to calm himself down.
This year, he bought himself a cosplay for Christmas. Of course, he couldn't stand it until Christmas Eve, so he unpacked it yesterday and set it up in the living room. He dressed in his entire Trotsky outfit and sat in it in the middle of the apartment all day. He also ate his dinner (Mexican) in it.
If they'd let me within arm's reach of Trotsky in 1940, I would have grabbed him and killed him with an ice pick.
One time, back in the primary or junior high, it was my birthday, and the old man took me along to a protest as an exception. Great present, fucking whore.
We went somewhere way out of town. We reached a small group of Libs, and my father's eyes were already lighting up and he was licking his lips excitedly. He set up all his equipment, and we walked down the street, watching the grass grow. After five minutes, I got bored, so I started reading something from him. My father would hit me over the head with a fishing rod, saying that the bourgeoisie could smell the communism in my book and get scared. When I tried to scratch my ass, he'd immediately 'whisper shout' at me to stay still because I was rustling, and passersbies from behind the buildings could see me causing disorder and get radicalized. I had to walk around for six hours non-stop, staring at the street like I was in some fucking Guantanamo. My birthday is in November, so on top of that, it was freezing cold. At one point, my father walked a few meters away into the woods and farted. He explained to me that you have to fart in the woods because otherwise the right wing can hear and feel it.
I mentioned that my father has a friend, Mirek, with whom he goes to the socdems. It used to be hehe Zbyszek, a ball-shaped man with a neck beard who wore a stained tank top 365 days a year. He and my father were almost like brothers; he and his wife, Bożena, would come to our house for Christmas Eve dinners, etc. Once, they were celebrating my father's name day, and Zbyszek came over for a hehe drink. They got drunk and, of course, talked nonstop about proletarian dictatorship and exporting the revolution. I was sitting in my room. At one point, they started yelling at each other about whether Cuba or the USSR was generally better.
"DON'T PISS ME OFF ZBYSZEK HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE USSR'S ARMY WAS? MUNCH AND KULAKS FUCKED!"
"KURWA TADEK, KUBA AT LEAST STILL EXISTS. YOUR USSR CAN BITE."
"FUCK ARE YOU TELLING ME ABOUT GORBACHEV KUBA HAS NO COMINTERN. THE USSR IS THE KING OF THE PROLETARIAT LIKE THE LION IS THE KING OF THE JUNGLE."
And then they started fucking wrestling on the living room carpet, and my mother and I had to separate them. Since then, they've completely lost touch. Last year, Zbyszek's wife called to say Zbyszek had fallen off his bike and was inviting him to the funeral. His mother answered the phone, offered her condolences, then hang up and told father about it, and father
"And that's a good fucking thing."
That's how much he hated him for that USSR.
I mentioned my father's archenemy, Stalin. He became my father's complete obsession, and when, for example, they'd say on TV that there'd been an earthquake somewhere, he'd always mutter to himself that they should finally say something about those Stalinist bastards. He also stopped reading non-Trotskyist newspapers because he was fed up with the fact that nothing was being written about the international proletariat or the scandals within the Bolshevik Party.
The head of the Leninist circle in my neighborhood is a certain Mr. Adam. To my father, he embodies Stalin's betrayal of the revolution, and my father waged war against him for many years. Once, he went to a communist meeting where Adam was speaking, and my father came home with a torn shirt because they forcibly removed him from the hall, that's how much he was acting the fuck up.
After his defeat in a physical clash with Stalin's armed wing, my father began an online guerrilla campaign, slandering Leninists and Adam on the forums of local newspapers. He'd be spouting nonsense like Adam being a secret collaborator with Solidarity, or that he'd seen him on the street scratching someone's car with a nail, etc. I didn't teach my father into TOR, so he ended up getting beaten up for slander, and my father had to pay Adam 2,000 złoty.
When he was paying, it was impossible to live at home for a week. My father would bitch about the corrupt courts, Stalin, Adam, and the whole world in general. His bullshit implied that Stalin's forces, like some kind of Freemasons, ruled the world, pulling the strings and having connections everywhere. He'd also convert that 2,000 złoty into flags, signs, and pictures, and he'd get a terrible headache wondering how many custom stickers he could buy for those 2,000 złoty (several hundred kilos).
I never translated the rest to English, but the father reads Mussolini and steals someone's personal library so that he can not read it, and starts a 5th internationale