By my reckoning, it’s NOTHING short of a goddamned miracle that any of us with siblings survive into adulthood with all of our fingers, toes, eyeballs, and brain matter intact MUCH LESS SURVIVE INTO FUCKING ADULTHOOD AT ALL. As working class children growing up in Fresno, California, our house was the THE HOUSE where all the neighborhood kids wanted to hang...because, well, ZERO SUPERVISION and ENDLESS Ding Dongs and Twinkies and unlocked liquor cabinets and always fully loaded high-caliber handguns and perpetually-truant-14-year-old-unlicensed-drivers-hauling-numerous-unrestrained-freefloating-toddlers-around-town-in-stolen-13-seat-family-passenger-vans and parents fist-fighting in the front yard and then making up by fucking and gambling in Vegas for days at a time and, hey, I got an idea, let’s take the $100 bill they left on the table for groceries and diapers when they snuck out of the house and left town in the middle of the night without telling us and take everyone we know to Farrell’s for an ice cream orgy and forget the diapers the baby can just fucking freeball it and oh, my stars, ANARCHY IS FUN! As children, my nearly dozen sibs and I were fucking FIERCE and FERAL. When we were left home alone to our own devices — which we were quite often, as our beautiful, young parents had places to go and people to fuck — my ten brothers and sisters and I used to TEAR THAT SHIT UP. And, when our countless feral cousins were there, as well...it was literally like THE SICILIAN HUNGER GAMES meets LORD OF THE MEXICAN MOSCAS/FILIPINO FLIES. Yeah. That’s right. MY KIN KILLED — both our enemies AND each other. May the odds be ever in your favor, Sis — but hopefully tipped more into MINE. #youmightsharemydnabutthatdontmeaniwontwhipyourassbitch #brandedonthebackofmythighwithahotstoveheatedbutterknifebymycuntbrother #thinkiwasnt #fuckthatguy #wedemboys #luckyslut