Updated: Mar 16
by Bryanna Gary
Murder and cannibalism are pretty fucked up, but no one likes a snitch.
My job as a parent is to be fair to the both of you. I don't like to play favorites, because I don't have a favorite. You're both my kids, you're both of equal importance to me, and you both need to be held equally accountable for your mistakes.
I don't know why that upsets you so much, Amy! You didn't see Tim complaining when I sat you both down and informed you that you're both grounded for a week. I mean, yes, Amy, Tim is grounded because I caught him chewing on the severed arm of Mrs. Griffith from next door. And, yes, it's true that I didn't know she was even missing until I found your brother ravenously devouring chunks of her detached limb. And no, Amy, I don’t know where the rest of the body is. I don't see how that's even relevant.
Tim really messed up here, Amy. I admit that. It's not very nice to eat little old ladies. But you went out past curfew to report him to the police, so you're just as bad as he is. Maybe worse. Who’s to say? Not me, of course, because I don't ever take sides. Ever. I'm a good parent.
That's why I sent you both to your rooms without dinner when you found the mutilated corpses of twelve friends and neighbors hanging in the garage on meat hooks. You ran upstairs, frantically warbling on about, “Oh my god, there's dead people in the garage!” and implicating Tim in the corpses’ mysterious appearance.
No one likes a snitch, Amy.
Yeah, what Tim did was wrong. Going on a cannibalistic murder spree and slaughtering eleven of our neighbors is a pretty big no-no in my book. And adding Uncle Dale to the pile of corpses after cutting off his left nipple was also pretty rude and unnecessary. But if I'm being honest, did anyone in the family really like Uncle Dale? Like, have any of us ever really been that excited to have him over for Thanksgiving dinner? I haven’t. I mean, he was fine, I guess, but if you really think about it, he kind of deserved to lose his left nipple.
And, I mean, really, Amy, did you have to snitch on your brother when you leave your clothes laying around all over the house? How am I supposed to trust you when you snitch on your brother when I can't even trust you to put your socks away? That's right, I can't. In fact, maybe you're the one who cut off Uncle Dale’s left nipple and left him hanging on a meat hook. Yes, Amy. You.
I know you think it’s crazy that your father and I drained our life savings—and your college fund—to hire a top-notch lawyer to bail Tim out of his little legal predicament, but I think it’s only fair that if you aren’t put in jail for violating the rules, Tim shouldn’t be either. It’s not favoritism, Amy. It’s impartiality.
That impartiality extends to other things, too, like what you both decide to do in your free time. You like binge-watching Friends on Netflix while curled up in bed and eating a tub of ice cream. And that’s fine. A little on the lazy side, but who am I to judge?
Tim likes founding cannibalistic clubs named after infamous serial killers that meet in our basement every Friday and Saturday evening. And you know what, Amy? That’s fine too. In fact, I have to say that I’m impressed that he’s taking such leadership initiative. Subject matter aside, being the founder of the Dahmer Collective is an excellent bit of experience to put on a resume. And it takes teamwork to drag the struggling bodies of terrified victims all the way into the basement.
So I choose to be supportive of both of my kids, Amy. Sue me. I know you blame me for every negative thing that befalls this family, say that I haven’t done enough to keep your brother in check, and you know what, Amy? I think that’s what hurts me the most.
Sure, the Dahmer Collective may have accidentally evolved into a little bit of a satanic cult that sacrifices men, women, and children through cannibalistic rituals and eventually brought about the apocalypse by summoning Satan. And sure, I am currently getting my intestines pulled out by a demon shaped like a cactus. But you know what, Amy? Maybe none of this would’ve happened if you’d been a little nicer to your brother. Also, hail Satan.
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