She seemed like such a sweet old lady. Who would have ever believed that she was really such a raging alcoholic?
Okay, that’s not fair, she wasn’t just an alcoholic, she was a raging bitch who scared all the neighborhood kids when she was sober (which wasn’t very often). She scared them even more when she was drunk.
Okay, that’s not really fair either, she wasn’t just an alcoholic and a raging bitch, she was a self-proclaimed princess. Right down to her fancy ball-gown attire, heels, and tiara. Oh yes, she had a tiara. She had a closet full of them.
Okay, okay, okay, that’s not completely fair. She was an alcoholic, a raging bitch, a self-proclaimed princess, and a race car driver. Did this princess wear a flame-retardant suit like all the other race car drivers? No, she was above that. She had a ball-gown made of flame retardant materials. And she drove in four-inch heels no less. Like a bat outta hell. Or a raging bitch, whichever you prefer.
She drove her race car every day too. To the store, to … well, to the store. Come to think of it, shopping, drinking, and terrorizing the neighborhood kids was all she ever did. She was a princess, after all, working was beneath her.
This all has to come to a point, doesn’t it? Of course not. The point was that she was a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess who drove race cars. She drove that race car as fast as she could down her street, it didn’t matter if there were people crossing the street walking their dogs or pushing strollers, as far as she was concerned, they were in her way. They’d move. Otherwise, they’d pay. See, I told you she was a raging bitch. Her lawyer got her off on those vehicular manslaughter charges, every single time.
Oh, and her lawyer… Lord, her lawyer. He was a blood sucker, as bad as they come. That’s the reason the brands would sponsor that race car that never saw a race track, only parking lots and the neighborhood streets. He was impossible to deal with, so most people he sued for stupid reasons (because his client threw a hissy) would just settle to avoid dealing with him. More than once, a family admitted fault in a court of law because their house was built too close to hers, even though they were well within zoning laws. Somehow that fact was irrelevant. It’s a small price to play to avoid dealing with a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess who drove race cars and had a shady lawyer.
No one ever visited her house, except the occasional Mormon who wanted to pray for her soul or an alarm company salesperson. They didn’t stay long, because she was a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess.
Everything that happened just made her a more difficult person to deal with. She never had a change of heart, never had that epiphany that life would be better if she weren’t a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess. Nothing like that.
She just existed. She just … was.
Until the day she wasn’t.
No one really knows exactly the day she wasn’t. After all, no one ever visited her except the aforementioned Mormon and alarm salesmen.
One day, however, one of the neighborhood kids dared a new kid to go ring her doorbell to see what would happen.
Not being afraid of a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess, he took that challenge.
He rang the bell. Nothing.
The garage didn’t open to have her fly out in a fit of rage. The curtains didn’t move.
The neighborhood kids upped the ante. He had to go in.
Not being afraid of a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess, he took the next challenge.
He walked around the house until he found a window to break. The alarm didn’t go off. So much for the alarm salesmen who walked away from her house satisfied.
He continued through the window. He was greeted by a cat. And another. And another. But of course an alcoholic raging bitch of a princess had a thousand cats.
He kept creeping through the house until he got to her room, and pushed opened the already cracked door. A smell hit him that made him throw up a little bit. But still he continued.
There she was. What was left of her, anyway. It looked like the cats got hungry and took it out on her. All that was left was a few bones, a flame-retardant ball-gown, and a tiara (which one extremely prissy-looking white cat was wearing).
The moral of this story? Don’t be a raging alcoholic bitch of a princess or the cats will eat you. You have been warned.