Gay, Bi-Racial GangBangs

One night, not so long ago, my grandparents invited my aunts, Rachel and Rita, to dinner. This is always a dangerous endeavor. My grandparents eat anything, especially if its meat that has been left out on the washing machine in the garage for a few days. You know, nothing like aged meat and all. I have no idea what it is with old people and spoiled food and dried citrus fruit rinds, but it seems to be endemic.

That night my aunts got a little more for dinner than just spoiled seafood and food poisoning. They got Gay, Bi-Racial Gangbangs!!!

I was totally jealous. All I ever got was some weird beet salad.

Apparently, my grandfather was having some trouble with spam and pop-ups on his computer. He’s 84 and tackling the Internet. He asked Rachel to look at his computer and see if there is anything she could do about it. So Rachel set upon the task of searching my grandfather’s cookies and history to find the culprit of the pop-ups. And lo and behold, she found the treasure chest of all history snoopers: Porn Sites.

Anyone who has ever done this knows that snooping in the history file is opening a can of worms, Pandora’s box and a barrel marked Danger: Toxic Waste. It is more dangerous than eating my grandmother’s cooking. Whatever you look for, you WILL find and it WILL damage you. Most of the time, we just don’t need to know. If you want to continue to like and respect the person you are snooping, do not look. Go home until the urge passes. If you are divorcing them, make a copy.

At times, Rachel puts more information in her head then she can handle. This coupled with a skewed sense of logic tends to lead her down paths most of us would never dream of taking. In all fairness, this is a family trait, shared by all, diluted in the 2nd generation, but still, shared by all. I do it, i mean did it all the time as a kid.

Rachel, therefore, was mortified. Rita, on the other hand, just asked outright. “Dad, what is this? You surfin’for gay, bi-racial gangbangs?”

To which my grandfather says, “NO, that’s what I’m talking about. They just keep popping up and I don’t know how to get rid of them.”

“What does it mean, this gay, bi-racial, gangbang pop-up?” Rachel asked herself and I’m sure her therapist later. Is our 84-year-old presently Mormon, previously Masonic father really a homosexual? Does he like a little Chinese noodle with his meal? Does he want a some chocolate cream for dessert? Maybe he’s a sex addict. Was her childhood a lie, how does this affect her life now, the lives of her children. Is it catching, this gay, bi-racial gangbang illness? Should she shower immediately or call an intervention.

It’s not her fault that she becomes so undone by such farcical situations. Thirty years of therapy will do that to a person. If you’re not cured with therapy, you’re hamstrung by it. Therapy has only two results: 1. It helps you see the world from a distant, healthier perspective removing your focus from your teeny tiny world of ID and ends or 2. You become myopic, searching in vain for the rhyme or reason for why you were picked on in the 3rd grade or to the lascivious gesture you saw your mother make to the milkman and how it affected your sex life/drive and how it will affect your children and your cat thus continuing to pay the house payments for some unscrupulous therapist who should have sent you packing years ago.

So, suffering from chronic therapy, Rachel could not see the truth. She was so consumed with having a perverted father, she couldn’t see a more logical conclusion.

It was my 84 yr old grandmother.

She’s on oxygen. I think she gets a little high and surfs the net looking for gay black ass.