The Truth Shall Set You Free

“The Truth Shall Set You Free

I’ve always liked this phrase. I’ve heard it countless times from movies, The Oprah Show, and everyday conversations. Although, I didn’t realize this was a quote from The Bible. (I was born and raised atheist. Now I’m LA spiritual meaning: I own a yoga mat, a few crystals, and I look at the moon more). I didn’t buy a Bible, but I did look it up on the all-knowing google and discovered it’s meaning. So, truth (being Christianity) shall set you free. (Free of sin and misery and all that icky stuff). Okay. Cool. But is there a secular version of this that I can take and run with? 

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That Time My Dad Got Arrested (Part 3)

I really thought Patrice was too dumb to leave my dad as if she couldn’t figure out how to use the door handle. Or too dumb in a sense that she even dated him in the first place. Her looks supported my theory. 5’6, bleach blonde hair, super skinny with big fake tits and an airy voice. She was disgustingly cliche. In the beginning, Patrice was obsessed with my dad. Every picture of them together, she would tilt her head and dotingly look at him instead of looking at the camera lens like a normal person. Every. Single. Picture. She called him “Perkinson” because she aspired to be different than all of my other dad’s girlfriends who simply called him by his first name, “Bill.” When Patrice’s father shot himself in the head, she inherited a lot of money and forked all of it over to my dad. We’re talking about hundreds of thousands of dollars. My dad, in return, treated her like a sex slave.

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Canned Soup

Our pool was green growing up. My dad said that chlorine wasn’t healthy for the skin. But really, there wasn’t any money left to pay for a pool guy. We were all living off of my murdered mother’s inheritance. My dad was basically a kid just like me and my brother. He never worked like other dads did and was always home. He was either watching TV, having sex with whomever, or at the typewriter retyping W.B. Yeats poems and other writers’ work that he liked when he was younger. My dad was tall and strong and opened up soup and Chef Boyardee Ravioli cans and other bottles that were hard to open. I still have a hard time opening up things because I would never even try when I was younger. I had no desire to learn. I didn’t need to feel accomplished that way. I’d always go straight to my dad. Well, not when he was upstairs having sex with whomever. I knew not to interrupt and ask him to open up a soup can. If he was preoccupied like that, I’d then go to my older brother and ask him to open up the soup can. The worst would be if my dad was having sex with somebody AND my brother would be in the garage (which was his bedroom), and he’d be with his girlfriend having sex presumably.  Then, I’d just have cereal.

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