It's pronounced "Ask" body wash, you brat!

Uncle Gene, seriously wtf.

First you bring this poor-ass kid who smells like a junior-high school locker room along with us, and I'm totally sure his mom was some Stuckey's waitress, amirite? And now you're voting for me for what, president? Thanks, Uncle Gene. Get with the program, okay? Sometimes I seriously want to just stab you in the throat with an icepick and take your share of the inheritance.

I told Michael that this would happen if they didn't send you to Vassar. No manners, no culture, and no sense of conversational propriety. Accusing your uncle of entering into lustful congress with some random woman - Why, I never! We shall say no more of this.

Apart from my inclination towards the arbitrary, I haven't the slightest reason to vote for you other than the fact that, for now, the Fates prompt me to. If you continue behaving in this manner, though - Well, I can't say what I'll do.

Also, Allen dear, must you always crash into every room and announce that you're my bastard? It's getting tiresome. Just last week, before the entirety of my Bible study group, you shoulder charged a door open, breaking it in the process, bumped over three vases - the last one on purpose, too, so that you could, as you said then, "Complete the set in its brokenness." - jumped up on the coffee table, and proclaimed to the whole group, "Daddy, your bastard is home." Now this. It's really all a little much.

You've been hanging out with your aunt Eunice too much, you sound just like her.

You never given me the chance, sir.

Do you remember that Mrs. Rutherford's funeral? Your nanny for eighteen years of your life and all you can say when you get up to supposedly give her eulogy - which was mostly about how she smelled too much of cigarettes - you began with the line, "Dear Ones, I, Allen Perkins, bastard son of Eugene Adderly, have a few things to say about Whatshername." I mean, really. What! I say. Not done! I say. Yes.

Besides, you know I pride myself on ever-faltering stoicism. Handshakes and the occasional baseball game at family lunches are all I can stomach. Besides my original besides, we talk, don't we? That's something.

Did you then, in your efforts to attract the attention of your dad, also kill your grandfather? This is really going too far! I know I helped raise you and god knows I did my best to keep you on the straight path! But you really do have a mean streak and I know it wasn't our upbringing that spoiled you so!

CSPVG, dearest. Talk to your son and find out if he has done wrong. I fear so. But I can't bring myself to vote on him yet. And if he didn't do wrong, please my dear husband, keep us safe from the villainous murderer who is loose on this island!

Wait, wait, wait... Wait.... You mean to say that you somehow helped to raise that bastard, who does not even bear his father's surname?!

OMG, Uncle Gene, every time you talk it just sounds like the noise the squeegee makes against the shower door.

SQUEEEEEEEEzzp

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEzzzp

Anyway, we all only know you're only even paying attention because it's the first day. A week on this island and you'll stop reading and fall asleep all day like you always do.

Anyway where is Dad? I swear to God Buddah and my Amex card, where the f*** is Dad?

DAD. DAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY the creepy kid is still looking at me.

Well, what choice did I have. I, other than some, respect the sanctity of marriage. I will stand by my husband, even if he fails. And when he decided to own up to his mistake and take care of his poor bastard son, of course I had to support him in that decision. Much better this way then of the boy had been raised by his wench of a mother!

Stuckey's. I'm telling you. Uncle Gene probably slipped her his own pecan log in the men's room after shift change.

I can't believe I'm related to any of you.

He is probably being "occupied" by that Erin. When dad shows up, don't let his lover touch you. She has tranquilizers in her pocket.

Well I never! I'll be DAMNED if one of Michael's snotnosed little brats sees a dime of this money!

Vote Dessimu

Elizabeth, come here darling. Mommy won't let anyone hurt you.

Well, you're not related to me, thank god. Even though you are my husbands child.


Do you know that for a fact? That she is carrying poison around with her? Very suspicious!

Little bloody brats we are?!.. Would you mind telling us, how your skinny 18 years old legs found their way to papa's bed? Was it after your first "sleeping spree" that you got pregnant, or did you wait a little longer?