She'd been a Michelangelo since age three, ever since she discovered that when sticking her finger into her tiny button of a nose, she could pull something out. Apparently, this fascinating new substance proved quite malleable and inspired her creativity. You could find sticky creations on the walls of her room, on the bathroom mirror, even on pieces of brightly-colored construction paper that hung on the fridge, like proper works of art.
On a trip to Macon one afternoon, she solemnly sat in the back seat and decorated the car window for the entire trip. When my Uncle Dwight saw the work of the pint-sized Picasso on the window of his new Chevy, he lost it. "Goddamn it, girl! That's disgusting! Why do you do that?"
Rochelle stared at him like he was an idiot. "Because." She rubbed her nose and frowned. "I don't have any crayons."

By Rochelle
Let's hear another one about this SKANK ASS COUSIN OF MINE, shall we? One day, when I was eleven, I was FORCED to spend the day with her because my mother MADE me be nice to people we were related to, even if it was just by marriage, which to this day has screwed me over for life. People, if people around you suck, don't force your kid to be nice to them! You're just shoving off the pain onto your defenseless child so you can go do something else and not feel guilty.
Anyway, I was forced to go over to Rochelle's, where I found her in the yard in front of her trailer, spreading out long strands of toilet paper over chairs to dry in the sun. I figured she was making a paper mache project or something (she was 12 at this time). She informed me that she was drying out the toilet paper so it could be 're-used.' Yes, PEED ON toilet paper was being recycled by my booger-picking cousin.
After I squawked in disgust, she just gave me a look like I was an idiot.
"Don't be stupid," she said. "It's not the poop paper."
Oh, OKAY.
Why is this story relevant? She called me last night to gloat about how she's all getting married and going on a honeymoon and crap. This booger-picking, crusty toilet paper-using skank is getting married. I'm sure her husband-to-be sucks too, but still. I don't do booger art and I only use TP once, and NOBODY loves me.
So...screw you, Rochelle. And if you have the NERVE to call me back and ask me all condescendingly to be a 'bridesmaid,' I will yank every hair out of your skanky little heifer head.
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