Maybe I'm just bitch today.

There are few times that I will ever rage at someone in real life unless it's at my mother's boyfriend.

For one, he still won't stop whistling to get her attention.

I still grate my teeth at that just thinking about it.

It sort of kills me, too.

It's sort of hard to eat dinner when you're caught between wanting to hurl a knife at the person sitting across from you (Which is why I'm not allowed to sit across from him anymore, particularly in public.) and wanting to just be a total snot when he says something stupid.

"I couldn't cook before I lived here,"

You still can't cook. You can mash the potatoes when we ask you. But you still ask my mother to make your Ramen every fucking time, because apparently she makes it better...?

"Now I can make a salad, and before I couldn't do that!"

This reaffirms the fact that you are retarded. A salad is something a six year old can make with her eyes closed. Or at least, I could. It's pretty brainless. Lettuce. Rip it up, throw it in a bowl, add tomatoes and other veggies, add dressing. mix. Serve. It's pretty hard to fuck up, unless you add too much dressing.

"I'm great on a grill."

Fucking bullshit. I'm better on a grill than you are, and I've only used a grill a few times. All of your steaks taste the same as any other piece of red meat, because you don't bother seasoning it. In the beginning, if we heard you were grilling, we sulked at the waste of meat and prepared ourselves to chew on something with the texture of a shoe sole.

Admittedly, you have gotten better, but the fact remains that either you do this to bug me, or you're fucking retarded. It doesn't take rocket science to make a rare steak. It's easier than well done. Just drop the steak on the grill. Three minutes. Flip. Three minutes. Serve.

Also, could you save my steak for fucking last instead of doing it first every time? I'm pretty certain you do this on purpose, because I've suggested it before. To most people it's common sense that the steak that takes the least amount of time to prepare is made last.

And every time my steak is fucking cold by the time dinner is served. And every time you make sure to tell me, "I cooked it rare this time!"

Rare is RED. Not barely pink. To you, Mr. "I piss myself if my steak has any blood in it", I'm sure that might be rare, but to me rare means it's RED.

And honestly, I wish I could just stop bitching and cook it myself, but every time I cook you seem to take it as a sign of me undermining your authority, or trying to suck up to my mother.

I like to cook, fuckface.

I don't need to suck up to my mother. She's already my friend. You, on the other hand, seem to constantly need to prove that you aren't as useless as you turn out to be. In contrast to how you appear, I was shocked to find how little amount of time it took for you to become like any other useless slob.