This Is One Big Joke

The problem with this new family is they don’t get my jokes. My insides are hurting, holding in the chuck-chuck-chuckles I can’t give outloud to myself, and they stare at me like my name is Vlad. Conservative chicken farmers meet disgruntled poet. Okay. Like today, when everyone is hot and bothered by the heat, stressed out by new-Mom not letting anyone wander within 3 feet of the edge, I say, we all should just chill dudes, sticking my hands out like riding a surf board, hanging ten or whatever. They’re like, whatever Keanu. Okay. That’s not true. But really, I stole one from my dad, he is old and funny, saying smoke another one when someone coughs, Nothing, just looks that say, we don’t believe in cigarettes. Saying the dust is getting in her lungs, that’s not funny. What?! Later, I’m at the top of a big old rock, I see new-Mom sweating panic, I’m so close to the edge, so I throw my hands up, raising the roof, maybe shaking my booty a little. Just shouts of WATCH OUT and crooked eyebrows. Man, I think, Zach would be stoked, smiling his big wide smile. The worst part is they don’t even appreciate domestic violence jokes, like when Sara calls me a slow-poke or a wuss or dumbhead while climbing some jagged rocks and I say,shut up I’m going to rip your face off. Everyone checking my fists, new-sister cowering in a crevice. Jeremy would be saying, Whoa man. Watch yourself. Clark would get the joke. Come on people.