So like, all the way at the tippy-top of Washington State is a small shit-hole of a town named Forked. Which exists under a near-constant cover of Communist Canadian clouds. Like it rains on this inconsequential cesspool of an excuse for a place more than any other spot in all of America. It was from this gloomy sewer and its omnipresent miasma fog that my excuse of a mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old.

My "Sister'mom" said she was a Sunday school teacher there, once upon. But like a lot of things she said, I am pretty sure that was just another one of her many "stories". Personally, I'm thinking she was more of a traveling truck stop stripper, who had fallen on hard times and ended up stuck in the suck for a minute. But then she met "Chief Chuck", and turned professional snitch for a minute, or at least until she could get another "dancing" gig. But then again, who knows which story is the right one? I guess like all families, it's probably just better to stick the story that sounds a lot more like other people's problems.

Anyways ...it was in this sad depressing shithole that I'd been forced to spend at least a month every one of my preteen suicide summers. Sister-Mom said she sent me here to spend some quality time with my so-called "Daddy", Aka small-town Sheriff who should have known better. Funny how that Vacay always seemed to coincide with the Las Vegas Adult Entertainment Convention every year ...like year after year after year.

But by the time I turned thirteen, I finally put my foot down on that Forking noise. So I used my first period as an excuse to "naw not" all over that bullshit. So since then, me and my so-called "Father figure" vacationed in Cali for two weeks every other year instead. So I am going to Disneyland to score some of that bad small world shrooms ...Whoo Woo!

So it was to this little cesspool shithole sewage spot that I now exiled myself to for the duration of high school. An action that I took with a great deal of dread, cause I pretty much forking detested Forked. I loved North Las Vegas. I loved the sun and the blistering heat that baked people's brains insane. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city of lights, full of addicts, the crack whores, drunks and methheads, that made my so-called life a just little less boring ASF. But sometimes a bitch just got to do what a bitch go to do, and this bitch kind of had to do something new. So whatever...

So it's like a five-hour flight in a small ass prop plane from North Las Vegas to Seattle, which only sucked slightly less than what happened next. Cause after I land in Seattle, the least forking friendliest city in America. I waste another three hours of my life on a Greyhound bus smuggling guns across the border into Communist Canada.

Like flying doesn't bother me at all, but three hours in the back of the Greyhound bang bus was seriously sketchy. A lot of those dudes looked like they just got out of prison and their last date was their shimmy date rape cellmate and shit. So I can totally tell all these losers are seriously "looking at me wrong" and giving me a serious case of "the rapies".  I knew that at least a couple of these parole-pedos are maybe thinking to get a little lucky. Maybe getting a little "something-something" at the next rest stop restroom. So right about now I am really starting to miss my bedazzled box cutters, cause these prison bitches seriously need some stitches.

Just before we hit the Communist Canadian border the bus stops in Port Angeles. Or as I like to call it ...the Armpit of Antarctica. When we finally rolled to a stop in the Port Angeles bus station, it was pissing rain ...so not a big shocker there. But like I didn't really see this as an ill-omen or anything? Just another unavoidable consequence of my port of last resort. I'd already said my goodbyes to my old life of fun in the sun anyways. So now I just watched the water suiciding from the sky with a degree of disdain.

Of course, just as I was expecting Chief Chuck was waiting for me at the bus terminal parking lot. He was looking all super copped out, with his mirrored swine shades on. Just leaning like a gunslinger on his cop cruiser looking for an unarmed urban youth to gun down in the street like a dog. Then make up some story about how he felt "threatened" and shit ...but not just by the shade of the urban youths skin.

So predictably all my new bus buddies were suddenly acting super sketchy, now that they saw who was waiting for them. Unluckily for all these losers looks like Daddy's got a new forty-five! And a big ass gold badge to go with that says: "Fork with the best...die like the rest."  Which was like the official motto of the Forked up Police Department.

I probably should have mentioned in my internal monologue, that Chief Chuck is actually Police Chief Chuck Blackswan to the good people of Forked. But to me, he will always just be Deadbeat Disneyland Daddy.

Chief Chuck gives me an awkward chin check, as I stumbled my way off the bus to avoid the homeless dude asking me for help. Thankfully, Chief Chuck automatically caught and steadied me on my clear high heels. I guess its true, old habits really do die hard after all.

Awesome first impression Bitchess! He probably thinks I am drunk like "my sister from another mister". Little does he know I don't drink a drop. I do however smoke a literal shit ton of weed and pop Midol like Tic-Tacs when the mood suits.

"Hey Chief, good looks." Righting myself again, while swearing to Satan, that I will never wear my hand-me-down clear high heels in the rain again.

"It's good to see you, Bee." He sighs sadly, clearly as happy as I am with the situation.

"It's good to see you too ...dude?" I force what passes for a smile on my frozen face.

I wasn't allowed to call him "Dad" to his face, for all obvious reasons. I guess the fact that my sister/mother was barely seventeen when they hooked up and he knocked her up was something of a problem outside the State of Utah.

"You haven't changed much since ...last time?" He looks slightly confused at how long it's been since we last vacay'd at the Tragic Kingdom. 

"Yeah, well ...thanks, I think?" Because now we are both confused, cause I could swear I looked hot when I left North Las Vegas.  

"So how's whatshername doing?" He opens the passenger's door, instead of the cop cruiser cage in the back. Which I do take as a good omen.

"My sister'mom is ...well ...you know?" I shrug off the past, like a bad memory.

"So samo-samo." He shrugs, which I find hard to interpret.  

I had only a few garbage bags to snatch up out of the underside of the roach coach. All my trash bags of shit fit easily into the back of the cop cruiser. Most of my old cool clothes were way too cool ...or at least not waterproof enough for Washington. So I had traded and borrowed on my cool for some cold clothes from the few friends I still had, to supplement my winter wardrobe. But it was still scanty a best ...and not scantily clad in the good sorta sexy-slutty way. But more like in the scantily way in which I would need to do laundry at least once a week? Or I would run out of clean clothes to wear. And then I will become the strange smelly girl that no one wants to try to hook up with and buy shit for. Anyways...

Chief Chuck has really been almost okay with the whole move to Forked thing. He seemed to genuinely not really give a shit that I was coming to live with him for the first time in my life. I knew he might be more than a little confused by my decision? Cause just like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my general distaste for Forked. So I was also a little worried about the next couple hours of interrogation time in the cop car with Chief Chuckles. I mean the dude is a killer cop who can smell bullshit a mile away ...which probably explains what he saw in my sister'mother? Lots and lots of practicing his lie detector tradecraft at home.

After we were securely strapped and trapped into the cop mobile, it was already awkward with Cheif Chuck for a minute. Neither of us was what anyone would call "Chatty Cathy's" like my sister/mother is on the regular. The lady who never met a silence she couldn't fill with irrelevancies and amusing anecdotes from her other personalities. I didn't know what there really was left to say irregardlessly. So we exchanged a few comments on the weather, which was way wet.

He finally asked me about the flight out of Vegas, so I told him it was noisy. Then he asked me about the ride up on the bus. So I told him about all the gunrunners and the parole-pedos on the bus. He nodded along at this news for a minute, and then called one of his cop buddies on the cop car radio. Ordered them to pull that thing over for no reason and check all the parolees out. Especially the three dodgy assholes in the back that were "looking at me all kinds of wrong" giving me the rapies. Yeah, I guess it does pay to have a crazy cop dad after all?

And that was pretty much it for talking time in the cop car. So we stared straight out the windows in silence. It was one of those silent silences that happen when you are trying to think of some stupid shit to say to someone? But then you realize that it might be too stupid to say? So you don't say that first stupid thing that you think, but try to think about the next stupid thing instead? But then by the time you realize that you're just being totally stupid, it is really too late to say anything not too stupid. Because the stupid silence has lasted way too long, so it would be super weird if you just randomly said ...whatever. Cuz then if you just started talking about stupid shit, it would sound like you have tweaker turrets? Like just randomly be blurting out irrelevant thoughts, for no other reason than to make noise. Sharing your super-secret satellite thoughts before the government steals them, cause you forgot to wear your traveling tinfoil hat again ...or whatever.

So instead of saying anything stupid, I just silently stare outside the car windows, at a bunch of nature. Trees and bushes and bugs and shit flying past the passengers side window. Honestly, I couldn't deny nature was sorta pretty in its own weird way. But everything was like sofa king green: the mold moss-covered trees trunks, their big branches swaying with a canopy of it all, just waiting to snap off and break some drunk fucks face. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves ...like some sort of sick solar radiation? It was all way too forking green for me ...like one of those alien planet places with hot topless blue chicks ride reptiles, that all those Nerds jerk it to during bubble baths. Endor or Avatard or whatever?

Of course, my other main thought about all this nature was...damn what a great place to grow some dank ass weed. Like you can almost imagine a whole magical forest of nothing but bud. From Purple Urple Mountains Majesty to amber waves of Malawi Gold ...all growing super danky under the great Northern Lights. Like I could totally imagination Johhny Apple Weed just walking by, flinging dank weed seeds everywhere. Then coming back in a year to find a forest of wild weed trees waiting for him to harvest.

One of the few perks of living large in the state of Washington is that now dank bud is legal, so no worries there. And I have a semi-halfassed master plan of paying for community beauty college by shipping that good Northern Lights BC bud back home to my few North Vegas friends. But after I get settled in, when I can start making some decent connects up in this bitch.

Chief Chuck finally breaks my mental monologue and mutters something that sounds like he's already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a ride. My primary motivation behind buying a beater was that I refused to be driven around town in a cop car with those lame-ass red and blue lights on top. Cuz nothing scares off potential bad boys from going down to Bonetown like Big Daddy Cop dropping you off for date night in his cop car.

"Oh yeah, I found a good ride for you on the cheap Bee." He mugs a smugly smirk.

"What kind of ride?" I was suspicious of that smugly smirk, not to mention the way he said "on the cheap" as opposed to just "gotta good deal."

"Well, it's a truck actually." He finally admits.

"Oh yeah? And where did you find it?" Cause I am already suspicious of this shit.

"Do you remember old Billy Blackjack down at La Kush?"

"Not." I shake him off stupid.

I searched my limited long-term memory and come up with a hazy kind of recollection. La Kush as is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast or something? Now that had some serious potential for a good grow. I had heard that Indians had some dank ass weed before the White Man showed up and stole all their shit. So just maybe they hid some of the good ancient Aztec strain with Crazy Horses secret burial spot or whatever? I try to make a mental note to not to forget to find out where the Ancient Aztec weed is at? 

"Yeah, he used to go drunk hunting with us during the summer, I think?" Chief Chuck muses.

Yeah, that would explain why I didn't remember this dude. I do a pretty damn decent job of forgetting things that I don't give a shit about. Also i have a bad habit of blocking painful and unnecessary things from my memory. Which is probably why I can't really remember much since I got off the plane from Vegas. Dogdammit, I miss my bedazzled box cutters...and whats-her-face?

"Yeah well, he's in a wheelchair now after his last DUI took a header into a tree." He continues talking to himself when I clearly didn't care. "So he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck on the cheap."

"Sucks to be him." I could see from his change of expression that this was not the response to other peoples tragedies he was looking for. "So, what year is thing anyways?"

"Well, I think it was new in the early sixties or late fifties?" He finally admitted sheepishly. "I didn't know...it runs and it was free more or less. So whatever."

"Chief, I don't really know shit about cars and trucks other than the back seat. So if this beater breaks down? I won't be able to fix shit, and I can't afford a mechanic. At least until I hook up with some lame loser in shop class. So..."

"Really Bee?" He snorts. "Trust me the thing runs great. They don't build shit like that anymore."

The Thing? I thought to myself ...has possibilities? Or at least as a personalized license plate anyways. Bee's Thing? Bee'sting? Da Thing? Some Thing? Thing-a-ling?

"Wait, so exactly how cheap is on the cheap?" I push my luck.

"Well, I kind of already confiscated it for you out of impound, as a homecoming gift?" Chief side-eyes me with a dry expression to see if I will bitch up all over this.

Wow! For forking free huh? So basically he confiscated a truck from some poor drunk dude in a wheelchair. Wow! What a great role model. I really don't have to wonder where I get all my anti-empathy from?

"You really didn't need to do that, dude. I was going to score myself a Lamborghini or a Ducati. After I found some stupid rich biker billionaire guy to run a hustle on real fast."

"I don't mind. I want you to be cool here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Being police Chief probably meant he clearly wasn't comfortable with expressing his crimes out loud. So I guess I inherited that from him too. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"Thanks, that was a really nice try, Chief. I appreciate the effort." The lies fall out of my mouth so smoothly even I almost believe them.

No need to add that my being "cool" in Forked was a foregone conclusion. But he didn't need to know that just yet. I learned a long ass-time-ago never to look free stuff in the face. But to always look behind it's back to where the strings are attached. Cause that is where you are gonna get it, right in the ass if you're not careful. And in North Las Vegas if you're not forking careful ...you end up a school bus stop teen prostitute named Snowflake. And there was no way I was ever gonna be a Snowflake, I was way too classy for that low life.

"Well, you're welcome or whatever?" He mumbles, almost embarrassed by my gratitude.

Eventually, we make it to what we are now calling "home". Apparently, he still stays in the same shitty small, two-bedroom house. The one that he'd seized in a meth lab raid where he met my mother in the early days of their so-called "working relationship". I guess those were the only kind of days their doomed relationship ever had ...the early ones. At least until I came along anyway and then everything went super sideways. Nothing like a brand new baby to screw up an illegal underage and possibly statutory rape marriage.

But there, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new ride ..."The Thing". This beater was a faded rusty red color, with big, rounded chrome pedestrian killing fenders. And a big truck cab that I can totally have sideways sex in if the mood ever suits me. And to my vast surprise, I actually love The Thing on first sight.

I didn't know if it would run for shit? But I could totally see myself in it running guns or moonshine or whatever passed for fun around here. Plus, it was one of those solid steel beasts that never gets damaged no matter how many drunks sideswipe you. It's the kind of truck that you see at the scene of an accident with fatalities, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the family of four in the foreign car it had destroyed. Like the really racist truck version of Steven King's Christine...but even better.

"Holy shit! I fucking I love that Thing! Thanks, daddy!" I clap super excitedly, like an unsuspecting tourist on a perverted Hello Kitty game show.

"I'm glad you like it, Bee." He scowls gruffly, obviously embarrassed by me again. "And don't call me Daddy again ...it seriously creeps me thr shit out."

"Too true." I shake off the shivers. "Sorry, I don't know where that came from ...jet lag maybe? Or maybe I got a contact high on the party bus. Mah bad ...dude?"

We both sit there in silence for a minute as the ramifications of the situation slowly start to sink in. Yeah, he is my dad and I am his daughter ...unfortunately for both of us. Not to mention the seven paternity tests he made my mother take proved that beyond all doubt. But still, we are these very forked up people that have been living on our "stories" so long that we are stuck with the sideways version of all this bullshit.

"Mmmm...so it occurs to me that after you've been here for a while, maybe we could just tell people that you're my adopted foster kid or something? You know if they even cared enough to ask or whatever? Then maybe that "Dad thing" wouldn't feel so ...weird and wrong? But Bee, don't ever call me "Daddy" again. Your mother used to say that shit. Like whenever I brought her something stupid shiny and we had our..." He pauses awkwardly. "...special time?"

"Oh holy hell... I think I just threw up a little in my mouth." I reflex gag.

"Yeah, you and me both." He squints up through the window trying to find the sun. "You have to understand something, Bee. I was still drinking a lot of the hard stuff back then, so I made a lot of seriously stupid mistakes. Obviously, you were one of them."

"Obveee." I agree and try to shake off the nasty knowledge of him and Sister'moms especial tiempo time. 

"Okay Chief, so let's just parlay this shit real quick then?" I offer him a side deal on the stupidity.  "Like I swear to Satan, I won't ever call you that D-A-D-Y word again. If you will never ever ever ...say anything more about Especial Tiempo Time with whats-her-name again? Deal?"

"Deal." He shrugs. "Well, let's get you moved in already. So I can hit happy hour early and get my hammer on ...try to forget my many mistakes."

"Sounds like a dream come true." I shrug it.

So maybe it was just me here? But having another parent neglect me in order to start day drinking this early in the morning? That really made this feel like a real family reunion for the first time.

So it pretty much only took only one trip dragging my two garbage bags of shit to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the top floor of our little crazy cabin in the woods, with an attic bedroom that faced out over the backyard. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which was good since I wouldn't have to share a urinal with a dude, thank hell. I had already had far too many "missing man" moments at Sister-mom's last spot, whenever she dragged home drunks with no aim at all. So gross...

My so-called room was somewhat familiar to me, but like in a Flowers in the Attic way? Like I think it had belonged to me since I was born and shit? The wooden floor, the light white walls, the peaked ceiling, the blackout curtains around the window were sorta familiar. Like these were all a part of my childhood ...that I think I tried to set on fire once when I was five?

Like I don't really remember having a lot of fun up in here as a kid? But then again I don't really recall a lot of things from when I was a kid. Maybe something happened to my head after my mother dropped me a lot? Like I got that good Days-of-our-Lives amnesia or something? I forget a lot of shit and always get distracted by my own internal monologue a lot anyways.

Wait, what was I saying again? Oh yeah...

One of the things I like about Chief Chuck is he doesn't care enough about me to hover around trying to be helpful and shit. After all, he has an early half-off happy hour breakfast buffet to get to? So he pretty much leaves me alone to unpack my shit and get settled into this bitch. A feat that would have been hella impossible for my mother. Cause she would be trying to try on all my cute clothes, and claiming that they fit her too. When it was so obvee to everyone ever that they sooo do not fit her old ass. Spandex yoga pants are a privileged not a right.

But it was nice to be finally alone, not to have to smile and look pleased and shit. The vapid coldness that is my real personality finally rises up to the surface of my face. Evaporating the stone face stupid that I had been wearing since I left North Vegas. It was a relief to finally just stare malevolently out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few remaining smiles escape from what little is left of my soul. The rain was really nice to watch suicide die from the sky. Besides, I wasn't really in the mood to watch a lot of the latest Kardashian porn yet anyways.

I finally got bored ASF with watching the water falling to its death from above, so I finished putting my few clothes in the old wood dresser. It was an old ass dresser, that was made out of the same wood stuff as coffins. I took my big bag of bathroom necessities and went to the bathroom to clean myself up after the day from hell. As I brushed out my hair I stared vacantly into the mirror at my no makeup face. Maybe it was the gloomy light, but already I looked hotter here than I did in North Vegas. My pale skin has always been very clear, almost translucent-looking, depended on the right light. I have always had the kind of skin that amateur teen porn stars were jealous of ...so that was good.

Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same stupid shit through my eyes, that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Or maybe there was a glitch in my brain, from being dropped a lot as a child? But the cause didn't matter ...all that mattered was the effect. And facing my reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I had been lying to myself for a while. It wasn't my resting bitch face that completely lacked emotions ...it was me.

"Welcome to forking hell Belladonna." I snort at the hot girl in the mirror staring blankly right thru me. "And you sooo know deserve this shit? Right, bitchess?"

"Whatever..." I sigh back at the bitch in the mirror.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Authoress Notes & Forking Feels!!! 

Hella all my Luvlies!!! Omidog! I can't believe I actually wrote a whole nother story in a day!!! Booyaa Bee's!!!

So what did you guys think about my second or "Uno" Chappie? Was it Kool ASF or what?

And what did you think of Bee's Bus adventure? I know I almost had feels of sorry for her without her bedazzled boxcutters.

This week's secret word is "Rapies" like Rape + Rabies = Rapies. Me and my homegirl Sista came up with that shiznit last week at a partay when we were talking trash on some creepy stalkery loser who hangs on Courtney (Skank!). We actually giggled so hard I almost pee-pee'd myself a little bit ...but thank god I was totos dehydrated from all the Molly we dropped earlier. Shhhh!!! 🤑🤑🤑

So anyways... like I need your Luvlies advice on a couple of randoms for Bee to hook up with. Like for surez I am going to have a Vampire ...cause duh ...like you have to have a Vampire. I think his special secret power is going to be that he sparkles in the moonlight ...like a bedazzled boy toy ...or is that way too glee?

And I am thinking of having a love triangle with Bee and a werewolf too !!! But not like a cool Underworld werewolf? More like a hotter hornier, but less lame ...or whatever werewolf? Mmmm ...I might bedazzle his fur too. IDK!!!

And maybe a zombie? But like Zombies are kind of gross, and I heard that their princely parts fall off and shit. Ewww ...so gross. So like IDK yet. 🤢🤢🤢

So anyways ...as always don't be a silent reader! Cause that's like so totes wrong and it really hurts peeps feels and shit. So read, vote, over-comment, overshare, add to ALL YOUR LIBRARIES ...EVEN THE BAD SHITTY RANDOM FANDOM ONES!!! Follow this account, create a lot of fake Facebook accounts to follow this account, so you can vote more on my stories, and all my friendlies' stories, but not my enemy's stories. Like that stupid skanky skankanator (You know who!!! ) at WillF*ck4votes... such a tot's vote slut. I know that you reported my Pilates camel toe selfie you skank!
Never Forgive~Never Forget 
"Snitches get Stitches!!!"

Oh and please keep my dog Mr. Bobo in your thoughts and prayers cause we think he might have testicular cancer again. But like no one at my house really wants to check ...so gross. :( :( :(

So we are taking him to the vet today to get his "doodads" checked.

OH FYI... does anyone know how to make a pug cough?

Anyways... until next time ...LUV U LUVLIES :) :) :) !!!