11rd in Hey, buddy, got a light?

If you came to my house, you’d be hardpressed to find pictures of me. Mostly because most from my childhood are in photo albums that my mom has no idea where they are, and because I hated the camera during adolescence.
I joke that they only have pictures of my brother and sister up because they’re the functional ones.
My Obomber gubmint phone ran out of minutes or service, and I got a text saying to call some number to re-up or whatever. So I call, and I’m expecting to get some automated shit or at the very least, be talking to someone in the good ol’ US of A, thank you kindly.
BUT NO. IT WAS FUCKING PAJEET.
AND I COULD TELL HE WAS TRYING TO HIDE HIS ACCENT.
..Look, I’ve nothing against Indians, ok? There’s one at this liquor store I go to all the time and he’s way cool, bro.
BUT I REFUSE TO STAY ON HOLD WITH THEM AND TRY TO DECIPHER WHAT THEY’RE SAYING.
So..I’m going to look for another free obomber phone kiosk tomorrow.
I got sidetracked by my all american red blooded snapple drankin shotgun totin BIBLE THUMPIN CARTOON WATCHIN CHAINSMOKIN CHRONIC MASTURBATIN RANT.
So, my phone was useless, and I took my mothers.
Going back to why there aren’t alot of pictures of me around the house; I took her phone off idle and noticed her phones background was a picture of me as a child.
She also changed a password of hers at work to my birth date.
My mom won’t be around forever, and that shit just makes me plain god damn fuckin sad sometimes.