The Greeter chatted with me the other day. He tried to keep it a secret that his wife left him. He talked of his mother, not his wife. I have an idea that mom is the one who got rid of his wife. How can anyone live with their mother and wife, certainly in Iran where it is forced on you but here, wife can fly away without being, hopefully, killed. And she did.
He seemed sad, the Greeter. I'm sure mom is happy. Happy, Happy, Happy cause the Greeter's wife was no fuckin' good for the Greeter. Just ask mom. He's doing okay, he said. But it didn't seem that way to me and I really felt sorry for the guy. In spite of his bomb building, and the burka-bitch hidden in the garage, where I guess, she is forced to build bombs, I feel sorry for the sap. Not so sorry for Happy Mom. Mom had on a scarf when someone drove her somewhere today. Mom needs to be driven just like in the old country. She cooks for Greeter, cleans up his shit, just like when he was a teeny-weenie baby.
It's so sad. If it wasn't that he was such a jerk, I'd offer him some advice. Send Mom packing before you turn into an old man living with your mother. But he seems pretty close to Mom. Mom knows what to cook for his high cholesterol. He let me know that when I offered him some fresh eggs. Mom knows how he likes his socks arranged and what he wants to eat on a cold winter day. Mom knows everything to keep Greeter well fed and jolly.
Poor bastard.
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