"Give it to you?"

You laugh at the pitiful question mark at the end of her sentence.

"Yes, obviously. Give me the money. It takes brains to manage money, and do you have any brains?"

She struggles with herself, but eyes the rubber spatula still in your hand. "...no." She sags a little, defeated, still sniffling.

"Good girl."

She scowls, somehow managing to look more petulant than menacing.

"Now I know you have a collection of sex toys up in your room. I want you to gather all of them. Look at me. All of them! And put them in a box and deliver them to my room. It's time to introduce a little discipline into this family of sluts and whores."

Your mom shakes her head. "You leave Zoe out of this; she's a good girl! She—"

Your barking laughter interrupts whatever she was going to say next. "You really are stupid. Zoe is easily twice as fucked up as you, she just has the brains to stay off the streets." Then, in a more serious tone, you add. "Seriously, woman. Your daughter is a freak and a slut. If you didn't even know that you have no business being in charge of anything."

She gapes, clearly learning new information about her sweet little girl.

"Now go! And change into something more befitting a dumb whore. This outfit you have on makes you look like a respectable woman."

She doesn't move, so you brandish your spatula and she gets up, running from the room only a bit more gracefully than Zoe managed not that long ago.

You take your cereal bowl to the sink, then unroll the paper to read some comics while you wait for the coffee maker to finish a pot.

Oh, that Marmaduke. Never change, buddy.