I warn you all, this might sound like the rant of a homocidial maniac, but hear me out before you jump to conclusions.

My father doesn't love me. He has never, truly done so.

And don't give me some religious crap that says that you should show respect for your father, no matter what. I don't want to hear some Siegmund Freud crap either, about not understanding my father. This is not some honey-dipped Hollywood flick where the father and son gets along in the end. This is reality.

Because once you've gotten to know my dad from my point of view, you will probably agree with me, that that bastard doesn't deserve my respect.

My father is neither alcoholic, abusive or sexistic. Overall, he's a goody-two-shoes for any outsider.

I'm saying outsider, because it's only when there's someone else in the building (grandparents, friends, other) that he's any pleasant to be around.

But once you leave the house, the real Mikael Johansson shows his dirty face to his children and girl. (Yes, my parents never married. So sue me, and I'll pull your spine out through your throat.)

My dad complains about everything, from the way me and my brothers prepare sandwiches, to the way my mother have to work overtime as a teacher sometimes, to give those who have fallen behind a chance to catch up.

And you know what's the worst part about this? If something, such as realizing that the toilet paper has run out (while he's just brushing his teeth, mind you), he doesn't simply put a new roll on the holder.

No, instead, he forgets about it, and when we all have diner together, he goes on and on about how useless we are for not replacing the empty paper roll! And when I just can't take it, I scream at him that might as well do it himself, because he sure doesn't lift a finger when he can get someone else to do it. Furthermore, my screaming scares both our dog and my second-youngest kid brother to tears.

You have to agree, screaming is much better than punching his jaw in, right? I was very close in the daily brawl today. There you have the reason for my pacifist ways. If you can resist beating my dad to death, the you can resist beating anything.

My dad is a lazy asshole, who only works at his job at a local mart. Then, when he get home, he just sits around to tell everyone else how we should live our lives, how the proper way is to cook diner, don't take to much salt, etc.

In my family, there are two parents:

Mom = Good influence
Dad = Bad influence

Who does any work? (Both at home and at work)
My dad works at work, and sometimes cleans the floors. My mom works her ass off at work, and always cooks diner for us when she's home.

Who tries to raise their children?
Dad sometimes pay for toys, food etc.
Mom have always taught us right from wrong, how to behave and such.

Who's the best parent?
Definately mom.

My mom have lately been saying that the only reason that she is putting up with dad's idiocy and not separating, is because of me and my three brothers.

That's how great my mom is. No matter how tough a feat, she doesn't let go of it until she has bitten right though. I love her of all my heart.

But my dad... Let's just say, that if he doesn't apologize for being a terrible father figure, then there's no way I'm going to his funeral!

END OF RANT

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Just to clear up a mistake of lately...

is not my girlfriend. Sure, we draw pics of our characters in lovey-dovey situations, but those are just pictures, not flirting or love letters. I'm single (Somewhat lonely, but still managing) and unless I say something else, that's how it is.