My sister is also retarded. Across the board. She's a one hundred per cent, honest to goodness, born that way retard. I learned a long time ago that if you're going to tell a story about your retarded sister, you need to mention she's retarded right off the bat or inevitably, at the end of the story, someone will say, "What... is she, retarded?" And then you have to go, "Uh... yeah, she is." Followed by a lengthy, awkward silence.
I don't want to brag, but I do speak Pig Latin; I mean, I'm not fluent, but I'm sure if I ever went there, I could get by.
I grew up in a mixed religious household. And it was volatile. My dad’s atheist, my mom’s agnostic. Just constant fighting. "There’s no God!" "There might be!"