Deja Vu All Over Again…
I wrote the (italicized) below September 20th, ’02:
Well, I’m sending my wife away for the weekend to a quiet place in the mountains for a ‘retreat’, away from me and the squallin youngn’s…don’t need her freaking out and engaging in an act of terminal child-bathing cuz she never gets a break, and then one fine day she snaps.
The husband of that crazy bitch in Texas, you know the one, bitch got a ‘little overzealous’ while teaching her kids to snorkle… he should be thrown, bound and naked into the cage of a Viagra’d up mountain gorilla…
…and did you see that malignant cunt on Fox News today, slugging her four year old daughter? She goes in the cage next. First (and lesser) offenders should be forced to watch the gorrilla rape video as a warning that next time it could be their ass getting reamed by Koko and his Big Pink Banana.
Fuck privacy, I’m glad that the proliferation of security cameras is catching people like this baby-bashing douchebag…I wanna reach up her snatch and rip out her reproductive organs, like a bloody distributor cap and spurting plug wires…some people just aren’t fit to breed, and they’re just gonna pass on the disease to their kids. I’m almost afraid to see how that poor little girl turns out, assuming she survived the beating.
I once assisted a DA Homicide Investigator in securing a piece of evidence from a crime scene…the ‘evidence’ was the entire west wall of the home’s dining room. The wall was decorated with several interesting and colorful blood-spray patterns, indicating where some animal rat bastard had bashed his toddler son’s head against it many, many times. The DA felt that it would be an effective exhibit to wheel into the courtroom for the jury to see.
Ahhh, the old days…2002. Funny thing is, she’s away at the same retreat this weekend. It’s become a ritual. She comes back revved up and recharged. She goes up with a group of broads from her church, and apparently they all revert to 16 and get crazy. Wonder if they drum.
My darling son picked today to get sick. He has puked about eleventy times since waking up. I’m greatful to him for not spewing in my bed this morning when he crawled in with me around 7. I managed to sneak in another hour of sleep before he launched into the bathroom with a serious look on his face. He dry-heaved off and on all morning, and then tricked me into giving him a bowl of life cereal.
I just finished cleaning it out of the upstairs rug where he laid down suppressing fire on the carpet, thence to a layup on the rim of the toilet, then a brief but spirited rebound onto the bathroom rug and the shower curtain, before delivering the last hot meals-on-wheels in another layup over the rim and into the upturned face of the bowl.
I yelled some. Little shitbird. I’d put a plastic waste basket by his bed, but some bile demon possessed him to go all Amway and distribute his well-chewed milky goodness all over the fucking place.
My woman better appreciate me giving away my newly precious weekend…