February 25, 2007
Originally published September 3, 2004
I don't know HOW I managed to do it, but I seem to have pissed off a couple of wimmen. I've gotten some downright hurtful comments from them. I read those words and began to hyperventilate. I got a case of the vapors. I had to go to my room and cry in the closet for a while. I threw something and broke it for no good reason.
The fact that I WATCHED MY FATHER DIE after a long battle with cancer doesn't seem to matter to these wimmen. I WAS THE ONE who made the call, telling the doctors to back off and leave my dad to die as peacefully as possible. The fact that my mama turned to ME and said, "handle it" after my father died and I had been awake for 36 hours doesn't mean shit, either. I am a heartless sumbitch, a Dancer With Prostitutes, and a pig. That's what happens when wimmen "feel."
If they didn't have a pussy, there'd be a got-dam bounty on them.
All content © Rob Smith