January 04, 2008
Originally published May 2, 2003
When I picked Quinton up today, I was in the way of backhoes and earth-moving equipment. Black guys at work there cursed at me when I pulled into the Bloodless Cunt's driveway while some dickhead on a 'hoe wanted to back out through a hole in the privacy fence.
I was very polite.
I got out of my truck. I said "FUCK YOU!!!" as loudly as I could. I said, "I am here to pick up my goddam SON, from my ex-wife and you minimum-wage fuckheads building the SWIMMING POOL in my ex-wife's back yard can KISS MY CRACKER ASS!!! If you think I'm going to change the trajectory of my day for YOU, you can stick that backhoe up your bossy black ass. I won't be here for long, and you can take a Got-Damn time out. I ain't moving."
I reached inside my truck and dragged out the lug wrench. "I'm going to pick up my son, then you can go back to work. Unless one of you wants to come and MOVE MY FUCKING TRUCK FOR ME!"
I was quivering. I actually hoped that one of the mouthy idiots WOULD try to fuck with me. I haven't been that angry since high school, right before a fistfight. But they stopped their work.
Quinton came charging out the door about then.
I said, "Get in the truck, kiddo, and let's go." He did, and so did I.
The BC emerged then, smirking as always, to tell Quinton goodbye. I said, "A swimming pool, huh? Is that my Child Support At Work?"
"Rob, you know I don't need YOUR money to afford a swimming pool."
That's true. She makes over $100,000 a year, she fucked me over to a fare-thee-well, and I have to pay HER every month. She cashes every check, too. There is something incredibly wrong with that picture. But I didn't write the rules. I just have to play by them.
I really hope that Quinton enjoys the swimming pool.
All content © Rob Smith