March 04, 2008
Originally published April 19, 2003
As soon as the boys manage to splash all the water out of the bathtub, I'm taking them to the Super Wal-Mart. I told them that they had $100 to spend, on whatever they wanted. I intend to spend $100 on myself, even if I don't need the shit I buy.
Money means nothing to me. After you watch your father and your best friend die miserable deaths and find yourself diagnosed with the same disease, a lot of your perspective changes. I can't take the money with me if I die, and I don't have a family to worry about anymore. I already have Quinton and Samantha set up pretty well in my will, and I pay a LOT into what is supposed to be Quinton's "College Fund" every month.
That would be Child Support. I have no idea where that money goes.
I resent paying it only because I resent my ex-wife for being a bloodless cunt about the divorce. It didn't have to be that way. She made that choice. I will never understand, nor will I ever forgive her for that. She knew how to hurt me, and she pushed every button. I really don't know why.
Whatever. I'm going to blow some loot, spend some change, toss some cash, shoot my wad and make Wal-Mart stock go up. What I hope for in life now is to have the last check I write bounce as I take my last breath. (I call that Breaking Even.)
I earned it. I'm going to blow it like a drunken sailor.
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