December 27, 2008
Don't tell her you've been crying
Originally published December 24, 2004
I talked to Quinton about an hour ago. He's bouncing like a superball, all excited about Christmas, and he told me that it would be okay if I picked him up tomorrow and took him to mama's house for breakfast. My heart soared like a hawk. He seemed really happy about the idea, too.
I said that I would be there at 9:30 in the morning. Maybe Christmas could be worth a shit after all this year!
Ten minutes later, the Bloodless Cunt called. "Rob, I don't want you picking Quinton up. That's a violation of the court order and I don't know where Quinton got the idea that I said it was okay. I would rather drop him off or..."
I ended the conversation right there. I said, "Well, Merry Fucking Christmas to YOU, TOO!!! Do whatever you want to do, because that's what you're gonna do anyway. You've always enjoyed hurting other people. After all, you ARE the center of the universe," and I hung up the phone. Then, I cried like a baby.
Mama called almost as soon as I hung up the phone. "Guess who I just talked to?" she asked excitedly. I tried to straighten out my voice and get my vision working again.
"Probably Quinton," I responded. "But, mama, he's a little off-target about tomorrow. I'll be there, but he won't be coming with me."
"What? He said everything was planned."
"Plans have changed and I don't want to talk about it. I love you and I'll see you tomorrow." I got off the phone as quickly as I could.
I'm still crying; I just didn't want mama to know. She's got enough on her plate without worrying about me, too.
Show me another picture of some Iraqi asswipe with panties on his head and talk to ME about "torture." If I don't show a whole lot of sympathy, you'll just have to forgive my hard heart or kiss my Cracker ass. I believe that I have a pretty good idea of what torture is all about. I've had a god-dam bellyfull of it over the past three years and I'm not sure how much more I can take.
Excuse me. I've got some more crying to do.
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