Gut Rumbles

March 04, 2008

Wally day

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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