Sunday, June 26, 2011

Baby, I have no story to be told

. . . but I've heard one on you and I'm gonna make your head burn

The final straw has been discovered, and while I did not confront Ken (The Pippy persona gets dropped here, he's not good enough for it anymore) with my feelings. I now have a reason to hate him. Last night I had a slight head explosion when I read "anybody got any ideas for babby girl names also anybody have 3 mos support." What in the ever loving FUCK, dude? He deleted it after he was barraged with floods of comments asking if he was having another kid, so I guess no one ever found out what that retarded statement truly meant, but if it's as transparent as he is stupid, it's horrible news. I hope for the hypothetical child's sake that it's absolutely untrue, because no one, no one deserves to have a father like Ken. Also pity the poor bitch who screwed him without protection, because she's in for a real 'treat', no doubt. Then this morning I woke up to find the 'babby' status deleted and replaced with "Damn near went to jail last night thank god for good ol' boy country cops who know who people are." I for one am not thankful for 'good ol boy' cops. I have no idea what this fucker did THIS TIME, but his stupid ass should have been hauled straight off to jail. He's had too many chances. From the law, from me, from his other friends who gave up on him. He learned nothing. God help him, if I find out he's been driving drunk or endangering people in any other way with his stupidity, I will rip his testicles off, coat them in barbecue sauce, and force feed them to him with a hot poker. I should have listened to those weird feelings I got inside me last year when I first found out he was a fucking criminal; I was scared, and for a while was really uneasy being around him. I should never, never have pushed those feelings away and tried to fix him, to love him, to even think about "If you can't beat him, join him." The only person Ken cares about is Ken, and he doesn't care who he has to push, shove, or mow down out of his way to entertain himself. He's become a complete and utterly different person since getting rid of the anklet, and that person kind of makes me want to throw up, though I can't pinpoint exactly why. He hasn't even had eye contact with me in two weeks, and I'd be very happy at this point if it stays that way forever. He's the kind of person who is going to have to hit absolute rock bottom before he straightens out, if he ever does. Something horrible is going to have to happen to him or someone he cares about (if he's capable of caring about anyone at all), before he gets the shock that he needs to stop being a dickhole, put down the liquor an have a nice tall glass of Grow the Fuck Up instead.

So you go ahead and keep on flirting with the law, you worthless redneck shithead. Do it again, and do it soon, and hopefully next time my friend Steve or Robert will be the arresting officer and they have low tolerances for stupidity. Keep on publicly whining about how much you hate being at work and piss off your entire department. You'll show up drunk and hungover one too many times and eventually they will have had enough of it, no matter how much T might like you. Although I'd really rather you didn't lose your job and end up on welfare, because I certainly don't want my tax dollars funding your shens. You had over a year. A year to be a decent person, who couldn't go too terribly wild. You made dozens of friends at Volde-Mart who really like and care about you, now watch as many of them, I'm sure, will drop you like the nasty habit you are because they can't stand your hijinks anymore. Or maybe it's just me. You really, really scare me now and I can't help but be incredibly grateful for the fact that you never found out where I live and you don't know I'll be alone for the next 9 days. I loved the person I knew from last May to this one, but maybe he never really existed and it was all one big elaborate act. He was a great guy, despite his flaws. But the person he turned into is a literal nightmare. Maybe you were always like this. But either way, we're through. Your phone number is gone, the pictures of you on my phone are deleted, and thank the powers I'll never read another one of your drunk updates that sadden me and make me worry myself sick again, only to find it mysteriously gone in the morning. Kindly go burn in hell, just make sure you don't drag any innocent people with you. Have a nice life.

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