What Is It About Me...

That part of me you hate so much is actually the part that I like the most. That's the part I'm not gonna change, Hubby- so get used to it or get fucked.

It offends me that you don't like or accept me.

It bothers me that you roll your eyes at the things I say and do.

Why shouldn't I be me? What's so wrong with who I am? You are the only one who hates and criticises. You hate it when I confront you about the harsh things you say to me. Don't you even care that you've hurt me? Why does it have to be me who forgives and forgets? You know I will; I always have.

Is it wrong to be creative and thoughtful?

The point, I suppose, is that for fifteen years I've been trying to get this guy to like me and he truth is he never will. Am I obsessed by him? Probably. I've written two books about how he makes me feel. I have a blog that is dedicated to him. I think about him more thanI do myself. It's all a contradiction- isn't it? My obsession is self-obsession after all.

The only time people ever tell me they feel sorry for me is when I tell them about my relationship with my Hubby. How awful- they say- no; it couldn't be like That, could it?

Don't you just wish I was making it all up? The point is You know I'm not. Hubby knows it's all true. I spend all day waiting to spend time with him and he doesn't even want me to be around. How familiar does that scenario sound to you Hubby? Only our whole relationship in one sentance.

How can he say I am the nothing at the bottom of nothingness?

I had to turn my head away so the punches didn't hurt so much. He held me on the floor by the throat and choked me. Did I make that part up, Hubby? Am I exaggerating again? 'You mean nothing to this household' means get your own stupid self to work from now on. Wash your own skidmarks Shitter. If don't even like me- why be jealous?

Fuck my head hurts where he slammed it into the wall- five or six times wasn't it? At least I ripped that ugly shirt of his into shreds off his back. That shirt stank. My head feels like mush.

My Hubby is a joke if he thinks he has standards or morals when it comes to women. He's just another misogynist pig when it comes down to it; someone who thinks it's okay to beat up on someone who is physically smaller just because they can. It just shows how weak a person he is.
I just sort of went with it- if I'd tried to avert disaster I would have knocked myself out when he threw me down the front steps into the tree. I mean What must people think of us?

Doesn't he hear our Little Son crying at our knees?

Don't let anyone call M a slut but slam my head into the wall and tell me you still have Morals and a Standard. Your standard SUCKS as much as my head hurts right now. For all your talk, Hubby, you don't know the meaning of the word.

I'm going to continue feeling upset about the fight we had at least until I'm no longer sore from it. It would also be nice to hear an apology. It's been three days and I still ache all over.

From where my skull was tenderised.

From where your knee crushed into my sternum just above my heart and it still hurts to breathe and cough (it could be heart disease I suppose. Or a broken heart). He's not sorry so I know it will happen again. Because whatever it is about me that makes him get so angry that he would hit me repeatedly and bash my head into a wall repeatedly and choke the breath out of me and hold me down with such force on my chest and slam me backwards by the throat into the wall. What made Golden Shower Boy do the exact same thing to me seventeen years ago?

What is it about me that made them do it?

My Hubby says that I never leave him alone- well how the fuck am I supposed to talk to him about anything? And when will he let me talk about the things I'm concerned about? I can't speak- all I get is anger if I say the wrong thing or bring up things he doesn't want to acknowledge or discuss. I don't want to be beaten just because I want to talk about a difficult subject for him.

I asked him to go back to the counsellor and he blatantly refused before asking if I could still drive him down to the pub. What happened to give and take? I know why he won't go- He thinks the whole thing was my fault.

What have I done besides try and improve things? How does that give him the right to call me useless? Fuck, this is so frustrating. He's like two different people at once. Why doesn't he care that he hurt me? Why isn't he at least sorry? He went too hard on me; I didn't need subduing- I was only fighting back because he was hurting me.

If he hits me again there is every chance he would break a bone or worse. That was the worst he's ever been- he's never hit me that many times at once before. There was at least ten to the back of the head. There was at least five to the forehead where he banged it into the wall. He thought about head-butting me but couldn't go through with it. He squared me up a few times but decided against leaving bruises on my face.

I have a vague feeling he told me he wanted to kill me as he was choking me on the bed.

I know if I had struggled I would have only made it worse; I only saw anger and death in his eyes. At one point I even thought he might try and fuck me just to prove to me that he could.

Quite frankly the whole thing scared the shit out of me.

And yet he still had the gall to tell me the next day that he thinks I 'get off' on fighting with him.

Jealous Fuck...

I'm sick of feeling like he doesn't want to hear a word I say. He's in a cunt of a mood with me and I don't even know what I've done this time.

Made a comment?

Opened my mouth at him?

Asked him a question?

That would have been all. So he rolls his eyes at me or says that he couldn't give a shit so shut the fuck up about it. But why the fuck should I? Whay can't I say the things that are on my mind to him? Why aren't I allowed to?

He hates the fact that people like me better than they like him. I konw how conceited that sounds but it's true. He's admitted it. He's just said that talking to me is like getting poked in the eye with a stick. Am I so fucked really? He called me embarrassing and said he can't wait until Friday when I am at the concert with J amd he can be alone without me. AT LAST. Let him have his fun without me. I don't care. Go on then. Poke your eye out.

I dare ya.

He'd be so much happier if I'd do what he says. I do Everything for that prick. He appreciates nothing. He obviously doesn't like who I am very much.

Okay; maybe I Have had two many beers and two many cones. But that doesn't make me inane, boring or ridiculous. I still maintain that he's the only person who dislikes me. He put me in the same class as Golden Shower Boy. And that's just Not On folks.

What have I ever done to him but be nice to him? Why can't he take it when I point out to him that he's an arsehole? Isn't it funny how I remember Everything but that I'M the drug-fucked person? You don't want me to be me? Turn around and go through the fucking door then. I'm not a charity you support; no matter what you think.

The worst thing is he means everything he says.

Remember me? I'm the dumb chick who sucks your dick like it's candy and who has never complained once that you aren't worth speaking to. Who do you think you are- that you are more interesting than me? He's already admitted he's as jealous as fuck of me because ALL his friends like me better than they do him. Do you wanna know why?

Because I take an interest.

Because I remember things that are important to them.

Golden Shower Boy was right in away. My Hubby would never stick up for me like he did for M. I don't blame her for that fact- that my Husband prefers her company to mine- but I do feel jealous because of it. Maybe he thinks she deserves respect and I don't. If I speak up that makes me a bitch; so guess what ?

I will be. Starting from now. Youwant to play mean? Nothing you say is interesting. All I hear are the same tired stories of when you were the Popular Kid. Heard it. Over it. Get used to the fact that I am funnier/nicer than you have ever been. Don't be mean just to get back at me for being a better person than you are. EVERYONE likes me. Except for you, Hubby. Fuck off if I'm so shit to be around. You know the house is for me and the kids- you remember your mum telling you that don't you?

Jealous fuck. You can't stop me being me.

You should have seen the face he gave me this afternoon; Did You Just Say ThatTo Me You Bitch? Well yeah; I did. I told you Exactly what I was thinking and you couldn't handle it because I was telling you the truth about who you are when you are around me. A CUNT. Leave me alone arsehole- why be nasty just because you can be? It doesn't make you funny. It makes you desperate for the limelight- is it Your turn to shine, Hubby- you're turn in the fucking spotlight? Have it if you are so fucking needy for the recognition. And get over yourself in the meantime, will ya? Do us all a favour.

In spite of all the shit and mean and awful things you have done and said to me over the years I still love you and choose to be with you; so it is beyond my comprehension why I put up with your crap when I have NEVER deservd it. What did I do to you besides love you to pieces? Carry your beer carton?

I've done everything you ever asked of me and more. If that isn't enough for you then get fucked. I mean it. I've told you before; if you're not interested in how I think then you will never love who I really am. You will always be the one, Hubby. You were the first and only love for me. But I don't care it if ends now either. If that's what you want then just Do It, won't you? Stop threatening to leave me if I won't be who you want me to be. I'm already too ugly for you. Too embarrassing.

Too much more fun; right?

Just tell the truth.

My Cum Back...

Hubby said "Half a cigarette would have done me you know"

I said "Half an orgasm would have done me last night but you don't hear me complaining."

Egad. Don't make mountains out of cornflakes.

Magic Cigarettes...

I wanted to visit my mate John the Painter today- he's in hospital with bastard leukaemia having his second bout of chemo this week- but I'm not feeling the best myself today so I'd best keep my dirty-bong lungs well away from him and his lowered immune system. I'll phone him instead.

But it's gotten me to thinking; when and why I took up this marijuana addiction that I have; that has given me lung troubles(I've never even had asthma but I'm certain I got pleurisy last winter) for the first time in my life- and this lead to me a diary entry that I made on the fourth of October, two thousand and one. I was pregnant with my Little Son and ; oh- just read this little bit for yourself, and keep in mind that I am/was heavily alcohol-dependant when I fell pregnant.

...I was just thinking to myself that though it may have appeared easy to give up drinking so much, it hasn't been at all easy to give up the desire to feel pissed- in a way I've only compensated by getting stoned every night for about thirteen weeks. I allow myself that because I Only do it (smoke pot) before going to bed; not in the day or evening when my Eldest Son is awake. I know I'd be too scared that I'd get too wasted and wouldn't be able to drive to school in the afternoons to pick him up, or cook tea or whatever; and anyway, it only takes about twenty minutes 'til I'm spastic and have to go to bed. And it's easy to deny you have a problem because in the mornings you don't have a pounding headache- or aching guts- and you don't remember being so stoned that the room was spinning and it made you feel like spewing. I'm not even a heavy smoker of the shit; just a tiny drop in the end of a cigarette. I still tell people I don't smoke it, even. I wouldn't do it in front of my Hubby or Son, either. I'm a closet smoker; it's only a small amount...

Hang on. I need a cone to continue.

Excuse me while I cough up some lung-butter.

I've come a long way from those magic cigarettes with it's tiny sprinkle of dust in the hollow shell of a cigarette. It's almost a waste of time even smoking the shit now that I'm immune to it. It barely makes an impression on me five years later. Honestly; I'll give You three or four cones of good hydro and it'll knock you on your arse; but to me it's just as potent as the guff I sweep off my garage floor. Oh sure- it still makes me creative and funny and thoughtful-that's my mind playing tricks on me again, actually- and that's the only reason I smoke it anymore. That and the small fact I don't want to stop. And can't.

Without putting too fine a point on it; the pot I smoke costs me nothing to buy and is almost always in abundance. The less said about this the better I guess. But because there is always pot around to smoke this would make it difficult to give the habit away- if I ever wanted to, that is-I've already had two sessions this morning and it's not even ten am. It didn't actually take that long to progress from a-cone-a-day habit to what it has become of late- averaging 15-20 I suppose. And only because we're running low at the minute and I'm forced to smoke shitty leaf.

My Hubby used to be a big dope-smoker when he was in his teens and early twenties but for the most part he is only an occasional smoker nowadays. He doesn't mind so much when the bowl and the sappo are empty- while I will fret and go raking through empty shoe-boxes looking for leaf scraps that aren't too mouldy (that explains the pleurisy, yeah?). My Hubby reckons I smoke so much because I'm bored, but I don't know. I like the way it makes me think funny thoughts. I like the way it releases my stammering tongue in a crowded room of strangers and I am Her- Buffoon. She's on fucking FIRE. Natural.

I like the person I am when I'm high. Okay- there's those other moments that spring to mind, too. Moments that can't be forgiven or taken back or wished away- but they are less common now that I actually like who I have turned into. When I sit in my birdcage now I can only think of how stupid I was to ever wish I was hanging from that dead tree beyond the railway tracks when there is so many more good times to be had. Drugs gave me back to myself- when I am on drugs I am the real me- the me that is hiding inside myself. Totally.

Which is why these lung-spores that I cough up daily are a total bitch.

Part Two...

Okay; so here's the latest.

After a solid week of abusive text messages from Golden Shower Boy we showed up at the pub on Friday night as per usual- me, my Hubby and Twinkle Toes. The three of us were joking around but all of us were on edge, just waiting for the inevitable. My Hubby had planned on bringing a Wiggle's band-aid with him for any injuries he sustained but had forgotten it. Damn.

I was overly nervous. Everytime the door opened, or someone called out across the bar, or a phone rang, I would practically jump out of my skin. I could barely speak- all my words seemed jumbled as I rode out a particularly bad- but somehow hardly noticed- panic attack. The barman was attaching the TAB pens near our table and had left his hammer behind for a few minutes while he poured some more beers; I couldn't stand it being there- all shiny and new just waiting for Golden Shower Boy to walk through the door and grab it. I could have almost written the script in my head- hammer is picked up, hammer is used- no thanks. I returned it to the bar, much to the barman's un-amusement (is that even a word?). He grumpily retreived it and continued banging away- only adding to my jangling nerves.

We popped our pills. These ones were wheel-chairs- to which I only half-heartedly joked and hoped that we wouldn't all end up in one by the end of the night. My Hubby only has half of his 'cos he wants to stay semi-alert. We reckon Golden Shower Boy is sitting at the next closest pub- drinking a few beers and re-fuelling his anger. Or watching M ( she lives upstairs at the pub) as she leaves; to see if she's coming to 'our' pub to have a few drinks with us. It's the sort of thing the control-freak does.

It's getting closer to dark; the mini-pizza bar-snacks arrive so I had a piece even though it stuck in my cottonwool throat. The drugs were working and I'm relaxing- because he should have been there by now if he was going to show. We agree that he must have seen sense at last- or maybe his girlfriend had been successful in keeping him from making yet another mistake (because you can't be on a good behaviour bond and assault people without going to jail). Some of our other friend's arrive and tell us about their golfing day- Razzle's just bought himself a new set of clubs and has been dragging J around the golf courses. We fill them in with the updates- the whole pub's been talking of nothing else for days; even the publican wanted to be filled in when we'd arrived and then bought us each a beer when we told him the only reason we hadn't been in all week was because we are all flat broke (Twink lost his job the other day, you know, for telling his boss to shove it up his well-fucked arse. We laughed at him for that.) But we are certainly not in hiding as Golden Shower Boy had accused us on Wednesday; just miserably poor.

Anyway. The stories begin. Everyone seems to be on our side and in agreeance that Golden Shower Boy has crossed the line this time and is mentally ill.

Kasper tells my Hubby that Golden Shower Boy is sick of me trying to root his women. Geez. I only cut his grass Once. Get over it I say. She wasn't even interested in Him.

Fido tells my Hubby that Golden Shower Boy can not trust my Hubby around his women- and that he never has been able to. What a crock of shit. That's actually funny; being as Golden Shower Boy is the one who has hit on me before- many times. It's like he's accusing us of the things HE does.

Maybe he wishes he WAS us?

I don't know.

I rang M just before it was dark cos' a few of us were planning to go watch one of our other mate's play guitar at another pub. I asked her if she was still planning on coming down but she was having a drink with her friend Retta and had decided against it. I can't really blame her- I just hope she hasn't decided that being our friend isn't worth this much trouble. She's been copping a lot of shit from Golden Shower Boy all week too; he's been bad-mouthing her at the pub that she LIVES at- how fucked is that? She can't even go down into her 'loungeroom' without being harrassed.

All this because Golden Shower Boy is jealous and convinced that me, my Hubby and Twink all want to have sex with her.

M tells me the word over at her pub is that Golden Shower Boy has gone out of town for the weekend. So- just like I knew he wouldn't- he didn't show. See; I was right in calling him a fucking wimp. That's the second chance he's missed now. He'll never live it down.

So Friday came and went. We had a ball with J and Razzle at the other pub watching our mate go off on the guitar and then we crashed at their house. In the spare room. See; I told you we weren't swingers.

For the whole of Saturday we mistakenly believed that Golden Shower Boy might have grown up; but no such luck. Fido spoke to him last night- the only reason he didn't show was because he'd dislocated his shoulder jumping off the second tower at the local pool and knew he'd get flogged with only one good arm. So he didn't show. Gutless cunt. Was I right or was I right?

At least there is some good news. From what we've heard he's now deleted my Hubby's number (and Twink's) from his mobile; so at least there shouldn't be any more texts. I'm not saying that this will be the end of it- by all accounts the dick still wants to have a fight with my Hubby- well I can tell you this- He's ready for you PRICK. So watch out for your eyes.

Seven Rejections And Counting...

I thought my work was good enough to send to a publisher.

Am I deluded?

Why am I finding it so hard to send it (A Flea's Small World) out again? Afraid of another knockback? No-one's going to believe in my books unless I do.

Is it a fear of failure or actually succeeding? What happens if Happily Ever After comes true?

Will I drop dead at that moment?

Gloden Shower Boy...

First...a short history lesson.

I first met Golden Shower Boy when I was seventeen. He's a 'mate' of my Hubby's and we were at a party for another one of their friends. I was wearing a short black dress; no doubt showing off my long tanned legs- and this must have given him the impression that I was some sort of easy chick that might welcome his sleazy attempts at half-arsed seduction.

Hardly; I was just young in the head.

When my Hubby- remembering that back then I was just an occasional fuck to him- left to get us more drinks for a moment, Golden Shower Boy took this as his opportunity to chat me up- disregarding the fact that I had arrived at this party, clearly with somebody else- and that somebody else was supposedly a friend of his; but when no interest from me was forthcoming he grabbed me by the throat, threw me up against Hicksey's Colourbond fence and proceeded to scream at me that I was just a stupid fucking slut. My Hubby came outside at that moment and, seeing me dangling from his Neanderthal's grip told him to put me down, fuck off and leave us alone.

To cut a short story even shorter I guess he never did.

I've gleaned the name Golden Shower Boy from a prison-bitch-name-generator that somebody (who I'll only identify as Miss Fancy Pants) sent to me in an email. It's the name he'd presumably be called if he ever went to jail; which just quietly is always on the cards. My own name is Turd Packer. My Hubby's known as the Altar Boy. It's also how Twinkle Toes got his name for those of you playing along at home. Anyway- Golden Shower Boy is as apt a description as you're ever likely to get of this poor excuse for a man.

Misogynist.

We only saw him sporadically in those first early years; it wasn't until only the last five years or so that my Hubby and he have regularly drunk together at our local pub. I'd disliked and mistrusted him for years- how could I not after how we had first met? He is one of only three people who have ever called me a cunt to my face in my life and I have never ever been out with him. And I hardly think that's ever likely to happen-seeing as the nicest thing I can say about him is that the thug looks like an ape.

Over the years me and Golden Shower Boy have had numerous drunken stoushes. One that springs to mind was on Melbourne Cup Day a few years ago; my Hubby had been down at the pub watching the race and when he got home all drunk and merry he told me that I could go down for a couple of drinks if I liked because all his mates were still down there and so I'd have somebody to talk to. Well; there were a few others there as well-Twinkle Toes among them- but it was Golden Shower Boy who made comment that my Hubby had let me off my chain for the afternoon. I let it slide; I was just happy to be out for the afternoon. I tried to ignore him. I really did.

But then he started to get nasty for no reason other than that he was drunk; saying that my Hubby always tried to 'cut his grass' with the women that he met ( ha; my Hubby's no Granny-Grabber!) to which I retorted that he was just jealous that what could have been a foursome one night quickly turned into a threesome because no one was much interested in fucking him. And to fuck right off- because nobody at the table even liked him that much.

Well that did it. I don't suppose a woman had ever affronted him so much before; at least not without getting a slap in the chops.

I should explain I suppose. The night that I got pregnant with my Little Son was also the first and only time that my Hubby and I have ever had a threesome. We were at the pub- naturally off our heads- and ran into Golden Shower Boy- who was sleazing all over this chick named Simone. She wasn't a bad sort; and lets just say that me and her hit it off better than they did- which was somewhat unfortunate for Golden Shower Boy because he also fancied fucking her. Long hours into the night and after much eight year old bourbon was drank we found ourselves kissing and oblviously stripping naked in front of Golden Shower Boy- who obviously thought his lucky day had arrived, and then woke up my Hubby to tell him the exciting news.

Just to make it clear; my Hubby and I aren't swingers. Really. That was the first and only time I've ever 'cheated' on my Hubby- and it was in front of him. So we went to bed, this girl and I and my Hubby. And we had sex and then my Hubby had sex with her and then we all had sex together. And Golden Shower Boy got nothing. Not even a little rub on the tit.

And I think it made him just a little bit jealous.

So fast fwd to the present day. I first met my friend M through Golden Shower Boy; who was fucking her on the side when he couldn't be with his 'real' girlfriend. It didn't last long; M would have told him to fuck off as soon as he'd showed his true colours anyway. M tells me that meeting us (me and my Hubby and all of our other friends) has been the only positive thing that has come out of their 'relationship'. This is because every time he sees M out at the pub with us he yells abuse at her -calling her things like a fucking dirty red rooter slut.

Charming huh?

This happened again the day after Australia Day. My Hubby and Twink were having a beer with M at the pub when he strode in- angry- looking for my Hubby to confront him about our friendship with M. Once again he thinks we are all fucking M- he has told the whole pub before that we are swingers and to watch out for their women when we are around.

Now I'm not blowing my own trumpet when I say that my Hubby and I are popular people- almost everybody that we meet tells us that we are an awesome couple; and on the surface we are. People want to be our friends; but to stress a point- I never fuck my friends. We both think M is an awesome chick; which means that even if I did want to have sex with her I'd much rather be her friend. And that means no sex. Ever.

Try telling that to Golden Shower Boy.

After hurling this abuse at M my Hubby and Twink told him that he wasn't to speak to a friend of their's like that while they were around- just as they should've. Like we 'd want to hang out with him instead of her. Just because he fucked her a few times doesn't mean jackfuck to me. It doesn't make her His or exclude her from being our friend. My Hubby called him outside and the weak prick stepped down; said he didn't want to fight. I know why, though. This 'man' is not only physically and verbally intimidating but he can throw a wicked punch; he's smashed in that many faces that I've lost count- my Hubby told me he got smashed with a baseball bat in the face once and he never even blinked. And my Hubby's knocked him on his arse. Twice. My man can fight when he has to.

He told him that if he wanted to keep carrying on that they should take it outside, but Golden Shower Boy wasn't prepared to take him on right there and then- so he left, just as the Publican and barman were getting ready to throw him out anyway- asking my Hubby if he had it sorted yet.

So my Hubby left the pub- we were having another barbeque because there was so much leftover meat from our Australia Day barbie- we're all drunk on the leftover beer and had organised another six pills of E. My Hubby didn't want to have his that night; we've been on them pretty hard since Christmas and spending a fortune- but Twink sorted that by sneaking up behind my Hubby and popping one into his mouth.

Then Twink left. Drunk and driving. Without even giving me one.

Phonecalls ensued. The situation was rectified as Twink came back- attempting a seven point turn and only narrowly avoiding the neighbour's car. The missing pills were finally located on the passenger seat, quickly consumed, and calmness descended momentarily.

Then my Hubby shit himself. Yes; it's embarrassing to admit but that's how the night progressed. The drugs just went straight through him and his body shit itself. Literally. He threw his pants out the window and then told me he'd thrown them on our neighbour's verandah.

Luckily; he'd missed. I would've had to speak to them if his aim had been better; and since we haven't spoken since they turned their lights out on me when I was yelling at them that my house was burning down (how I wish it had spread to their house) it would have definitly been an awkward moment.

But I'm straying from the story.

We are off our heads- the barbeque is in full swing. My Hubby's phone signals that a message has arrived. I answer it.

It's Golden Shower Boy; calling my Hubby a hero-cunt for standing up for M at the pub- telling him that if he still wants to go over to the park to punch-on then he is ready. Finally. Like he didn't have his chance at the pub. I can't remember all of the message- he basically said that my Hubby was no longer a mate of his; that he was a low cunt and fucking gutless- and I was fucking furious. It got me so fucking mad that as soon as I had shown everyone what the prick had meticulously written( no-one knew he could actually spell) I rang him up.

"What the fuck is this shit you are writing to us? What the fuck is your fucking problem? Why are you doing this to us queer-cunt?" I think I said...

He starts on that my Hubby is hiding behind his Missus. Not. I just wanted to give this cunt a piece of my mind, too. I wanted to give him an earful myself for being such a complete fuckwit. You should have heard me go off at him- for ten minutes straight I called him everything I could think off. I'm fucking over him and his shit.

"You're schizofuckingphrenic"...I think it went...and then he said that if my Hubby wanted a fight he had one.

He told me this had nothing to do with me. How could it not be? He's been calling me a slut down the pub to anyone who'll listen and swears black and blue that I'm fucking M as well. I told him this and he denied it- the fucking coward...I have that many witnesses. He implied that my Hubby and Twink were always going out- hitting on women. I laughed "Twink can do whatever the fuck he likes. And I know my Hubby better than that- it's you who does that to the women you go out with. You're the one who's a fucking cheat. You know what you are. You know what you do." He's even less happy by this stage. I couldn't even help it. The drugs were dictating.

"And then what will you do when you face my Hubby in the park? You'll back down again you fucking wimp!" I remember that part because I screamed it down the phone. And then I threw the phone to my Hubby. Twink gave me the thumbs up. My Hubby listened for a moment as Golden Shower Boy went on in his ear; still thinking he was ranting at me. Then quietly said, "You're talking to me now Cunt". He said that shut him up for about half a minute. After he had carried on for a bit longer, my Hubby told him to wake up to himself and then turned off the phone.

I was fucking ropeable. Wild even. How dare that prick message us that sort of shit? He's got the impression that we are all fucking M- like it's any of his business even if we were. He was the one who dumped her anyway; why should he give a shit who she fucks? The idiot. He's the one who's caused all this- he could've been our friend but instead he chooses to be a fuckwit. Why are we his targets when time and time again we are the only ones who've ever even given him a proper chance? Especially my Hubby- even after this cunt has has called me and him the worst imaginable names thinkable in the past- he has still gone down and drunk his beers with this dick on Friday afternoons.

I suppose he still thinks M is his hole in the mattress.

More later. This is ongoing...