Friday, April 8, 2011


This is a story that involves my ex. Her father made a small fortune installing and cleaning septic systems, and spoiled his daughter with the money, so to protect her identity we’ll just call her the Shit Tank Princess. Now Shit Tank is a pretty girl but she has the soul of a character from a Reese Witherspoon movie, the soul of a shallow phony cunt.

One night after drinking at the local townie bar where Shit Tank left me sitting with her parents for 30 minutes while she went tramping around talking to old friends that consisted mainly of dudes (probably a few exes and a few dudes that she hadn’t got around to boning yet). We went back to her parent’s house. She was living there until her parents helped pay for her condo. I guess she felt a little more empowered while she was staying with her folks. After all she was in an environment where she was used to getting her way and probably felt protected on some sub conscious level by her father being in the same house.

We started to argue about my jealousy and her slutty behavior. I tried to table the conversation for a time when her parents weren’t in the next room.

“Listen I’m not going to have this conversation here, you’re drunk.”

She said, “I’m not drunk, you’re fucking mother is a drunk.” Which is true but beside the point.

“Watch you’re fuckin…” And before I could finish the word mouth. Shitty had smacked me across the face. Before I could even register what happened, before I could even utter the words, “What the fuck are you doing?” She smacked me again this time harder. I’m standing there a little drunk, ears ringing, rage burning up onside of me like a cracked nuclear reactor in Japan. I grab her arms to keep her from hitting me again. Now I’m of the mind that a man should never hit a woman, no matter how drunk he is, even if she’s a parking ticket cop, but back when I was drinking I was known to spit. So I spit in her face, not a loogie just a light spattering of saliva. To let her know, “Hey I didn’t appreciate that.” And I then pushed her back.

In retrospect that probably wasn’t the best way to try and get her to calm down, much the same way it is counter productive to tell somebody that is really angry to relax.

She let out a scream of horror and then ran at me with a fly kick. Not a “trained martial artist’s” fly kick, a “stupid drunk uncoordinated bitch’s” fly kick. That I sidestepped, sending her crashing through her closet doors.

Her father started pounding on the bedroom door, “Everything okay in there?”

I said, “Yeah Steve everything is cool.” But he’s not asking me, he’s asking his daughter, the Heir to the shit tank thrown. “Honey is everything okay.”

Now she’s still crumpled in a ball in the corner of the closet, if he comes in now it looks real bad. So I whisper to her, “Tell him it’s okay. Tell him it’s okay. Listen I like your dad and I won’t hit a woman but I will whip his old ass if I have too. Tell him everything is okay.”

“It’s okay dad I’m just drunk.”

The relationship dragged on another 7 months after that.

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