Let me fucking see here….Your new total is 8 hundred and eleventy thousand more dollars to pay off. Fuck me and fuck you money. You know? I wish I had some fuck you money. So I could wave my money around while dancing down the street saying fuck you money, this is my fuck you money!  I almost had a little fuck you money…I was this close *holds fingers up and pinches thumb and forefinger together while trying to explode some random strangers head*

There is a conspiracy here I can smell it…Oh wait no I can’t because it is odorless and tasteless but you bet your mother fucking ass it will kill you invisibly. And for that diagnosis I will take a check for thirty dollars and then another check for a whole bunch more to cure the Bogeyman in your basement.   You know the one you can’t see. Not the zombie ghosts that are totally real and WILL munch on your brains, no this is the invisible Bogeyman who lives in your basement and totally needs to get the fuck out or else!!! 

And just in case you thought you got away with tiny little Bogeyman bill,  your doggie goes and loses her knees. She can’t find them anywhere.  And well Fuck You again,  because it is christmas AND you just got rid of a credit card by way of PAYING. IT. OFF. Two weeks ago. And now you much beloved little 90 pound  mastiff needs to go out and get new knees.  Both of which will cost more than your combined income for the last 89 years. So BWAAHHHAAAHAAA FUCK YOU!

If I had fuck you money, I would totally buy each and everyone of you shiney new gold plated knees, even if you didn’t want them and we would all be drinking Crystal out of the Bogeyman’s invisible glass slipper. (Because the Bogeyman is a tranny!)

In case you didn’t notice I am a tad cranky right now. I like to give wow gifts at christmas, and I love christmas and I thought this year I might have been able to finally give The Dish a gift that made him say WOW! But instead we get to go buy knees, that by the way aren’t even gold plated and a Bogeyman Death Trap and gee what else fun can we come up with…Merry Christmas honey…here is a bucket of mud…I noticed that a bit of the driveway washed away in the last rain storm and I saw this and thought…WOW you are so going to be floored by this huge bucket of mud I got you for Christmas.

Also this sounds like I am not thankful…I am thankful that we will find a way to heal The Nug…she is two and a half and all I want is to see her run a little

Eating snow, because apparently its stupid winter again…what the hell happened to summer?

Playing with her frisbee…because THAT is THE BEST THING EVER TO DO!!!

Or at the very least to see her skull hump her boyfriend

That would totally make me smile, because right now, I am feeling really sad that she is in pain and can’t do all the things she so loves to do.

As for the Mother Fucking Bogeyman…

Also can someone please for the love of what the fuck ever…why is it spelled Bogeyman and not Boogeyman…cause then we would know all he wants to do is DANCE! AND fuck up Christmas!

P.S. Apparently you can spell Bogeyman many different ways according to some stupid internet thing!

So two years after the end of a really bad relationship, really bad, I mean really really bad. Two years of not dating in my mid twenties. Two wonderful years of solitude and learning and growing and being thin, traveling alone, getting a huge tattoo (in 1997 it was huge and different to have a lower back tat, the term Tramp Stamp didn’t even exist.)

I finally decided that it was time to start dating again. (*Sigh* so happy to be happily married now and not having ,to go through that crap any more)

People are seldom what they seem.  This guy, seemed good looking, fairly successful and

well balanced. 

Hmmm, not so much.  We go to a Four Brothers Pizza Inn  (totally classy joint which you can tell because it’s an Inn not just a restaurant) for our first *date*.  When the bill came he asked to split the tab.  I was raised very traditionally and if I ask you out I pay, not ‘hey lets split this’. I was appalled but apparently lacking that certain *FUCK YOU* kind of self esteem…I went for my wallet and graciously obliged. The second date was at a hunting preserve where he was a guide, that one went okay, so we’re at 50%. No hunting took place but I should have Cheneyed him right then and there, if I had known what that was way back then.

And then there was the THIRD date.  Oh. My. Fucking. God. What a disaster.  It was take out and movie rentals at his house his parents house.

‘Mom, where’s my sweatshirt? what?  YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T DO MY LAUNDRY?’

Take out was no big deal (I don’t think I had to pay this time, at least)  and it was no big deal that he lived with his parents after all I was at the time happily living in my parents house, but to act like a *spoiled little bitch about to get your period for the fist time* because MOMMY hadn’t washed your god fucking awful sweatshirt, please I am a chick and I never and I MEAN NEVER get angry that my fucking SWEATSHIRT isn’t *READY*  especially if someone else is doing my laundry. (which by the way hasn’t happened since I was 13) But then I don’t really wear sweatshirts either, just a personal choice.  So maybe I am missing something like when a guy puts one on how totally hot they become or something. I really hate men is Sweat’s especially sweat pants.

This night was quickly going down the shitter.

So I kind of tried to play kissy face for a while and then it happened the thing all women can’t stand.

If my hand is not on your dick I am sure I am quite aware of it and probably mean it to be that way. I don’t think there has ever been a moment for any woman, when they think to themselves, ‘Oh Thank god you remembered because I totally forgot to put my hand on your willy!’ Yes he put my hand on it.  I should have just punched him in the balls for that cute little maneuver, but nooooooo, I was being  stupid nice.  By this time my skin is crawling and all I want to do is run screaming at first possible break in this stomach turning episode. 

Then, something really disturbing happened.  Apparently my denim clad thigh

has the sexual magnetism of a cat in heat.  He proceded to dry hump my thigh until he let loose with all of his manly sex goo all over my thigh,

the jeans not longer dry, fiending for a cigarette, I bolted and never ever intended to see him again.   

I then had the pleasure of shamefully skulking into my parent’s house with my now stiffening stained jeans covered by my jacket.

I was at the time bartending at my brothers bar and also dating the next loser in my life (and last! Whoo hoo!)  The problem with working in a place like that is anyone can come in, even Thigh Rapists.  There he was the next night, sauntering in like the disgusting prick he is king of the jungle just having marked his territory, that territory being my thigh I guess. So he walks right up to me interrupts the conversation and then proudly presents my earrings to me in front of all of my co-workers and says ‘You left THESE at my house last night’, all proud and pathetic. 

And then the crazy came out.  He started calling me 3-4 times during my shift, where I was always too busy to talk, and usually that wasn’t a lie. Saying how he wanted an explanation, that he deserved that at least.  My feeling was that after you defile some ones favorite pair of (not just jeans) LEVIS, you deserve absolutely nothing short of a bitch slap.

The last time we spoke he called me at 8 am Sunday morning, I think I probably got to bed at about 6 am after working all night.  ‘Hey I’m just down the road and thought I would stop by with some bagels’ ghhhhgeeefhgjgh

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, HOW DID HE FIND OUT WHERE I LIVE.

Me: ‘Don’t come by I am in bed and just went to sleep at 6 am’

He: ‘I deserve an explanation as to why you won’t see me any more’

Me: ‘After three dates, I don’t feel you really deserve any thing, its not like we’ve been seeing each other for months now.  I am tired and want to sleep and just not ready for another thigh raping a relationship.’

CLICK

Why, why why WHY, Did I not tell him what a huge turn off it is to be dry humped into humiliation by some one you hardly know, not to mention its just plain RUDE.

And as my second to last act of revenge, I can’t even remember his name.

My last act of revenge, telling people about it.