Showing posts with label cheating bastard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cheating bastard. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Dear John...

This is Elizabeth’s fake reply to John’s fake letter as posted here.


Dear John,

F*** YOU. This is all on YOU. Did you honestly think the truth would never come out? Seriously? Did you think for one minute you could not only cheat on me, but then just as easily chase me out of your life? Ah yes, that would be the icing on the mother f***ing cake.

You can plead ‘til the worms are slithering through your rotting corpse. I’m not going anywhere, babe. Not without a cage match to the death, you miserable man-slut.

I really do hate to rain on your parade, especially under the circumstances. You poor thing, you. What with all of the pressure, and the media exposing your lies... And now people are saying that bitch’s baby is yours too. I just can’t imagine what THAT must be like. BOO HOO.

You've really blown it, Johnny. I’ll never let your sorry ass off the hook. You’ll have to deal with me for the rest of your pitiful and pathetic life. Now I’m even more determined to keep my cancer in remission. If it comes back I'll fight it with a vengeance, only so I can give back all you have coming. Thank you for that.

Oh, and I WILL make your life a living hell. I'll be right by your side, haunting you at every turn. You phony, rotten, arrogant, deceitful, egotistical, slithering, back-stabbing, weaseling, lying, whore-licking, AIDS-sucking, cheating bastard!!!

Forever yours,

Elizabeth



Thursday, May 22, 2008

The Comeupance Committee

Thanks for stopping by. Here is something I originally wrote last fall.


The fact that the word comeupance is in the dictionary literally boggles my mind. What a strange word. On the odd occasion I will hear it on TV. As an American it just seems so foreign, and way too classy for a simple country girl like me to ever use. But I‘m going to try, and just dive right into it for the sake of learning a new word.

Comeupance. It's a noun which means "an outcome (good or bad) that is well deserved."

This raises a question. Who decides if an outcome is well deserved? Is there a Comeupance Committee somewhere we should know about? If there is, I want the number. There are times when it could be helpful to consult with a trained professional regarding the use of comeupance.

One night not too long ago I was out driving alone on a highway and had quite the scare. It began when I started up a large hill and had to turn down my headlights because a big tractor-trailer was just starting down the hill in the opposite lane. Just a few seconds later, I saw a giant doe heading straight for my windshield on the driver's side!

Gasp! A doe. A deer. A suicidal female deer.

She came up so fast, I didn't even have time to think. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, I quickly turned to the right and then back to the left. I missed her by only a split second. I kind of saw her face, but it was a blur since I was so busy… ya know… trying not to die and all. In that brief moment I think I heard her cry out, "Buck is a cheating bastard!"

My life didn't pass before me. Now I know for certain that whole idea is just a Hollywood hoax. It did take me a few minutes to calm down. I continued on, but slowed down to 60 mph with my left hand on the wheel and my right hand on my chest. I was breathing so hard I could feel my lungs. When things like this happen, you don't know how you're going to react in the moment of truth. Lucky for me, my Under Roos stayed dry. I was driving my old and very heavy GMC Suburban (hey, it's paid for), which is long enough to support it's height and not like those popular SUVs that are box-shaped and feather-light. Is that maybe why I didn't roll over and die just like that movie The Weather Man?

I'm not ready for a funeral yet.

I haven't got any thing to wear! What would they put on me? I'd like a fancy casket so I’d need something that doesn't make me look like trailer trash arriving at a ball. I have to look my best when I go to that fancy ballroom in the ground.

On second thought, scratch the fancy casket. All a country girl needs is a plain wooden box. No, a plaid wooden box. Yes, that’s much more appropriate.

Would you say, after getting the crap scared out of me in a life/death situation, that I got my comeupance? Are you on the committee?