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sm62704's Journal: The Psycho Bitch from Hell

Journal by sm62704

Previously: Not Again!

Somewhere a mod's head just asploded.

I don't know why but this made me laugh. So I'm passing it on to you, dear journal reader.

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sent by Slashdot Message System on Wednesday February 13, @07:05PM

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Meanwhile, back in meatspace, Tami's alien husband has been vindicated in my eyes. He still needs to leave, as he's in this country on false pretenses.

Attention aliens, especially the ones from Alpha Proxima: Beware Earth women. Especially short fat blondes. If you marry one in order to gain legality for your illegal interstellar roamings, you just may be marrying the Psycho Bitch from Hell.

Sunday morning I got up hungry. I had half a package of store-bought chocolate chip cookies I was planning to have for breakfast. I walked into the kitchen and went to start coffee. The lid was off the brand new can. The coffee grounds were stale.

I grumbled, and went to the cupboard for my cookies.

They were gone. Fatass had eaten every damned one of them. I grumbled louder.

Fatass Psycho Bitch from Hell came stomping into the kitchen screaming at the top of her lungs.

She's gone now, of course. If I wanted a wife screaming at me I'd have kept the one I had, not taken in some alien's wife. If I was her husband I'd have been back in Peru long ago. Or maybe in prison.

And speaking of prison, last night I had the blues. I'd set up a tryst with Annie, and she stood me up. So I called "Ralph" and wound up over there.

Linda was PISSED at me.

"Don't I get a hug?" I asked.

"I didn't get no letter!" she fumed.

I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She'd been in Dwight Correctional Center for a little over two months, and had written me from there. I answered back, mailing my letter back to her the next day.

I never got another letter. It kind of hurt my feelings a little.

Then six days before her release date, it came back "refused". Seems you have to have someone's name on the outside of the envelope or they won't deliver it to the prisoners.

As she read the letter she asked "Amy's got a car?" I'd mentioned Amy's SUV in the letter.

"Not any more" I said. "She had it a month, it's been gone since about New Year's.

We finally got that smoothed over and she fed me some spaghetti. "Larry" had made the spaghetti, Linda had made fried bread. I never heard of fried bread before. Isn't that what donuts are?

Talk went to shooting pool, and I mentioned that the last time I shot pool was with her, before she went to prison. So Linda, Larry, Ralph, and I went to JW's to shoot some pool, Ralph and Larry in Ralph's car and Linda and me in mine.

It wasn't to be. They were having a pool tournament there; both tables were taken for the night. Hardly even anywhere to park.

Yes, people in Springfield like to drink. In fact, the two main pastimes in Springfield are drinking, and bitching about people drinking. They used to have a yearly festival with food, music, and beer called "Lincolnfest". It was rapidly renamed "drinkin'fest".

Of course, the ones who bitch about everything (meaning those too stupid to drink) got that stopped PDQ. They got an anti-smoking law passed here before it went statewide, not because they hate cigarettes (well they do but they hate everything) but because they hate bars and wanted them all shut down. A few did, including two of my favorites.

The bastards!

So we went to the Blue Grouch, next door to third base, to shoot pool. On the way there I asked Linda if she'd like to go shoot some pool Friday, just the two of us.

Now, she'd had a boyfriend - of sorts. He'd picked her up on the street, but they'd grown overly fond of each other.

Prostitutes need love, too.

He'd sent money to Dwight for her books, and when she got out he treated her like a whore.

They're broke up now. Even a prostitute doesn't like being treated like a whore.

It was eight thirty when we got there, so I had a single draft and one game and bid farewell to my friends, and went home to bed.

She just called me ten minutes ago - they're having a shuffleboard tournament at the Blue Grouch tonight and she wanted me to go along.

So I guess I have a date tonight. Unfortunately I think she stopped doing illegal stuff.

Next: The Robyn 'Hood

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The Psycho Bitch from Hell

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The most delightful day after the one on which you buy a cottage in the country is the one on which you resell it. -- J. Brecheux

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