Okay, okay, okay, let’s get this shit out of the way, Bitchfaces. One of y’all got some shit on your chest? You got some ill will for your girl? Fess up, because you cannot hex the fucking devil, fool.
Dumb ass, non-hex underst-
I digress. Clearly.
This has been, hands down, one of the strangest fucking weeks I have had in literal years. I mean, I’m sitting here shaking my head, staring at my phone like, “what the fuck type of dimension did I fall into and where the fuck are my ruby slippers?”
Because, bitch, if you’re going to shove me into an alternate reality, I better get some fucking shoes out of it. In the words of Stitches, “pay up, pay up, pay up”.
Man, y’all, if I didn’t have some of this shit in writing, I would be wondering if I had been ministering down to the mushroom congregation and just forgot about the shit. Nope. It’s supported by SMS and photographic evidence, hereby known as exhibits A through H for the purpose of this column.
Weird ass weirdos doing weird shit all week, but the real crazy happened today. I’m feeling some type of way about it too. Because I’m a crybaby, y’all know that. What did you really expect? Y’all know I cry at the drop of a hat these days.
That’s neither here nor there. Let me just get to the point before I lose myself in this nonsensical journey of fuckery.
Heard from one of the Good Exes today. For his privacy, I won’t disclose which one. He’s separated from his wife, it seems. This is the second or third time that I’m aware of. He’s not saying too much, just the bare minimum, but he’s not emotional at all in regular day to day, so I don’t know the circumstances surrounding it.
That’s a lie. Let me keep it real. His wife has always struck me to be as though his mom selected the most repressed, white bread, uptight bitch they had down to the Yacht & Tennis Club and introduced them. Because his mom is repressed, white bread, and uptight as fuck too. Baby Jesus, I thought she was going to have a stroke when he took me to Christmas there the first year.
I’m a lot of things, but repressed, white bread, and uptight? Mm umm. Not even if you shoved me into a slip too small for me and requested I sprint in said slip and stilettos. I simply cannot walk with a quarter between my ass cheeks like those two broads, so it’s no surprise they’ve shaped him into something nearly unrecognizable to me today.
It’s like those Play-Doh presses, you know the hair salon one, where you put the Play-Doh in and it made a clay wig in the press…he’s like the wig these days, just uncomfortably squished into the only “acceptable” path they gave him, and some miniscule portion of the real him is all that made it through in one piece. It makes me sad.
I had to do a double take. It was like talking to a stranger, and this man was my heart. My partner in crime, my genuinely better half. I’m sick when I see this browbeaten remnant of him. It makes me feel like running a bitch through a fucking Play-Doh press, in real life. Wait, what I mean was wood chipper. I want to run this bitch through the fucking wood chipper, y’all.
Don’t anyone panic, I’m not going to. I would be the first bitch they haul in for questioning if anything happens to her, because she’s got screenshots from some years back where I told her in a clear and concise manner that the next time she thought about fishing for information about him with me, she could apply a thin layer of lubricant to her phone and jam it directly into her asshole. Horizontally.
I regret nothing.
I would do it again.
I have managed for the last ten years or so to keep my opinion to myself on the matter, because he seemed happy. Like he had grown into that cookie cutter copy of him, and if that was what he wanted in life, I was going to cheer the loudest for him having found it.
It seems that isn’t the case at all. And now I’m just sad. I’m sad for him, and I’m angry that life cheated him too. The only solace I had was that, no matter how lonely and aimless my existence was, I knew in my heart I could take it if it meant he could have another chance at a life that he deserved. I would take anything, bear anything, to give him back everything that the horrible misfortune of being with me cost him.
That fucking man at the gondola has got some ‘splainin to do, and I plan to get someone’s two-pence back while I’m there. Bad day to be the ferry man, ferry man. Turn your fucking pockets out.
The strange part, though, is we haven’t spoken in nearly a year. But last week I kept wondering about him, and he was in a dream telling me something I couldn’t understand.
So when I heard from him today, it was less than comforting. It was creepy. Makes me wonder what that’s all about, because I subscribe to the eerie and mysterious shit in life, and this is definitely some of it.
Anyway, if you’re pulling that hex shit, you can limit it to me and I’ll overlook your smiting attempts. Leave him out of it, for fucks sake, he was involved with me, and that’s sure punishment enough. For like 7 lifetimes. Believe me when I tell you, his dues are paid in full.
-Q
I would never hex you but I'm oh soooooo willing to start a hexing party on his stuck up mom and "wife" !! From what I can tell his best life was with you girl!! He is paying for being what his family wanted him to be not for the time he spent happy and true with you!!!
Y'all aren't done