Oh, No! Pleeeze Don’t Th’o Me In De Briar Patch!
Though let’s be abundantly clear. It has had the tools in its possession to make this stop for months.
All it has ever had to do to take all my leverage away, to remove me from the field altogether, was to follow its own advice, and “exercise the self-control that God gave a child.”
But it can’t do that. It doesn’t have the ability.
It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – that it lacks the ability to put its spouse ahead of itself, the selfish bastard.
It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its inability to love its spouse half as much as it hates me, which may be a tenth as much as it hates my friend John.
It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its complete failure to consider the idea that it might sacrifice anything for the welfare of a person it claims to love.
It demonstrates – EVERY DAY – its diminished mental capacity in its inability to bring a minimal degree of focus to anything not having to do with its collection of perverse obsessions with (in no particular order of importance or intensity): me, John Hoge, homosexuality, self-publishing and podcasting as public humiliation, insulting all icky girls as proxies for the ones it was too terrified of to look at, much less speak to in high school, all things related to human bio-waste management, and inserting its useless pee stick into the “pooter holes” (God help us!) of poor defenseless Cub Scouts like this one:
Sure, if it wants the pain to stop, I can make the pain stop.
All it has to do is stop touching the hot stove. Even a child figures that out reasonably fast. I’m sure if it applies its diminished mental capacities to the problem, it can also gain the measure of self control that it expects we humans to exercise.
Just…what God gave a child…that’s all it needs…surely it can manage that…unless it’s mental capacity is even more diminished than originally thought…
Or the beatings can continue until morale improves.
Makes no nevermind to me.
Now…where did I leave my shine box?