I know it’s barely 8 o’clock in morning and by all accounts, I should be blogging about the most tremendous sporting event on the planet (which will kick off at 9:30 am – Go SA!!), but I woke up with bile in my mouth and venom boiling in my veins. The cause: Douche Bag.

Yes, that Black backwater cretin has reared his ugly bald head yet again.

Have you ever met someone who just sucks all the goodness and whatever measure of God you claim to have abiding in you right out of you? They are usually some form of an ex: Ex-boss, ex-husband, ex-coworker…you get my drift. Douche Bag and I had no titles when we were together, so he’s just some constant reminder of a bad year spent making bad decision that resulted in me ending up with some incurable, reoccurring disease –  Like ‘yuck-mouth’.

I have been fortunate enough to have dodged any sort of personal encounter with him for the last 3 months or so, but that all ended yesterday when I was tasked with delivering my daughter into his vile, treacherous hands yesterday evening. Accompanied by my good friend Caroline and with my 3 child in tow, I agreed to meet him at a McDonald’s on Holcomb Bridge Rd so that he could spend 2 days with my daughter before going off to NC to visit his uncle who is on “life support”. Keep in mind, this is the week that he is meant to be beginning his 2 consecutive weeks in the summer with her (a thought I am dreading), which he has hitherto asserted it would be difficult to do due to a myriad of reasons. I wrote about these earlier. They include 1) going to clean off his dead infant sister’s grave in ‘Buffalop’, 2) completing a job training course over the summer, and 3) the inevitable cramping of his bachelor lifestyle. Now, miraculously, his uncle is on “life support”.

Please don’t misread me. I am generally capable of great empathy and uncommon amounts of sympathy – however it is difficult for me to muster these sentiments for someone who when my own grandmother was dying responded to my pain by saying “Oh. Well, can you lend me $200 so that I can keep my house out of foreclosure?” In addition to that, I highly doubt that his uncle is dying and/or on life support. Why? Because he is an abashed, debased liar. This is a man who has sanctioned 5 abortions and left his fiance after she suffered 4 miscarriages. He is obviously not sterile, but told me with great pride how he avoided the responsibility of another baby by telling some clueless woman that he “suffered in an accident when he was a kid that left his balls crushed and sterile.”

“Call my momma,” he bluffed to this woman. She of course did not, and ‘handled it’ on her own. I sat listening to this tale in awe, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. So in light of all this, do i believe his uncle is on life support? No.

As I sat in the parking lot of the McDonald’s listening to my oldest inform me again and again that she did not want to go to his house and that she did not want to just sit here in the parking lot, I attempted to console her by agreeing with her.

“I don’t want to sit here any more than you do baby. I will miss you, but you have to go.”

“Because he took you to court,” she said shrewdly.


She grumbled a bit and proceeded to play some made up game with her sister. 15 minutes later, Douche Bag pulled up next to my vehicle; late as was to be expected. Caroline got out of the car to help Nadjah out, and I kept my eyes forward and face shielded with my left hand. I could not even abide to look at this poor excuse for a man. My anger turned to anguish when I heard sniffling in the back seat. Nadjah had climbed back into the car to give her sister a final hug and her baby brother a kiss. This of course sent her 3 year old sister into hysterics as she cried “I want Nadjah to stay!!” Powerless, I told my children it would be ok and that she would be back in a few days. I kissed Nadjah’s tear stained face and promised to pick her up on time on Saturday morning.

Douche Bag, the black cold-hearted bastard whose self serving antics were tearing my kids’ bonds apart stood somewhat impatiently by his car and drove off soon afterward. He had gotten what he came for, never mind how anyone else felt.

I wouldn’t be so angry if he had not sent me the following text message just a few days before:

U know I’m not a bad person. And I don’t thing u r. We both just see, and do things in our own eyes. (Ok, that’s from tha church) LOL! But u feel me!

What are you LOL-ing for? Something funny to you? There is nothing funny about any of this, you misguided illiterate platypus. And contrary to what you believe, you ARE a bad person.

The End.