addendum

if you are (which seems very likely) stumbling across this post by sheer happenstance, please take a moment to read the previous post, as this one will otherwise make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

well, if i am not one to trifle with when it comes to threatening my family, my wife is that times a gazillion.

after i recounted everything (she was out of town for work), and spurred on by this woman's negative reaction and a serious lack of any kind of apology or explanation as to what was to be done to prevent this scrawny little dungheap from building pipe bombs in the garage and torturing small animals, she decided to text a friend who worked for the local police. that friend recommended to get it on paper (as in file a report) in case anything else was to happen.

as she was doing this, i was chatting with the friend living on their cul-de-sac, who informed me that the dad's way of "handling it" was to leave the kids with a sitter that very night and take his screaming banshee of a wife out on a date; meanwhile, the sitter lets the kids tear around the neighborhood till well past dark, and eventually locks them out of the house. then on saturday, he banishes [charles manson] to his bedroom for a half-day by way of punishment. sunday, the entire family goes out kayaking. cause nothing says, "i aint fucking around!" like good clean family fun on the water.

sunday night, after we filed the police report, and while we are having dinner with the friends from that cul-de-sac, and shamelessly badmouthing this family and their ill-fated offspring, the doorbell rings.

it is another mom from that circle, who wanted to let me know that she too had had problems with this kid. he had been saying sex-related things to her sons, and she (like me, and i fear this might be a bit of a disturbing trend amongst parents world-wide) had told her boys to just ignore him. until the day they came home and said he had suggested to them that they "fuck their mom."

at which point she dealt with the mother in no uncertain terms.

the interesting detail in this bit of information is that she did not swear or lose her cool with this other mother, or try to blame her kids, or in any other way display the kind of behavior she displayed to me friday night.

odd, right? because if one parent had already complained about my kid's gobshite, and i had sort of accepted that story, i surely wouldn't tell the next parent to complain that my kid hadn't done anything and it was their "fucked-up" kid's fault.

i told the busdriver this morning that i didn't want either one of my boys sitting within two rows of this brat. i said that if he had something to say to my sons, i wanted him to have to shout it so that everyone on the bus could hear it. i also suggested that perhaps the sweet girl who corroborated my son's story should be included in this seating shift, as the future serial killer might try and harass her as well.

she simply nodded in a knowing way, and called out his name as i was getting off the bus.

my wife and i have an appointment on friday to talk with the principal as well.

essentially, she and i agree: you don't threaten my family, stand there and lie about it, and then act like it is my kid's fault and just walk away with a slap on the wrist.

or as my wife said over and over the whole weekend: "that bitch fucked with the wrong family."

oh, yeah, she did. and her pestilent progeny as well.

darth sardonic

i handled it

i frequently (maybe too frequently) joke in here about how much my kids aggravate me. it is a fact of my nature, and the nature of a parent/child relationship in general. and my way of handling stress is to joke. and raising kids is a big stress under the best of circumstances.

but i like to think that if you, the beloved non-existent readers, have been reading here regularly for anything longer than a few months, you will know that i really love my kids and my wife. i also like to think that you know that despite being verbally very violent on occasion in this blog, i am a big softie.

you will also know, however, that i have a thick core of raw kiss-my-ass steel and battery acid.

and i will not let anyone fuck with my family.

now, a few months ago, no. 1 got off the bus very upset. crying, in fact. i asked what was wrong, and he replied that [worthless waste of sperm and egg future serial killer] was telling him that he, [serial killer], was saying on the bus that he had escaped from jail after killing a manatee and a cop.

now, i think i handled this bit of info improperly. i told no. 1 that [sociopath] was a jabbering little idiot in need of a.) attention, and b.) some good adhd medication, and that no. 1 should not believe anything he said, and do his very best to ignore him, or at the very least, not get upset at the twaddle that this puling little whelp shat out of his gob.

in a way, no. 1 took my advice, as today when he was recounting what this kid had said, he seemed almost scarily calm.

"um, dad, you know what [check the crawl space for bodies] said today? he said that on my birthday he is gonna kill mom."

the record skips, everything on the planet gets immediately cut down to super slow motion.

"he said what?"

no. 1 repeats back exactly what he had just said again.

if i had not needed to immediately get no. 2 to a therapy appointment, i would've been at this slug slime's parent's door. lucky for me, and no. 1, and them even, i had that appointment.

in the car i tell no. 1 not to sit by this syphilitic boil anymore. i tell him i will talk to his parents. i tell him i will talk to the bus driver, and make sure she knows he is not to be anywhere near either of my kids. i tell him that if this kid ever tried anything with my wife, she'd fuck his world up beyond his ability to comprehend.

the drive, and hour long appointment work in my favor in several ways. i text my friend that lives on the same cul-de-sac as the offender and his family, and make sure i am thinking of the right kid. she confirms, and even says i am not the first parent with complaints about this diseased little pustule. i also get extremely angry. something i am gonna need to tackle this situation just as it needs to be tackled. but i also get extremely calm. something that ended up working to my advantage when i finally stood on these people's front porch.

i told no. 1 to let me do the talking, and i had to remind him a couple times. i was firm. i didn't want the parents of this larva to see me being wishy washy with my own kids. when i pulled up, the dad is sitting on the porch, and it is like he already knows something is up. so do his kids, who come over from playing catch, and his wife, who appears at the door from somewhere inside the house. even the neighbor kids come over, standing around in a semithreatening semicircle.

there we are, me and my boys, like last stand at the ok corral.

when i explain why i am there, he says, "well, that sure doesn't sound like anything [jeffrey dahmer] would say." (it never sounds like something our sweet little angels would say, does it, o my beloved non-existent readers? so many parents own property on a river in egypt.) and his diseased hole of a wife says the same thing, attempting to imply my kid made it up.

i say, in a no uncertain terms kinda way, say, "well, it sure isn't something no. 1 would make up."

the putrescent womb that shat out this gobbet of rotten okra is so incensed she declares this whole conversation "bullshit" and both of them are insisting that unless an adult can collaborate my story, it didn't happen.

of course their lying pond scum of a son denies it completely. even before he knows what he is accused of (which i point out in a voice that cuts through the other chatter happening around me.) they call in the boy who sits next to [john wayne gacey], and he says that the kid talks to my son, but he doesn't know what he says. we drive down two more cul-de-sacs to find the girl who sits next to no. 1. the mom has declared my kid "fucked up" and gone inside. but the dad is gonna ride this thing to its end, either to rub my face in it, or (i like to think) because he secretly knows that this shite is, in fact, the sort of thing his cesspool of a kid would say.

the girl who sits next to my son is older, and a bit of a chatterbox. i ask if her mom can come out so that her mom can kind of chaperone the conversation, and once her mom figures out exactly what's going on, she kind of keeps her daughter reigned in.

the girl says that the only one who really messes with my son is [ted bundy], and that he does in fact say some "sorta mean things." it is clear she doesn't want to say what sorts of things exactly. but after we tell her we need to know, and without any prompting at all, she says, embarrassed, "he said like he would kill no. 1's mom."

the father says he'll handle it.

i take my kids home, and tell no. 1 good job, and thanks for telling me.

now that it is over, i stand in the kitchen fucking shaking with rage. i smoke. i text my wife. i fill in the friend that lives on that circle on the outcome.

but, o my beloved non-existent readers, my droogs and only friends, i handled it. i never swore. i never implied that their kid was "fucked up" like that female goat had done about my own son. i never implied anything about him matter of fact except that he had said this to my son, and that i wasn't going to back down in the face of their apathy and hostility.

and i still won't. not sure what the long-term repercussions of this will be, but i am ready, and i am readying my kids.

because you do not fuck with my family.

darth sardonic

when we treat our kids like used cars...

for literary (i use that word exceedingly tongue in cheek, o my beloved non-existent readers who keep stopping by this little grease-stain on the world wide web) fare in a lighter vein, i recommend my last two posts. this post is, in short, a political rant.

florida is trying to push a bill through the senate right now that recommends teachers be paid on a "commission" based on state aptitude test scores.

my immediate reaction to this news is: teachers are now being lowered to the status of used car dealer. regularly, in this country i call home and love so much and would die to defend, the government drops money into huge multinational conglomerates and defense contracts, and our children, and those individuals who have chosen the often thankless and difficult job of elevating our children, sometimes against their own will and that of their parents, to their full potential get shoved roughly down across a table and, quite frankly, violently raped up the ass.

i would ask anyone that will listen: which is more important? bombs or books? how do we continue as a great nation if our most precious natural resource is being treated like nothing less common than dog shit?

but this is all academic, and i digress.

as a general rule, the majority of parents in this country have decided it's the school's job to raise their children. the ones who should be a child's biggest supporters and first line of defense have abandoned them. now the youth of america's second line of defense will be stripped of their big guns and handed a butter knife and will be allowed to fall under the tank treads of apathy and disinterest, selfishness and avarice.

were this bill currently law, my oldest son's teacher would no doubt be homeless and starved. she is a teacher with many year's experience and a vast well of patience and who i know for a fact actually goes home and stresses about certain children in her class (my own son is one). she does her job not because it is a job or someone told her she should teach, but because she actually cares about the kids, and wants them to succeed, and she agonizes when they fall short. she would starve because she routinely gets the hard cases. the rebellious ones. the ones from dubious familial backgrounds, the ones with adhd, the ones with learning disabilities. and she battles daily to give them every chance and opportunity. but if one student, on the day of the fcats, were to flat out refuse to test (as my son has done in more than one instance with spelling tests or math tests), then that is one less meal she can afford.

when we treat our kids like used cars, that is exactly what we get: children with knocks in their engines, kids whose carburetors don't function as they should, an entire generation of rusty, malfunctioning, bound for the junk yard progeny who are overpriced and have been patched up for resale to consumers who don't really want them.

and when our nation is driving those clunkers, and nothing else, then we will be a nation permanently in the break-down lane.

darth sardonic

this in place of a scathing rant...

man i was hot as the surface of the sun after words were exchanged with a (stupid fucking cunt who has never had a hard day in her life) fellow classmate this afternoon.

but instead of the usual awful (full of foul language) diatribe, i offer only this instead:

you know what is wrong with this country (the united states of america)? liberals who think that conservatives are what's wrong with this country, and conservatives who think liberals are what's wrong with this country. e pluribus fucking unum, for the love of christ!

and in closing i will say this: the next person that tells me to fucking move out of the country where i was born; the country i served for 8 years and that my wife is still serving and that friends of mine have fucking died to serve; the country i would still die for today; my fucking country; the next person that tells me to move out of that country because my opinions don't match theirs is getting a faceful of fist in short order.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

yet another rant

ok, i once said that usually when someone says, "i love so-and-so to death..." it is usually followed with why they would love to kick them in the face.

i love j and b (a couple of my neighbors) to death, but:

this weekend my wife came back from a trip to vegas for a "girl's lost weekend" (lol) that was 4 or 5 days long, during which time i was taking care of the kids by myself, and going to school, had possibly the biggest load of homework i have had since starting back to higher learning, and a gigantic pile of laundry that served only to piss me off.

my wife and i have our routine. she knows when she is gone, the house is gonna get messy. she also knows that it will be spotlessly clean by the time she walks through our front door. that is our deal. that is our agreement. she cleans house much less than i do.

so on wednesday, the sink was full of dishes. honestly. full. like you had to move them out of the way to fill a glass of water. at least half those dishes had been in there before my wife left.

j n b's son watched the kids when i went to class, and apparently one or the other of them brought him dinner and saw the messy kitchen, and dirty floor.

now, thursday, i loaded the dishwasher. so the sink was empty again. of course, they didn't fucking stop by on thursday, did they? they didn't check on me at all as a matter of fucking fact at any time except when i was actually not home.

oh no! no: hey just checking to see how you were managing and did you need anything?

but one fucking sink full of fucking dishes and j is spreading the word to everyone on the cove how i have let things fall to shit this week. b. e. (other neighbor) just laughs when he tells me, cause when he wasn't working, he was usually on the wii while the housework piled up.

and, saturday night, the night my wife comes back, b, who is holding her 12th large glass of vodka with some juice added to color, has to swing into my house to make sure i have cleaned and then to give me some kinda convoluted lecture/pat on the back that involved saying things such as "your wife doesn't need any more stress..." (what, from all the fucking partying in vegas?!!? god forbid she come back from drinking too much and blowing all our spare cash at the tables to a fucking messy house!) and "i know you are going to school, and i am really proud of you, but..." (but fucking what?!!? not only should i work full time, coordinate the kids' appointments, go to school half time, and do homework, but i should also have the fucking house fucking spotless at any given moment for my fucking neighbors' inspections?!!?)

you know what? we all have our flaws. b.e. can be rude as fuck when he is drinking (which is alot). j drinks beer every night as well, and when he gets his drink on, he has a habit of getting physical with his teenage son, sometimes in a way that crosses over from play or discipline and into abuse (in my opinion, and only in my opinion). his wife, b, as i alluded to previously, drinks every weekend away, to such a point that we don't even bother them on a sunday until well after one because she and j are probably sleeping off a monfuckingstrosity of a hangover.

and these motherfuckers are gonna lecture me on a sinkful of dishes, some popcorn and legos scattered across the floor, and a pile of clean but needing to be folded laundry on my couch?

you know what? i don't run around telling these fuckers how to live their lives. i never say maybe you should drink less. maybe you shouldn't hit p so much. maybe you should mind your own fucking business. i never run to anyone else (except maybe my wife) and share any of my concerns for these, my friends, because it is none of my goddamn business in the first fucking place. and because i am far from perfect, i feel ill-equipped to advise others on how to live their lives.

so i stood there, fuming a bit, sipping my whiskey sour a little faster than normal to not go off or argue during the drunken, rambling lecture.

but you know what else, o beloved non-existant readers? while these people are my friends, this is one case where, to maintain our friendship, i need to say, (even if only within the scope of this blog, which none of them read) fuck you. fuck your dumb fucking drunken asses. mind your own goddamn business and let me and my wife handle our affairs, since you seem to be having a hard time handling the shit at your own fucking house, and overall i have things well in hand at my pad, thank you the fuck very much. now piss the fuck off!

thanks for letting me get that off my chest in a forum where it causes no damage to me or anyone else involved.

darth sardonic

My angel wings Were bruised and restrained

this post is sure to be angry and rant-like. just so's you know.

i had a ton of shit i wanted to do last night. i needed to fill out my paperwork for my gi bill, and fold and put away laundry, vacuum, shower n shave, etc.

it's a good thing i did my shower n shave first, cause i really needed it, i fucking reeked.

then i set to filling out the paperwork for my gi bill, that i was going to turn in today.

i needed to find a form that they gave me when i separated from active duty. so i looked in my ex-military paperwork. nope. then in the stuff i gathered together from my military days in order to be rejected for the dental assisting job here on base. nuh uh. then i looked in another folder with important documents. sorry, please try again. i went back through our files rabidly, like a poisoned man trying to find the antidote. then i went out to the garage and dove into the blue bin.

everyone must have some equivalent of the blue bin. the blue bin is where our keepsakes and shit that we don't really need but can't seem to part with end up. we almost never open it. in there, buried under my bombachos de gaucho and the "most improved" award i got my first year of x-country, beside my old scout uniform, i dig out all my air force files. i literally, no shit, have every piece of paper the air force ever gave me. except the one i need.

i look through again. i come back into the house and go through the files a third time. i text my wife, in dc for training, you know where my separation form is? which engenders a texting frenzy back and forth: nope, not there. not there either. looked there twice.

wife tells me to call, and i do. after which she tells me, "i'll find it when i get home on friday." but i wanted to turn it in tomorrow and get the process sta-- "it's only two days!" i looked everyw-- "yeah, but... i mean, it's you. i'll look, i know i remember seeing it." (the implication here is that i am incapable of finding shit, which is mostly true, but in this case, not really.)

how the sweet cherry fuckstain did i ever manage to get myself enrolled in two other major universities before my wife came into my life?!? let alone manage financial aide, buy books, etc etc? this is the same woman who not a week ago was chewing my ass out about getting a move on with the gi bill "because it's a lengthy process!"

she tells me to forget about it, not to worry, that she will find it when she gets home. i say, yeah, ok, it's not that big a deal, love you baby. and hang up.

then rip apart the files two more times, all the while cursing and fuming and about to lose my everloving mind.

nothing.

fuck it then! fuck it. i have spent several hours looking for this accursed piece of paper, to no avail, and now i don't give a shit whether i am able to turn in the paperwork tomorrow, or whether or not the clothes get folded.

i fix a whiskey n coke and sit to the computer and log into one of the chats i like to frequent, where someone i have been talking to manages to say just the wrong thing to me and i say, "yeah, i guess" instead of fighting with her moronic ass and log off and go to bed.

i awake exhausted, peeved, grumpy, and hungry for blood today.

while j and i have been working trimming the palm trees, as you can imagine, we have been leaving numerous piles of fronds all over the course, which someone usually comes and picks up with the frontloader.

for a couple days it was n, a lazy, good-for-nothing cunt who thinks the world owes him a living, and who has absolutely no qualms about sitting around the shop for an hour doing absolutely nothing, or talking to some hapless person at length about something that occured to him last night. j says, "i think he is mildly retarded." if he actually were, i might cut him some slack.

in the course of those two days, he picked up four piles. meanwhile, j and i added about fifteen more to the number of piles needing to be picked up.

the next day, r was on the frontloader, and in an hour picked up more than n had in two days.

j and i had had it. we were fed up with n's slovenly work ethic and his lackadaisical attitude, so we had a talk with our superintendant.

and he had a talk with n yesterday. so today, n is telling anyone who pretends to give a shit that he doesn't wanna hang out in the shop cause of "two certain individuals." i should point out that me n j are the only friends n has at work, as well. everyone, and i mean everyone, agrees that he is a shitty worker, and that his attitude stinks, but apparently he thinks that everyone but me, j, n our superintendant is on his side, cause he has been walking this story around the shop like a hooker on a streetcorner.

well fuck his dumb ass! he wouldn't dare say shit about it to me or j cause he knows from experience that we won't put up with his idiocy.

however, i really wish he would've said something to me today, cause i am chock full of piss n vinegar and would've loved to be provided for a deserving target upon which to unleash it.

meh, fuck it. life is stupid sometimes.

thanks for tagging along.

darth sardonic

on the verge

...of a break-through, or a break-down. not sure which.

when i began this dirty little fly-spec on the world wide web, its main purpose was two-fold: to excorcise the demons that too much free time combined with overexposure to whiney needy kids seemed to mass-produce in my cranial cavity, and to rant at length about the political arena.

but, since writing about my kids and observations is way more fun, and since dubya hasn't really done anything ridiculously stupid of late (well, anything new. he still does dumb shit all the time, hourly, no doubt, but nothing that is making the news anymore), i have been focusing on the day to day of yours truly and his own.

and so here we are, o my beloved non-existant readers, from all areas of the globe, all walks of life, those who knew me when, and those who have never really known me, per se, except what is presented here in the written word; on the cusp of something new in the field of yank politics.

and i have to say, it looks to be dull. dreary. dull, dreary, uninteresting, ho hum, and mundane.

i don't hate or love either of the candidates. i think they will both do an equally mediocre job of cleaning up the immense cesspool that dubya has left (though i am leaning more toward obama, as he seems, on paper at least, to have a plan).

we are days away from having a new president, and, to be perfectly honest, o my beloved non-existants, my droogs and only friends, i could really give a shit.

my predictions for the future: if mccain wins, we can count on at least another four years of iraq war (and a pitch will be made to add, at the very least, iran to the list of antagonists, though i am thinking the list will probably look more like: iraq, afghanistan, iran, pakistan, and any other "stans" that might seem bomb-worthy) whilst "cutting unnecessary spending" (and don't ask me how that works, i am not a politician and have no idea how one can continue a couple wars on foreign soil and simultaneously reduce surplus spending. maybe he means cut back on government grants to schools, and reducing the overages spent on dead and maimed veterans' benefits.)

beyond that, it promises to be four years of dithering, dodging the question, smoke and mirrors, and reminding everyone that he takes a "strong" stand on some vaguely familiar issues that remain to be clearly defined.

if obama wins, he will spend alot of time dodging bullets.

(begin side rant: what the motherfucking fuck?!!!? the us is on the verge of actually joining the 21st century, and rednecks with recently shaven heads and relatively new copies of mein kampf are fucking going to enmire us boldly in the late 19th century with great pride and seig hiel waves of the arms.

seriously?!!!? really?!!? i mean, fucking come the fucking fuck on!! if we are going to pick a misfit child-molester-looking maladjusted criminally insane icon as someone to emulate, can we at least pick one from our own fucking country?

wake the fuck up, you ignorant wasters. anyone who has made a bid for purifying the race, or ethnic cleansing, or anything of that nature was out of their damn gourd and ended poorly. according to wikipedia: "Adolf Hitler shot himself in the head with a pistol on April 30, 1945, shortly before the invading Soviet Army captured his bunker in Berlin." after allegedly taking cyanide. wanted to make sure i guess. "Benito Mussolini was captured by Italian ROYALISTS, who wanted to re-institute the Italian monarchy in power. He was shot, and his body was hung in the main square in a Northern Italian city, along with his mistress," it was rumored that an angry mob beat the living bejesus out of him first. according to another website, "Cambodians wept in disappointment after hearing that Pol Pot had died of heart failure Wednesday in a jungle hut on the Thai border, even as the last diehard members of his vanquished movement were moving toward surrendering him to an international tribunal. (sic)'He deserved to die. I am only sorry that he died so easily without being tried,'" it goes on to say he was being held prisoner at his own house by his own men, who wanted to turn him in to the international tribunal. stalin's "official cause of death was cerebral hemorrhage." followed by speculation that he actually drank way too much, woke up in a bed full of piss, unable to speak, and was neglected by doctors who were afraid of being arrested and sent to gulag until he died.

anyone know any icons these miscreants might find to be "suitable role models" who ended well? i would love to know.

so, to the poor white trash dipshits who insist on holding onto ideals better suited for the dark ages, do us all a favor: take hitler's way out.

end side rant.)

beyond that, he seems to have some good ideas, only about 10% of which congress will actually let him enact, and that begrudgingly.

cause let's face it, o my beloveds, politicians are all glad-handing, baby-kissing, backstabbing, lying, hypocritical sonsa bitches who really could care less about me, the voting john q. public.

i'll let ya know how things turn out.

darth sardonic

You spit-shined my corroded halo,

Then left it to decay.

sometimes when i say, "i don't want to be here" i don't just mean the place i am in, but this whole fucking planet.

i get a burning urge to scream, punch someone, break something expensive, kick an endangered (and preferably cute) animal, burn a rainforest to the ground, press THE button.

as luck would have it (and this is the big reason i believe in higher powers), i was tasked to do things today that allowed me to listen to my ipod loud enough to be annoying to anyone who might get close, by myself, with the sun beating on my back and the sweat in my eyes.

i can ride my bike with no handlebars...

and:

we rise together, we rise together, we rise together.

back soon when i ain't such an ass, o my beloved non-existant readers.

darth sardonic

this song is a...

poem to myself,/it helps me to live...

i love brit slang, and kudos to pixie for dropping the phrases that really fit: "barking mad" and "can't be arsed" (or that may have been sparx), and the latest, "knackered."

yes, i have been knackered. still am, actually. and knackered combined with certain outer stimuli, leads to being down.

the kids, and friends' troubles, are but a few of these outer stimuli that lead to negative sensory overload and the resulting funk.

one of my friends is on the mend. the other seems to continue having a rough time, for many reasons, some of which may be her own fault. whatever.

nothing is quite as good at dispelling the funk as the right soundtrack.

because i was grumpy friday, i found an old mix cd i knew to be chock-full of grumpy music that i had made to listen to whilst hauling pizzas prior to leaving pizza hell when the wife left. this cd is a message from the past-me to the present-me. in essence, the past-me said, "it aint fucking worth being this grumpy, but hey, i am gonna help you get ungrumpy in the way that i know works best for us."

the cd starts off with the angry music, which allows me to get mad (though, admittedly, in this case, mad at nothing in particular. just angry in general. which is a natural and necessary follow-on to being in the funk). not sparing the horses while belting out: You had time to waste and I'm not sorry,/such a basket case, hide the cutlery./I had time to kill, it's dead and buried./You've got guts to spill but no one trustworthy is good for the soul, though a tad hard on the vocal chords.

then it handed me a few of my happy songs (most notably, nofx's cover of gin n juice, which i simply can't listen to without smiling), which i had honestly forgotten were on there, and came at just the right time to burn off the remaining anger like cooking wine and taking with it any traces of the funk.

so now i guess i am just plain knackered.

darth sardonic