I'm writing this because I'm pissed off. Pissed off with a freaking capital P and a capital O. I've never felt such a strong urge to maime, throttle, and other nasty things like that. Not that I'll do it, because I REALLY don't like the thought of jail. But I can't help it. It brings back memories of my father, who was abusive and hateful. Call it Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, if you want. Why? I'll tell you why.

No, it's not boyfriend related. It's boyfriend-parental related. Get this, right? His father has HATED me ever since I came here. Why? Because I'm not thin with big tits and blond hair and eager to fuck anything that moves, particularly, him. So, he made nasty comments to boyfriend's mom and to boyfriend about me for the first six months of me being here, behind my back. If he thought I fucked up his morning because I was sitting in the dining room crocheting, I got called a stupid bitch behind my back, among other things. The fucktarded cuntwaffle isn't even MAN ENOUGH to fucking say this to my face, right? Okay.

Christmas time. He's all of a sudden really nice to me. "Oh, you're family, la de da de da, all that stuff I said about you I take back," and all that kinda bullshit. He's so nice to me, I have no fucking clue what to think and am so bewildered... Jesus, I thought he was hitting on me for a minute there because, what the fuck? You hate me one minute and now you're all nice and I'm family and shit?

A week later, he turns into Mister Fucktard Asshole Cuntwaffle again. Long story short, he accuses ME of trying to break him and his wife up, when all his wife can talk about is how much of an asshole he is, how she can't stand him, and how she hates him and wants to leave but won't because he allows her to sit on her ass all day and not work.

Did I mention this MORON drinks a 12 pack of 20 oz. beer bottles in under two days, sometimes in one, and then will drink two bottles of hard liquor or MORE if he can get his hands on it? Did I also mention this Jackass just RECENTLY got a DUI because he was Super Cuntwaffle and drove completely and totally drunk on a freaking motorcycle? Did I also mention that he has been caught NUMEROUS times by his family smoking crystal meth?

Either way, I can hear his accusations ALL THE WAY IN MY ROOM and so I go up there and he starts to FINALLY bitch at me to my face. He makes the mistake of telling me that everything is my fault. His life is a mess. It's my fault. His wife hates him. It's my fault. His mother despises him. It's my fault. I tell him to shut the fuck up and that it's not MY fault, but his. I'm not the one drinking a fucking 12 pack of beer in under FOUR HOURS or smoking crystal meth, HE IS. He fucking gets in my face and I go off the deep end and rip him several new assholes. He leaves for half the night and goes and gets EVEN MORE DRUNK and STILL has the balls to tell his wife that I AM THE CAUSE OF HIS FAMILIAL PROBLEMS.

Two days later, and I'm basically told that I am to stay in my room and that I am not to come up for anything unless he is gone or so drunk he doesn't notice my presence. Fast forwards to today? My boyfriend and I were denied dinner. You know what our dinner was? Crackers, soda, snack sized bags of chips, and a couple of granola bars that he stole out of the pantry for us. They ate and then Mister Cuntwaffle himself put the food away so we couldn't eat.

This man has, in one way or another, been both mentally and verbally abusive to everyone in this household. He's driven his wife to the point of wanting to kill herself; he's driven me to the point that *I* want to kill myself. He is nasty and rude to his mother, but lucky her, she's half deaf and can blissfully ignore him and just yes him to death. He's nearly sent his son off the deep end with his fucktardery.

Why don't I leave? Because my boyfriend and I have a plan. He's going to pay off the debt that he has on his used car (about 700$ left); he is going to see if his boss will lay him off, or he will quit around May or June. During that time, we will cut back as much as we can on expenses. When May or June comes, he will close out his bank account, we will pack up, and we will RUN THE FUCK AWAY.

Then who the fuck will this fucktard cuntwaffle have to blame? Just his wife, who's too stupid to leave him.

Where will we go? Why, back to South Carolina, of course.

Don't get me wrong, I love the city. City living is just as fun as I imagined it to be. There's lots more to see and do. But right now, good old Westminster, South Carolina, away from the fucktard cuntwaffle is the best place on Earth.

Momma, here I come.