Yesterday at work, Hilary came downstairs and was regaling me with a story she heard from one of her best friends. Before we start, I need to write a preface. The girl writing the following e-mail is the friend’s sister. The friend has her head screwed on straight, but her sister might as well be on Springer. She’s a lesbian with a baby and a husband. A husband who likes lesbians (obviously). I can’t remember what her and her husband’s jobs were or where they lived . . .he’s not a mechanic and they don’t live in a trailer park, but it was something like that. Without further ado:
Me and Chris aren’t doing too good. You know the rest of the stuff he did, well this was the final straw . . . Saturday he went to work at 7am, and at 3 he went strait to the bar with the 2 lesbians (who like him alot and rub their tits on him) and stayed there until 7 or 8 (5 HOURS) then went to their house. He came home at 12 (gone 17 HOURS with me not knowing where) and then he try to lie about being at the bar the whole time (except I got a sitter and went to the bar they go to and there was no Chris and no lesbos) then he finally told me he was at their house watching movies (for 5 HOURS) and fell asleep. FELL A SLEEP I would be stupid to let this one slide, you know him and lesbos. So saturday I made him sleep on the couch and he was an asshole all sunday claiming he did nothing wrong and would do it again if he wanted to. Fuck that shit. I made him wash his own laundry and told him pack his bags and that we were separating until he was ready to be a responsible husband and father and I got 4 bags down and he packed them. I said he could sleep on the couch but when he left for work that was it. The only time he was allowed here was from 6-9 pm to see his daughter for at least a week. So he left and then called here after work to see if I really wanted him gone. I said “Yes, I kicked you out” So he was like “Fine” and I was like “whatever, go hang out with your lesbos” so who knows where he is. He just bought a van with a bed so he can sleep there. Well thats my story. I’ll talk to you later.
If I was a journalist, I’d have run out of (sic) halfway through this letter.