When I opened the door the day after I emailed the F-fest to King Shit I was not surprised to see a cop standing there. As I was served the Order of Protection I smiled, and thought KS must have really enjoyed my present to him. A tiny part of his heart must have been crushed when the court would not give him one on the 6′ 4′ 240 pound ghetto husband of his 100 pound niece. Sorry my King Shit, but you cannot have everything. Santa has other boys and girls to think of too.
Three days before the OOP was served, KS had sent the start of email conversation between him and myself, that I both love and hate. He is a complete asshole and needs to learn to keep my son’s name out of his mouth. On the other hand, the arrogant ignorance is so outrageous I have to laugh at times.
He starts by saying… “Please don’t make any plans for coming over Christmas Eve day, or on Christmas day. Thanks”. To this day, I think that is one of the most telling statements written. The disconnect from the reality of what is happening that jumps out of that sentence is crystal clear.
I responded to him with, “You really must be insane if you even thought for a second that I wanted to step foot on that property. The fact you took the time to send an email speaks volumes…Priceless”.
King Shit replies with a long email that starts with…”Well, I guess now that you don’t want to step foot on this property you don’t want any of your stuff….Blah Blah..you are such cowards..Blah Blah…I do let Gram read all the emails you send, boy is she ever proud of you…Blah Blah.. Don’t even plan on coming over on Christmas Day Eve day, or Christmas day. We are going to have a wonderful Christmas here, and we don’t want any interruptions”.
Did I not just say I would not step foot on the property in response to your first “No Christmas for You” demand? Thank you for making that clear, our dog was confused. You said Christmas Eve day, so I am guessing you are good with Christmas Eve night. As far as not wanting my stuff, I believe I do. I bought back few of my things that you so generously gave to goodwill, you piece of shit.
King Shit continues on and in general says..” I found something’s you were planning on stealing still on my property blah blah blah” Then he says…” Hmmm, imagine that, you not only steal from Dumb Shit, now we have to go through everything to make sure you haven’t taken anything else. Your cousin did the same thing, so I spose I’ll find other things missing when I look for them.”
Mr. Idiot, you are looking on your own property for your things. How was I taking anything when it was on YOUR property? What about my 52 inch flat screen you stole, and hid in the back of someone’s garage covered up? I think that went past the planning stage Mr. Sticky Finger’s. I should have pressed charges when the cop asked. I did not because of the word “family” and I am not an asshole like everyone else in this F*ck Fest.
He continues on, telling me what horrible parents we are…”You know in only a few years he is going to wonder why my parents don’t work, why do we move around so much, why were they mad at everyone and everyone was so mean to us”.
Your mentality is that of a very slow ten-year-old girl. Which makes this hard for you to understand, but my son is VERY clear as to why we are pissed off. Also, when you know you are being mean like you say you are, it is called intentional infliction of emotional distress. I know, such big words. No worries, you will catch up one day.
King Shit ends his mental email of wisdom with the following…” I hope your proud of what you’re doing to your mom. Keep it up and I don’t think she will be around very long. I have never seen her so hurt, all because of your selfishness, jealousy, and since of entitlement…Get some help and quit playing this stupid little game, all you’re doing is dragging yourself deeper and deeper. If you feel the need to contact anybody else, go ahead, everyone already knows the story. All you are doing is proving how dumb you really are”.
When this started I wanted so much to believe that if my parents knew everything that was going on they would slow KS’s crazy train down. Nope, I was wrong. My father, Asshole King Punk, was the one hanging out the locomotive window yelling, “Come on everyone, grab that Kool-Aide, we have lives to F*ck with. One is a twelve-year-old, so if you start to “feel” this may be wrong, just DRINK UP! ”