My daughter Shannon was born an adult.
There was little time to condition her as a child on account of her having to
help her mom and I raise us and her younger sister and brother, Nadine
and Bryce. As a result Shannon and I developed an understanding
we would trade off some bizarre behavior for her lack of child
hood and what started innocently as me tying her hands
so she could try to escape while I made us breakfast
morphed into a not very old escape artist left tied
to a doorknob with her hands behind her back
double knotted with two scarfs and a toque.
A coworker called me for an unexpected
ride and I instantly forgot my wiggling,
giggling “I’m getting out, this isn’t
gonna stop me!” escape artist
but 30 minutes after getting
to work my (now ex) wife
phoned to call me some appropriate names. Yeah.
Shore do love you Shannon.
Thank you, friend.
Barry out.
If I knew why I did shite I’d hop over it.
Good tune, missus, lak u.
I didn’t mention my first wife Sherry in this story on account of I wanted her to have her own space rat here.
Let me spread this blanket out for you missus.
You’re welcome.
Bryce, you get your own story.
No, I mean, YOU get it.
Shannon and I never got into sexual abuse on account of there being so many other abuses that had to be worked through first.
Number one being her potty mout and a rampant disregard for seniority.
Animals understand all this.
Its humans who need to learn.
So say these folks Shannon hangs with.
An I believe ’em.
Wow. La dese keedz.
Holy fuck. I can write drunk…
I am a moron.
Everyone who steps on my body is schmarter.
wow…