Post by infowar on Nov 24, 2023 1:15:07 GMT
I am turning 44 soon, and all I have to say is that I hate my kids and my wife.
If I had the power to never give them another penny, to throw them out on to the streets, and strip them of my last name, or any rights to refer to me as their father, I would. Or I'd make them make up for all those years they dodged out on chores to hang out with their useless friends, and make them spend the next 22 years keeping the house as payback for all the money I wasted on them.
They are absolute carbon copies of my wife, who morphed from a girl I loved to a disgusting shitpile of hormones, sogginess, and a permanent " long suffering" expression that she smears on to her face whenever I'm around.
I was glad that my wife, two months ago, tested positive for coronavirus. The fact that she had to self isolate in our pool house gave me some much needed peace and for a while I was dreaming about if I was free of the wife and was able to start over with a woman around 21-34 years old.
We'd have two kids together, but this time, I won't take my wife's word for it that she can do most of the raising. I will be there to ENSURE that they turn out to be respectable members of society. Not disappointments who mirror their mother in every aspect. Slobs who let themselves go, eat like pigs, shop like money is going to be obsolete, and whine about therapy.
Therapy, therapy therapy. Everybody in the house seems to need it. They say therapists take on the job to discover more about their own afflictions, but if one of my useless family members walk in, I'm sure it's going to be the reason these therapist go home with a little bounce in their step. Because no matter how low you are, nobody can be wretched as the mouth breathing human beings that live in my house.
I am probably the MVP at my firm because of how long I'm willing to spend in the office. Any business trip that comes up, I'm your guy. Stay late at the office? A fire wouldn't even usher me out because my home is THE HELL.
I have told my wife nuermous times how HAPPY I am to be going on another business trip. Yet, all she does is fix me with that disgustingly frigid little look of hers. The way she looks me up and down when she hands me a trash bag- yet I'm the bad guy when I comment on the fact that her pouch puts kangaroos to shame.
That having a hotdog down the hallway vagina is apparently a point of pride because she is a " momma." She ties her identity to being a mom, yet jokes on her, because if you're going to tie your value to your ability to reproduce, what are you when you can't. Oh that's right, you use pre menopause as another excuse to not have sex.
I hope that because I work out, eat right, and haven't had any trauma that I can outlive the wife. When my wife dies of old age, I don't have to worry about disinheriting her.
Disinheriting my kids will be easy, and I would wish I could see their faces when they realize that my money will go to charities, to friends, and to whatever girlfriend I decide needs to be included, while they are left with a measly $50 bucks so that they technically cannot argue that I cut them out.
I will be visiting estate lawyers from now on out until I die so I will explore every possibility to screw them over. These people who I feel nothing towards when they are hurt or sick. I might even have another kid with another woman if my wife keeps it up, if only to let someone of my flesh and blood inherit. If only to say that I'm proud of one of my kids.
My oldest daughters are going to be 24 soon. They are already aging from their partying and string of bad relationships and my wife probably thins I'm going to support them until they find some loser to wife them up. The very thought of all of them disgust me.
I will continue making more and more " business trips" and enjoying my life to its fullest because I screwed up in the first part of my life, marrying so young to a woman who in looks and personality is 20 years older than her real age.
If I had the power to never give them another penny, to throw them out on to the streets, and strip them of my last name, or any rights to refer to me as their father, I would. Or I'd make them make up for all those years they dodged out on chores to hang out with their useless friends, and make them spend the next 22 years keeping the house as payback for all the money I wasted on them.
They are absolute carbon copies of my wife, who morphed from a girl I loved to a disgusting shitpile of hormones, sogginess, and a permanent " long suffering" expression that she smears on to her face whenever I'm around.
I was glad that my wife, two months ago, tested positive for coronavirus. The fact that she had to self isolate in our pool house gave me some much needed peace and for a while I was dreaming about if I was free of the wife and was able to start over with a woman around 21-34 years old.
We'd have two kids together, but this time, I won't take my wife's word for it that she can do most of the raising. I will be there to ENSURE that they turn out to be respectable members of society. Not disappointments who mirror their mother in every aspect. Slobs who let themselves go, eat like pigs, shop like money is going to be obsolete, and whine about therapy.
Therapy, therapy therapy. Everybody in the house seems to need it. They say therapists take on the job to discover more about their own afflictions, but if one of my useless family members walk in, I'm sure it's going to be the reason these therapist go home with a little bounce in their step. Because no matter how low you are, nobody can be wretched as the mouth breathing human beings that live in my house.
I am probably the MVP at my firm because of how long I'm willing to spend in the office. Any business trip that comes up, I'm your guy. Stay late at the office? A fire wouldn't even usher me out because my home is THE HELL.
I have told my wife nuermous times how HAPPY I am to be going on another business trip. Yet, all she does is fix me with that disgustingly frigid little look of hers. The way she looks me up and down when she hands me a trash bag- yet I'm the bad guy when I comment on the fact that her pouch puts kangaroos to shame.
That having a hotdog down the hallway vagina is apparently a point of pride because she is a " momma." She ties her identity to being a mom, yet jokes on her, because if you're going to tie your value to your ability to reproduce, what are you when you can't. Oh that's right, you use pre menopause as another excuse to not have sex.
I hope that because I work out, eat right, and haven't had any trauma that I can outlive the wife. When my wife dies of old age, I don't have to worry about disinheriting her.
Disinheriting my kids will be easy, and I would wish I could see their faces when they realize that my money will go to charities, to friends, and to whatever girlfriend I decide needs to be included, while they are left with a measly $50 bucks so that they technically cannot argue that I cut them out.
I will be visiting estate lawyers from now on out until I die so I will explore every possibility to screw them over. These people who I feel nothing towards when they are hurt or sick. I might even have another kid with another woman if my wife keeps it up, if only to let someone of my flesh and blood inherit. If only to say that I'm proud of one of my kids.
My oldest daughters are going to be 24 soon. They are already aging from their partying and string of bad relationships and my wife probably thins I'm going to support them until they find some loser to wife them up. The very thought of all of them disgust me.
I will continue making more and more " business trips" and enjoying my life to its fullest because I screwed up in the first part of my life, marrying so young to a woman who in looks and personality is 20 years older than her real age.