Ah, Monday morning. Wake up. Stretch a bit . Grab a heatpack. Make a cuppa. Listen to Daleyacunt hurling abuse and smacking Fuckin’ Fuckhead around. Again. Call the cops. Again. *sigh*… this is getting a bit repetitive. Fourth call in total, third one on a Monday morning.
It would appear that Monday mornings are quite the stressor for Daleyacunt. This is the third Monday morning smack upside the head for Fuckin’ Fuckhead that has precipitated a phone call to the Police. Mr K’s turn this time to do the honours. It seems very likely that Daleyacunt’s Monday morning stressor stems from long term unemployment and his inability to deal the frustrations associated therein.
Monday, the kids are getting ready for school, everyone has somewhere to be, but not him and for some reason this guy feels the need to take his frustration out on his partner. I’d feel sorry for her, but to be honest, she is just as annoying with her constant foul mouthed phraseology as he is. Nope, she’s got some agency in the situation, regardless of how limited she believes it may be. It’s the three little kids next door that I feel sorry for, growing up in that environment and absolutely no choice in the matter.
It’s weird you know, I have these stereotypes in my head of the sort of guy who smacks around his wife – he’s a Irish Catholic alcoholic living in South Chicago who comes home drunk every Friday night to his family that haven’t had any dinner because he drank all his paycheck. Or he’s a big fuck off Maori fella that can’t control his temper and starts wailing on his woman because she’s ‘too bloody lippy’. Or maybe he’s the mild mannered impotent professor type who no one would ever suspect would harm a fly, but his wife is mighty accident prone. Well done there, Hollywood.