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As most of you have probably figured out by now, this is my boy – or, as Denizen David Hartung has called him, “Spatula II” “Darth Viper”.

Hmmmm.  “Prince Darth Viper”.  Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:  Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still  don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.  Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite  as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 11th birthday.  It’s the latest in a series of birthdays I’ll never get to see.

It occurs to me that I need to again tell you guys what eventually happened with his (*hack, spit*) mother (*hack, spit*) not allowing me to see him.  (Yes, I realize you’ve probably heard it all before – humor me, okay?)

That was resolved, and not necessarily for my benefit, either – but at the very least, neither will she  benefit.  In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.  Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.  A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:  I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.  Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders™ refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.  What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.  It’s what they call a “state jail felony”, lodged right in there between a Class A misdemeanor and a 3rd-degree felony.

And, had the District Attorney of Hopkins County, TX, had the balls to pursue the complaint, things could have gotten very  bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.  You tell me  what school district would’ve wanted to consciously hire a convicted felon?

But – as I had partially expected and fully feared – the good ol’ boy network in Sulphur Springs kicked in.  The district attorney not only sat on his hands regarding the case, but I strongly suspect he tipped off Steffi’s excuse-for-an-attorney about it.

Said excuse-for-an-attorney began to harass me concerning an obscure concept called a “transistion scheme”.  Theoretically, because of the so-called “estrangement” between me and my son, they wanted to get him “used” to having me around again gradually, in stages.

Of course, they failed to point out that: a) Her Doublewide Assness caused  any “estrangement”, and b) during the two times in 2003 this trollop was gracious enough to let me see him, he sure as Hell™ didn’t look  “estranged” from me.

But something else  they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.  As a result, what was  in there were dates specific and time periods specific when I was entitled to have my boy.

Dates and times specific which they ignored without fear of penalty whatsoever, as they had the district attorney in their back pocket.

Eventually, however, the evidence mounted to the point where they had to do something, else the DA would have no choice but to prosecute, lest someone in the media take note and launch an investigation (and yes, I was beginning to contact media types for just this purpose).

I was served in February with papers requesting that the judge in the original case modify the visitation schedule to include the words “transition scheme” and start with the gradual shit again.  In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd™, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another  year’s bonus, and got him to work.  We filed a counterclaim accusing her of contempt of court by failing to abide by the letter of the original agreement.

They countered with the only thing they could’ve – and the thing I was hoping they wouldn’t:  A contempt charge of their own for failure to pay support.

See, this loon I’d hired previously had assured me that the court would set up a garnishment schedule for the child support.  Naturally – maybe this is the good ol’ boy system, or just sheer incompetence on their part – the court never set it up.

As a result, Steffi the Doublewide Bitch Supreme never got a penny from me.  So yes – they had a case.  Marginally.  But it was  a case, by the letter of the law.

This put me in the position of very likely being found in contempt of court, put on probation, forced to check in with a probation officer every month (and pay a $40 fee for the “privilege”)…and, were I to miss checking in or paying the fee by so much as one day, a warrant could be issued for my arrest.

By this time, I’m making plans to marry the Lady Spatula and possibly move to Miami.  Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.  And I’ll be damned  if I was going to let Her Bitchiness control me in this fashion.

With that in mind, my attorney recommended – and I was forced to agree – to deploy what I call the “nuclear option”.  It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:  Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.  Meaning, I would no longer have any say in his upbringing, nor rights to see him any more…nor would I owe any child support, back or future.

My attorney explained it this way:  All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.  And whether I had rights to my son or not, Her Doublewideness would have him most of the time, and she & her family would constantly be poisoning his mind against me.  This way, the bitch would lose her control over my life – and, after a few years, if he wanted to seek me out, she would be powerless to stop him, and I could then tell him my  side of the story.

I deliberated for about half a nanosecond.

“Do it”, I said.

Termination – which the aforementioned loon in Forney, TX said I couldn’t possibly  get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.  The bitch finally accomplished her objective – she forcibly extracted me from his life.

And it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even send him presents or cards any longer.  They have become so fucking small-minded that Her Doublewideness’ fat-assed son-of-a-bitch daddy is even refusing to accept the presents I send to him.  (UPDATE:  Well, not him anymore.  Seems the fat-ass’ heart finally finished rotting from within, and he died of a heart attack in 2011.  File that  one under “Good riddance”.)

(Most of them, anyway.  I don’t get the rejection notices from Wally World like I used to, but who’s to say that the bastards over there don’t take what I send and just throw it in the trash?  It would  be just like them, if one thinks about it.)

No doubt the lot of ‘em will lie to my son like they usually do and say that I don’t even care about him enough to send him so much as a card.  It’s what I’ve come to expect from a bunch of country hick-asses who were willing to lie to a judge and violate other Texas laws to get such a simple thing as a divorce.

Enjoy him now, O Fat-Assed One.  You’ll have a helluva  lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that  for a while, bitch.

(UPDATE:  It has been pointed out to me by our beloved Vicar that this could be interpreted as a threat against Her Fat-Assedness.

Therefore, let me take pains to point out – the bimboid has nothing to be worried about from me.  I’ll not be lifting a finger to bring any sort of harm to her.

What I’m referring to is this:  God has been watching what you’re doing, Lard-ass, and I tend to doubt your manuevering in this whole mess has left Him very much impressed.  You’ll ultimately have to answer to Him, not me.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ll have to answer for things I’ve done, too.  On the other hand, I’m not the one pretending I’m as pure as the wind-driven snow in all this, am I?)

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.  I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.  Someday – when they can’t dictate to you where you can go and whom you can meet – I’ll get to at least give you some of them.

Always remember son – I love you.  And I will, forever.

And Sulphur Springs is banished to high school football purgatory for another year.

(Y’all realize, of course, that they’re on my shit list only until Skip starts playing for teh varsity, right?  Then they’re a permanent fixture in the PFW.  Hell – they’ll prolly take Heights’ place, if the bozos at the FWISD keep Todd Whitten around.)

—

Great.  Now  West Virginia decides to show up.

—

Bucky:  What’d I Tell Ya?

—

Husker-Gopher:  Yawn.

—

Second place in the Big South.  Good job at Liberty, Turner Gill.

—

If the Cowgirlz suck like this against Cleveland, for Cthulhu’s sake, what’s gonna happen tomorrow?

This week:  5-1.  Overall:  49-26.

Quick turnaround, as we’ll come back tomorrow and do this all again.

As most of you have probably figured out by now, this is my boy – or, as Denizen David Hartung has called him, “Spatula II” “Darth Viper”.

Hmmmm.  “Prince Darth Viper”.  Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:  Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still  don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.  Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite  as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 10th birthday.  It’s the latest in a series of birthdays I’ll never get to see.

It occurs to me that I need to again tell you guys what eventually happened with his (*hack, spit*) mother (*hack, spit*) not allowing me to see him.  (Yes, I realize you’ve probably heard it all before – humor me, okay?)

That was resolved, and not necessarily for my benefit, either – but at the very least, neither will she  benefit.  In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.  Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.  A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:  I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.  Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders™ refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.  What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.  It’s what they call a “state jail felony”, lodged right in there between a Class A misdemeanor and a 3rd-degree felony.

And, had the District Attorney of Hopkins County, TX, had the balls to pursue the complaint, things could have gotten very  bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.  You tell me  what school district would’ve wanted to consciously hire a convicted felon?

But – as I had partially expected and fully feared – the good ol’ boy network in Sulphur Springs kicked in.  The district attorney not only sat on his hands regarding the case, but I strongly suspect he tipped off Steffi’s excuse-for-an-attorney about it.

Said excuse-for-an-attorney began to harass me concerning an obscure concept called a “transistion scheme”.  Theoretically, because of the so-called “estrangement” between me and my son, they wanted to get him “used” to having me around again gradually, in stages.

Of course, they failed to point out that: a) Her Doublewide Assness caused  any “estrangement”, and b) during the two times in 2003 this trollop was gracious enough to let me see him, he sure as Hell™ didn’t look  “estranged” from me.

But something else  they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.  As a result, what was  in there were dates specific and time periods specific when I was entitled to have my boy.

Dates and times specific which they ignored without fear of penalty whatsoever, as they had the district attorney in their back pocket.

Eventually, however, the evidence mounted to the point where they had to do something, else the DA would have no choice but to prosecute, lest someone in the media take note and launch an investigation (and yes, I was beginning to contact media types for just this purpose).

I was served in February with papers requesting that the judge in the original case modify the visitation schedule to include the words “transition scheme” and start with the gradual shit again.  In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd™, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another  year’s bonus, and got him to work.  We filed a counterclaim accusing her of contempt of court by failing to abide by the letter of the original agreement.

They countered with the only thing they could’ve – and the thing I was hoping they wouldn’t:  A contempt charge of their own for failure to pay support.

See, this loon I’d hired previously had assured me that the court would set up a garnishment schedule for the child support.  Naturally – maybe this is the good ol’ boy system, or just sheer incompetence on their part – the court never set it up.

As a result, Steffi the Doublewide Bitch Supreme never got a penny from me.  So yes – they had a case.  Marginally.  But it was  a case, by the letter of the law.

This put me in the position of very likely being found in contempt of court, put on probation, forced to check in with a probation officer every month (and pay a $40 fee for the “privilege”)…and, were I to miss checking in or paying the fee by so much as one day, a warrant could be issued for my arrest.

By this time, I’m making plans to marry the Lady Spatula and possibly move to Miami.  Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.  And I’ll be damned  if I was going to let Her Bitchiness control me in this fashion.

With that in mind, my attorney recommended – and I was forced to agree – to deploy what I call the “nuclear option”.  It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:  Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.  Meaning, I would no longer have any say in his upbringing, nor rights to see him any more…nor would I owe any child support, back or future.

My attorney explained it this way:  All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.  And whether I had rights to my son or not, Her Doublewideness would have him most of the time, and she & her family would constantly be poisoning his mind against me.  This way, the bitch would lose her control over my life – and, after a few years, if he wanted to seek me out, she would be powerless to stop him, and I could then tell him my  side of the story.

I deliberated for about half a nanosecond.

“Do it”, I said.

Termination – which the aforementioned loon in Forney, TX said I couldn’t possibly  get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.  The bitch finally accomplished her objective – she forcibly extracted me from his life.

And it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even send him presents or cards any longer.  They have become so fucking small-minded that Her Doublewideness’ fat-assed son-of-a-bitch daddy is even refusing to accept the presents I send to him.

(Most of them, anyway.  I don’t get the rejection notices from Wally World like I used to, but who’s to say that the bastards over there don’t take what I send and just throw it in the trash?  It would  be just like them, if one thinks about it.)

No doubt the lot of ‘em will lie to my son like they usually do and say that I don’t even care about him enough to send him so much as a card.  It’s what I’ve come to expect from a bunch of country hick-asses who were willing to lie to a judge and violate other Texas laws to get such a simple thing as a divorce.

Enjoy him now, O Fat-Assed One.  You’ll have a helluva  lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that  for a while, bitch.

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.  I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.  Someday – when they can’t dictate to you where you can go and whom you can meet – I’ll get to at least give you some of them.

Always remember son – I love you.  And I will, forever.

As most of you have probably figured out by now, this is my boy – or, as Denizen David Hartung has called him, “Spatula II”.

Hmmmm.  “Prince Spatula II”.  Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:  Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still  don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.  Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite  as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 7th birthday.  It’s the latest in a series of birthdays I’ll never get to see.

It occurs to me that I need to again tell you guys what eventually happened with his (*hack, spit*) mother (*hack, spit*) not allowing me to see him.  (Yes, I realize you’ve probably heard it all before – humor me, okay?)

That was resolved, and not necessarily for my benefit, either – but at the very least, neither will she  benefit.  In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.  Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.  A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:  I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.  Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders™ refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.  What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.  It’s what they call a “state jail felony”, lodged right in there between a Class A misdemeanor and a 3rd-degree felony.

And, had the District Attorney of Hopkins County, TX, had the balls to pursue the complaint, things could have gotten very  bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.  You tell me  what school district would’ve wanted to consciously hire a convicted felon?

But – as I had partially expected and fully feared – the good ol’ boy network in Sulphur Springs kicked in.  The district attorney not only sat on his hands regarding the case, but I strongly suspect he tipped off Steffi’s excuse-for-an-attorney about it.

Said excuse-for-an-attorney began to harass me concerning an obscure concept called a “transistion scheme”.  Theoretically, because of the so-called “estrangement” between me and my son, they wanted to get him “used” to having me around again gradually, in stages.

Of course, they failed to point out that: a) Her Doublewide Assness caused  any “estrangement”, and b) during the two times in 2003 this trollop was gracious enough to let me see him, he sure as Hell™ didn’t look  “estranged” from me.

But something else  they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.  As a result, what was  in there were dates specific and time periods specific when I was entitled to have my boy.

Dates and times specific which they ignored without fear of penalty whatsoever, as they had the district attorney in their back pocket.

Eventually, however, the evidence mounted to the point where they had to do something, else the DA would have no choice but to prosecute, lest someone in the media take note and launch an investigation (and yes, I was beginning to contact media types for just this purpose).

I was served in February with papers requesting that the judge in the original case modify the visitation schedule to include the words “transition scheme” and start with the gradual shit again.  In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd™, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another  year’s bonus, and got him to work.  We filed a counterclaim accusing her of contempt of court by failing to abide by the letter of the original agreement.

They countered with the only thing they could’ve – and the thing I was hoping they wouldn’t:  A contempt charge of their own for failure to pay support.

See, this loon I’d hired previously had assured me that the court would set up a garnishment schedule for the child support.  Naturally – maybe this is the good ol’ boy system, or just sheer incompetence on their part – the court never set it up.

As a result, Steffi the Doublewide Bitch Supreme never got a penny from me.  So yes – they had a case.  Marginally.  But it was  a case, by the letter of the law.

This put me in the position of very likely being found in contempt of court, put on probation, forced to check in with a probation officer every month (and pay a $40 fee for the “privilege”)…and, were I to miss checking in or paying the fee by so much as one day, a warrant could be issued for my arrest.

By this time, I’m making plans to marry the Lady Spatula and possibly move to Miami.  Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.  And I’ll be damned  if I was going to let Her Bitchiness control me in this fashion.

With that in mind, my attorney recommended – and I was forced to agree – to deploy what I call the “nuclear option”.  It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:  Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.  Meaning, I would no longer have any say in his upbringing, nor rights to see him any more…nor would I owe any child support, back or future.

My attorney explained it this way:  All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.  And whether I had rights to my son or not, Her Doublewideness would have him most of the time, and she & her family would constantly be poisoning his mind against me.  This way, the bitch would lose her control over my life – and, after a few years, if he wanted to seek me out, she would be powerless to stop him, and I could then tell him my  side of the story.

I deliberated for about half a nanosecond.

“Do it”, I said.

Termination – which the aforementioned loon in Forney, TX said I couldn’t possibly  get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.  The bitch finally accomplished her objective – she forcibly extracted me from his life.

And it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even send him presents or cards any longer.  They have become so fucking small-minded that Her Doublewideness’ fat-assed son-of-a-bitch daddy is even refusing to accept the presents I send to him.

(Most of them, anyway.  I don’t get the rejection notices from Wally World like I used to, but who’s to say that the bastards over there don’t take what I send and just throw it in the trash?  It would  be just like them, if one thinks about it.)

No doubt the lot of ‘em will lie to my son like they usually do and say that I don’t even care about him enough to send him so much as a card.  It’s what I’ve come to expect from a bunch of country hick-asses who were willing to lie to a judge and violate other Texas laws to get such a simple thing as a divorce.

Enjoy him now, O Fat-Assed One.  You’ll have a helluva  lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that  for a while, bitch.

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.  I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.  Someday – when they can’t dictate to you where you can go and whom you can meet – I’ll get to at least give you some of them.

Always remember son – I love you.  And I will, forever.