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As we launch this pre-holiday edition of the Perfect Football Weekend&#153, Denizens, I find myself having lost all respect for one Adrian Peterson of the Minne-haha ViQueens.

No, not because he drew a tiny dollop of blood when he spanked his son a little too hard with a switch.&#160 (As an aside…Steffi Dawn Stewart

, I trust you’re not taking it easy on our son when it comes to discipline.&#160 I would hate to think he turned out…well, like you.)

No, I’ve lost respect for the man because he caved in to the NFL and promised “never to use a switch as discipline on any of his children again”.

“I won’t ever use a switch again,” Peterson told USA Today Sports in his first extensive public remarks since being indicted for reckless or negligent injury to a child. “There’s different situations where a child needs to be disciplined as far as timeout, taking their toys away, making them take a nap. There’s so many different ways to discipline your kids.”

[…]

Commissioner Roger Goodell, in a statement announcing Peterson’s suspension, was critical of the star running back, saying, “You have shown no meaningful remorse for your conduct.”

And what the ever-loving fuck&#160 do you&#160 know about “discipline”, Roger Goodfella?&#160 Hell – you&#160 thought it was okay to only suspend Ray Rice two fucking games!!!

Bastard.

As for you, Peterson – thanks for letting us know your kids are now gonna grow up to be just like the doucherifles over there in Ferguson, MO.

See, Denizens, this is what I rail about when I scream bloody murder about the pussification of America.&#160 Peterson’s kid probably had a spanking coming, but because a droplet of blood emanated from his butt-ocks (a little Forrest Gump lingo, there), the metrosexual pansy-assed dickless wonders that make up the Low-Information Lunatic Lickspittles&#153 of our society clutch their pearls, acquire Teh Vapors&#153 and decry what, fifty to sixty years ago, this society would have roundly cheered.

And then we wonder how we could have elected an illegal Kenyan bastard to the White House – twice – and then just sit, whine & kvetch when he goes and blatantly violates the Constitution instead of manning up, getting off our asses and going and doing&#160 something about it.

Thanks, A.P.

Dumbass.

Let’s get on with the football.&#160 My Arlington Heights Yellow Jackets have a chance to do what no Fort Worth “hah skrewl” (a little Rush lingo, there) team has done in nearly 15 years:&#160 Win an area football playoff game.

They have Wichita Falls Rider tonight at 7:30 in Mineral Wells.&#160 Rider & Heights look to be pretty evenly matched – they beat White Settlement Brewer by more than did Heights, but didn’t beat Grapevine by as many as Heights did.&#160 They’re capable of putting up points, but they can also give them up, too.&#160 Should be a good game.

Sunday, Andy Dalton’s Cincinnati Bengals come to the Southern Command&#153 to take on Supreme General Rayegun’s Texans.&#160 If they can keep J.J. Watt out of the endzone (either offensively or defensively)

, they might have a shot.&#160 Vegas has the Texans as a two-point home favorite, which translates to a toss-up.&#160 I guess it’ll depend on whether Ryan FitzPatrick takes the field.

TCU is off this week, so we’ll have four wildcard games: Rock Chalk to go into Norman and give #21 Oklahoma a scare (and if Kansas does&#160 pull off the upset, they’ll be calling for Bob Stoops’ head before the night’s out), #25 UMinnesota to have a letdown game against #23 Nebraska (and believe me, I’d love for Jerry Kill’s bunch to go in and upset Bo Pelini’s kids, but I just don’t see it happening), eighth-ranked Ole Miss to give Ar-kansas a shellacking in Fayetteville (I will never pick the Hogs for anything, ever), and Liberty U. to get their asses whipped at Coastal Carolina.&#160 (Sorry, Turner – I was gonna pick you…but then I saw whom you were playing, and you couldn’t beat ’em at home last year, so…(shrug))

We’re back Monday for the recap.&#160 (And it will&#160 be Monday, too – tune into this channel tomorrow to learn why.&#160 (Hint:&#160 This is as close to a countdown&#160 as you guys are gonna get this year.&#160 One.))

Been trying to keep busy today – working on a laptop for a customer, hanging up laundry when possible, cooking dinner, upgrading the kernels on the two remaining Linux boxes I have online, that sort of thing.

But it’s been at the back of my mind constantly today, and it just now slapped me in the face full force.

Father’s Day.&#160 And yet another one without my son.

Fuck you, Stephanie Dawn Stewart.

(This one will stay on top all day.&#160 Look below for new posts – today only.

And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?&#160 I already know what you think of all this.&#160 This is more for me than for anyone else.)

—

(ED. NOTE:&#160 The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.&#160 (Don’t bother clicking the link – it’s not there anymore, thanks to Internet America and their piss-poor bookkeeping.)&#160 I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.

I do love you, son.&#160 I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.&#160 Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)

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.&#160 “Prince Darth Viper”.&#160 Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:&#160 Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still&#160 don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.&#160 Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite&#160 as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 11th birthday.&#160 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.&#160 (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&#160 benefit.&#160 In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.&#160 Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.&#160 A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:&#160 I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.&#160 Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders&#153 refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.&#160 What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.&#160 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&#160 bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.&#160 You tell me&#160 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.&#160 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”.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 “estranged” from me.

But something else&#160 they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.&#160 As a result, what was&#160 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.&#160 In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd&#153, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another&#160 year’s bonus, and got him to work.&#160 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:&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 So yes – they had a case.&#160 Marginally.&#160 But it was&#160 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.&#160 Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.&#160 And I’ll be damned&#160 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”.&#160 It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:&#160 Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.&#160 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:&#160 All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.&#160 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.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 (UPDATE:&#160 Well, not him anymore.&#160 Seems the fat-ass’ heart finally finished rotting from within, and he died of a heart attack in 2011.&#160 File that&#160 one under “Good riddance”.)

(Most of them, anyway.&#160 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?&#160 It would&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 You’ll have a helluva&#160 lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that&#160 for a while, bitch.

(UPDATE:&#160 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.&#160 I’ll not be lifting a finger to bring any sort of harm to her.

What I’m referring to is this:&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.&#160 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.&#160 And I will, forever.

Story for you guys from nearly 15 years ago.

I had just proposed to Her Doublewideness not too long previous, and in preparation for the Wedding To End All Weddings&#153, I had moved into a nice little one-bedroom apartment in the Sleepy Little Town&#153 of Rockwall, TX.&#160 (Steffi, of course, had a key.&#160 That’s foreshadowing.&#160 Remember it.)

At the time, I was working two jobs – an eight-to-fiver in an office, and a dispatching job on the weekends for the courier company I’d worked days for previously.

As fate would have it, my graveyard relief at the dispatching job this one Sunday night phoned in sick.&#160 And, as fate would also have it, no replacement was available.&#160 Ergo, I would have to work a double shift.&#160 And also ergo (grin), I would be forced to work my eight-to-fiver on zero sleep.

Not a lot of fun.

Anyway, I phoned my then-fiancee, let her know the situation, and kindly asked her if she could come from Sulphur Springs, grab a change of clothes out of the apartment, and come to dispatch to drop them off.&#160 (At the time, I was in a t-shirt & jeans, my apartment was thirty minutes away, and an hour to my eight-to-fiver from there.&#160 No way could I have made it there and back – hence, the call for help to the fiancee. This is also foreshadowing. Remember it.)

Fiancee hemmed & hawed, but eventually agreed that yes, she could do this for the guy she was ultimately going to spend the rest of her life with.&#160 This was 1430 hours.

Fast forward to 1800 hours.&#160 I received a call from Fiancee Unit&#153, ostensibly apologetic, whereupon she said that she had to go to “church”, and couldn’t come down.

Long story short, I subsequently had to call my eight-to-fiver, report in “sick”, and went home after work to sleep until afternoon.&#160 Didn’t hurt my standing there, but Mondays were a hellaciously busy day at that particular company, and it didn’t help my cause any.

Now, at the time of Doublewide Fiancee’s refusal, I figured “okay, one-off, no biggie, not a hill I want to die on”, and ignored the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.&#160 Had I realized at the time that this was a Huge Honkin’ Red Flag O’ Doom&#153 as to her general dependability, I’d have never married the bitch.&#160 I’d have told her the minute she failed to come through for me, “Okay, sweetie, just drop off the key next time you see me, and have a nice life”.

Should’ve taught me not to ignore the sickening feeling.&#160 But hell – what do I know, hm?

I tell you this story, Denizens, to compare & contrast something that happened to me in San Diego last year at the mum-in-law’s funeral.&#160 Friday was the day of the service, and we started off for the chapel not having had time for a proper breakfast.&#160 So we grabbed a couple hot dogs each on the way.

After the funeral was the reception, whereupon there was fried chicken, pizza, mac ‘n cheese, Chinese, etc, etc, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.&#160 Particular emphasis on the ad nauseam – I posted a pic that I’m sure a couple of you saw.&#160 (Yes, that’s exactly how I was feeling at the time.)

Get back to our lodging for the week, and I’m…well, let’s just say I’ve had better days, mkay?

So here I am in the can.&#160 Doubled over in pain, and without going into TMI mode, Pepto’s not going to be of any help.

I’m still in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and I’m overheating.&#160 I need to get into a t-shirt & shorts pretty quickly, but I’m not in any condition to venture out from the can at that moment in time.&#160 So I send a text to Mrs. Venomous – “Honey, I need you to get me a t-shirt & my shorts, okay?”

Five minutes go by.&#160 Ten.&#160 Fifteen.

I’m starting to wonder just where the hell she is, when a thought from the Lord (and He’s the only one who could have put this thought there at the time) comes, unbidden, into my head.

“Have faith in your wife”.

Not three seconds later comes a knock on the door – “Honey???”

She slides the clothing under the door, I’m in t-shirt & shorts not too long thereafter, and all turns out well; the day is officially saved.

The point of all this:&#160 I have a pretty damned hellacious wife.&#160 She’s got my back.

JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, STEFFI, YOU STUPID-ASSED BIMBO!

Mrs. Venomous – I love you.

(This one will stay on top all day.&#160 Look below for new posts – today only.

And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?&#160 I already know what you think of all this.&#160 This is more for me than for anyone else.)

—

(ED. NOTE:&#160 The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.&#160 (Don’t bother clicking the link – it’s not there anymore, thanks to Internet America and their piss-poor bookkeeping.)&#160 I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.

I do love you, son.&#160 I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.&#160 Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)

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.&#160 “Prince Darth Viper”.&#160 Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:&#160 Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still&#160 don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.&#160 Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite&#160 as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 10th birthday.&#160 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.&#160 (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&#160 benefit.&#160 In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.&#160 Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.&#160 A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:&#160 I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.&#160 Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders&#153 refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.&#160 What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.&#160 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&#160 bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.&#160 You tell me&#160 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.&#160 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”.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 “estranged” from me.

But something else&#160 they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.&#160 As a result, what was&#160 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.&#160 In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd&#153, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another&#160 year’s bonus, and got him to work.&#160 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:&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 So yes – they had a case.&#160 Marginally.&#160 But it was&#160 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.&#160 Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.&#160 And I’ll be damned&#160 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”.&#160 It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:&#160 Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.&#160 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:&#160 All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.&#160 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.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 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?&#160 It would&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 You’ll have a helluva&#160 lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that&#160 for a while, bitch.

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.&#160 I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.&#160 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.&#160 And I will, forever.

Front & center, Steffi.

Skip’s present is on its way.&#160 It’s been sent to your attention.&#160 Might be a day or two late, but it’ll get there.

Do all of us a favor and let him actually have&#160 this one, mkay?

Stephanie Dawn Stewart?&#160 Front & center.

Skip’s present is on its way.&#160 It’s a bike.&#160 Not a bad one, either, for his age.

Be a decent human being for once and let him have this present, will you?

Well, Denizens, she’s done it again.&#160 Or rather, she and her fat-assed pussy of an excuse-for-a-father have done it again.

Stephanie Dawn Stewart (she long ago forfeited any right she ever had to wear the Crager name) refused to allow my son to have the Christmas present I got for him.&#160 Or more to the point, they were too cowardly to even answer the door so that FedEx&#169 could give it to them.

Even when I followed her suggestion and put it in the form of a gift card, well, they’re above&#160 all that.&#160 Can’t have his father&#160 giving him a Chirstmas present, y’know.

And it’s not as if you can’t say you weren’t home.&#160 FedEx, after, all, tried three times&#160 and left three door cards&#160 to let you know there was something for Skip.

But none of that matters to you, does it?&#160 Long as you can stick it to me and deny me any&#160 contact with my son – well, that just makes you cream your granny panties, doesn’t it?

So, fine, Steffi.&#160 Have it your way.

You’ve whined in the past about how I keep saying “some aweful things” (no kidding, Denizens, that’s how an elementary school teacher&#160 spells it) about you in the past, even though I’ve pretty much documented things.

But you can’t keep him under your cowardly thumb forever.&#160 At some point, I’m going to get to tell Skip my&#160 side of the story.

And when I do, the things I’ve&#160 said about you will pale in comparison.

Bank on it, you miserable little shrew.

Stephanie Dawn Stewart – front & center.

I have ordered Skip’s Christmas present for this year.&#160 It’s something I think he’ll like, and I can promise you it’s something you’d never think to get him.

Do us all a favor this year, and let him have this one, okay?

ThatIsAll&#153.

(This one will stay on top all day.&#160 Look below for new posts – today only.

And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?&#160 I already know what you think of all this.&#160 This is more for me than for anyone else.)

—

(ED. NOTE:&#160 The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.&#160 I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.

I do love you, son.&#160 I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.&#160 Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)

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.&#160 “Prince Spatula II”.&#160 Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:&#160 Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still&#160 don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.&#160 Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite&#160 as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 7th birthday.&#160 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.&#160 (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&#160 benefit.&#160 In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.&#160 Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.&#160 A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:&#160 I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.&#160 Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders&#153 refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.&#160 What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.&#160 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&#160 bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.&#160 You tell me&#160 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.&#160 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”.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 “estranged” from me.

But something else&#160 they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.&#160 As a result, what was&#160 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.&#160 In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd&#153, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another&#160 year’s bonus, and got him to work.&#160 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:&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 So yes – they had a case.&#160 Marginally.&#160 But it was&#160 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.&#160 Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.&#160 And I’ll be damned&#160 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”.&#160 It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:&#160 Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.&#160 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:&#160 All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.&#160 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.&#160 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&#160 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&#160 get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 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?&#160 It would&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 You’ll have a helluva&#160 lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that&#160 for a while, bitch.

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.&#160 I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.&#160 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.&#160 And I will, forever.

Denizens, it’s now been 10 long years since I made what is probably the Mistake Of My Life&#153 and married that doublewide fatassed trollop in East Texas.

But this post isn’t for you guys, it’s for her.&#160 Therefore, feel free to bypass this and go straight to the PFW post below.

Now.&#160 Stephanie Dawn Stewart Crager – front & center, bitch.

Happy anniversary, bimbo.&#160 Of sorts, that is.&#160 Lemme tell you a bit about what you gave up when you snatched up my son and high-tailed it to that fortified bunker in Sulphur Springs, TX.

I’m now making somewhere in the neigborhood of $50 large per year, doing what I love doing (and, incidentally, something at which I’m still&#160 better than you.&#160 Not bad for someone whom you thought was “simi-worthless”, huh?)&#160 Had you at least tried&#160 to gut it out at the Dallas ISD – well, you still might not have your job anymore, but then again, maybe you would.

We’d now be in the six-figure income bracket.&#160 We’d be financially free, or at least close to it (we’d probably still be paying on that massive Mastercard of yours, but we’d at least have a fighting chance).

Had we stayed in our little cottage in Forney, it would have most, if not all, the problems with it fixed by now – new A/C, new carpet, new fencing, new weatherstripping, new insulation, an exhaust fan in the attic, and a helluva lot lower electricity bills than what we’d had.

We’d’ve done some remodeling of the kitchen – which is what the guys who bought the house wound up doing (I got to see it – they did a pretty good job).&#160 New paint, a new column on the front porch, maybe some Pergo&#169 in the living room with some sort of rug, maybe even a fireplace when we remodeled.

You’d have gotten a real chance to have that garden of yours, if you’d have wanted it.&#160 Perhaps we could even have done a pool or hot tub out in the back.

Or we could have moved to another house which would have been far nicer.&#160 Four bedrooms, garden tub, two-car garage, a lot closer to everything that meant anything to us and our boy.

And who knows?&#160 Maybe Skip would have wanted a brother or sister to have fun playing with.&#160 That might have been possible, too.

But no.&#160 Not only no, but hell, no.&#160 Because your god was always your ass, and because you weren’t willing to work to make yourself a halfway-decent teacher, you quit your job at DISD, scooped up my boy and left.&#160 You quit&#160 on the marriage, Steffi – just like you’ve quit on pretty much everything else you ever attempted.

That’s why you’re a failure, Your Doublewideness.&#160 You never see things through to completion – at least, not the worthwhile things.&#160 It’s why, save you doing a 180 personally, you’ll never amount to all that much.

In a way, I almost feel sorry for you.&#160 You could’ve been part of something special.&#160 You could’ve been&#160 someone special.

But every time I start to feel like that, I remember what you did to me, and what you did to my boy by denying him a relationship with his father – and I lie down until the feeling goes away.

Eff ewe, Steffie, you pathetic loser.

Speaking of Her Doublewideness&#153, today happens to be her birthday.

Two words come to mind:&#160 Old maid.

Eh.&#160 Whatever.&#160

(For reasons which are mine & mine alone, I’m removing this post.

No, I haven’t been threatened, either physically (ha!) or legally.&#160 I have my reasons for taking this post down, they’re good ones – damned&#160 good ones, in fact – and I’m keeping them to myself for now.

ThatIsAll&#153.)

Stephanie Dawn Stewart Crager, front & center.

I’ve just finished sending Skip’s present to him, care of you and that fat-assed son-of-a-bitch you call a father.

Try not to be complete asses this time and let my son have his present, okay?

Thatisall&#153.

Well, it looks like Steffi the Doublewide Fat-Assed Bitch Supreme&#153 has once again prevented my son from receiving Christmas presents sent to him by yours truly.

(And this time I know for a fact it was you personally, Steffi, you miserable little shrew.&#160 Here’s a hint:&#160 try lying about your identity BEFORE you admit to being you next time, hm?)

And Steffi, just so you know what it is you kept our&#160 son from having this year, have a gander:

A Lightning McQueen (from the Disney movie Cars) interactive car.&#160 Skip probably would’ve had fun with the thing all year – and it cost you nothing.

Oh, and I also sent along one of those goofy-assed little Teddy Snowflake&#153 bears you love so much, just so you wouldn’t have to buy him one.&#160 And as unbelieveable as it might sound, Steffi, you dumbass – I actually do that to honor you&#160 in a small (very small) way.&#160 Hell – do you think I want&#160 him to be caught dead with a stupid-assed bear that would be more at home swishing about in Oak Lawn?

So congratulations on playing the role of Grinch&#153 yet again, bitch.&#160 That’s four Christmases now you’ve denied him – and me.

I just hope you have a good explanation ready for God when you die.&#160 I guran-damn-tee you – you’re gonna need it.

Stupid trollop.