Hello my friends -

So today Scooter spouts off, for the second time, the name by which I refer to my honey, here on my Penny Blog. As in "Just because Marvin is cleaning up for you..." Wow.

What a fuck, huh?

And where does that leave me? Understandably bereft.

(Scoot, bereft mean very, very sad.).

I am bereft because I like my Penny Blog. In fact, there are times when I've loved it and times when I thought perhaps it had saved my life. But now I have to wish it farewell. Because try as I might I can not stomach the idea of giving Captain Jackass the slightest glimpse into my life, my mind, my heart, or my business. In fact, I'd rather stab myself in both eyes with forks. And that's some serious aversion.

(Scoot, aversion means that you really, really don't wanna.).

I just don't see any way around it and it sucks. Who knew that you could lose your personal thoughts in the divorce? (Judge "I award all your private thinking to Scooter in exchange for all of that trash you threw out that he wanted to keep and was always gonna get out of the garage some time next week." Penny "But, your Honor, those private thoughts were mine BEFORE we got married." Scooter's Attorney "Objection! Your Honor she just utilized a thought which you have already awarded the MY CLIENT! Objection!" Judge "Penny, I find you in contempt. Stop your personal thinking at once!'' Penny "But your honor!" Judge "Take her away Rusty. I am so sorry Captain Jackass, sometimes they just get so upset.")

Who the fuck knew?

Well, if I am going out I am going out with a BANG.

My whole life I have had this parentally imposed throttle restricter, instructing me that I had to be a good girl and that I am not allowed to have my own purely selfish feelings about anything. ANYTHING! Not a one. And I have always made excuses and Herculean

(Scoot, Herculean means really really strong)

efforts for the other person. For my mother, for my husband, for the Bartender. Everyone. And the truth is the only people on earth that deserve that kind of lee-way and deference are your children. So I quit. I quit trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, Scooter. I quit talking myself out of my feelings in an effort to make nice with you. I QUIT.

So, here you go:

I HATE YOU.

And your girl friend's ass is so freakin wide that by the time she's 40 you'll have to buy her two seats on the plane. Good luck with that.

Friends, I'll miss you. Be well.