Red-headed soul-sucking vampire bitches

SSVB Kate
Look at the crazy
in those cold,
dead eyes.


If I haven't told you the story of how your dear narrator
used to have the most bizarre habit of getting himself mixed
up with the most demonic, self-centered, needy bitches in the
universe, then let me begin by saying this is not a simple
one-off tale like so many others I might tell. Oh no, children.
You see, in order for me to properly explain to you why and
how it is that I, an otherwise good-hearted and prayerful
individual who wants only good and decent things to prevail
in this universe, has routinely been sucked in by walking,
talking (ceaselessly, I might add) black hole daddy issues
like the one seen above, I would have to start way, way
back in the beginnings of my own neuroses.

But fuck that!

You will hear only what I want you to hear and
even then only when I want you to hear it. My problems with
women stem from the fact that so few women have ever been
nice to me. I have two grandmothers, neither of which is
worth a shit.

[yeah, I know it should 'neither of whom is worth a shit,' but whom's tellin' the story here, me or my 8th grade English teacher, and what's she ever written?]

Ever heard anyone speak of their own grandmother
that way? Of course not. Why? Because in 999 out of 1,000 cases,
grandmothers are good and decent people who care for and love
their grandchildren with an irrational fervor that makes maternal
instinct look like cold-hearted abuse.

Kids fucking LOVE their grandmothers and, mostly, grannies
deserve it. Even those poor bastards with one nasty ass bitch
of a grandmother can usually count on grandma number two
to do her job. I, on the other hand, was like the rarest of
dromedaries, the two-humped camel. I was saddled twice
with bitches.

My mother's mother, Francis Browning Carrier Coffelt, had six
kids. By most accounts, her son, Richard, committed suicide after
calling Francis in dire need of a moment, just a brief piece of her time.
She couldn't be bothered to speak to him. She had "chores to do."
She let him die. So far as I and everyone else is concerned, she might
as well have pulled the trigger herself. What kind of twisted maternal
instinct does it take to hang up on your own son who, cursed with inherited
depression, could only be reaching out to you because you are the
last possible hope he has of NOT killing himself. Click.

[tears must be shed for dear uncle Dick ... I never met you, my man, but I know you too well]

She used to give my mother a subscription to Reader's Digest
every year for Christmas. Who the fuck reads that shit? My grandma
did, and she took full advantage of their special Christmas subscription offers
every year.

My father's mother, Helena Wiltfong Jerrett Babe Miller had 13
kids. The first died in childbirth and the others envied it at
least once a week for the rest of their lives. The last time I
saw my father's mother in 1996 she was in the company of her
oldest and fattest daughter, Carol, whom I hadn't seen since I
was 4. It went something like this:

Carol: You need to lose some weight, Buster, and fast.
[first words out of her mouth, by the way, not hello just blah blah blah]

Me: Yeah, well, must run in the family.
[what the fuck else was I supposed to say?]

Helena: Yeah well it must be from your mother's side of the family.
[first words spoken to me since 1981]

Ta DA! This coming from a woman who has produced more junkie
whores from her cooch than Rome has Popes. She slags off my
mother like my parents just got divorced and it's my fault.

[That's what she and most of dad's relatives did when my parents got divorced too, by the way, they treated my sister and I like perpetrators. No sympathy, just daggers. Fuck you all.]

To top it off, what does this slag do? She corners my dad and
tells him I was rude and disprectful to her. How she managed
to convey this without mentiong any of the offense she gave
is beyond me. I would have been happy to ignore her or leave
it at 'Hello.' I was, after all, trying to watch the final episode of
Star Trek and didn't need her bullshit.

I remember being sick at her house once when I was a kid.
It had to have been a bacterial infection of some kind. I'd shit
myself silly and puke my guts out violently every time I drank
water. [??] She gave me bits of toast in warm milk. Try it some
time. That's how I feel about Helena.

Not having anywhere to turn for maternal comfort or guidance
hereself, my mother has thus been free to do as she fucking
pleases as well since no mothers who give a toss are out there
telling her how to do her job the way she is telling my sister
how to do hers. A great many bits of neglect have found their
way into my psychological make-up, people. I spend a portion
of each day just trying to wrangle these ticks so I can function.
I'm not like you. I'm like the Capt. Hook of emotional problems
and like most people with emotional problems, it all goes back
to the fact that my mommy and daddy didn't love me enough.
But it isn't their fault, their mommies and daddies didn't love
them enough either.

Boo hoo hoo, right? Somebody in this world has to be fucked
up enough to do some creative thinking for the so-called
normal people in this world whose minds are like big bowls
of vanilla ice cream filled with love and happy memories of
church and getting everything they wanted for Christmas and
new clothes to go to school in that let the teachers know they
weren't a piece of shit.

[Of course, by vanilla, I don't mean the good kind of vanilla ice cream either, I mean that New York vanilla shit they sell at Hy Vee stores in the gallon plastic containers with the wire handles on it. The only thing that ice cream is good for is melting and collecting eggs in the buckets. I'm the guy who has routinely come along and said things like "hey, how about throwing in some chocolate chips or maybe crumbling up some cookies on that nasty shit. This is a metaphor of course, but it stands to reason that so long as there are good, decent unweathered people out there with no ideas, they will always come-a-lookin' for a guy like my with a rich and rugged interior life that they can exploit. Assholes!]

So here is how we set the stage for routine abuse by leeches
in my life, the worst variety are the soul-sucking vampire
bitches. SSVBs are usually women with daddy issues of some
kind. Maybe their daddy doesn't or didn't love them, maybe
their boyfriend is cheating on them or maybe they just don't
have a boyfriend and they need a surrogate who won't soil
their sheets. They need attention BAD and often dye their
hair various shades of red to make sure no one can
ignore them. I've encountered no less than 5 in my life
since 1994.


Being a fat guy, they believe me to be the perfect candidate
for having my soul sucked. Because even if a need-freak and
I DO get into some serious talkie-talkie they will be able to
resist any kind of bouncie-bouncie. Well hell, that's great for
them isn't it? Great that I am so easy to resist. I must be their
lucky day when I walk in, a MAN ... who LISTENS! How novel.
I'm like a big girl or something.

My life's goal has always been to be a good listener, you know,
especially one no woman feels obligated to screw for the trouble.
The one thing I love more than anything else in this unkind and
unjust world is being treated like a ball-less listening post [eunach]
whose human needs are unworthy of notice or service [freak].
I'd be happy to fulfill your gaping emotional needs without trying
to fill anything else you got tucked away even if it means spending
time in the Blue Ball ward of my local Spankatorium.

[If I sound callous, misogynistic or vulgar, I don't mean to. It's just hard to talk nice when you've been emotionally abused for years. Forgive me, I am not worthy of your polite society.]

Say what you want to about men only wanting one thing, I
admire their purity. What the hell else SHOULD men want?
Men don't need women to listen to their problems over and
over and over again. Men don't need women to lie/tell them
that the guy or girl who doesn't like them is a bad person who
doesn't realize what he or she is missing out on. We don't give
a fuck. Most men know these things inherently. If this one
doesn't dig me, I can find one who does OR I can go put EVERYTHING
in perspective and pay a stripper to treat me like I'm the fuckin'
king of the world for two songs and it's JUST AS GOOD.

Your love is cheap, ladies, because it is conditional.
Get it?

My problem was [and only recently ceased to be ... for now]
that having been ignored by women most of my life, I wasn't
conditioned like most of my brethren to ignore them whenever
they said anything other than 'dinner is ready!' Having found a
man [me ]who actually listens when they talk, the SSVBs I've
known have decided it was time to see just how much care and
compassion they could drag from a guy they had no intention
of fucking. It's their equivalent of seeing how many chicks they
can nail.

[Bad men driven by instinct like to see how many women they can fuck]
[Bad women driven by insticnt like to see how many minds they can fuck]

Take this psychotic freak up top. No father to speak of.
No boyfriend at the time I met her working in my college newspaper,
but she really really really liked our sports editor who couldn't stand
her. Before him she really really really liked another writer. So five
times a night for about 9 months, I'd get called and asked, "Do you think
he likes me? How do you know? Give me a percentage[???]. What's that mean?
Daddy?"

I didn't learn until late in life that if you want people to respect you,
you have to not give a fuck if they respect you or not. It's a bit tricky
if you think about it too much. How can you NOT think about something
that you actually want? Every other man I know just does it. Of course,
I was pretty much raised by women who ignored the shit out of me and
then chided me for not spending any time with them watching TV and in
soul-murdering silence. So it goes.

Weakness is what it comes down to and weakness is never anyone's fault, but
it is entirely the burden of the weak. Nature abhors weakness and does
everything it can to force the weak to become strong or to die and let
the strong have the big piece of pizza.

SSVBs are the crucible God has chosen to test me and by 34, I think
I finally managed to do through conscious effort what other men can
do as naturally as a they stand to piss.

Long story short, see the eyes on this broad? See how they're dead looking
like a doll's eyes, like a shark's eyes? That's the crazy leaking out. A slag
like this will come over to your house to apologize for standing you up
for the umpteenth time then fuck her boyfriend outside your dorm room in
her car THEN make sure her boyfriend brags about it to you the next day.
Why? Because after months of listening to her bitch and moan and whine while
giving nothing whatsoever in return, this little drama queen decides to see
just how raw and vile she can be to the one person who put up with her shit
when no other man or woman would.

She once lied to me about having lost her virginity at 15 to a guy who raped
her just to see how I'd react. I've had three real friends, friends I cared about
confide in me about having been raped; how do YOU think I reacted? How do
you think I'll react the next time?

She could and would cry on cue and then point out that she was crying just
in case you didn't notice it.

She was once rushed to the hospital because she thought she lost a tampon ...
up there. Of course, she hadn't.

She was once rushed to the emergency room because she said she woke up deaf in
one ear. It was wax.

She claimed to be pregnant for three months once just so every day people
would ask if she got her period yet.

She drooled on me once while reading over my shoulder, probably to engender
sympathy because that's just not normal. It's also a side effect of anti-
psychotic medication, but the chances of her being on that are pretty slim.
I'd guess she is just untreated.

She would fake anxiety attacks weekly at the slightest provocation,
usually having to do with fears that her boyfriend was cheating on
her with the girl he was in love with when she tried to bang him
the first time. He had no recollection of the event because he
was passed out drunk. A man would have been arrested for sexual
assault.

Here's how it started: They were on a conference trip to Omaha. This
crazy bitch tried to get on this dude while his paramour was asleep in the next
room, the adjoining room. It was a recipe for all sorts of drama that did
indeed last for a year. I mean, how much better can it get than to hook
up with an alcoholic. Every time the guy got drunk, if you didn't tell her
she was better than this, she'd ask if she wasn't. I'd get called at 3 am
from a fitful sleep to go help her pick him up from some place he didn't even
need picking up from. Who hasn't passed out on their friends couch in college?
It's not like he'd been arrested.

People like this should be strangled in their cribs. Too bad we can't identify
them earlier; we'd save the world a lot of trouble.