Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Mr. Ryans Problem.
This food tastes like fucking shit, you'd think after all the dinners this bitch has cooked for me she'd at least get one right. All she does is fucking moan and complain. Yes I have put on some weight. So fucking what? If you would start cooking properly I wouldnt have to stop off at McDonalds on the way home and eat the shit out of a Big Mac. Then when all I want to do is watch the football after a hard days work of providing money for her to buy shit food and lounge around all day drinking fortified wine she turns off the fucking tele. Bitch. She's lucky I don't beat her, oh no wait! She considers the gentle pat I give her on the ass when I get in from the pub as abuse. And thats another thing about this domestic whore. I come in after a few drinks and a laugh with the lads and all she wants me to do is ride her silly. Fuck sake! it's been a hard week, can't I just get some sleep? Wait untill tomorrow. Inconsiderate bitch. I can hear her in the kitchen, washing the frying pan. Poor fucking frying pan, having to put up with this shit being cooked in it every single day. Jesus, sometimes I just I wish I was dead.