That asshole had the nerve to call my house asking if I had made a decision about whether to testify for him or not. Thank God Jethro answered. He told him that there was no way we were going to have anything to do with it and that he was putting us in a very difficult situation. Somehow the idiot took that to mean that he has permission to send us a letter detailing what took place, as well as a letter from his lawyer telling us what would be required should we decide to testify. I don't know how he got that from "we have decided to stay out of it." I truly don't know why he's bothering except for the fact that he is trying to keep his child-molesting ass out of prison. I guess when you're a 35 year old man who has made out with a 12 year old, pride is no longer an issue.
I am of two minds concerning this letter that he is going to send us. On one hand I want to return the letter unopened, with another letter telling him that I think he belongs in prison as a large man's human shish-kebob. On the other hand, I am curious to know how a child-molester justifies his actions as not being jail-worthy. I think I will definitely send the letter about him being a human shish kebob.
I have never virulently hated anyone so much. Even Michael Moore runs a distant second. When I have hated people in the past, I have always stopped just short of wishing them dead, or even injured badly. Mostly I fantasize about saving their unworthy lives and them begging my forgiveness and groveling at my feet. This person (and I use the term loosely), I simply want to kill. His family would be better off, his boys wouldn't have to live with the shame of their father being a registered sex offender, and having to constantly watch their daughters (if they ever have any) around him. His wife would have the insurance money and a chance to start over....but it is a waste of time. I am not the murdering sort.
I can just see this person writing the letter to us. He is probably weighing each word, agonizing over what phrases might stir our pity. He is probably sitting at his computer right now wondering which details he should reveal and which would disgust us into testifying for the prosecution.
It was surreal when he was over here the other night. The initial shock of his admission gave me a kind of out-of-body experience. All the time he was insincerely flogging himself with phony mea culpas, my internal voice kept saying "dead man walking" over and over. I know what awaits him in prison. They'll make a lady out of him in no time. He is too much of a pussy to face my husband, much less the biggest baddest father-raper on the cell block. He's hiding behind the women's skirts at this point. I can just see him when they drag him off to have their way with him. He'll scream like a girl and they will love it.
What really bugs me is the fact that he and his wife are practicing Southern Baptists. Now I know the general consensus on religious people, i.e. that they are more likely than most people to be closet pervs, and that they present themselves as all-holy to cloak their sins. I don't subscribe to that. I know that Christins, especially evangelicals, tend to be a little self-righteous and condescending, but I really believe that their hearts are in the right place. Their minds are another story. All this being said, though, there is something that really bothers me about Southern Baptists. I can't put my finger on it entirely, but there is a certain idiotic arrogance to them; a whole lot of pointing out the specks in their brothers' eyes and ignoring the beams in their own. This idea that they are written in the Book of Life just because they profess to believe in Jesus is, in my opinion, rank presumption. Presuming that God is gonna let you in is almost unforgivable.
Well I ran on way longer than intended. It is kind of cathartic to write about it. I hope it helps my tummy. It has been upset ever since that person was in my house. Perhaps I shouldn't take it to heart as much as I do, but I feel betrayed on so many levels, and my heart is aching for his little boys. His oldest son, who is 6, wrote a marriage proposal to my 4 year old a few months ago. It was the cutest thing. I asked her if she wanted to marry him and she said, "Sure. He's my brother." I have no idea how to go about that one, but it was cute anyway.
Okay, I'm off to bed. Actually, I'm off to do dishes. God, how I hate housework.
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