"I get two weeks, fuckin' cunt, it's my right, bitch, and if you don't bring them to me, you'll go to JAIL"
I once did that, brought the children to him for a weekend visit, delivered them to his front door like a good little statistic of the family court system. When it was time to pick them up, I knocked on the door, nothing, I knocked again. Where are they, it's time to pick them up? Five minutes, then ten pass, finally my son comes to the door and opens it, wearing only a pull-up. He was so happy to see me, I picked him up and called for my daughter, heart pounding. I hear my daughter say "mooommy?" I walk in to find her soaked in urine on his couch, hair matted, and watching television, alone at 11:00 in the morning. I see that there are KFC snackwiches in a bag, wrappers strewn around the table, and thousands of ants crawling on them and the stack of telephone books my son had been using as a makeshift high chair. Where is daddy? I ask. He is asleep. What did you guys do? Mostly watched movies but it was gross, daddy was kissing his friend a lot.
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