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Bane of Bar Sluts and Biker Babes

My husband rode, one of those biker men. My mother told me I shouldn’t have left our little town in North Carolina on the back of that motorcycle. And she was right.

He liked women

Not me. I cooked and cleaned house.

His concubine called me from the bar where they were and I went down there. I mopped the floor with that girl, his other concubine and put my pistol in his face and then assaulted the police officer when he came to get me out of the bar.

I went to jail for that and shared a cell with this mournful waif of a colored girl. That put the fear of God into me and I prayed that I would never do such a thing again and hoped “please, Lord,” to be delivered from that predicament and I was. The judge recommended I get rid of him and I did.

It seemed that The Lord agreed because he died soon after. I suppose he went down to The Devil. I don’t know about such things, but it occurs that The Devil’s home would be a fitting destination.

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