Christ, I hate the weekend. That, for me, is not a time where one can get out with one’s tribal brothers, hunting and/or fishing, but instead is full of domestic bullshit, always caused by women. Family means that the freedoms of youth are gone, forever, for if freedom ever does return, you are too old to enjoy it, and long then only for death and Valhalla. Your teeth fall out and your prick seldom rises, so they say.

Thus, yesterday, love child daughter, Cassandra, from my wayward teenage years, was staying at the farm, when slave girl ex-wife came up for the Saturday bitch session about son number 5, who was telling his mother, whom he still stays with, to “fuck off,” which was my fault because I am such a prick. I said, “good on him, I should have told you to fuck off when I first met you. It would have saved us all a lot of misery.” Then it was on, with her getting stuck into me. I just ignored it, and kept on sawing wood. This set off the bitch meter in Cassy, who then attacked me, for the millionth time for not settling down with her mother, who was even more crazy than slave girl ex-wife. I explained this, for the billionth time, that her mother had shot her out, then abandoned her to me and my mother to bring up, because her mother was a god-dammed good-for-nothing whore, and I was just the unlucky one to knock her up. (Yes, got a DNA test, positive, as my luck would have it, and she was anti-abortion.) Then, when I was 35, I foolishly got into reproduction big time, with a much younger woman producing the five boys, and the last daughter, whose name I can’t remember, because I never see her, and she hates my guts, and tells me to “get fucked.”

Cassy and Ivarr also hate each other, as they worry about property inheritance, and represent two warring blood tribes, so Ivarr jumped into the pussy fight as well. Soon, it was just a domestic screaming match and I feared that the neighbor, also a cock-sucker scumbag, who was about half a mile away, might ring the cops. Instead, he got his whipper snipper out to mow down weeds, and drown out the wailing of the banshees. He began illegally burning some sort of toxic plastic rubbish, which he does when he is trying to tell us that he intends to sniper us with his .303 in the collapse. Indeed, he has said as much: “the only vermin in this valley needing eradication are you and your family.” And, the good book says to love your neighbor, and turn the other cheek…sure, who wrote that?

Anyway, I tried to calm everyone down, then the women united and turned on me. I told them both to fuck themselves, and to murder each other if they wanted, but on the cement, so that the blood and gore would be easier to clean up, after the CSI had poked around. I then set out with an ax, leaving them both with hatchets; I, to chop fire wood up the slopes of the surrounding mountain (probably just a hill by US standards), and they to do with it, whatever blessed free will determined that they do.

When I returned at nightfall, both women had gone, and, sadly, had not killed each other. Without their male punching bag, their bitch energies had just dissipated. Only Ivarr and Sven (son number 4) were home. They had got out the barbell and plates, and we did some sets of heavy barbell curls, followed by some pole training, with thick weighted pipes. Lastly, some sparring. Then a big feed of beef, beans and veggies, hot apple pie with lots of ice cream, some alcohol, and a B-grade action movie before hitting the sack.

With but a few drinks of mead, the bad taste of bitches, that runs down the generations, was gone, at least for that day.

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