Toledo Tales

Guest editorial by Hank Freeman, angry spouse

I'm a guy who does not have the longest fuse in the world, so to speak. And to hear you spouting off about how I drink too much, or can't hold a job, or stay out too late at night - well, it sends me right over the fucking edge, babe.

So if you want another two black eyes, then just keep running your mouth.

It would be different if I was beating you all the time, like every day or something. But the fact is, I beat you only when you are out of line. Even more, I've only beat one woman in my life: you, babe. If that doesn't say "love," I don't know what does.

Look: would you go to work and bust the balls of your boss the way you do to me? I mean, if she was a man and had balls? This shit is a two-way street, you know - I sure wouldn't need to be the paddling daddy-type if you weren't always the spoiled little eight-year-old brat type, always whining and crying about how there's not enough money for milk and bread, but you always seem to scrape enough cash to go to your fucking women's support group and shit.

What's that? I didn't catch that. Did you just say: "Hank, I need a beatdown?" 'Cuz that's what it sure as hell sounded like. And - truth be told - every time you ever got a little reprimand from me always started with you running your mouth.

Think about it, babe, the next time that words start forming in that low-IQ brain of yours.