THIS IS A BURN THE FUCKING BITCH STORY IN RESPONSE TO:

"SHE CHOSE ME" BY DeYaKen.

Wonderful writing but what a fucking wimp husband!

You should read the story now so you see what is happening here. If you have already read it then you know the wife is already dead so how do I burn the bitch down? I will give you a hint:

"His Highness Oliver Cromwell, Lord High Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland."

Now my story:

While some people will look at life through rose colored glasses, others see the reality of it all. I am one of those who see reality.

I read the "Facts" in "She Chose Me" and cut through the bullshit and looked for the reality. It took me a while to see what my whore wife did but eventually I got it. And yes she was a whore!

I looked at the slut's letter and the events that followed and came up with some "reality" that I, the husband, overlooked in the beginning.

First, what kind of man slaps a 12 year old boy who has recently lost his mother and then is torn away from the only "father" he knows? Then what kind of man would decide that sending the child away to school was a good idea.

Then I asked myself, where the fuck did the money that happened to just be enough to pay off the house come from and why didn't I know about it?

And lastly was the letter and what did it really say, when looked at it in the cold light of day and not with emotion.

What I really came up with is this:

She Never Chose Us!

I was seething by the time I read the letter through the tenth time. Who was this whore kidding? She even had to lie to me from the fucking grave.

Never saw him except away? Well where the hell did she keep the Versace dresses, Gucci bags and Jimmy Choo shoes? I sure as hell never saw any of them. And I can't believe that piece of shit Sandford had her traveling in anything but the finest. So she went someplace to change and probably screw too.

The whore obviously left out her slut underwear that she kept someplace else too. A cunt hound like Sandford would have dressed her like a whore under her clothes. No, the cunt had a place with him, someplace, but it was not with me. So that is another lie.

How did the bastard know or even suspect he was the father of the kids if the whore did not tell him? If she told him and she obviously did, then that was another lie!

And that crap about the secret savings account that just happened to pay off the house. I intend to find out who made the deposits and when. Where the hell did the bitch get that kind of money?

I don't believe for one second that it was fortuitous that the amount in the account just happened to pay off the mortgage. The whore had him do it. The bitch was making me her pimp!

God damn if she were alive today I would kill her.

She had to tell me she loved him! Fuck that hurts. But the biggest lie was that she chose me.

This is the way I finally saw it.

I chose her when we decided to date exclusively. She agreed and chose me when she did the same. Oh God, did she date me exclusively?

I chose her when I asked her to marry me. She chose me when she said yes.

I chose her when I stood before God and all of our friends and said "I Do." She, likewise before God and all of our friends, chose me when she said "I Do."

So why the fuck didn't she tell me the choosing part was back on the table?

We were only married for less than three years when the whore started fucking her boss, if I am to believe her and that is bloody well unlikely. And that is only if we count back from her death after sixteen years of marriage and my twelve year old son. Yes, yes, I know that is four years but the cunt was pregnant for nine fucking months.

Nine fucking months were I took the best possible care of the whore as she laughed at me. And I did it twice, with both kids. How come I did not get her pregnant and he did? There is nothing wrong with my wedding tackle! She planned it, they lying cunt!

So for about thirty months of our marriage spanning sixteen years, she was mine, if she ever was mine. After thirty months or so, of the first sixty months, if we figure the whore got knocked up the first time out, she chose her cunt and sort of forgot to tell me that the door was open again and we could change our minds.

She chose him every day for at least thirty months. I cannot possibly believe that for all that time she did not share loving glances, tender touches, a caress of his face, or he of hers.

I cannot believe that he did not suspect that the baby was his and he asked. I can't believe that she did not play that demurely looking down shit and nod her whore head.

And then there was her bastard inside of her and I don't believe for a minute that she did not allow him to touch that baby and utter words like,

"It could be yours."

Or him saying:

"It could be mine."

I wonder how many at the office knew about it. I wonder if it happened before or since. I wondered how many of my alleged friends knew and were actively complicit, or complicit by their silence. How many of the big man's servants knew and would talk, if the reason was right.

Sixteen fucking years, and from the day of our wedding, as she was working for that bastard, she could have been putting one over on me. For at least fourteen and one half years the dead bitch had her cake and ate it too. She had me working my ass off like some prat and was fucking on the side and living like a princess in her secret life.

Shit, that represents 9% of our time together that she was just mine, if her start to be a whore date is to be believed.

She sure as hell allowed him to shoot his sperm all over that baby, allegedly believing it was mine, day after day, a baby that was supposed to be mine. If we are to believe her and she is hardly one to be believed she had to now tell him that she "thinks" the bull is the biological father of the children because their eye color changed.

Well whore, a baby's eye color changes within six to nine months so you had to know about my son within nine months of your infected cunt squirting him out. Did you really think that Sandford did not know that too?

Of course he knew, he had DNA done, he wanted to marry you and have the children, so he fucking knew, you lying bitch. Do you think I would believe for one second he would want to raise my kids?

What I want to know, but you are dead, is how did you prevent me from infecting your cunt with a baby but a man you supposedly only had sex with out of town, managed to knock you up twice? This was no fucking accident.

And if you really wanted me to father a baby with you why the fuck didn't we have one AFTER we moved away from your fuck buddy?

You are dead and there is only your reputation I can deal with as far as you are concerned; but there are others, many other, that will pay for what you did, as will you. Your god damn sister for one, she will pay dearly. You told her, she knew and you talked about it. Your family will pay for this known betrayal. You will all pay, one way or another, you will all pay!

Sandford made one mistake, just as you did, he left me alone, he let me live. He gave me a focal point for my hate.

While many now look to Sun Tzu and his "Art of War" written over two thousand years ago, I prefer something a little closer in time.

I prefer Mao Zedong. While Mao might have read the "Art of War", his abilities were political and not really as a general. It is his ability to rise from nothing and subjugate a half a billion people in 1948 and still have control of them until his death in 1976 that I look to in my war.

The Chairman was able to kill millions and be loved for it. His Cultural Revolution killed 20,000.000 people. His little Red Book and his other sayings will guide me.

"If an enemy provides you with the means of his own destruction, do not reject it just because it comes from the enemy."

I would use what I could get from Sandford, and if that means mortgaging the house he apparently paid for, I would do it. After looking I could also see his filthy hands on my business too. It did not take long to see that some of those clients that I had just happened to be connected with him and his various business enterprises. The internet is a wonderful source of information.

You see, The Chairman accepted weapons to fight the Nationalists and they came from the West in WW2, as they did for the Nationalist Chinese.

Mao hated what the industrialized nations stood for, but he took the weapons. As soon as the war was over he used those same weapons to attack and destroy the Nationalists and then to attack the democracies, via Korea, Vietnam, and a host of smaller battles.

I would wait, as The Chairman did when he did The Long March, which was in reality a retreat, and they literally carried entire factories on the backs of the willing workers, to get them out of the way of the enemy. Every machine was taken apart for the journey.

Now I had lost my children to that bastard but I got them back. It was time for a discussion with them. They were a source of intelligence as to the inter working of the enemy camp.

I would not make the mistake he did. The Chairman once said: "You can only forgive a dead enemy."

I would attack Sandford whenever I could, but he would not know.

The first thing I did was talk to William.

"William, I need to know what was going on and why he let you go?" I asked.

At first William was silent but after a few weeks I got the story out of him.

"Dad, Sandford beat us. At first it was only a slap or two and he did the same to Zoe. We should have told you dad but we did not have any proof. The last time he hit me I was beaten pretty bad. He waited until I looked ok and we went back to court. I was afraid to tell you dad. I was afraid you would get into trouble. I even had pictures but he took them from me and Zoe. They were on our phones." William ended in tears.

Well now I knew I had weapons, I needed the pictures but they were gone but now I knew that others knew.

Counting my resources I now had the letter the whore wrote me, the tape of my ambush, and now I had intelligence from inside.

"William, is there anything else you can tell me son?" I asked him.

"There were others dad. He had other women like mom but they did not have babies for him. And dad, there is one more thing. There was a lady there, she was a cleaning woman, and she took care of us at times. She was not supposed to but she brought us little things to eat and stuff like that when she cleaned. Dad, she took pictures too." William said with a smile.

During this time Sandford sent my children cards supposedly containing gifts. I gave them to the children and watched as they did not open them but cut them up. I sent them back to him without a note or explanation.

Now I was moving, my long march was over, now it was time to reposition the troops, and find allies.

I found the cleaning woman where William said she would be. It was easy. It is not hard to find a hard working woman about thirty, with long flame red hair and freckles. One might call her bonny Irish lass, but she was a bit old to be a lass.

She was at a market. I wore old clothes and a wig and glasses. I walked into her in the store as if by accident, knocking her packages out of her hands. As I helped her pick them up I spoke briefly:

"I am William and Zoe's father. If you want to help follow the instructions on the note." I told her softly.

Then I got up and left the store, never looking back. I already knew her next destination and it was mine too. The note was brief.