the fellas SOUND OFF about vindictive ex-girlfriends!

A man from Florida shares with us:

I've been baited into a number of screaming matches over my support for your "cause." The funniest was with a trust-fund snotnose, B.O. visibly floating around her like Pigpen in "Peanuts," who was arranging an extracurricular study on the abolition of the prison system. (Don't ask me what her proposed replacement for the prison system was. For that matter, don't ask her; I tried and was greeted by a string of half-baked rhetoric and buzzwords.) I then mentioned (as I am wont to do) the number of days until your release from the pokey. "You mean that fucker who beats women?" Well, in so many words, yes. That fucker who beats women, Lord bless his soul. "I hope he dies in there. Or gets raped." You can imagine the exchange that ensued. It contained many words such as (from her) "oppressor," "privilege," and (from me) "stupid cocksucker." The disparity in popular perception between chicks-who-smack-guys and guys-who-smack-chicks is an issue close to my heart. The first crazy bitch I ever dated (there would be many more to follow) routinely punched me, once pushed me down a flight of stairs, and routinely portrayed me as a subhuman white male in front of anyone handy. But when I kicked HER CAR in frustration, she whipped out the "terrified, helpless, girl, prostrated at the feet of a psycho" pose and informed me that I had "no excuse." I was fifteen; she was eighteen. She's now a lesbian at a school in Vermont for dumb kids who think they're smart. I don't regret dating her so much as I regret putting the dent in her car and not her head.

A gentleman from California writes:

Just dropping you a note to thank you for all the great work you have done to cut through the bullshit and get the pink, soft innards of some of society's more "taboo" issues. It is appreciated. Recently, a friend of mine has gone through similar ordeals suffering the petty, violent and vindictive attacks of a former lover spurned. Long story short, with one prior due to an altercation with another former ex, all this bitch had to do was point a finger and he was as good as guilty. I don't need to tell you, even if you're a man, you can still be pushed to that point where a more primal instinct for survival will overcome even the most well-intentioned needs to be a "good guy". Self-defense is a crime if the assailant happens to be a woman. To top it off, they tried to charge him with attempted murder. Not a mark on her, but attempted murder. Pretty shitty attempt if he can't even connect one punch. Funny how you can go to jail for attempted murder but no one has ever received a Nobel Prize for attempted chemistry!

From "anonymous:"

Not all that sure I'm up to writing about my horrific experience with the Venus Flytrap; I figure I'll end up sounding petty and dumb. Knowing my luck, one of the shrinking violets I am past or presently playing hide the salami with will recognize the part of the tale, which they may happen to know, and use the rest of it to mess with my head. Worse, perhaps the evil-ex herself will read it, and start, well, stalking me again. While I am sure some people might find the idea of a 5', 100lb woman stalking you to be funny, or some kind of Penthouse forum fantasy, the reality is rather different. I guess if I were a chick, my silence would be denounced by the victim-sisterhood as giving in to my oppressor. I just don't wanna talk about my being that much of a dumbass in public. Maybe some time I'll write up the whole sordid thing as a quasi-fictional short story. Meanwhile, suffice it to say, I could as easily have ended up in the hoosegow as you did.

I know of one broad who got her jollies by getting men to fight over her. She once attempted to get an entire street gang to bum rush me in a shopping mall (I can't figure out why me in particular; perhaps because I didn't do her the honor of showing her my schwantz); fortunately, they were flyweights, and dumb. Later, this little acme of female virtue provoked a fight between two best friends, ending in the shooting death of one, and the life imprisonment of the other. Of course, the broad who caused it all didn't suffer a thing for it. The little poufey-haired princess actually had her 10 minutes of fame, testifying as to the particulars of the case on broadcast television.

Another sperm-spittoon I knew had a horrendous cocaine habit. The proud father of one of her children, being a dutiful, if gullible type, took to dealing the stuff to keep her dainty little nose powdered, and junior in diapers. One afternoon, after a hard days grind in some dumb job, papa came home to find mama, coked out of her gourd, and taking it from both ends from a couple of African American gentlemen. He took the screeching and neglected kid, and ran off to his parents house, where he was immediately busted, on tip-off from his honey-bunny, for dealing the cocaine she knew was in the trunk of the car. Somehow she managed to get back in his good graces for long enough to get him to sign his car over to her. The idea was that she would sell it, pay for a lawyer, and bail him out of jail. Shortly after doing this extraordinarily silly thing, he received a telephone call while still in the calaboose; it was from his schnookey and her two black lotharios, laughing at him, and informing him of the restraining order she just took out against him. Poor dumb bastard.

Funny, I remember telling those stories to the evil-ex (the last time I thought about them), and recall being confused when she didn't sympathize with my old pals. Silly me."

From "Mike" in North Carolina:

Brandee was a fine girl (please, PLEASE excuse the Looking Glass reference there). the kind of girl you wanted to display in front of your friends like so many thoroughbreds before. We meet auspiciously enough one night at a convenience store. Brandee was fucking, ahem, excuse me, 'going out' with a good friend of mine and he wanted me to meet her (hence, the horse reference now rings true). It was about an hour later that I realized Brandee sought the pleasure of my company in another capacity. I didn't let on that I knew this at first, but two nights later I was practicing my parallel parking in her garage at a seedy motel in town. Quite quaint, I thought. To speed the preamble bullshit up, Brandee and I moved in together, I lost one of the few people I ever considered a friend, and I became somewhat miserable. I say 'somewhat' because Brandee was quite the learned artist in the field of coitus and, at least physically, was pleasing. But this, like any good porn film where Chasey gets slammed over an urn containing the ashes of her recently deceased husband, did not last. Brandee was fond of bringing this particular girl home from work and throwing her into our fornicative mix. Said girl, who will hereby be known as 'Filthy Cunt', steals my paycheck and makes out of town one day while I am out of state at a concert. Brandee defends Filthy Cunt, saying she was broke and probably needed some start up cash.

SO DID I, BITCH!!!! These events led up to my hospitalization when I had my appendix taken out. Brandee, the ever-loving cooze that she is, would not leave my side during my recovery. Why am I bitching about this? You try having a nag stepping on your balls for 3 days, without a break, and see how well you handle it. A fella just has a life altering moment, a rare moment of clarity, and I have it interrupted with the high-pitched squealing of a diseased monkey like this? Sad. During my recovery time at home, known as the 'Salad Days', Brandee reached new lows in the already overstuffed pita of bitchdom. She tries to pick a fight with me over some ludicrous notion (sadly to say, I believe it was over a music video), ending with her kicking me in the stomach.. centimeters away from where my scar was resting. This found no pleasure within my being, so I defended myself by pushing her on the couch. Mind you, I am 6'4" nearly 250 pounds, whereas she was 5'8" around 120. If brutality was the key factor in my mind, the chick would've been a stain on the carpet. No, I merely pushed her on the couch so I could leave. When I return home, Brandee is gone, I have 9 messages on my answering machine. EVERYONE of them was to the kin of 'Why did you hit Brandee?'. As the Swiss historian and economist Sismondi once said, 'WHAT THE FUCK????'.

Brandee had convinced all that I had abused her. I wish I had taken that moment to heart and walked away from the situation, but I had a lapse of pity for her when she returned home, crying over the shameful events of our earlier 'altercation', as she called it. We patched up, had some meaningless sex, and went on with the drabness we were pitched in. I feel I have already made this too long, so I will skip over the next few months to get to the end. Quickly, though, I do want to include the day she called her best friend, a girl she worked with, and my best friend telling them all that I had raped her after she refused me sex.

Okay. Let's be realistic. The only time in Brandee's LIFE that she refused anyone sex was... well, I don't think the situation has ever reared its head. I was hounded with visits from her father and other relatives, all of them wanting her to leave me. She finally had to offer the truth to them to explain why she wouldn't leave. Now the end. Brandee meets a guy from Texas, kind of a 'Texiacan', if you get the idea. Brandee is half-Hispanic, so meeting someone who was along the same roots was thrilling for her. They hit it off and start mingling quite a bit. All the while, I'm working on getting a house loan so we could buy the house we had been looking at for a few months.

Push comes to thrust, and Brandee is banging the guy in my house while I'm at work. The little wet bastard even left a used condom in the bedroom floor one day. I found it, told the bitch to start walking and get the fuck out of the house. The next day found the sheriff's department at my house after a call had been placed, by Brandee, informing them that I was serving as a blockade in her expedited attempt to move her belongings. I found this quite interesting, seeing how I was nearly 20 miles from the house watching a local band play. I arrive at my home to see the squad cars and was just generally beseeched by a deluge of naysayers to my persona. I wound up getting punched by her father, in the back of the head no less, and escorted to the local holding cell. Mind you, I have never spent a day in prison in my life and I do not pretend to know what it is like. But, sitting in that cell, knowing that Brandee was rummaging through my stuff in her attempts to move.. well, if you've ever drank a beer that some slack-jawed bastard had turned into an ashtray, you know the feeling.

I was informed that they were only holding me so she could get her things out of the house without any trouble. It didn't seem to matter that six people on the site were exclaiming the reality that I wasn't even at the house during any of that day. Justice, eh?

When I get back to my house in a few hours, I try to assimilate the actions she had taken into a proper narrative: the girl was a wretched whore. She had taken numerous household items, almost nine hundred dollars out of my ATM account, and had the fucking gall to break my autographed Fear of a Black Planet album in half. The funniest part about the entire situation was that I was so relieved that she was gone that I didn't seem to care about the losses. Now, admittedly, most of this is the squarely upon my shoulders. I could have done the intelligent thing and simply moved on a long time ago. But, it is a life lesson learned. Hell, I'm even kind of proud that my money was probably used to pay for a plane ticket back to Texas. It cannot be said that all women are useless, void, and quite simply a waste of the time and space continuum. No, it can only be said that when you meet these women, and you will, it is best to raise one hand to the hand, hail a cab, and put as many miles as needed between you and the fiend to rush your decision to forget that it exists. But, as always, it has been said better before me. I leave you with the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, of whom I am not particularly fond, but put it in such an appropriate manner when he said: 'Seducing one's neighbor to a good opinion and afterwards believing piously in this opinion- who could equal women in this art?