Monday, June 11, 2007

M is for Monday

It's Monday and I'm off again,
On my long daily commute for my job.
The job I must have so as to pay alimony and child support to my wealthy ex-wife.
The commute means that when I do have my children, I see little of them. Arriving in time to tuck them in - if I am lucky.

I could get a job close to home, but I would earn a lot less, and my ex isn't interested in compromise. Alimony and Child Support are impossible to reduce, regardless of circumstance.

I must travel when I don't want to, and work at what I would not choose, so that my ex can live richly.

If I lose my job, I will still have to pay the same amount. If I fall behind on my payments while unemployed, I can still be arrested, and thrown in jail without trial.

In any hearing the burden of proof rests upon me: I am presumed guilty until proven innocent.

Because I am male, I get to pay my ex's legal fees too, irregardless of my or her employment status.

When the court bankrupts me, no civil or pro-bono defender is appointed, no one will touch my case.

I belong to a sex which exists to work, and provide for women. Even questioning this destiny is looked upon with derison - I will be labeled 'deadbeat', 'useless', 'lazy'.

If I have money, and date a woman for even a couple months, she may take me to court, claiming I made promises to her about caring for her forever, and not only will she win compensation and alimony, I will be forced to pay her legal bills.

If my girlfriend gets pregnant, she can kill the fetus, give it up for adoption, drop it off at any hospital without responsibility, or keep it without any input from me. I may never see the child, and may or may not have agreed to have a child. But if my girlfriend chooses, lies about sterility or birth control, or engineers an 'accident', I will find myself paying her child support, and probably alimony for 18 years, and possibly college expenses, healthcare, and a chunk of my retirement savings, and part of my assets.

Men work longer hours, at harder, more hazardous jobs, and die early, with a massive suicide rate, all to support the master race: women.

So next time you see a cute young thang showing everything she can, and wonder why, remember - she's advertising - she's hoping to flag down the ride of her life. Just try to make sure it isn't you.

And so I am off again to the salt mines. It's Monday, and I must work for my master, or be thrown in debtor's prison as a deadbeat. Look upon me and learn from my mistakes - and always remember who the masters are.


1 comment:

KellyMac said...

Brilliant. I left a comment on hatemale about this entry. Really poignant. I love it. In fact, I may steal it.