Killing my Father

You guys, I had something strange as hell happen to me last morning….

I came back from a 3-day tour in San Francisco.  I guess I was under a lot of stress. Mentally, you know.

I awoke at 7 AM and layed there, blinking owlishly at the ceiling.

This feeling came at me.  Out of nowhere.  It was a complete dark horse.

It was homicidal impulse.

I have never. wanted. to kill anyone in my life. I don’t want to kill anyone!  I’m a nice sane polite person! I have “issues,” sure, neurosis, but I’m not VIOLENT.  I’m gentle! I’m kind!  I’m submissive and sweet! I have compassion!

I thought that my father must die.  That it was time for time for him to go.  TIME TO DIE, ASSHOLE!

The world would be a better place.  And this would only be justice.

I mean, what does he contribute…?  Jack shit.  Nothing, to anyone.  He only destroys.

I surpassed him intellectually, professionally, and emotionally, from the time I was…I dunno. 22?  So why was I so afraid of this PATHETIC man all my life?  I am BETTER than you in ever sense of the word, and every man I’ve been in love with, even those sick fucks, would eat you for breakfast.

So I thought to myself: if I was going to kill him, how would I do it…?

I have guns (Biathlon champion here, for real)…but I do not think he is so worthy of quick dispatch.  I’d kill a chuckar, or even a trout, with more respect than I’d kill you.

You get the knife, mein Vater.

Right up the gut.  The intestines and stomach, so that you don’t bleed out too soon.

Suffer for me now. As you taught me to suffer.

Time to die.

7 thoughts on “Killing my Father”

  1. Hi Margo

    Maybe now would be a good time to take a weekend or two off. A couple of times now I think you have described your excursions to SF as a “tour”, as if you were coming back from a combat zone like Iraq or the Nam if I can date myself. Can’t you see that what you are doing is just the Studio all over again. Take a few days off, go to the mountains or the coast. There has to be one place out west that isn’t on fire.

    Take care of yourself


  2. You get the knife, mein Vater.

    Right up the gut. The intestines and stomach, so that you don’t bleed out too soon.

    And then…the fire ants!

    I kid, I kid. Mostly. I know how homicidal impulses can tear a person up. Your father is miserable, if I recall correctly? I like to think about how miserable my former abusers are. Death is too easy for them.

  3. Pretty sick fantasies your fixating on there Margo. I can’t help but think your Father would have far surpassed you intellectually, professionally and financially, if it wasn’t for his addictions and severe emotional shortcomings.

    I think it would be great if you would write a short little memoir of your relationship with your Father, so we don’t have to merely be drip feed all the relevant information.

    1. The fantasy is not sick at all. It is indicative of positive mental health, and, also, long overdue.

      You’ve been trolling me for a long time, Toronto. You’re lucky that I’m giving you even this much attention. I don’t publish most of your pathetic comments, as you well know.

      Tell me: what’s it like to be a pathetic male with no self control? Who compulsively reads domme and sex worker blogs and leaves pathetic “hurtful” comments because you cannot relate to women or foster meaningful relationships with women?

      Actually, don’t answer that. If you want more attention, you can pay me.

      The only three things from you which I would examine for free: your photo, your passport (stamps), and your CV. I doubt the last two make extensive reading.

      My speculation about the first…speaks for itself.



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