http://investmentwatchblog.com/the-truth-about-domestic-violence-youll-never-believe/
That worthless cunt of an incubator I had sure was. My flat mate had a step incubator that was even worse than the piece of shite I used to get me into this world.
I don't like to fight. My first one with the thing I was married to, was when he restrained me. He wouldn't let me up, so I smashed my head against his. I suppose he was playing, but I didn't see it like that. There were a a handful of other fights that he started. I lost the battles, but won the war. I finally refused to put up with it any more, grabbed my sword and threatened to whack him with it. He flinched and ceded. I didn't hit him. That was our last fight. I also told him to get the Hell out, since it was my lease, and I was supporting him. We weren't married yet (and only did that for tax reasons as far as I was concerned), so hey. He came back in tears saying he couldn't move back home again, and he promised he'd never hit me again.
My stepmother threatened my sperm donor with a knife when he threatened to whack her again, though fights between them were rare. (She was also making most of the money at that time.) He ceded, and that was the end of that. She also ruled the roost from that point on.
My flat mate. . .he had a psycho bitch sperm donor, and a dysfunctional mommy who meant well, but was driven a bit insane by the psycho bitch sperm donor. She eventually plastered the bastard with a cast iron skillet upside the head, and divorce soon followed. The three of us chicks were all provoked, however.
I NEVER had a fight with my current flat mate, and we are on our 20th year together.
Commonwealth chicks ain't no pushovers for the most part, these days. Now if only they'd grow some brains and override their social programming.
