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Does Two Wrights Make One Wrong?

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Emo

I’m Jesse Wright. This is my story about what happened a couple of weeks ago. When I discovered that my wife Mabel, was having an affair with her boss, Kenny Deever.

I was so angry, I canceled my dates that week to fuck my youngest sister-in-law and my best friend’s wife. Hell, I was so pissed off at my slut wife, I couldn’t even get it up to fuck her. That triple loss of hauling my ashes on a weekly basis, made me madder’n rabid dog!

For all you cream pie eating wimps, whining about how unfair I’m being just cause I fuck whoever I want. Grow some balls! I’m the man, I’ll assert my masculine privileges whenever I damn well please!

As for my ‘everloving’ wife, she is MY property. She will fucking well learn to obey me and otherwise keep her mouth shut or I’ll put my fist in it! She damn well knows from previous times I had to smack her into line, how serious my threats are. She’ll never burn my toast again or fail to iron my shirts. Five years I’ve put up with her crap, well no more Mister Nice Guy!

Our two kids, James six and Joan four, were staying at my sister Lucy’s house with her kids and our Mother who had moved in with Lucy after our Father died last year. Lucy’s six year old twins were having a big birthday bash so that gave me the opportunity to leave my little pissers there for a few days while I set my plot into motion.

Lucy had booted out that worthless drunk she’d had for a husband. His drinking had gotten so bad, he couldn’t even hold a menial job anymore. She finally gave up when he almost ran over their kids in their side yard.

I knew where he was hiding out from the police wanting to impound his truck. I sweet talked him into coming over to my house and let him hide out in my garage. I have a small shed attached with a toilet & sink. So when I’ve a really dirty car repair going I don’t have to go into the house.

Last year, Dad had blown a blood vessel while using his belt on Mom. They were coming out of McD’s, Dad had taken her there for their anniversary dinner.

She earned the whipping cause some punk across the street had wolf-whistled at her when a gust of wind blew up Mom’s skirt to above her knees. Dad was a Holy Terror on any sign of disrespect to his pride. Though ironically, this time his temper resulted in his own death!

Dear Ol’Dad’s debts and what was garnished for back taxes outstanding and the fines he still owed the courts and his medical bills ate up what little insurance and savings there was. His trailer home and truck and tools were seized and auctioned to recover some of the debts. Basically it left Momma with nothing but some of her clothes and a lot of bitter memories.

I told her to move in with us, we’d squeeze her into the kid’s room. She refused, bluntly telling me over the phone that “The Hand of God had delivered me from one brute, why the hell would I want to move in with another bully?”

I would have slapped her into next week for the insult if she had been there at hand.

Too fucking bad…Her Social Security check would have been useful to pay my bills. Meant I had to keep working at my fucking job, the bitch!

That greedy sister of mine, Lucy wound up taking her in. Lucy did day care and ironing and cooking for her neighbors. Mom started helping her out and the two of them are trying to hang onto that house as my BIL, Lucy’s husband had disappeared.

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Through an old buddy of mine, I had gotten ahold of some sort of that there date rape drug. Sneaking into my wife’s boss’ home through the unlocked patio door. I looked over his bar and found several bottles of liquor to doctor. Idly, I wondered why the term is ‘to doctor’? Wouldn’t ‘to pharmacist’ be more correct? Or hey, “to pharmicide’ be even more accurate?

I left behind one of a set of old baby monitors I found in my kid’s closet. About twenty minutes later I heard a car drive into Deever’s garage. I didn’t have to worry about his family, in the divorce his ex-wife kept a house she had inherited from her Mother and Kenny kept this one.

Maybe an hour later, listening over the baby monitor, it sounded to me as if my slut wife and her bimbo lover had passed out while they were drinking. I snuck back in through the patio door to find them both tangled up half-naked, unconscious and helpless.

Using the butcher knife I found in his kitchen, I had the personal pleasure of carving the turkey Ümraniye Esmer Escort up one-side and down the other. So long Kenny Deever! Ain’t there some sort’a song about that?

Alcohol and drugs do not mix and my unfaithful slut was totally loopy as she came out of her stupor on top of the SOB’s hacked body with the knife in her hand and his blood all over her and the room. She went into hysterics when she suddenly realized that she had murdered her lover Kenny Deever..

Suddenly I show up disguised as my brother-in law. I had left the BIL passed out drunk in my garage. He and I vaguely resembled one another, same stocky 6feet tall, about two hundred fifty/sixty odd pounds, dark brown hair. I smeared some wood ash over my jaw to mimic his unshaved style. Wearing his levi jacket with the VFW patches all over it. And his old Stetson low over my face and spoke in a deep voice.

Mabel’s staggering around in a blind panic, incoherent and trapped in a nightmare, so she never realizes my impersonation.

I stripped her down before I drove her to our house using the BIL’s truck I had borrowed. One or two neighbors had to have seen me bring her home that late and I wanted them to think that I was said brother-in-law delivering my drunken wife, one more time.

Any nosy parkers would be so busy gawking at the naked woman they really wouldn’t be paying close attention to me. After getting her inside, where she passed out again. I put her into the bathtub unconscious and with fluffy manacles, chained her sitting up. I had pulled the truck up to the side of my garage, so no one could see me toss the still comatose BIL into the cab. Followed by driving the both of us back to that turkey Deever’s house.

There I bundled up “the only good” boss in a large blanket draped over his couch. Along with my wife’s clothes and wallet, the knife I had used to murder the turkey, with her bloody fingerprints on it. Also a few strands of her hair I had torn off her and dipped in his blood and left clutched in his dead hands. All this went into the back seat of the cab of the dead duck’s truck.

The pair of baby monitors I took out the batteries dropping’em into my pocket, then tossed the monitors into the back of a closet full of old clothes in what must have once been the Deever girl’s bedroom.

I found a wall safe in his den and experimented with the usual combinations people often use to make it easy to remember. This idiot’s combination was his six digit birthdate. Emptying the turkey’s safe of everything including eighteen hundred dollars cash. And some old coins I’ll check out later. Sweet, a bonus! Talk about making crime pay.

The papers I left to burn, all else I wanted was his passport, that I would stick in the blanket with his body. As long as the investigators did not find the body, the open safe and missing passport would suggest that maybe he’d slipped down to Mexico or somewhere else overseas. If they did find his grave, it just wouldn’t matter any more.

By midnight, I had driven the dead turkey’s 4×4 pickup to one of the uninhabited properties my wife’s senile uncle owned. Up a cottonwood hidden dry kill into the hills. It was a one way trip so I didn’t give a shit how much damage I was doing the undercarriage of good ol’boy Kenny’s truck. He wasn’t going to be voicing any objections!

There is a long forgotten, abandoned tunnel leftover from an old mining swindle. My father had discovered it about twenty years ago while hunting or more likely knowing Dear Old Dad, he’d been poaching. He showed it to me about eight years ago. We were on foot hunting with a proper license I might add, though on posted private property and we needed shelter from a sudden vicious sleet storm.

I stopped the truck right at the entrance to take a minute to dump the loudly snoring BIL from the cab before continuing in.

Then I drove Kenny’s pickup a dozen or two yards inside the tunnel. Screw the chrome and paint job and side-mirrors, not my fucking truck! It was so tight, I had to kick out the back window to climb out of the cab. As I headed back to the exit, I was shuffling my feet to obscure my bootprints in the dirt floor on top of the truck tire tread marks.

I gave the still passed out drunk back his jacket and hat. I almost forgot to wiggle onto his hands, the cotton gloves I had been wearing that had some of the assholes blood stains. I had latex Ümraniye Eve Gelen Escort gloves on under those, I’ll get rid of them later.

I sealed it all up with a series of small charges of judiciously planted explosives that brought a landslide of large boulders down the hill and over the entrance. Made less noise that way. I figured if anyone was close to enough to hear, they would guess it was either some damn fool shooting off a semi-automatic firearm or maybe firecrackers.

Oh yeah, why did I place the near comatose BIL at the entrance to the cave? Instead of leaving him in the truck with the asshole’s corpse? During the BIL’s twelve years in the Army. He’d had done a couple of years training and field work in demolitions and then worked about six years for a mining company before his drinking got so bad his certificate to operate was revoked.

I set it up to look as if the drunken fool had mistakenly dropped the landslide right on top of himself while trying to bury the truck with the turkey’s body. I figured the boulders I had positioned him under would destroy any evidence of another person (i.e. me) rigging this setup. The BIL’s body with the control switch box would conveniently be available to take any blame for what would be found in the truck.

Only the most rigorous of scientific investigations would cast any doubts. That sure as hell ain’t our Township Police! They can be counted on to take the easy, lazy way out, accepting the obvious to blame. And of course my darling wife would wind up in the docket charged with two deaths!

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Using an electric moped I had stolen a week ago and hidden near the mine, I returned to town and the dead turkey’s house. Carefully spreading accelerants I found in Deever’s garage plus shattering the bottles of booze I had contaminated, I then torched the place.

The police and fire investigators would of course realize arson but I was thinking that any blood evidence of a murder would have been consumed in the flames. If they even checked.

With the moped in the back, I drove the BIL’s pickup over to our town’s trailer trash white ghetto, leaving it with the key in the ignition. Before returning to my neighborhood on the moped. Abandoning the moped where I figured some kid will find it for a joyride. Completing the last few blocks home on foot through the back alleys. Carefully trying to avoid the yards with noisy dogs I had previously scouted out two nights ago.

My loving wife I found suffering a violent hangover in the manacles I had left her in. She had vomited and pissed and shit all over herself, on top of Deever’s dried blood.. That’s why I had left her chained in the bathtub and sitting up.

I hosed her off and got her dressed. Then took her to the pancake house for a short stack and coffee to finally wake her up.

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In my truck, as daybreak glared surly at the world. I drove my wife to a deserted grove of blighted fruit trees, where I laid out the new rules of our marriage.

You’re all probably wondering why I didn’t just boot her ass to the curb and say ‘Hasta la visita, bayybee!”. Why the fuck go to all this bother?

Well, I’ll tell you, I was mighty tempted to put her in the turkey’s truck trapped in the tunnel. Leaving her to slowly die there, in the dark, with her lover’s ripening corpse for company.

But remember that senile uncle of hers? Before he was put away and while he was pretending he wasn’t already crazy, he had two major obsessions.

First, was being an anonymous commentator on some internet porn site. Constantly screeching that “immoral cunts” should be tortured to death and burned at the stake. With their children forced to watch. I think the old loon wanted some last warped jackoff against all the women and children in his life he had abused.

And his second favorite activity was getting into violent quarrels with his kinfolk. Just to spite them, in the last legitimate will drawn up by his attorney, he chose for an heir the one person who had not disappointed his ridiculously narcissist notions of propriety. Simply because my wife was never around him and he was ignorant of how she had failed to meet my expectations for my wife.

I found out about this a few months ago, during some pillow talk after fucking my best friend’s wife. She works at my wife’s Uncle’s lawyer’s Ümraniye Evi Olan Escort office and told me about Uncle’s will naming my wife as his major heir.

When all is said and done, my loving wife will be the main benefactor of a few square miles of potentially developable scrubby grazing land. I’d be a fool to boot her out in a community property state before his death.

If she’s not alive and available when the old fool finally kicks his last chamberpot. It’d all go to one of those fucking fundamentalist christian cults seeking to immanentize the eschaton by returning the Bush leaguers to power. I think their called the Whahababies or some fucking stupid name like that. Whatever!

Amid the dying trees, parked far away from any snoops, I laid out her situation to my slut wife. Making it damn clear, that this is the only time I would ever talk about this incident.

Reminding her that her brother-in-law had walked in to find her stabbing her lover to death. I repeated what her brother-in-law had told me. Where he had hidden the turkey’s body and all the evidence linking her to the murder. Before he left town and disappeared.

If she failed to accept my new marriage ultimatum. I’ll just have to go to the police and tell them my version of last night. Especially since her memories were so scrambled.

“That my wife was not home when I arrived after work. Finally, after midnight, her drunken brother-in-law delivered her naked and drunk as a skunk. He then left, while I was helping her worship at the porcelain throne. Then I put her to bed.”

“About three in the morning she began thrashing around and muttering gibberish about killing a man. At first I thought she was just having a nightmare. Then I became concerned that her and her BIL had maybe done a hit & run over somebody.”

“But there was no report of any hit and run on the emergency services radio scanner I had leftover from when I had been a volunteer fireman. So I made the mistake of deciding not to call the police.”

“A couple of day’s later, I heard about her boss’s house fire and his disappearance but did not connect the dots. All it meant to me was the question if my wife would have to look for another job. Then a few days after that, the Local Weekly ran an announcement requesting for anyone with info about the missing man to contact the police.”

“My wife got drunk again that night and did a confused rambling confession that she and her boss had been having an affair and that she had stabbed him to death then her brother-in-law shows up to help her dispose of the body. As part of her confession she told me where they had hidden the body, using her boss’ truck.”

So if she does not obey me I will be a good citizen and tell the cops that while drunk, my wife had confessed to murdering her boss. And where they could find the proof.

That she had told me that she had knifed her lover to death because he refused to divorce his wife and marry her. Then her BIL helped her hide the body and where and then torch the house. She would wind up doing major prison time, probably a Life Sentence. Maybe even the death penalty, if this State brings it back. So, we will never, ever discuss this again and she will become the most attentive and obedient of slave-wives.

This is the version I told my wife of what had happened. If she ever tried to get me to talk about that night and her “confession” I could be sure that she was probably wired and trying to entrap me.

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In actual fact, if I was ever questioned by the cops, I would tell the investigators that “I never knew of their affair. And, since no body had ever been found. Gullible me! I’d assumed that her drunken confession was just an alcoholic raving. I’d figured maybe there’d been a fight but nothing more serious and that the turkey had run away. I was too ashamed to publicly admit that my wife was committing adultery with another man. But that’s all guess work on my part.”

That’s my simple story if I ever need one and I’m sticking to it.

No investigators ever came around to question either of us. I’m guessing my slut wife and the deceased turkey had been really discreet. If any one else knew of them getting together, they kept their mouths shut for whatever reason.

My suspicion is that any potential witnesses were somewhere, doing something, with someone they weren’t suppose to be doing at all.

The police seemed to just assumed both the turkey and the BIL had each separately run off and had not spent anytime investigating further then the arson. Surprised me but I guess my good luck was on a roll.

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I love it when a plan comes together so neatly.

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