posted                             

quote:

---

Originally posted by JBeezy53:
Here's another.....Sounds like there's definitely more to this story and this guy also needs a new lawyer. There's no way my kid would live 10 mins from me and I never see him.

"My ex filed a bogus Restraining Order not allowing me to see me my son who I was taking care of while she was at work. She filed that I was going to kill him and her and then take him overseas. The Court accepted the Order. Six months later, she calls saying, you need to start watching the baby again. I start watching my son again and then I ask her if my son could spend at least one night a week with me. I was retired from the police force due to an on the job injury and so I had the benefit of spending time with my son. She flat out refused. Long story short, after all the false allegations she stated about me, false kidnapping reports having the police knock down my door and my son and I in shock, years of court proceedings and even though the courts and state social worker found her to a scorned woman and a rampant liar, they awarded her full custody. It's been 5 years, 6 months, 7 days, 16 hours, 4 minutes and counting since I last saw or spoke with him. I cannot see my son, which I still pay $400 a month in child support, and he only lives 10 minutes away from me."

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Damn thats our bullshit ass court system for ya....unbelieveable, smh.

--------------------
91 GT
(cafords reg date: 6/02)

posted                                

quote:

---

Originally posted by JBeezy53:
A coworker forwarded me a link that went out of control with replies when this question was posted. I thought I'd put it out here. He's something to get it started.....

"During my friends divorce the ex took him to court for everything she could get, including his dog he had since he was 15. She was able to get the judge to give her custody of his dog Alice. A week or so later a box is mailed to his parent's house with his name on it. When he opened it the box was full of ashes. The bitch had the dog put to sleep at a vet, cremated, put the ashes in a box, and mailed it to him."

---

I call on the dogs ashes part....

and if it were to be true.

This picture can explain the rest



--------------------
.:: FANATICS ::.

93 Cobra Teal
93 Cobra V Red
90 SSP
SVT Raptor
Huracan Rosso Mars
E63s W213 Selenite Gray
C7Z M7 Daytona Sunrise

posted                             

quote:

---

Originally posted by AL STOCK:

quote:

---

Originally posted by JBeezy53:
A coworker forwarded me a link that went out of control with replies when this question was posted. I thought I'd put it out here. He's something to get it started.....

"During my friends divorce the ex took him to court for everything she could get, including his dog he had since he was 15. She was able to get the judge to give her custody of his dog Alice. A week or so later a box is mailed to his parent's house with his name on it. When he opened it the box was full of ashes. The bitch had the dog put to sleep at a vet, cremated, put the ashes in a box, and mailed it to him."

---

I call on the dogs ashes part....

and if it were to be true.

This picture can explain the rest

---

posted                                

quote:

---

Originally posted by JBeezy53:
That's crazy........some how some way I would have to get the car and bike back. As for the FB stuff.....damn. I hope he was able to clear most that crap up.

---

posted                             

quote:

---

Originally posted by Camara90:

quote:

---

Originally posted by JBeezy53:
That's crazy........some how some way I would have to get the car and bike back. As for the FB stuff.....damn. I hope he was able to clear most that crap up.

---

Nope car and bike both went to court and had to be sold for money. She wanted her half in value because it was built while married. Some of the FB shit he got worked out, but some poeple he hadnt even talked to since HS. Crazy shit. lol

---

Damn That doesn't sound legal at all lol, but I guess it is. I wouldve kicked down the door and got my shit..best believe ...fuck that! I'm sitting here scratching my head cause I really can't believe it. It gets me angry just reading this shit

Lol, I wouldve been like..


[ August 15, 2011, 08:12 PM: Message edited by: CLEEN 50 ]

--------------------
91 GT
(cafords reg date: 6/02)

posted                                

quote:

---

Originally posted by turbo50:
THIS!!!:

Comment: World's Best Divorce Letter

Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.

Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says "There's no one like you, Connie." I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.

She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial.

What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I'm never really thought of that before.

I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'm tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story.

Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you. It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the ****ing remote is.

Love, Dan

---

This shit had me rolling,


--------------------
92GT,stock short block,9:1 TFS 170's,perf rpm,custom cam,1 5/8 shorties,C4 trans.
std. 356hp, 350tq
11.85@111.9mph on motor.

posted                             

quote:

---

Originally posted by turbo50:
THIS!!!:

Comment: World's Best Divorce Letter

Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.

Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says "There's no one like you, Connie." I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.

She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial.

What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I'm never really thought of that before.

I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'm tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story.

Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you. It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the ****ing remote is.

Love, Dan

---

posted                             

quote:

---

Originally posted by turbo50:
THIS!!!:

Comment: World's Best Divorce Letter

Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.

Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says "There's no one like you, Connie." I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.

She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial.

What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I'm never really thought of that before.

I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'm tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story.

Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you. It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the ****ing remote is.

Love, Dan

---