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Abuse Centers:
A few days ago I was out for a little nip and came across my old
friend, Catkin Floggd. He was sitting at the bar looking very
depressed. I asked what was wrong and he unloaded on me. Here
is his story.
I saw on the television news last week that there are abuse centers where women can go if they are abused by their spouse. It's like a safe haven. The TV people had a nice story about how they protect women from the physical and emotional abuse from men. It all seemed like a very good thing.
Sure it is, but let me ask you, where are the centers for men? Do they think that men don't get abused? Let me tell you. I know it's been bad for women, but men get abused too. I know. I've been there.
Just last week, Mrs. Floggd got in a hurry and borrowed my pantyhose. Sure, she gave them back, but they were stretched way out of shape. I couldn't wear them. They hung on me like an old bag. I looked just awful. That ain't right. I told Mrs. Floggd too; just what I though. Well, she just put her fists on her hips, like she does, and gave me that look. I admit it. I was scared. I shut right up.
Another time I felt like treating myself. I bought a nice cigar and paid $5.00 for it. It's not like I smoked it in the house. I went and hid in the garage, just like I'm supposed to. Mrs. Floggd found out and cut off my allowance for three months. She said I was squandering money. She said that I shouldn't spend more than a quarter on a cigar. "They all smell the same," she said.
Sometimes she goes shopping and she will ask me if I want anything.
It's a trick. It's just to set me up.
One time I said, "Gee, yes. A six-pac of Heineken would be
nice."
Well she came home and handed me a six-pac of No-brand light.
"Heineken costs too much," she said. "They all
smell the same."
Then she said, "That $2.00 will come out of your allowance,
by the way."
If that ain't abuse, what is?
After I stopped crying, I just went and sat in the garage to
drink the No-brand. She found me. She said I should grow up. She
said I should quite skulking around and whining about every little
thing. Then she told me to quit drinking and get in the house.
"That stuff should last you a month and you've already swilled
half of it," she said.
If that ain't abuse, what is? I just wish I could find a place
to hid from her; just for a while.
Mrs. Floggd told me, if I didn't like it I could call the abuse
center and they would help me. Sure! I called and told them about
the pantyhose. They just laughed.
Then, they said, I could come to the center, but I'm not allowed
to smoke. I sure wish I had a place to go.
After I left my friend Floggd, I though about what he said.
I decided there might be some demand for a safe haven just for
men. I'm thinking I may open a saloon. I'll call it "The
Catkin Floggd Safe Haven." It's a place for men to hide out
from their spouses. It's a place where a man can have a real beer
and smoke a nice cigar without getting put upon or put down. It's
a place where your pantyhose will be safe. This may be an idea
whose time has come.
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