epic revenge from reddit 'sabotage sally' part 2
Posted by twocents
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epic revenge from reddit 'sabotage sally' part 2 January 10, 2018 |
Oh yeah... there's more!!! This sow is completely insane imo. I have never seen such depths of depravity.
"This is a follow-up to https://www.reddit.com/r/JUSTNOMIL/comments/7p42fg/introducing_sabotage_sally_in_the_final_straw_tw/
All warnings there apply here; there's still talk about miscarriage. Sorry. I answered some questions in the comments, and have been urged to write this follow-up to consolidate information.
Disclaimer: I was not an eyewitness to all of this. I have heard it from my friend, her husband, and her sister, at varying times, and the accounts match up, so I am reasonably certain that it's all a truthful version of events. However, I am under direct orders from my friend and her husband to "write it like you do, GeneralBystander" for maximum readability.
My friend has a younger brother and a younger sister. The younger sister (YS from here on) still lives with Sabotage Sally, and is, I believe, the "Lost Child"--neither Golden Child nor Scapegoat, she acts as a Flying Monkey double agent of sorts, bringing information on her siblings to her mother for praise and attention, then turning right around and relaying information back to her siblings.
When we last left Sabotage Sally, she was sobbing hysterically over a biohazard bag with a dime-sized wad of bloody ground beef in it, crumpled on her knees in the foyer of a medical building, as was proper given what she did.
The day after this "Carthago Delenda Est" takedown, YS called my friend to say, "Mom is having a total nervous breakdown. What did you do?"
My friend counter-questioned with "What's she doing?"
YS: "She came home with this little plastic bag and put it in the freezer. She's been crying and freaking out and won't tell me what's going on. She won't even let me go near the fridge. What did you do to her?"
My friend explained.
YS, laughing: "Okay, she totally deserved that. But... look, maybe you should tell her so she doesn't bury it or enshrine it or something disgusting? She's completely freaking out."
"Sure," my friend said. I envision her eyes glowing like embers and curls of smoke drifting from the corners of a Kali-esque grin.
She called her mother. Sally reportedly burst into tears at the mere sound of her voice, but my friend kept her tone level and calm and just raised her volume to be heard over the wailing.
Friend: "Mother. MOTHER. Listen to me. That baggie? It wasn't the fetus. It wasn't even human tissue at all. Are you listening?"
Sabotage Sally (whom I imagine as gouting tears and snot in anime-level quantities): "Wh-wh-what?"
Friend: "It was just a piece of ground beef."
Sally: "What?!"
Friend: "Ground beef. 93% lean."
Sally: "Wha--what--why--WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!"
Friend, dropping all humor: "Oh, no, no, that's my fucking question. What I did to you is nothing compared to what you did to me and to Husband with your little stunt. I meant what I said. Don't ever talk to me about children again. Do you understand?"
Sally: "But I just want--"
Friend: "I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. HUSBAND DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. NOBODY GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. The only answer we want from you right now is in response to my question, which I will repeat: DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
Sally screamed incoherently and heaved the phone across the room. My friend heard the crash of it hitting the wall, and faintly heard Sally shrieking and wailing. The sound receded gradually, was accompanied by other vague noises, and ended with a distant door slam. A few moments later, footsteps approached.
YS: "You there, Sis?"
Friend: "Yeah."
YS: "She's probably heading your way. She got that bag out of the freezer and grabbed her keys."
Friend: "Thanks for the heads-up."
YS: "Keep me posted."
My friend informed her husband that Sabotage Sally had been given the gift of truth, and was most likely on her way to their house to, I quote, "absolutely lose her fucking shit". He nodded solemnly, then went to get his pepper spray and make sure he had 911 on speed dial. He is not a man whom it is easy to flap. Meanwhile, my friend went to the kitchen and made herself a margarita, because why not?
(This next part, I can attest to. They have outdoor security cameras, and I've seen the video. No sound, but I have been informed as to the content.) Sabotage Sally arrived about twenty minutes later, pulling haphazardly into the driveway, and lurched out of the driver's seat. In one hand, she had half a common brick. Red, one-and-a-half holes, looked like she'd picked it up out of the edging of one of her own flower beds.
She stormed towards the house, took up a pitching stance just short of the porch, and hurled the half-brick at the front door with a primal scream. It went "clunk" and scuffed the finish on the door, while Sally wound herself up into a full-blown lawn tantrum. Shouting, screaming, crying, generally pitching a colossal wobbler and probably confusing the neighbors. In fact, in the course of the video, one neighbor's golden retriever popped into view along the property line, looking through the hedge with a "da fuq?" doggy expression.
(No, I can't get the video and share it, no matter how much I wish I could. Many apologies.)
The door opened, and my friend walked out with her margarita in her hand. She glanced down at the half-brick, which had a familiar plastic bag secured to it with a rubber band, then looked at her mother and said, "Oh, hey, Mother. You here for the barbecue? We're just warming up the grill."
Sally continued her tirade. She was so hurt. How could her own daughter be so cruel. Why didn't anyone think of her. She'd tried so hard to raise her kids right. This was so important to her. She just wanted to hold a grandb--
Friend (from whose lips I could actually read the words, on the video): "STOP. RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE."
Sally stopped, more out of surprise than anything else, I suspect.
Friend: "I told you that you were never to speak to me on that subject again. Do you understand?"
Sally: "I WANT A GRANDCH--"
At this point in the video, I could see my friend startle a little, and Sally jumped like she'd had a firecracker shot up her ass. My friend's husband, coming out the door behind her, had just triggered a fucking air horn.
Husband: "Sorry, that answer is incorrect! The correct answer is 'yes, I understand', and also, get the fuck off our property."
Sally: "Do you know what she did?!"
Husband: "Yes. And I know what you did. To us. Now, do you know what I'm going to do to you if you don't get the fuck off our property before I count to... let's say six, shall we? The same number as our dead children, including the most recent one, which is attributable to you? One."
Sally: "How can you--"
Husband, after briefly triggering air horn to shut her up again: "Two."
My friend's husband is, as noted, a fairly unflappable and even-tempered man. He is very much a "Mr. McGee, don't make me angry... you wouldn't like me when I'm angry" type. It would seem that his expression informed Sabotage Sally that a Hulk-out was imminent, because she suddenly shut her gobbling whine-portal and ran towards her car, with his deliberate counting harrying her every step. She fled.
The couple did not speak to Sabotage Sally again for the better part of a year. These days, any time I see my friend and Sabotage Sally in the same room, Sally's usual babbling is all but entirely absent and she looks like she's just heard a "click" from underfoot while strolling across a minefield, while my friend looks like a well-fed jaguar.
The little plastic bag of faux fetus was shredded and eaten by the neighbor's opportunistic golden retriever. (Don't worry, the bag fragments passed without harming the dog.) The scuff mark is still on the door. The half-brick lives on their front porch as a doorstop and has been named "Rockabye Baby".
My friend got her tubal ligation, and after it was confirmed to have been successful, she and her husband took a four-day weekend off of work and packed it chock-full of spontaneous shagging like newlywed minks all over the house.
They are presently working at becoming foster parents and hope to get qualified for it this year.
I hope I covered everything. If I didn't, I'll edit.
""
two cents ¢¢
CERTIFIED HOSEHEAD!!!
people (especially women) do not give ONE DAMN about what they inflict on children and I defy anyone to prove me wrong
Dysfunctional relationships almost always have a child. The more dysfunctional, the more children.
The selfish wants of adults outweigh the needs of the child.
Some mistakes cannot be fixed, but some mistakes can be 'fixed'.
People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one. Leo J. Burke
Adoption agencies have strict criteria (usually). Breeders, whose combined IQ's would barely hit triple digits, have none.
"This is a follow-up to https://www.reddit.com/r/JUSTNOMIL/comments/7p42fg/introducing_sabotage_sally_in_the_final_straw_tw/
All warnings there apply here; there's still talk about miscarriage. Sorry. I answered some questions in the comments, and have been urged to write this follow-up to consolidate information.
Disclaimer: I was not an eyewitness to all of this. I have heard it from my friend, her husband, and her sister, at varying times, and the accounts match up, so I am reasonably certain that it's all a truthful version of events. However, I am under direct orders from my friend and her husband to "write it like you do, GeneralBystander" for maximum readability.
My friend has a younger brother and a younger sister. The younger sister (YS from here on) still lives with Sabotage Sally, and is, I believe, the "Lost Child"--neither Golden Child nor Scapegoat, she acts as a Flying Monkey double agent of sorts, bringing information on her siblings to her mother for praise and attention, then turning right around and relaying information back to her siblings.
When we last left Sabotage Sally, she was sobbing hysterically over a biohazard bag with a dime-sized wad of bloody ground beef in it, crumpled on her knees in the foyer of a medical building, as was proper given what she did.
The day after this "Carthago Delenda Est" takedown, YS called my friend to say, "Mom is having a total nervous breakdown. What did you do?"
My friend counter-questioned with "What's she doing?"
YS: "She came home with this little plastic bag and put it in the freezer. She's been crying and freaking out and won't tell me what's going on. She won't even let me go near the fridge. What did you do to her?"
My friend explained.
YS, laughing: "Okay, she totally deserved that. But... look, maybe you should tell her so she doesn't bury it or enshrine it or something disgusting? She's completely freaking out."
"Sure," my friend said. I envision her eyes glowing like embers and curls of smoke drifting from the corners of a Kali-esque grin.
She called her mother. Sally reportedly burst into tears at the mere sound of her voice, but my friend kept her tone level and calm and just raised her volume to be heard over the wailing.
Friend: "Mother. MOTHER. Listen to me. That baggie? It wasn't the fetus. It wasn't even human tissue at all. Are you listening?"
Sabotage Sally (whom I imagine as gouting tears and snot in anime-level quantities): "Wh-wh-what?"
Friend: "It was just a piece of ground beef."
Sally: "What?!"
Friend: "Ground beef. 93% lean."
Sally: "Wha--what--why--WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!"
Friend, dropping all humor: "Oh, no, no, that's my fucking question. What I did to you is nothing compared to what you did to me and to Husband with your little stunt. I meant what I said. Don't ever talk to me about children again. Do you understand?"
Sally: "But I just want--"
Friend: "I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. HUSBAND DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. NOBODY GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOU WANT. The only answer we want from you right now is in response to my question, which I will repeat: DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
Sally screamed incoherently and heaved the phone across the room. My friend heard the crash of it hitting the wall, and faintly heard Sally shrieking and wailing. The sound receded gradually, was accompanied by other vague noises, and ended with a distant door slam. A few moments later, footsteps approached.
YS: "You there, Sis?"
Friend: "Yeah."
YS: "She's probably heading your way. She got that bag out of the freezer and grabbed her keys."
Friend: "Thanks for the heads-up."
YS: "Keep me posted."
My friend informed her husband that Sabotage Sally had been given the gift of truth, and was most likely on her way to their house to, I quote, "absolutely lose her fucking shit". He nodded solemnly, then went to get his pepper spray and make sure he had 911 on speed dial. He is not a man whom it is easy to flap. Meanwhile, my friend went to the kitchen and made herself a margarita, because why not?
(This next part, I can attest to. They have outdoor security cameras, and I've seen the video. No sound, but I have been informed as to the content.) Sabotage Sally arrived about twenty minutes later, pulling haphazardly into the driveway, and lurched out of the driver's seat. In one hand, she had half a common brick. Red, one-and-a-half holes, looked like she'd picked it up out of the edging of one of her own flower beds.
She stormed towards the house, took up a pitching stance just short of the porch, and hurled the half-brick at the front door with a primal scream. It went "clunk" and scuffed the finish on the door, while Sally wound herself up into a full-blown lawn tantrum. Shouting, screaming, crying, generally pitching a colossal wobbler and probably confusing the neighbors. In fact, in the course of the video, one neighbor's golden retriever popped into view along the property line, looking through the hedge with a "da fuq?" doggy expression.
(No, I can't get the video and share it, no matter how much I wish I could. Many apologies.)
The door opened, and my friend walked out with her margarita in her hand. She glanced down at the half-brick, which had a familiar plastic bag secured to it with a rubber band, then looked at her mother and said, "Oh, hey, Mother. You here for the barbecue? We're just warming up the grill."
Sally continued her tirade. She was so hurt. How could her own daughter be so cruel. Why didn't anyone think of her. She'd tried so hard to raise her kids right. This was so important to her. She just wanted to hold a grandb--
Friend (from whose lips I could actually read the words, on the video): "STOP. RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE."
Sally stopped, more out of surprise than anything else, I suspect.
Friend: "I told you that you were never to speak to me on that subject again. Do you understand?"
Sally: "I WANT A GRANDCH--"
At this point in the video, I could see my friend startle a little, and Sally jumped like she'd had a firecracker shot up her ass. My friend's husband, coming out the door behind her, had just triggered a fucking air horn.
Husband: "Sorry, that answer is incorrect! The correct answer is 'yes, I understand', and also, get the fuck off our property."
Sally: "Do you know what she did?!"
Husband: "Yes. And I know what you did. To us. Now, do you know what I'm going to do to you if you don't get the fuck off our property before I count to... let's say six, shall we? The same number as our dead children, including the most recent one, which is attributable to you? One."
Sally: "How can you--"
Husband, after briefly triggering air horn to shut her up again: "Two."
My friend's husband is, as noted, a fairly unflappable and even-tempered man. He is very much a "Mr. McGee, don't make me angry... you wouldn't like me when I'm angry" type. It would seem that his expression informed Sabotage Sally that a Hulk-out was imminent, because she suddenly shut her gobbling whine-portal and ran towards her car, with his deliberate counting harrying her every step. She fled.
The couple did not speak to Sabotage Sally again for the better part of a year. These days, any time I see my friend and Sabotage Sally in the same room, Sally's usual babbling is all but entirely absent and she looks like she's just heard a "click" from underfoot while strolling across a minefield, while my friend looks like a well-fed jaguar.
The little plastic bag of faux fetus was shredded and eaten by the neighbor's opportunistic golden retriever. (Don't worry, the bag fragments passed without harming the dog.) The scuff mark is still on the door. The half-brick lives on their front porch as a doorstop and has been named "Rockabye Baby".
My friend got her tubal ligation, and after it was confirmed to have been successful, she and her husband took a four-day weekend off of work and packed it chock-full of spontaneous shagging like newlywed minks all over the house.
They are presently working at becoming foster parents and hope to get qualified for it this year.
I hope I covered everything. If I didn't, I'll edit.
""two cents ¢¢
CERTIFIED HOSEHEAD!!!
people (especially women) do not give ONE DAMN about what they inflict on children and I defy anyone to prove me wrong
Dysfunctional relationships almost always have a child. The more dysfunctional, the more children.
The selfish wants of adults outweigh the needs of the child.
Some mistakes cannot be fixed, but some mistakes can be 'fixed'.
People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one. Leo J. Burke
Adoption agencies have strict criteria (usually). Breeders, whose combined IQ's would barely hit triple digits, have none.
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