Reader, sit down. I have something to tell you.
*Sigh*
Your mother and I are getting divorced. Now don't cry, reader! Lots of families go through this. Sometimes they even get through it without younger family members like yourself ending up in porn. Anyway, I know the next few years will be a difficult period for you, filled with feelings of sadness and guilt, so I want to make sure you know that this decision of ours is absolutely, positively, 100% your fault.
Yes, it's your fault. You've been an awful child, and your mother and I don't like you very much. Every time you cried, complained, or got sick, it made mommy and daddy tired, which made us yell at each other, which made us get divorced. Are you happy now that you've ruined our family?
No, no. You can't fix things now. You've already failed us, and nothing will fix the errors you've made. Remember when you cried at the dentist? You're a failure. Remember when you didn't want to eat your green beans, and you made a fuss at the dinner table? You're a failure. Remember when you got the chicken pox? You're a failure.
If it makes you feel any better, your mother and I never really liked each other in the first place. We were forced to marry when she got pregnant with you. So thanks for that one. Look at her, reader. With that huge nose and fat ass, do you honestly think she was anything but a short-term option for me? Why would anyone marry a woman who was obviously so destined to become fat?
Don't tell your mother I said that.
Oh what the hell, go ahead and tell her. It's not like you can ruin things any more than you already have.
The next few months will involve a lot more fighting from mommy and daddy. There will be lawyers, court cases, and a big, dirty asswipe of a judge who gets to decide how much of my hard-earned money your cold bitch of a mother gets. You see, reader, even though your mother obviously did a poor job of raising you, she still feels that she deserves half my possessions and one-third of all my future paychecks.
Save your pennies, reader, because I won't be sending your mother shit.
Instead, I'll be changing my name and moving to Ponce, Puerto Rico, where I'll work for an honest wage and blow every last dollar of it on whores. So it'll be kind of like life with your mother, except the new whores will actually put out. Yes, Ponce. It's a beautiful city, rich in culture and architecture. Did you know that Ponce's Parque de Bombas is a century-old wooden firehouse that's still in use today? And I get to pee on it when I get drunk!
But do you know what the most wonderful thing about Ponce is? The fact that you and your mother won't ever be coming anywhere near it.
Dry those tears, reader! You wouldn't want your mother to see you cry, would you? Remember how your crying caused our divorce? Who knows what horrible things will come from more crying. Your mother might commit suicide. Then you'd feel really bad, because the paramedics would have a hernia trying to move her out of whatever trailer the two of you will be living in.
So long, reader! I know it's kind of a bummer dealing with this right before Christmas, but don't blame me. I had no control over when your mother would catch me cheating on her. If I did, I certainly wouldn't have chosen the bathroom at a Denny's restaurant. Instead, blame Santa Claus and God for birthing their lovechild, the Savior, too close to my divorce proceedings. They probably had a choice. But then again, as your mother and I found out with you, sometimes it's just more convenient to have an abortion.
