Nothing on earth makes me as frustrated as grown men, slave to the word of their wives for everything they do. Seems like more and more when I get to know someone I otherwise like it turns out their dicks are in a mason jar over the wife’s headboard, and anything the husband wants to do, even the slightest indulgence or good clean fun must be begged for by the woman.
Now, I know this is not the woman’s fault – in fact it’s entirely the man’s, but I still end up getting furious at both of them for being fucked up.

I have a shooting range on my property, a pretty cool one. And, of course this is like having a swimming pool in that folks want to come over and use it. That’s cool, I partially built it so that me and my friends could enjoy it. The problem comes when friends call me (mind you, they call me), and ask if such and such a day we could get together and shoot. Great says I, I’m always up for it and I immediately make plans. This includes letting the wife know “Hey hon, I’m going shooting on Saturday”.

Now, here’s where the pussy coward makes his first mistake. When I INFORM my wife of my plans, I’m doing just that, not asking…because until now the presumption is I have the day free. My plans are sealed because I’ve a: not heard of anything else I should be doing, and b: given my word to friends that I will be available. 99.9% of the time, this is completely kosher with the wife…just as it would be if she told me of plans of hers. If we need each other, we say so. If I hear nothing, then my day is open. Isn’t that supposed to be the way planning works?

Well, of course the vagina-phobe trembles at the sound of his wife’s voice – and he’s such a noodle-spined 12 year old that he made plans with a buddy without mentioning it to the wife, hoping that she will LET HIM PLAY. He then slinks to her, like a beaten catholic school boy, hoping that when he drops news of his plans, she doesn’t counter with “But I wanted you to hang Christmas lights for 2 hours in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday at precisely the time you wanted to shoot, and not a second before or after!” And, like a good boy, he says “Sorry dear, you’re right I’ll cancel my plans because your inconsistent whims outweigh my happiness and the plans of my friends that I’ve now fucked up”. CRACK!

And to even further exacerbate his lack of manhood, nitwit fails to own up to his lack of scrotum by waiting until Friday at 11pm before emailing me and letting me know that not only has his wife shit on his plans, but mine as well as I’ve now shifted my schedule so he can come and play on my range, which WAS HIS FUCKING IDEA!!!!!!!!

I have now adopted a new policy at my range. If you are married, or in a serious relationship, and you break plans and fuck up my day because of your cowardice where your joyless hag is concerned, you don’t get invited back. Added to the bottom of the range rule sign right under “Don’t shoot yourself” will be “If you can’t keep that bitch in line, stay home and bake cookies like an emasculated whipping boy!”.

Ok, I feel better.

Ladies, if you shit on your husband’s hobbies like this merely to squelch his having fun, I hope you get cancer of the happy hole, and rot to death in a nursing home all by yourself. Do you really want to take the small indulgences your husband enjoys and vilify them or take them away like a mean-spirited nun? If so, you are the only reason I celebrate the institution of divorce. I hope your husbands leave you for a gay cowboy.

Cuckolded men, if you want to have a hobby with other men, well guess what? You’re not going to because of your mother issues and your controlling, dour, gorilla of a wife. Sorry about your luck. Maybe she’ll let you build balsa planes or read books about birds.