You ever… You think...you think it’s Beth’s fault at your wedding? Talk to your fucking fat ass husband… He’s the one that fucking threatened me and he’s the one that caused all this shit. You talk… You know what, you’re dead to us. Don’t call. Don’t write. Put your…house key back in the mail...and mail it back to us 'cause we never want to talk to you again. If Mom and Dad should happen to die in the next thirty years, you show up at the funeral, you’re fucking dead. All right? Bye. Home | Puppies | Pond | Wedding | In Keywords |
