I’ll be honest, the real title of this post is “The Free Judith, Fuckface Capaign”, but I found myself uncommonly concerned about using profanity in my titles so many times in one week.

It makes me seem like a foul-mouthed, vulgar sort of gal…

And I’m not one to be so giving of the right impression and all.

However, it has come to my attention that perhaps I was a little too giving of one major thing in my life:

My freedom.

(Did you read it in the voice???? No? Okay, let’s try it again. Don’t mess it up this time, you hear? )

My FREEDOM!!!!!

Oh God, you say, what have you done now ? And how much should we raise for bail?

And I say, No- nothing like that, I swear. But before we go into any of the gory details, I feel that I should post a warning of sorts, you know, for those of you in the virgin white:

The following post contains words, names, and maybe even a few gestures that many people may consider to be “husband-bashing”. Around here, we call it foreplay. Readers with weak constitutions, heart troubles, kidney problems, or big ol’ sticks up their asses should head on back down to happypuppykittyrainbowland without delay. For those of you who don’t give a shit and choose to continue on to glory, you hereby agree to hold Judith and The Only I Know, its affiliates, partners, and gold fish not responsible for any damages, stains, or communicable diseases that may occur as a result.

And now that that’s out of the way…

I married a fuckface.

Who is keeping me prisoner.

In Bald Knob, Arkansas.

This is not a joke.

Send help.

And vodka.

Posthaste.

I woke this morning to find that my husband, the fuckface, left for his softball tournament in my “cool because it’s so uncool” minivan. Normally, this would not be such a big deal… except that my purse (and subsequently my cash, my credit cards, my drum of advil, and my favorite lip gloss) left with him.

Which means that, once again, the little ol’ wifey is stuck at home with nothing to do and no where to go while “Mister Neener Neener I have friends and you don’t because I actually have opportunities in which I meet people over the age of ten and you’re stuck in the house covered in spit-up and piss each and every day pining away for a real life again in a place where you actually know people who could watch the kids while you take a break and have a little fun that doesn’t revolve around naptimes and diaper changes but I’m not moving anywhere no matter how miserable you are because THE DUCK HUNTING IS GOOD so there” is out and about making flower garlands in fields of butterflies for all I know… all in my damn mini-van.

And having fun.

And me?

I married a fuckface.

Who is keeping me prisoner.

In Bald Knob, Arkansas.

We’ve been here for almost five years now… I have NO friends within an eight hour drive. The nearest Starbucks is forty minutes away. This is a dry county. I haven’t worn lipstick in months. I can’t remember the last time I had a face-to-face conversation with another adult who didn’t look as if I were speaking in tongues, or danced on a bar while debating politics (it’s possible, I assure you), or heard live music, or visited a museum, or talked for hours about nothing with some stranger who happened to be standing next to me in the bookstore, or just spent a day by myself doing absolutely nothing that pertains to the happiness of a four-year-old…

I’m bloody miserable.

And, demmit, it’s all his fault. (Yes, I see the flaws in that logic… but do you really think it’s a good idea to argue with a woman who lives forty minutes away from the nearest Starbucks? Ummmm… no.)

Thus, I am instigating the Free Judith, Fuckface Campaign that has one mission and one mission only:

To free Judith.

That’s me.

Want to help save me from a padded room or the prison cell which will no doubt be my home once I finally snap and bludgeon him with my favorite frying pan and then stick his body in a bathtub full of lye? Fuckfaces are notoriously concerned with the opinion of the public, didn’t you know? So join in on the campaign by doing any and all of the following:

1. Send an email to your local fuckface (theman@judithshakespeare.com) demanding that Judith be given an equal amount of “adult” time each week in which she may do whatever the hell she pleases.
2. Sign the Mister Linky Free Judith Petition below showing your support for the cause (no post or anything required).
3. Kidnap me for an extended European getaway in which we will make-out in front of Jim Morrison’s tombstone every day for a week.
4. Move to Arkansas and be my friend. *Sniff*

Free Judith.

That’s me.

And I married a fuckface.

This is not a joke.