Social Media & FBAMM

Divorce in the Age of Social Media


Image By: anneh632

(Excerpt From Facebook Ate My Marriage.  Republished with permission from Hell Bent Press and the Author)

Chapter 6:  A Pathetic Way to End A Marriage

Meat Time: Real life contact, human exposure. Existence.


I first saw the term “Meat Time” in an IRC (Internet Relay Chat) in the late 1990s. I found it amusing on several levels. This was of course when my marriage was in its heyday, or halcyon days if you prefer. In retrospect, or rather in court filings, there never were any good days; everything was hellfire and brimstone. In fact, a review of our marriage and the 3 years before our marriage would, were you to read our respective court filings, indicate that neither of us had consensual sex during the entire time we knew each other. Sadly, this means our five children were the product of mutually perpetuated rapes. Though one does wonder, if both parties are rapists, does that equal consent? Legal scholars will have to sort that question out.

In any case, legal fictions aside, I mention “Meat Time” as it was in this context that I was having a conversation with a colleague and friend, Dr. Dexter Douglas, who hails from the Bronx.

“It is a fucking pathetic way to end a marriage,” he observed, spooning cubes of ice into his cabernet sauvignon as we sat in the restaurant.

“Yes, it is,” I said, truly touched – this being his sensitive side that he was showing.

“I mean, in New York you do it right. You scream, you shout, you threaten to fucking kill each other. Then you look at each other, you know it is over, get an attorney and bam! You’re done. This is like some sort of goddamn whimper.” Dr. Douglas continued, “26 years…”

“Twenty-seven,” I corrected.

“Whatever. The point is, if you don’t have that whole screaming and yelling shit part, it gets bottled up! It’ll fuckin’ kill ya,” Dr. Douglas sagely pointed out.

“Well, we did have some pretty harsh emails,” I offered.

“Emails,” he snorted derisively, “an email doesn’t look you in the eye and say ‘I hate your fuckin’ guts, you ugly fat-assed pig!’”

“Which one of us would be saying that?” I asked, as I was trying to determine if I needed to take offense.

“Either, doesn’t matter. Point is, you got to get the hate out. Because however much you loved each other, that is how much you are going to fucking hate each other! No two ways about it, fuckin’ scientific fact!” Dr. Douglas said, stabbing the table with his index finger to make the point, and inadvertently splashing his cabernet sauvignon into the bread basket and onto the table cloth.

It is here I should point out that Dr. Douglas is a leading cosmetic dentist, whose techniques with veneers are taught in seminars throughout the state of Florida. So if he says something is a “fuckin’ scientific fact!” you can be certain it is.

“So I should go up to Pennsylvania and have it out with her?” I asked.

Dr. Douglas sipped his cab and looked at me. “Are you out of your fucking mind? She is a goddamn lunatic! She’ll slap your ass in jail so fast it will make your head swim. The only reason you didn’t get fucked over so far is you stayed calm and didn’t let her provoke you!”

“Ah, so I have done the right thing?” I asked as I worked my way through this labyrinthine logic.

“Maybe. Who the fuck knows?” he shrugged. “Still, it is a pathetic way to end a marriage.”


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Text Copyright 2011 Cusper Lynn


Text Copyright 2011 Hellbent Press


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