Hi. My name is Bob. Bob is a man. Bob likes to eat. Bob eats food. Bob’s wife left him and took the kids. Why oh why Sarah did you leave me? The sorrow of this tragedy squanders any remaining speck of light in my soul. The key to the vault of my heart and feelings was kept by only you, Sarah. You crushed me. You took the kids. My precious children, \~our\~ precious children. What greed do you have Sarah? Your psyche only knows torment and torture, the infliction of wounds upon the metaphysical aspects of our souls which transcend the physical realm and leave only a shell behind when perished. You are a monster.

 Bob eats many foods. He likes spaghetti. Spaghetti is tasty. Just like the spaghetti you cooked for us each Saturday night. You and I would be locked in an embrace by the fire. The children, off to bed and asleep, rest in a fashion similar to our content souls. We both lived, laughed, and loved. Just like that fucking sign post over your door frame. I will cave that in your brain if you come near me again. Let me see my precious children, Sarah. Why do you torture my soul?

 Spaghetti is a food. Apples are a food. Both spaghetti and apples are foods. Apples were little Johnny’s favorite. I can no longer eat the apple of the tree. It reminds me of his laugh. His precious laugh in which my mind took respite from the torturous and arduous labors of the day. Let me hear that laugh, Sarah. Let me see my precious Johnny.

 Some foods are tasty. Other foods are not tasty. Not all foods are tasty. That’s what Emma would tell me when she didn’t like her cereal. That would fuel my day. There is nothing left in my empty life. All meaning sapped by only you, Sarah. Why did you remove my only joy from me, Sarah? Do you take pleasure in knowing my life, the miserable and pathetic life I so desperately hate, is now worthlessly empty? You monster, Sarah.

 Cars drive. Cars can drive over to your house once a month to see my children. But you lied to your lawyer. I can never see my children again. Sarah, you monster.