[susan888]

Such a sweet old man. All the neighborhood kids would get together and ride bikes there. He taught us all about coins and coin collecting. He had a refrigerator in his back room stocked with candy, popsicles...anything that a kid would want.

He was especially kind to me after my Dad chose the wrong way out. I could talk to him about anything he said...and I did....

Such an easy little target.............

I hope there is a special place in Hell for Mr. H......

[Catherine2]

Originally Posted by susan888

Such a sweet old man. All the neighborhood kids would get together and ride bikes there. He taught us all about coins and coin collecting. He had a refrigerator in his back room stocked with candy, popsicles...anything that a kid would want.

He was especially kind to me after my Dad chose the wrong way out. I could talk to him about anything he said...and I did....

Such an easy little target.............

I hope there is a special place in Hell for Mr. H......

oh there is a special hell for all of them, Susan...

[Typo]

((((((((((((((((Susan888))))))))))

[miray]

((((((susan888)))))) Mine was miserably sick the last few years of his life. I finally sent that letter all the therapists had told me to write to him a few months before he died. He sent me one back basically turning things all around, and of course never completely admitting any of his disgusting acts. That's when I knew there would be no light for him. All those years, I wanted to believe he would feel sorry for what he did on his dying bed, but not even a little bit..... There is definitely a "special" place for Mr. H right next to Mr. M.....and the rest of the evil on this earth

[notz]

(((((Susan))))

Bastard. It wasn't your fault. He has gone straight to hell or wherever there is pain and suffering.

Not meant to hijack your thread, but I want to throw my 2 cents in with something I wrote a couple of weeks ago.
_____________________________________________________________________

My heart hurts for all of us...creepy, maniacal abusers came into our lives and snatched a piece of our soul. The very essence of me was groomed, taken, fondled, penetrated, and my silence was purchased by dirty, stinking money. Bastards. (there's more than one, but I'll focus on my primary)

No longer a chance to kill him now, dammit, throat cancer beat me to it.

I find I have written a lot, not to be posted here, because it has too many twists and turns. This thread belongs to Xxxx. Perhaps, I'll post it elsewhere, someday. I mention it as a way of saying thank you to Xxxx and every one who responds. You have given me the chance to purge one more time.

No longer a chance to kill him now, dammit, throat cancer beat me to it.

I have vomited on his headstone several times. When I return to my hometown, I make a point to go visit him (and others). I speak my piece and proceed to pour about a quart of my urine on his headstone and the grass above him. I have had a few drunken occasions to deliver in person.

Vile and despicable acts befitting a vile and despicable man who stole the innocence of many a child just like me.

No longer a chance to kill him, but I can piss on him and I damn well do. Good riddance, says I.

[ZilchHour]

Hello Susan!

Remorse was Mr. H's last chance to save whatever human was left in him. He could not make much of it.

And for Miray; if Mr. M had senses enough to distinguish between right and wrong, truth and lie, fair and false, then he would not have done that in the first place.

And for Notz, I wish I could add some vomit of my own on the bastards' graves, and often death saves them from the deserved vengeance!!!

I pity hell that it has to dwell such creatures.

Regards
ZILCH HOUR