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Post by Spanky on Apr 15, 2008 12:54:50 GMT -5
the shuffling wouldn't be so bad if it was two adults dealing with each other. my daughter flies back and forth between MD and VT every couple of months and loves that she has two worlds that she's the center of.
but when one of the adults is bitter and twisted then its the home life i would worry about and not the going back and forth
JMHO
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Post by mommybird on Apr 15, 2008 13:03:09 GMT -5
So, you think that Heather is bitter & twisted ? I wouldn't know, since most of the info we're getting on this is from the media & the internet. We all know how things can get bent out of shape by them. They can even take what you say & change it around to make you look bad.
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Post by Spanky on Apr 15, 2008 13:09:20 GMT -5
I wouldn't necessarily say she is for sure; I was using a general statement of how some individuals react to a bitter split.
She was however in a bad situation, she was always going to be compared to 'saint' Linda (no-one can live up to a dead person) and that was bound to cause countless problems for them.
I personally think she should have shown more class by keeping quiet in public however, again, who am I to talk
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Post by mommybird on Apr 15, 2008 13:16:14 GMT -5
IMHO, I don't see either woman as a saint. You're right in that she should take her settlement & go on with her life. Doing anything else is just going to make her look bad.
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Jude
Hard Day's Night
Acting Naturally
Posts: 34
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Post by Jude on Apr 15, 2008 13:38:11 GMT -5
So, you think that Heather is bitter & twisted ? I wouldn't know, since most of the info we're getting on this is from the media & the internet. We all know how things can get bent out of shape by them. They can even take what you say & change it around to make you look bad. This is just my opinion...I dont know the woman very well, so I can't be sure....but I think that at least 70% of the bad press she keeps getting is absolute BS. Clearly Paul did cheat on her or abused her or whatever, or otherwise she wouldn't have been court-ordered to keep silent about the whole affair, would she? That being said, I am getting pretty sick of reading about all the petty arguments between Paul and Heather.
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Jude
Hard Day's Night
Acting Naturally
Posts: 34
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Post by Jude on Apr 15, 2008 13:39:05 GMT -5
(no-one can live up to a dead person) True...quite true.
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Post by The Deceptionist on Apr 15, 2008 13:44:15 GMT -5
I think that at least 70% of the bad press she keeps getting is absolute BS. i get that feeling as well.. most likely due to the fact that i don't trust much of the so-called 'news' in the media. most of it is pure gossip anyway.
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Post by Spanky on Apr 15, 2008 13:49:31 GMT -5
in the media. most of it is pure gossip anyway. the media spreads lies and propaganda to dumb down the population.
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Post by The Deceptionist on Apr 15, 2008 13:59:40 GMT -5
in the media. most of it is pure gossip anyway. the media spreads lies and propaganda to dumb down the population. and it works a treat!!
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Post by quarryman61 on Jun 4, 2008 15:31:42 GMT -5
In the latest documentary on Heather Mills, shown on Channel 4 in Britain last month, the interviewer was trying to get an interview with Paul at St Johns Wood, he said afterwards that it was most unusual for a celebrity to be this well hidden, he said he'd never seen anything like it, this place was more secure than the biggest Hollywood mansions he'd visited.
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Post by plastic paul on Jun 4, 2008 18:29:15 GMT -5
Nah, I've been there, no security in general unless they hide themselves very well as members of the public...
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Post by eyesbleed on Jun 15, 2008 13:24:24 GMT -5
It's good to keep secrets!! ...from the NY Post By BRADEN KEIL HEATHER MILLS Our newest neighbor. June 14, 2008 -- Heather Mills is about to become a jaded New Yorker. The hotheaded, newly rich ex-wife of Sir Paul McCartney who says she's weary of the London press has just gone to contract to buy a $5 million West Village condo in the glass- enclosed Richard Meier towers at 173 Perry St. The seller is Joe Castaldo, head of the Style Council. Included in the full-floor pad, with sweeping views of the Hudson, are two bedrooms, two baths, a 40-foot living room/dining area, an open kitchen, two balconies and a private elevator landing. The high-tech digs, measuring just over 1,800 square feet, also features floor-to-ceiling windows with temperature-controlled shades and a built-in entertainment system. The high-profile doorman building features room service from its Jean George Vongerichten-run restaurant, a fitness center, high security and a 24-hour concierge. Buyers there have included Calvin Klein, Nicole Kidman, Martha Stewart (who sold) and Sun Microsystems co-founder William Joy. Listing broker Hilary Rovins, of Brown Harris Stevens, would not comment on the sale.
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Post by B on Aug 3, 2008 19:24:58 GMT -5
Comin' down fast.... Jul 25 2008Heather Mills' publicist quits after being called 'stupid'thesuperficial.com/2008/07/heather_mills_publicist_quits.php"Heather Mills, the gold-digging ex-wife of Paul McCartney, is a bitch to work for. After four years, her publicist Michelle Elyzabeth quit working for the, uh, whatever the hell Heather does, and had the following to say to Extra: "After working for Heather Mills for the past four years, I have decided to cease representing her. Since her divorce has become final, in my opinion, Heather has become an impossible person. Yesterday, we engaged in a heated argument during which she called me "stupid." I reminded her that she was not "God" and she answered, "I will never ever talk to you again." I have been very patient in my dealings with Heather, however, I cannot take any more. I have given her substantial unpaid time and attention. I am owed money. I refuse to be subjected to her outbursts. On reflection and given the way I have been treated, I now have sympathy with much of what the British press has reported about her." Oh, sweet, Heather Mills doesn't have a publicist anymore so I can say whatever I want about her and nobody will refute my claims. I don't want to get too carried away though. Better start off small; okay, got it: Heather Mills' leg planned 9/11. He shoots; he scores!"
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:01:45 GMT -5
Haught off Depresses! www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1054109/Poor-Little-Me-How-Heather-Millss-novel-model-rock-star-husband-make-Mills--Boon-weep.html"Poor Little Me: How Heather Mills's novel about a model and her rock-star husband is enough to make even Mills & Boon weepBy David Thomas Last updated at 1:13 AM on 10th September 2008 Forbidden as part of her £24 million divorce from writing about her stormy marriage to Paul McCartney, Heather Mills is instead reportedly writing a novel about a model who marries a rock star. So what can we expect from a woman famous for her rather fluid relationship with the truth? Incredible as it may seem, the Mail's David Thomas believes he's stumbled across the first draft. And it's enough to make Mills & Boon weep...Chapter one In which, using her bionic arm, our heroine saves the world's children Heather Miller, the humble Geordie lass who had never forgotten her working-class roots - even now that she was an award-winning international humanitarian and supermodel - cursed softly under her breath. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Yet there were tears forming in her beautiful, crystal-blue eyes and falling on to the soft, unblemished skin that was a testament to her incredible genes and the skill of her personal beautician, Penny Laine, of Bond Street. She knew she should be tougher. Friends always told her: 'Heather, you must stop putting others first. We know you find it virtually impossible, owing to your uniquely kind, tender-hearted character, but we beg you, just try thinking of yourself for once.' And yet, she could not bring herself to let down the millions of little children who looked to her as their saviour. So few people seemed to care about the curse of unexploded Christmas crackers. But the letters she received from kiddies as far away as Tunbridge Wells and Basildon told their own harrowing story. They spoke of crushing disappointment when crackers were pulled but refused to go off; or of nasty shocks when they suddenly exploded, for no apparent reason, late on Boxing Day. Heather insisted on answering every one of the letters personally, using her hand-tooled Paperback Writer pen. Thank goodness for her bionic arm! Heather had lost her original arm in a tragic Space Hopper accident. But since her new bionic prosthetic had been fitted, she could do anything. She could even take the lids off jars better than any man she knew. And thanks to her wondrous plastic limb, there was no limit to the amount of writing she could do. That was just as well. Her old friend Nelson Mandela had written to her - again! - asking for advice on reconciling the black and white peoples of South Africa. There was also a note from Elle Macpherson, begging Heather to tell her how she stayed so slim and fit. Dear Elle! She was a little dumpy, but she had a good heart. And then Heather's eye caught sight of the newspaper thrown away on the floor of her study, and was reminded again that not everyone shared her sweet nature. 'MODEL HEATHER'S £1,000-A-NIGHT SEX ROMPS WITH ARABS' it screamed. Inside a former call-girl, Deirdre Slutt, was claiming that she and Heather had sold their bodies to the notorious Middle Eastern armsdealer Sheikh Yerbooti. That was nonsense! Heather had been giving the Sheikh one-to-one personal advice on his philanthropic activities. The money was just a consultancy fee! Thank goodness most people saw the lies for what they were. Tonight, Heather was going to be honoured as Woman Of The Millennium at the glittering Best Of British Awards. She had not wanted to accept the award, as always refusing to draw attention to herself. But then her friends had told her: 'Don't accept it for you. Accept it for the kiddies,' and that had persuaded her. She smiled as she thought of the beautiful Eleanor Rigby evening dress she would be wearing tonight, teamed with her laciest Lady Madonna lingerie and her lucky Nowhere Manolo stilettos. Good things had happened whenever she'd worn those shoes. Tonight would be no exception! " Stay tooned! There's more! ;D
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:05:22 GMT -5
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:14:35 GMT -5
Poor Little Me: How Heather Mills's novel about a model and her rock-star husband is enough to make even Mills & Boon weepwww.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1054109/Poor-Little-Me-How-Heather-Millss-novel-model-rock-star-husband-make-Mills--Boon-weep.html"Chapter 2 Those limpid eyes, that aubergine hair. . . and all that wonga The evening had gone wonderfully. The whole audience, including royalty, celebrities and top politicians, had risen to acclaim Heather. They knew the value of the selfless work she did for others. She had looked beautiful, too, though she hated to admit it, owing to her profound personal modesty. Only one thing was lacking: a man with whom she could share her life. Heather had so much to give, so little interest in taking. Surely, there must be a man who could understand that? Then, across the room, she saw an instantly recognisable figure. True, there were lines around his boyish eyes and his mop-top hairstyle was turning grey ('Nothing that an aubergine-coloured dye-job won't fix, though!' thought Heather, seeing the positive side as always). But there was no mistaking the rock legend that was Cash McLoaded, once one of The Bankers, otherwise known as the Fabulously Rich Four. Together with his songwriting partner, Jim Lemon, Cash had written countless classic songs like - like, er - actually, Heather didn't really follow music. She was too busy caring for kiddies. But she knew at once she must have Cash McLoaded. There was something about him. Perhaps it was his tailor-made suit by Ringo di Roma, or his handmade shoes from George and Harrison's? Perhaps it was his gold watch, or the chauffeur-driven limousine, waiting to take him to one of his seven homes? No! Heather did not care about any of that. She just knew that this was a man with whom she could create a deep spiritual bond. She approached her dear friend Piers Brighton, the former tabloid editor who was now a global TV superstar as the host of the reality show These Losers Have No Talent. 'Piers,' she said, 'do you know Cash McLoaded?' 'Do I know Wonga?' he replied, using the nickname by which Cash was affectionately known to his fans. 'Of course I do! I know everyone! It was me who introduced Liberal MP Lemsip Optrex to the Sneaky Girls!' 'What can I do for you, Heather? I'm always delighted to help someone as caring and pure as you.' 'Could you introduce me to Cash?' A glint appeared in Piers Brighton's eyes. 'Ahhhh - I get it! Poor old Wonga's been feeling all sad and lonely since his dear wife died. You just want to comfort him, I suppose.' 'Exactly,' said Heather. 'I'll bet it hasn't crossed your mind that he's Sir Cash now. So any woman who married him would automatically become Lady McLoaded.' 'Really?' Heather said. 'I had no idea.' 'Of course you didn't, love,' said Piers, cheerily. 'Come with me.' A few moments later, they were standing by the former Banker. 'Hello, Wonga!' Piers was saying. 'There's someone I wanted you to meet. This is Heather.' But Heather wasn't listening, and nor was Cash. For them, the rest of the world had disappeared. They were looking deep into one another's eyes. The flames of love were burning in their hearts. "Don't go away! We'll be right back!
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:21:50 GMT -5
Poor Little Me: How Heather Mills's novel about a model and her rock-star husband (etc.)www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1054109/Poor-Little-Me-How-Heather-Millss-novel-model-rock-star-husband-make-Mills--Boon-weep.html"Chapter 3 Lady McLoaded now... just one problem - his jealous daughter Cruella 'How was it for you?' Heather asked, arranging the folds of the pure silk sheets from Ebony And Ivory over her lissom, honey-tanned figure. Cash grinned and gave her a double V-for-victory sign. That was his way of saying he was happy: either a cheery thumbs-up, just like the ones he'd wave at his fans, or, if he was really delighted, a full double-V. Heather smiled back. Truly, she had never known anything as ecstatic as being with Cash McLoaded. And now she was Lady McLoaded! Obviously, she didn't care at all about titles. Still, she had written to friends and family to tell them how to behave around her in future. 'A quick bow or curtsey is advised when first meeting Her Ladyship,' the letter suggested. 'Failure to comply may result in legal action.' The wedding had been magical. At first she had planned to have it at a beautiful Lesliecrowther Castle, deep in the Irish countryside. But then Cash had an idea. 'Tell you what, luv, why stop there? Let's hire Ireland!' So they'd rented the whole country for the day. Hordes of grateful, loving Irish folk had lined the streets to cheer as she rode in an open-topped, horse-drawn carriage to the wedding. They'd packed the pavements a dozen deep as she and Cash had driven to the airport where his jet was waiting to take them on honeymoon to his private island in the South Pacific. Now, with just a staff of 78 to keep them company, they were leading a simple, back-to-nature existence. 'This is so perfect,' Heather sighed. 'If only all the greedy, materialistic people in the world would be content with the kind of simplicity we enjoy.' 'Hang about, chuck,' Cash interrupted. 'You've given me an idea for a song there.' He clicked his fingers and a houseboy ran up, clutching an antique guitar by George Martin and Sons of Abbey Road. Cash began strumming, then sang: 'Simplicity, all my troubles, tum-tum-dee-dee.' He looked at Heather. 'What do you think? Obviously I've not worked it all out yet.' 'I think it's wonderful,' she sighed, gazing lovingly at the deep purplebrown lustre of his hair, while she changed the tape on the machine that recorded all their conversations. 'Your new songs are so much better than the stuff you and Jim wrote in The Bankers.' 'That's what I like to hear!' Cash said. 'Come 'ere, you sexy thing!' As she melted into his arms, Heather thought her life was almost perfect. In a few weeks' time, she would be leaving their island paradise to appear on Larry King Live. She'd tell Larry about her new volume of memoirs. She hadn't decided on a title yet. She was torn between The Long And Winding Road To Happiness, or Let It Be: Why It's Vital To Forgive and Forget. Larry understood her so well. He knew that she only ever went on his programme to tell his millions of viewers about her hatred of personal celebrity and longing for privacy, and anonymity. Yes, everything was almost perfect - but not quite. For one member of her new family hated Heather. Cash's daughter Cruella had made a fortune with her line of vegetarian designer furniture. She made fakefur rugs and meat-free sofas. Heather had done everything she could to make friends with Cruella, even buying a set of her dining-chairs made from freeze-dried Japanese tofu. But it had not worked. Cruella despised and mistrusted her. Somehow, inexplicably, Heather had made an enemy. Surely this awful woman couldn't come between her and Cash? "No wait! There's more! Right after these important messages!
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:27:13 GMT -5
Blah blah blah acid reflux, erectile dysfunction, Chi chi's, Back to scool blah blah blah etc. BBC Channel 78 And now, back to the show!
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Post by B on Sept 9, 2008 21:33:58 GMT -5
Poor Little Me: How Heather Mills's novel about a model and her rock-star husband (etc.)www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1054109/Poor-Little-Me-How-Heather-Millss-novel-model-rock-star-husband-make-Mills--Boon-weep.html"Chapter 4 Our heroine wanted so little out of their divorce... who could begrudge her 90pc? Heather looked around the magnificent, ornate chamber, deep in the bowels of the High Court and asked herself, for the thousandth time, the question that tore at her wounded heart: how had it all gone wrong? All she had ever wanted was to help the world, save poor cracker-damaged children and love her husband. Yet now the world had turned on her. Once the tabloids had affectionately dubbed her 'Lady Wonga'. Now they called her 'Lady Whinger'. They mocked her for her financial demands. But why? Everyone knew that Cash was worth hundreds of millions. They'd been married for five whole years now. Surely Heather was entitled to a reasonable share - say, 90 per cent or so? The money wasn't even for her. It was all for charity, apart from a few, very modest hundreds of thousands she'd need (every month), to sustain her low-key lifestyle. And why would no one believe her when she told them what a monster Cash had turned out to be? She had him on tape, screaming: 'I could knock your flippin' block off!' All right, he'd never actually done it. But even so, what kind of a man would live with all the love, kindness and selfless, undemanding attention that Heather provided, and even think of giving her a sound spanking? Even worse, while Heather was having to conduct the divorce case on her own, following her discovery that all her lawyers were part of the great global conspiracy to do her down, Cash was represented by the toughest divorce lawyer in London, Ramona Crackleton. Yes! Heather was being torn apart by another woman! Just as Deirdre Slutt had lied about her alleged past as a prostitute, and Cruella McLoaded had turned Cash against her, so Ramona Crackleton was wrecking her chances of starting a humble new life as a divorcée. Suddenly, Heather could bear it no longer. Sitting on the table in front of her was a glass of Sgt Pepper fizzy drink. Heather picked it up and hurled the sticky, fizzy brown liquid into Ramona Crackleton's smug, gloating face. For a second there was silence in the court. And then, with increasing volume, came the sound of laughter. Ramona, Cash, the clerk of the court - they were all laughing at Heather! And all she could think was: 'Why me? Why, why - why?' "THE END
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Post by iameye on Sept 9, 2008 22:59:03 GMT -5
b, due respect but I don't care about this divorce. For all we know, it's just another "lesson" of what NOT to do. Divorce papers say ad nauseum it was a marriage of "attraction" and manipulation between the two of "thems" and obviously not of the heart. (well who knows fer sure only the two parties involved, and most probably a child/pregnancy used in the scheme..) ........I just feel bad for little B, raised by nanny's these days.....in thirty years we'll know how that turns out....and with Miss Nancy too.......
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Post by paulumbo on Sept 10, 2008 15:37:16 GMT -5
I saw Bill and Heather on the TONIGHT show "in happier times", and she seemed like the classic golddigger. Then I saw Heather on DANCING WITH THE STARS and changed my mind: the woman has guts.
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Post by Doc on Sept 10, 2008 19:41:50 GMT -5
I saw Bill and Heather on the TONIGHT show "in happier times", and she seemed like the classic golddigger. Then I saw Heather on DANCING WITH THE STARS and changed my mind: the woman has guts. Perhaps it is human nature to disdain someone who has the appearance of mooching or taking advantage of another party, especially when it involves the affections of the used party. On the other hand, we love to see a person stand on their own two feet (sic) and take responsibility for themselves. Heather is a survivor. I am in the minority in that I DO think that Heather really cared about Macca in the beginning of their relationship. Old habits and the fear of middle age without an umbrella got the best of her, though. They very well may both be hard to live with, in different ways. (God knows I am.....) The couple that takes breaks together, stay together, is my opinion. Why do we teach that couples should be side by side, in each others face, all day long in constant contact? Doting and relating every moment? Preposterous. Space, space, space. But there might have been other problems. The shock of finding out about the switch---well, that is, if she ever did and if she had any reason to actually believe it. Who knows, why postulate now, it's history. Better of in new relationships, both of 'em.
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Post by Doc on Sept 10, 2008 19:47:25 GMT -5
Comin' down fast.... Jul 25 2008Heather Mills' publicist quits after being called 'stupid'thesuperficial.com/2008/07/heather_mills_publicist_quits.php"Heather Mills, the gold-digging ex-wife of Paul McCartney, is a bitch to work for. After four years, her publicist Michelle Elyzabeth quit working for the, uh, whatever the hell Heather does, and had the following to say to Extra: "After working for Heather Mills for the past four years, I have decided to cease representing her. Since her divorce has become final, in my opinion, Heather has become an impossible person. Yesterday, we engaged in a heated argument during which she called me "stupid." I reminded her that she was not "God" and she answered, "I will never ever talk to you again." I have been very patient in my dealings with Heather, however, I cannot take any more. I have given her substantial unpaid time and attention. I am owed money. I refuse to be subjected to her outbursts. On reflection and given the way I have been treated, I now have sympathy with much of what the British press has reported about her." Oh, sweet, Heather Mills doesn't have a publicist anymore so I can say whatever I want about her and nobody will refute my claims. I don't want to get too carried away though. Better start off small; okay, got it: Heather Mills' leg planned 9/11. He shoots; he scores!" Ok, she's lost it, she's lost her patience and her respect and decorum. Gone. Someone on the page commented: It's a very sad world we live in when Sir Paul McCartney and his wife can't but their divorce behind them, and all anyone seems to want to do is make jokes about her false leg.
Personally, I think it's prosthetic.Ha, I didn't write that. They got a leg up on me.
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Post by Doc on Sept 10, 2008 19:57:04 GMT -5
Poor Little Me: How Heather Mills's novel about a model and her rock-star husband (etc.)www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1054109/Poor-Little-Me-How-Heather-Millss-novel-model-rock-star-husband-make-Mills--Boon-weep.html"Chapter 4 Our heroine wanted so little out of their divorce... who could begrudge her 90pc? Heather looked around the magnificent, ornate chamber, deep in the bowels of the High Court and asked herself, for the thousandth time, the question that tore at her wounded heart: how had it all gone wrong? All she had ever wanted was to help the world, save poor cracker-damaged children and love her husband. Yet now the world had turned on her. Once the tabloids had affectionately dubbed her 'Lady Wonga'. Now they called her 'Lady Whinger'. They mocked her for her financial demands. But why? Everyone knew that Cash was worth hundreds of millions. They'd been married for five whole years now. Surely Heather was entitled to a reasonable share - say, 90 per cent or so? The money wasn't even for her. It was all for charity, apart from a few, very modest hundreds of thousands she'd need (every month), to sustain her low-key lifestyle. And why would no one believe her when she told them what a monster Cash had turned out to be? She had him on tape, screaming: 'I could knock your flippin' block off!' All right, he'd never actually done it. But even so, what kind of a man would live with all the love, kindness and selfless, undemanding attention that Heather provided, and even think of giving her a sound spanking? Even worse, while Heather was having to conduct the divorce case on her own, following her discovery that all her lawyers were part of the great global conspiracy to do her down, Cash was represented by the toughest divorce lawyer in London, Ramona Crackleton. Yes! Heather was being torn apart by another woman! Just as Deirdre Slutt had lied about her alleged past as a prostitute, and Cruella McLoaded had turned Cash against her, so Ramona Crackleton was wrecking her chances of starting a humble new life as a divorcée. Suddenly, Heather could bear it no longer. Sitting on the table in front of her was a glass of Sgt Pepper fizzy drink. Heather picked it up and hurled the sticky, fizzy brown liquid into Ramona Crackleton's smug, gloating face. For a second there was silence in the court. And then, with increasing volume, came the sound of laughter. Ramona, Cash, the clerk of the court - they were all laughing at Heather! And all she could think was: 'Why me? Why, why - why?' "THE END Alright, okay, I get it. I have tried everything, looked the other way, given every shadow of every doubt,I guess that she really is positive, loving, role model of a person I had hoped she would grow into. Maybe she just needs a little more time.
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Post by paulumbo on Sept 11, 2008 15:27:40 GMT -5
I could add to this discussion that some people (who shall remain nameless) are showing their pre-women's liberation boomer macho attitude and displaying "humor" that wouldn't have been allowed where I grew up, but I won't. I won't. The Hell I won't.
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