this is going to be a netflix documentary: coke, commissions, & zero compliance 🧪📈✨🐊

(aka: a highly probable yet still unconfirmed working theory)

—

when i met him,
i clocked the addiction.
bars at 3am.
bartending.
bottles missing.
my adderall short.
we didn’t lie about it.
we went sober for christmas.
he slipped,
sure—
but even when he was
stealing booze
and fists of my meds,
he didn’t raise his fucking voice.
he took the heat
he stood there and watched me
scream—
”HOW COULD YOU”
because he knew i was right.
shame was the personality.

he did not clap back.

—

fast-forward.
we break,
then reconcile,
then BAM baby.
we agree:
sober.
i don’t drink;
he won’t either.
we stabilize the man
the old-fucking-fashioned way:
structure + paycheck.
historically,
he always worked.
chick-fil-a or a “firm,”
didn’t matter—
dude brought home money,
showed up,
did shifts.
routine = sanity and recovery.

then the crackhead firm shows up.
and suddenly i’m pregnant,
working 7 days a week,
broke,
cleaning houses with a belly
while he’s “onboarding.”
summer hits
and the charges start
popping at clubs,
shoving starts,
he starts throwing shit—
yelling starts.
never seen this shit.
by fall
he’s not making a single sale—
november: zero.
december: zero—
but he’s “with the team.”

translation:
he’s at her apartment—
or out at a bar.
(babe!
their team meetings)
daily.
off-hours.
unsupervised.
hygiene nosedives.
behavior tweaks.
cash advances hit in november
(aka peak affair window).
somehow she’s still #1 in sales.
he’s #nothing.
and management’s like:
come in all week, babe!
for what, exactly?
to moisturize the
gross cubicle sidechick?

you knew he was a combat vet.
you knew i was pregnant.
you knew we were aiming for clean.

—

and somehow y’all invented
a mentorship pipeline called:
“send the TBI vet home with the inheritance goblin who ‘motivates’ him in private.”

no supervision.
no compliance flag.
no—

“hey why does #2 have zero sales
and look spun while #1 is thriving and hosting him nightly?”

and let’s call the creep what it is:
if she brought him to her apartment,
offered narcotics,
and then slept with him
even fucking touched him once????—
on drugs he couldn’t afford ??
because he was broke—
that’s not romance.
that’s predation with a business card,
and a face that can’t get men
without a fucking trap—

let’s switch genders
and you’d have HR
in fucking hazmat suits
and a netflix doc by friday.

—

meanwhile
i’m in the office
with my round face
and swollen ankles,
you explicitly know
he’s fucking married,
you explicitly know he’s a vet,
and still
y’all let the #1 rep adopt him
like a combat gi joe.
then when he abandons us,
your reps fucking mock me,
while miss mouth-breathing
mezzanine gargoyle stalks my stories
with her whole legal name
and tragic ski trip face????
for a year??????
and you expect me
to believe
this wasn’t fucking
disturbingly engineered?

did you mid-women
compete for proximity
to a hot,
severely broken man
until the most desperate one
won the “plug” role?
or was he just lying
so he could do blow
at his coworker’s place?
while y’all giggled?
and then defrauded me,
multiple times,
while i was
left alone with his baby?
while you openly taunt me
about their proximity—
that you openly
fucking orchestrated
while he was fucking married—
AND I WAS INDUCED TO PAY????

ooooh boy.
let’s go you dumb fucks.

let me find out,
y’all laughed
while
your #1 recruit fed him drugs,
brought him home—
tried to fuck him,
and he repeatedly
crashed the fuck out
right on top
of his third-trimester wife.

LET ME FIND THAT OUT.

honestly,
given the vibe,
y’all probably knew everything.
which is crazier.

either way—
everyone lost but y’all.

result: he spirals,
commits repeated violence,
(the exact months of their tryst)
and he catches fucking charges;
i am defrauded and destabilized;
our child is harmed;
she profits and fucking walks.

hires teams of lawyers???????

—

conclusion:
if this is what happened,
they set him up,
and he is both culpable
for his violence and a witness
to a pipeline that weaponized
his fucking addiction
and our poverty
for someone else’s quota
and lack of ability
to get her own husband.

riddle me this:
if sexual contact
coincided with yayo nights
he couldn’t fucking afford,
…
whose drugs were provided???
were they meeting up late night?
who hosted the environment?
who benefitted while
my family fucking cratered?
who the fuck is still
stalking and watching me
and his child
with her whole ass inbred face????

uh oh.

tick.
tock.