So yet again, Malice’s excuses for being a spectacularly lazy and disengaged parent have been splattered all over Twitter.
You know, if my oven knob broke, I’d use a pair of pliers to turn the shaft. If the gas ignition starter doesn’t work, you can light the burner with long matches. Microwaves are also handy to prepare food. And if she has a Viking - as far as I recall that’s a five-burner cooker *with a double oven* she has at least four other burners to use. Vikings, like my Rayburn, come with griddle plates on which you can sear marinated chicken and asparagus deliciously. She could sauté the potatoes with garlic, olive oil and butter.
Not bloody mashed potatoes, macaroni cheese (which only requires two burners - and doesn’t her oven have a grill to facilitate the ‘crispy’ demands?) and pizza. Bloody pizza.
She’s clearly smarting because the girls experienced six hours of proper parenting and were treated to delectable, nutritionally-diverse and healthy lunches. Her latest rants against ‘Gilda’ (if she were any more transparent, she’d be a windowpane) are absolutely zooey. I don’t think she’s spiralling mentally, though: the cuckoo is very much in the clock. She’s making a big song and dance about supposed interweb stalkers who ‘know too much about her life’ (that she revealed herself via incessant tweeting when pissed out of her gourd) in order to get at Ioan - via *the children*. She knows that acting paranoid and convincing the girls that someone is after them will distress them, and thus distress him; and she knows that claiming Bianca is behind said ‘stalking’ will bind her children closer to her. She can’t run the risk that the girls might actually *like* BW. All this is designed to put the maximum stress on Bianca’s health and her and IG’s relationship. Malice figures that if she acts sufficiently unhinged and doesn’t let up, the two of them will part ways. Then she will have got her revenge for him daring to leave her.
Everything is calculated, everything is a game. I acquit this woman of nothing: she has no heart, no moral compass, no compunction whatsoever when it comes to getting her own way. She’s scum.
(In Kitten news, Oh For God’s Sake just last evening: tried to jump into the oven to get at the roast chicken, jumped on the coffee table in the snug and deliberately kicked off every single book and paper, then jumped all over them, diligently chewed a computer cable to a nubbin, tried to get into the fridge, had to be deterred from eating a block of butter, sat in the green bean pan, leapt into the kitchen sink (and shot out of it at top speed), tried to eat various people’s hands/dinner, kicked the weighing scales on the floor and stuck his paw in my dinner-bowl, retrieving some baked potato and shoving it into his maw. After which he had a blissful nap, considering that his work was done. Little rotter
I’m loath to let him into the drawing room/library: far too many opportunities to kick precious antiques on the floor, or run up anddown the curtains.)
You know, if my oven knob broke, I’d use a pair of pliers to turn the shaft. If the gas ignition starter doesn’t work, you can light the burner with long matches. Microwaves are also handy to prepare food. And if she has a Viking - as far as I recall that’s a five-burner cooker *with a double oven* she has at least four other burners to use. Vikings, like my Rayburn, come with griddle plates on which you can sear marinated chicken and asparagus deliciously. She could sauté the potatoes with garlic, olive oil and butter.
Not bloody mashed potatoes, macaroni cheese (which only requires two burners - and doesn’t her oven have a grill to facilitate the ‘crispy’ demands?) and pizza. Bloody pizza.
She’s clearly smarting because the girls experienced six hours of proper parenting and were treated to delectable, nutritionally-diverse and healthy lunches. Her latest rants against ‘Gilda’ (if she were any more transparent, she’d be a windowpane) are absolutely zooey. I don’t think she’s spiralling mentally, though: the cuckoo is very much in the clock. She’s making a big song and dance about supposed interweb stalkers who ‘know too much about her life’ (that she revealed herself via incessant tweeting when pissed out of her gourd) in order to get at Ioan - via *the children*. She knows that acting paranoid and convincing the girls that someone is after them will distress them, and thus distress him; and she knows that claiming Bianca is behind said ‘stalking’ will bind her children closer to her. She can’t run the risk that the girls might actually *like* BW. All this is designed to put the maximum stress on Bianca’s health and her and IG’s relationship. Malice figures that if she acts sufficiently unhinged and doesn’t let up, the two of them will part ways. Then she will have got her revenge for him daring to leave her.
Everything is calculated, everything is a game. I acquit this woman of nothing: she has no heart, no moral compass, no compunction whatsoever when it comes to getting her own way. She’s scum.
(In Kitten news, Oh For God’s Sake just last evening: tried to jump into the oven to get at the roast chicken, jumped on the coffee table in the snug and deliberately kicked off every single book and paper, then jumped all over them, diligently chewed a computer cable to a nubbin, tried to get into the fridge, had to be deterred from eating a block of butter, sat in the green bean pan, leapt into the kitchen sink (and shot out of it at top speed), tried to eat various people’s hands/dinner, kicked the weighing scales on the floor and stuck his paw in my dinner-bowl, retrieving some baked potato and shoving it into his maw. After which he had a blissful nap, considering that his work was done. Little rotter
I’m loath to let him into the drawing room/library: far too many opportunities to kick precious antiques on the floor, or run up anddown the curtains.)I’ve found on more than several occasions (so not a coincidence, but a correlation) that she’s directly answered comments I’ve made here on her Twitter. I remarksd that most women who had been dumped would think ‘well, bugger him, the suppurating arsehat’ and that basically they wouldn’t want someone who had rejected them. On the contrary they would work on themselves, get a new life and be coldly cordial to their ex for the sake of the children. Telling us you read here, Alice - well. We’re your greatest narcissist supply right now, aren’t we?
.
welcome to the F1 sub division of Tattle-lite thread entitled “mAlice gets right on my tits”