an open letter to the man who stole my husband's identity, opened up a credit card, and racked up $6,000 worth of debt

You cheap, heartless bastard.

I hope your mother discovers what you did and never gives you another Christmas or birthday gift ever again.

I hope that your hands and feet are plagued by in-grown nails and warts.

I hope that you go bald and discover that your skull is absurdly lumpy.

I hope that your children develop goat hooves, spiky tails, and belligerent attitudes.

I hope that you develop a wicked case of halitosis and are forever shunned by members of the opposite sex. Or members of the same sex. Whatever your preference may be.

I hope that wherever you go it is perpetually raining.

I hope that John Mellencamp's "Our Country" plays on repeat in your brain for the rest of your days.

I hope you develop restless leg syndrome.

I hope that you go for a relaxing swim only to discover that leeches have attached themselves to your naughty bits.

I hope that you can never erase the bitter taste of failure from your mouth.

And if our paths ever cross, be warned - there will be a pointy reckoning that shall make you shudder.

That is all. For now.

-MAW