TumbleDweeeb

Growth: How We Turned Forever into Something Better
By Emmitt Owens
(2480 Roasting Words of Celebration, 29 Years After the Marriage… the 17th Year of Divorce.)
Index #0213226

Seesha,
I love that we could orchestrate this whole roast week together – celebrating what would’ve been our 29th wedding anniversary and our 17th year of divorce at the same time. Only us, right? Only we could turn all of that into something we planned together, set rules for, and actually pulled off.
You got me good a couple times. I’ll give you that. But that’s exactly what we agreed to do.
I hear you about needing to let it go. Seventeen years is a long time to carry something that ended. And I get that Valentine’s Day, anniversaries … all of it weighs heavy when you’ve been holding onto what we were.
But here’s what I see: we were married for 12 years as kids raising kids with pure intentions and forever as our goal. We’ve been divorced for 17 years, and in that time, we figured out how to co-parent across counties, and now we co-grandparent. We can still plan a roast week together and laugh about it.
That’s growth.
That’s something most people never figure out.
If you need to put down the weight of “us” to find your peace, I understand that. You deserve that.
Take care … Seesha. 🙂
(Sorry it took 16 hours to respond…)

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Index #02122026

In a can made of metal, with Superman’s face,
From the seventies standing, a red, blue disgrace,
Sits a collection of memories, all rotting away,
Like our marriage, dear ex-wife … that couldn’t quite stay.

There’s a Hardee’s coupon flyer from years long ago,
And a dried-up old turkey (from which Thanksgiving? Who knows!),
A Valentine card that you never quite sent,
And liquor bottles empty—oh, where did THAT money get spent?

There’s Xanax and weed mixed together with care,
And a Keith Sweat CD (oh Lord, I still hear “Twisted” in there!),
Five calendars scattered—’96, ’97, skip ’98!
Then ‘99, 2000, and 2009—couldn’t keep our years straight!

Psychology books that you never once read,
(Though God knows we needed them, based on what you said!),
A Matchbox Twenty cassette that’s been twisted and worn,
And maps of North Alabama, all tattered and torn…

— A phone number, precious, with just the letter “B,”
(Was that for “Boyfriend” or “the Backup plan” after me?) 😂😂😂

So here in this Superman can, where our memories decay,
With garbage and treasures all mixed the same way,
I’ll close up the lid on this Cheinco-made tomb,
And thank that old garbage can for giving us room!

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Index #02112026

“On the spot, in the year 1999, a young socialite DIED… and was replaced by a government-certified hermit who didn’t want to leave the house even 26 years later.” 😂💀

Let me tell you how I went from PARTY ANIMAL to INDOOR ENTHUSIAST in record time… and my ex-wife that didn’t understand so much about why I wanted to stay home.
BEFORE 2000, I was OUTSIDE. Socially .
A PEOPLE PERSON.
Parties, clubs, hanging with the homies—I was THERE. 🎉
Then I caught a case. 10 months in county jail. 5 YEARS probation starting in 2000.
And that socialite?
He DIED. 💀
Flatlined.
EXTINCT like the dinosaurs, but FASTER.
During probation, I curated my social circle like a RESUME: “Sorry bro, you still smoking? Can’t hang.” “You strapped? Gotta pass.” 😂
This is my only chance to NOT FUCK SHIT UP!
But even with my NEW, SAFE, SQUARE friends? I STILL didn’t wanna go out as much. Because even when you’re doing EVERYTHING right… The system don’t CARE. 💀
A group of people ment pure CHAOS and ment a chance of LOSING MY FREEDOM.
In 2002, I got CHASED DOWN THE STREET by cops (I didn’t run, I just seen a bunch of cops running towards me for no apparent reason) … for??? Walking home with a gallon of MILK. 🥛👮‍♂️ Not even WHOLE milk. 2% REDUCED FAT. They thought I was suspicious over my LOW-CALORIE DAIRY. 😂💀
So when my ex said, “Let’s go to the store,” I’m like: “Baby, the LAST time I went to the store, I almost got arrested for CALCIUM.” 😂
She’d hit me with: “That was TWO YEARS AGO. Get over it.”
GET OVER IT?! 💀
I got PTSD from DAIRY. Cops chased me down for a gallon of milk.
Another time: One day we was SITTING in Spring Park—cops rolled up: “Let me see your ID.” For WHAT?! Sitting?! 💀 This was PRE-YOUTUBE days.
My ex-wife noticed then… I’m a damned cop magnet. We wasn’t doing anything but eating hotdogs and drinking Dr. Pepper. 😂😂😂
She didn’t understand my PTSD…
Another time: I got pulled over in the projects, DOGS tearing through my car… All I had was Taco Bell napkins, a Motorola Razr, and the new Eminem CD. 🚔🐕😂
*WOOP, WOOOP “that’s the sound of the police”
One time an officer tried to tell me my hubcap key was a weed pipe. “WTF Bruh??? You can’t smoke shit out of that, the stem isn’t even hollow.” 😂😂😂 He even smelt inside the keyway for weed. 😂😂😂
2004: EIGHT COPS showed up to my HOUSE for a noise complaint. EIGHT. For VOLUME. 🎵👮‍♂️💀 For me listening to Lil’John … Bass travels! The neighbors thought I was having a house party. While I’m listening to Usher’s “Yeah,” I’m doing the “NOPE” from my couch. 😐😐😐
After all that? I made an EXECUTIVE DECISION: If it’s not WORK, I’m not leaving home. 🏠🔒
Then I E.O.S.’d in 2005/2006—right when Twitter launched. Perfect timing. I could tweet from HOME. EASILY … 😂💀
My ex-wife thought, “Okay, he’s off probation now. He’ll go back to NORMAL.” FUCKING WRONG. 😂
She’d FORCE me out like I was a HOSTAGE. 💀
“Babe, you can’t stay inside forever.” “Watch me.” 🏠😂
When we did get pulled over or ID’d… I’d come home like: “SEE?! I TOLD YOU! THIS IS WHY I DON’T LEAVE HOME!” 😂💀
She’d say: “Babe, we just went to WALMART.”
“Yeah, and security FOLLOWED me like I was stealing TOMATOES.” 😂 🍅
She’d hit me with: “Maybe if you didn’t LOOK so suspicious—”
LOOK SUSPICIOUS????! 💀 I was wearing a POLO and KHAKIS. I looked like I worked at TARGET. 😂
Cops pulled me over on the way to family events.
Instead of saying “That’s messed up,” she’d be like:
“Why were you going 3 miles over the speed limit?” 😐
THAT’S NOT THE POINT, SEESHA!!!! 💀😂
“See? Nothing happened!”
“Baby, I got STOPPED TWICE. That’s not ‘nothing.’” 💀
“You’re being DRAMATIC.”
DRAMATIC?! 😂
I’m getting profiled like I’m on AMERICA’S MOST WANTED… And SHE thinks I’M dramatic. 💀
Eventually, she gave up on ME. 💔
She wanted me to “get over” my trauma… While complaining I “changed.” 😂💀
Yeah, I changed. YOU try getting chased by cops over MILK and stay the same. 🥛👮‍♂️
She wanted the old me back. But that dude was EXTINCT by 2001. 💔
My MySpace Top 8 was ME and 7 pictures I drew with colored pencils. 😂
Instead of understanding trauma don’t just GO AWAY… She acted like I was being STUBBORN. 😂💀 Like staying home was to SPITE her. 🏠
Bay-Bee. I got CHASED for MILK. I didn’t “choose” this. This life CHOSE ME. 💀😂
She wanted a LIFE. I wanted SAFETY.
But instead of meeting me where I WAS… She kept trying to DRAG me back outside. 💀 Like I was a FIXER-UPPER. Like if she just “encouraged” me enough, I’d STOP being traumatized. 😂
The irony? I wouldn’t go out. And now that she’s GONE? I STILL won’t go out. 💔😂
She’s been gone for 17 years and still, OUT? HELL NAH!!
Fast forward to TODAY. I’m older, grayer, and do EVERYTHING legal now:
Permits? ✅
Licenses? ✅
Insurance? ✅
I’m more documented than a 9/11 Commission Report. 💯
And NOW? I RARELY have issues. 😂💀 Because I’m OLD. “Less threatening.” I’m a “middle-aged white guy,” and apparently THAT’S acceptable. 💀
So NOW I could go ANYWHERE without paranoia. But guess what? I DON’T WANNA. 😂💀
The socialite is DEAD. Even though the threat is GONE, the FEAR remains. 💀
2000: Wanted to party like it’s 1999.
2026: Partying like it’s NEVER… I DON’T PARTY!!😂💀

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Index #02102026

“In 2003, in a small bedroom on 4th Street in Tuscumbia Alabama, I discovered that I had a superpower: the ability to weaponize a kick drum… and then torture my exwife with the slow, agonizing … birth of a beat.”

Y’all, I’ve been making music since 1999. By 2003, my “studio” was a Gateway computer in our bedroom.
That’s it.
The whole “Plizaya” empire.
One computer.
One bedroom.
And I knew EXACTLY how to scratch my ex-wife’s last nerve through SOUND ALONE.
See, I always start with a kick drum (ALWAYS)—four, eight maybe sixteen bars—just BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM…
And I’d hit that LOOP button.
Now, a NORMAL person would think, “Oh, he’ll add something soon.”
WRONG!!! 😂😂😂
That kick drum? Playing for 20 minutes straight while I’m sitting in my wooden chair THINKING … Tempo, tuning the drum, timing the kick … messing with the BASS frequency. She’s laying there in bed like she’s trapped in a metronome factory.
“Babe… can you—” 😐
“Shhh, I’m working.” 😁
BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM…
Then FINALLY, I add a snare.
BOOM-TSS… BOOM-TSS… BOOM-TSS…
Another 15 minutes of THAT looping while I’m tweaking the EQ, the BMP, nodding my head like I’m 50 Cent… 😳😂😂
She’s staring at the ceiling like she’s in a hostage situation.
Then come the hi-hats.
BOOM-TSS-tktktk… BOOM-TSS-tktktk…
I hit loop again. 😂😂😂
Now we’re 45 minutes in. Same four/eight/sixteen bars. LOOPING. She’s gone from annoyed to VIBRATING with rage.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” 😡😡😡
“Baby, I’m in the ZONE.” 😂😂😂
Then I add a bass drop.
BOOM-TSS-tktktk-WUBWUBWUB…
Loop it. 😂😂😂
Then synths.
BOOM-TSS-tktktk-WUBWUBWUB-weeeeoooowwww…
Loop it AGAIN. 😂😂😂
We’re two HOURS deep now, y’all. Same… Bars… She’s heard this loop 800 times already. Her EYE is twitching. She’s planning my funeral in her head. 🤣
And me?
I’m over here like Trent Reznor, adding strings and shit.
I had no idea what I was doing and made terrible noise for hours while my poor exwife suffered through my delusions of being a producer. 😂😂😂
“You hear that? That’s TEXTURE, baby.” 🤣😂🤣
She don’t wanna hear about NO texture. She wanna hear SILENCE.
But could I stop?
Absolutely.
Did I?????
ABSOLUTELY NOT. 😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
I couldn’t afford headphones—kids needed diapers & shoes before I got studio gear—so she got the full, unfiltered, LOOPED experience of watching a beat get born one agonizing layer at a time.
I wasn’t making music.
I was conducting a 6-hour TORTURE SYMPHONY, and she had front-row seats whether she wanted them or not. 💀💀💀

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Index #02092026

🤔😁 (I thought of this yesterday while we were visiting our daughter and grandsons, thats why I was sitting there laughing in the chair) …
“On this spot, in the year 2000, a young man attempted to leave the house with groceries still on the counter… and paid the price.”

😁😁😁 … It was May …
Newborn son at home (Olive Street, Russellville Alabama), we just got home from grocery shopping, my friends pulled up like, “Bro, let’s go to Mykol’s and record music.” … we were unpacking groceries and putting them away when I told her I was leaving…
“Uh, Oh” wrong thing to say 😮
She looked at me y’all
EVIL EYED
and then …
She looked at the grocery bags …
looked at our brand-new baby boy
….. and I SWEAR her EYES STARTED TURNING RED,
LIKE A MARVEL VILLIAN.
SHE chose VIOLENCE!!!!
Started launching canned goods at me like she was trying out for the MLB…
I’m dodging green beans like Neo dodging bullets in The Matrix…
CORN is ricocheting off appliances. I’m running out the back door hearing PLINK-PLINK-PLINK as canned beans and corn are just DEMOLISHING our appliances.
I jump in my friend’s Bronco and start yelling ‘GO, GO, GO, GO!!!’
He’s like ‘Why??? What the FUCK???’
“BECAUSE SHE’S COMING … AND SHE’S THROWING SHIT!”
Our dryer caught most of the damage—still probably has the dents. That dryer is a monument to terrible timing, worse decisions, and the fact that at 23 years old with a newborn, I thought ‘yeah, recording music with the homies right now is a GREAT call.’
Spoiler: it was not. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

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Index #02082026

What kind of geniuses would get married on Valentine’s Day????
I’ll tell you who… Elisha Carpenter Owens Mcbride and Me…
We both guaranteed each other that we would ruin the most romantic day of the year for the REST OF OUR LIVES … But at 20 years old (Our brains were literally running on Hot Pockets and Cheesecake and Marijuana) ———when our biggest accomplishment was probably remembering to pay the rent, electric bill and where we kept the weed stash … BUT! we looked at permanent high-stakes relationship pressure and thought “yeah, that sounds ROMANTIC.” We really said, “let’s take this ONE day … that’s already a minefield of expectations and add MARRIAGE VOWS to it.”
Peak intelligence.
Ugh!
We merged our marriage with a global holiday like we were trying to create a Hallmark Holiday… 😂😂😂
Fast forward to 2026: We’ve spent three decades trapped in a holiday we CHOSE to weaponize against ourselves. Every February 13th, while normal people are panic-buying chocolates, we’re having flashbacks to our wedding vows…
(Sometime laughing, sometimes sad, sometimes angry & mad, sometimes all four on the same damned day)
“For better or worse” really should’ve come with an asterisk that said, “worse includes arguing about restaurant reservations EVERY SINGLE YEAR until you find individual area codes.”
“Valentine’s Day is a federally recognized PTSD trigger for US.”

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Index #02072026

🤔 … Every damned Valentine’s Day reminds me of a saga that started over a cheeseburger at Hardee’s. (29 years worth… 17 years of that … not even being murried!)
She didn’t even MAKE it – she made the cook make it, she was just the CASHIER. She rang me up, dropped my change all over the counter like a professional, and STILL thought “yeah, THIS guy ordering a $3 cheeseburger is clearly husband material.” 😂😂😂 Because nothing screams “life partner” like a dude ordering fast-food, right? Real catch there … top tier decision making.
Apparently dropping my change wasn’t enough of a red flag that maybe, JUST MAYBE, her judgment needed some work. All them psychology degrees and STILL can’t explain why you said yes to the cheeseburger guy who made you fumble coins. SMH!

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Index #02062026

Look at me feeling special, I got a valentine shout-out 17 years after the divorce, 29 years after the marriage 😂😂😂

Shoutout to my ex-wife (Elisha Carpenter Owens Mcbride) for never forgetting our anniversary! While normal exes exchange awkward waves at the grocery store, mine writes poetry about me on social media. This is why I moved my Valentine’s celebration to random weekends – can’t be roasted on a holiday you don’t celebrate on the actual day! taps forehead … Thanks for the love! Our 28 and 26-year-old kids are probably grabbing popcorn as we speak 💘😂🍿 Looks like were still running the circus. 😂😂😂