You and your wife have been honest with one another about the spark leaving your marriage for a while now. It happened years ago, but the two of you loved each other enough that you wanted to try and find a way to stick together. That’s why you started a board game night.
But board game night was incredibly dull. All it ever served to do was illustrate the banality of your pathetic sex life. Board games as a replacement for actual physical intimacy? How could you possible think that would work? After a month of trying to work it you tossed Russian Roulette into the mix and it solidified.
But lately you’ve been getting a little tired of Russian Roulette. No one’s died in some time and you’ve begun to assume that your wife isn’t really loading the gun. That assumption will be shattered when your swinging partner, James, blows the top of his head off before your Thursday evening sex.
After a nice bonding experience getting rid of his body and planting evidence that he vanished mysteriously during an arms smuggling operation you and your wife will return home and, in the heat of the moment, try to finish your pre-lovemaking ritual. You’ll sit down at a table with a revolver loaded with a single bullet, of which you are now painfully aware, and a copy of your favorite new board game, Oops! We’re Pregnant: The Life Ruining Game!
You’ll look at the board, then at your wife, and realize that you like this game for what it is, that you love your wife for who she is. You don’t really need the risk, real or fictitious, that the gun represents. What you really need is to be honest with this woman with whom you’ve always wanted to spend your life.
You’ll pick up the gun and slip the chamber loose before upending the bullet on to the floor. It’ll fall with a lonesome little clatter and your wife will look at the bullet, then at you, confused.
“That could’ve gone off,” she’ll say, still puzzled.
You’ll hurl the gun across the room, then upend the table in a display of your intense manliness. Then you’ll grab your wife, overpower her and drag her to the bedroom where the two of you will have the best sex you’ve experience in years. You won’t use a condom, and as a result you’ll end up with an unwanted pregnancy, referred to ever after as a surprise pregnancy, which will hopefully stymie the self-destructive tendencies that dominate your lives.
Congratulations on Pussying Out!
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Congratulations on Having Your Nose Broken!
When Tom says what you know he’s going to say about Karen you’re going to lose your shit. You knew it was coming and you know it’s partially true, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? He still had no right to say that about your fiancé. And the only thing that could ever make it feel alright for you is slamming your fist into his big, fat self important face.
Unfortunately Tom has a lot of weight on you, and he’s been in many more fights during his lifetime than you have, so once you’ve hit him he’s going to hit you back harder and in a much more sensitive place. Before he even knows what he’s doing you’ll be holding the ruined swath of face and cartiledge that used to be your nose.
The moment the punch connects his body will go slack. His arms will snap back to a fighting stance, then drop to his sides. He’ll try to grab your shoulders, to apologize, but you’ll just shove him away with all of your body weight, flinging blood and snot all over him.
He’ll try to tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he’s just drunk, but you won’t hear him. You’ll already have ripped your friendship bracelet off and tossed at him, screaming “Fucker” at the top of your lungs as you walk away. He’ll stand there covered in blood, holding that camp relic of your friendship limply as he watches you flag a cab.
And that is how it will end: a fiancé you know is cheating on you, a best friend who only wants you to be happy and your pretty face all smashed up.
Good luck on finding a new best man, and congratulations on having your nose broken.
Unfortunately Tom has a lot of weight on you, and he’s been in many more fights during his lifetime than you have, so once you’ve hit him he’s going to hit you back harder and in a much more sensitive place. Before he even knows what he’s doing you’ll be holding the ruined swath of face and cartiledge that used to be your nose.
The moment the punch connects his body will go slack. His arms will snap back to a fighting stance, then drop to his sides. He’ll try to grab your shoulders, to apologize, but you’ll just shove him away with all of your body weight, flinging blood and snot all over him.
He’ll try to tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he’s just drunk, but you won’t hear him. You’ll already have ripped your friendship bracelet off and tossed at him, screaming “Fucker” at the top of your lungs as you walk away. He’ll stand there covered in blood, holding that camp relic of your friendship limply as he watches you flag a cab.
And that is how it will end: a fiancé you know is cheating on you, a best friend who only wants you to be happy and your pretty face all smashed up.
Good luck on finding a new best man, and congratulations on having your nose broken.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Congratulations on the New Year!
On January 1st, 2009 you’re going to wake up in a strange apartment, fully clothed, with just a touch of vomit drying on your shoes. You’ll be on a hardwood floor a few feet away from a sprawled out young woman who seems to be in the grip of some terrible nightmare.
Her body and face will be unfamiliar to you, but her expression is one you know all too well; the dissatisfied reverie of someone who mixed booze and pot last night and moved through the evening in what could be called a series of “rolling blackouts.”
You’ll give her a shake, but she’ll only react by punching at you with an adorable fist. When she punches, though, something on her fist will glint, and your heart will stop.
She’ll be wearing a ring. It will be around the fourth finger of her left hand. It won’t be anything new to you, you’ve been with married women before, especially while blacked out, but there will be a tiny feeling of wrongness in your head when you see it.
After a few puzzled minutes you’ll clasp your hands together and there it will be, on your own hand – a Cracker Jack decoder ring which had clearly served as your wedding ring last night.
Bits and pieces of the evening will come back to you: meeting the girl in a bar along with her sister, stealing her away from her group and taking her on a lengthy adventure through the city to find a hamburger joint, then finally catching up with them to watch the fireworks, hot dogs in hand. You even briefly remember the wedding, where you kissed your new wife and felt inside yourself a swell of love and rightness that has been missing from the last twenty-something years of your life.
This last bit will scare the living shit out of you.
You’ve been living the bachelor lifestyle, narrowly evading STDs and relationships like your name is Neo, and you’ve been pretending to like it a lot more than you actually do. This would trash that for roughly two weeks if it was a mistake, and for your entire life if it wasn’t.
And that feeling of warmth and belonging cut right through your drunken haze. She’s probably the right girl for you, and even if she’s not she makes you really, really happy when you’re both too drunk to stand up. You spend a lot of time in that state, so it’s a good bet you’d get along really well.
So here’s what’s going to happen. In about four minutes, she’s going to start coughing really badly. You have two choices.
You can push your new wife onto her side so she’ll vomit away from her body, then quietly egress from the apartment without waking her sister. It won’t be hard, her sister took home like three people last night and got so much nice nice she couldn’t stand up if she wanted to. Then you’ll call her up (she’s labeled “Mystery Wife” in your cell) and tell her that last night was fun, but you don’t want to structure your life around one drunken marriage, however fun it was, and that you’d like an annulment.
She’ll feel awful, she’ll be partially covered in vomit, and her brain will be shot, but at least you won’t have taken sexual advantage of her and you won’t have made a life changing decision based on really poor information.
Option two, you get up and dig through her kitchen until you find a bowl. Then you’ll hold back her hair as shit vomits into the bowl, helping her to keep her weight off the ground so she doesn’t puke all over herself.
She’ll heave for what seems like an eternity, occasionally groaning, until her body stops twitching and she collapses on to your lap. She’ll look like an angel, with her spit up ringed mouth and slight snarl from physical discomfort, but you’ll hold her there for an hour and a half until she looks up at you.
The moment those eyes open you’ll be captivated by her beauty and the only thing you’ll be able to say will be “I think you’re my new wife.” Then you’ll wrap your hand around hers and she’ll just look confused.
“Where the fuck am I?” she’ll say.
You’ll have time to sort out the details on both of these once you make your decision, and we can’t really see where either of these go, but good luck whatever you choose. And congratulations on the New Year! Its already shaping up to be a doozie.
Her body and face will be unfamiliar to you, but her expression is one you know all too well; the dissatisfied reverie of someone who mixed booze and pot last night and moved through the evening in what could be called a series of “rolling blackouts.”
You’ll give her a shake, but she’ll only react by punching at you with an adorable fist. When she punches, though, something on her fist will glint, and your heart will stop.
She’ll be wearing a ring. It will be around the fourth finger of her left hand. It won’t be anything new to you, you’ve been with married women before, especially while blacked out, but there will be a tiny feeling of wrongness in your head when you see it.
After a few puzzled minutes you’ll clasp your hands together and there it will be, on your own hand – a Cracker Jack decoder ring which had clearly served as your wedding ring last night.
Bits and pieces of the evening will come back to you: meeting the girl in a bar along with her sister, stealing her away from her group and taking her on a lengthy adventure through the city to find a hamburger joint, then finally catching up with them to watch the fireworks, hot dogs in hand. You even briefly remember the wedding, where you kissed your new wife and felt inside yourself a swell of love and rightness that has been missing from the last twenty-something years of your life.
This last bit will scare the living shit out of you.
You’ve been living the bachelor lifestyle, narrowly evading STDs and relationships like your name is Neo, and you’ve been pretending to like it a lot more than you actually do. This would trash that for roughly two weeks if it was a mistake, and for your entire life if it wasn’t.
And that feeling of warmth and belonging cut right through your drunken haze. She’s probably the right girl for you, and even if she’s not she makes you really, really happy when you’re both too drunk to stand up. You spend a lot of time in that state, so it’s a good bet you’d get along really well.
So here’s what’s going to happen. In about four minutes, she’s going to start coughing really badly. You have two choices.
You can push your new wife onto her side so she’ll vomit away from her body, then quietly egress from the apartment without waking her sister. It won’t be hard, her sister took home like three people last night and got so much nice nice she couldn’t stand up if she wanted to. Then you’ll call her up (she’s labeled “Mystery Wife” in your cell) and tell her that last night was fun, but you don’t want to structure your life around one drunken marriage, however fun it was, and that you’d like an annulment.
She’ll feel awful, she’ll be partially covered in vomit, and her brain will be shot, but at least you won’t have taken sexual advantage of her and you won’t have made a life changing decision based on really poor information.
Option two, you get up and dig through her kitchen until you find a bowl. Then you’ll hold back her hair as shit vomits into the bowl, helping her to keep her weight off the ground so she doesn’t puke all over herself.
She’ll heave for what seems like an eternity, occasionally groaning, until her body stops twitching and she collapses on to your lap. She’ll look like an angel, with her spit up ringed mouth and slight snarl from physical discomfort, but you’ll hold her there for an hour and a half until she looks up at you.
The moment those eyes open you’ll be captivated by her beauty and the only thing you’ll be able to say will be “I think you’re my new wife.” Then you’ll wrap your hand around hers and she’ll just look confused.
“Where the fuck am I?” she’ll say.
You’ll have time to sort out the details on both of these once you make your decision, and we can’t really see where either of these go, but good luck whatever you choose. And congratulations on the New Year! Its already shaping up to be a doozie.
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